by Ethan Jones
Tupolev cursed out loud, then said, “You’ll have the money, Max. But if Volkov isn’t there, or you’re playing a game, you’ll meet a very ugly end, slow, and very painful.”
There was something in Tupolev’s razor-sharp and calm voice that gave Max the chills. He drew in a deep breath and said, “I’ll be there with the package.”
“Good doing business with you, Max.”
He ended the call and looked at Volkov, who said, “Quite convincing. Now I’m worried you’ll really take me to the yacht club.”
Ava said, “Good diversion. Some of his thugs will be at the meeting place, so he’ll have less security.”
“A dozen or so people,” Volkov said.
“And how many do we have?”
“Three so far, and we might get another two, three at the most.”
Max shook his head. “I don’t like the odds…”
“Me neither, but we’ll have the advantage of surprise.”
“And we’ll have better weapons.” Ava grinned.
“Where is Tupolev?”
“He’s renting a house on Long Island, as he does twice a year for a week. It belongs to some dead celebrity, who is more famous now than when she was alive. Tupolev arrived four days ago.”
Max peered at Volkov’s face as the thought just dawned on him. “You’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you?”
Volkov didn’t answer, but his grin said it all.
“It wasn’t coincidence,” Ava said.
“You triggered it all. Escaping surveillance time and again until the right moment…”
Ava nodded. “Very risky, but worth it.”
“What if it didn’t work? What if they discovered or captured you ahead of time?”
“Then we’d abort,” Volkov said.
“Didn’t happen.” Ava shook her head.
Volkov said, “Plus, we had one more piece that needed to fall in place.” He glanced deep into Max’s eyes.
Max’s jaw almost fell open as he realized what Volkov was saying. “Me? I was the last piece?”
Volkov smiled. “I couldn’t trust anyone in the GRU or the SVR. As the turn of events has shown, my suspicions were well-founded. I needed someone on whom I could rely when things got rough … Plus, you’re my son.”
Max kept shaking his head in disbelief. “But I didn’t work for any of those agencies…”
“It didn’t matter. I knew where you were in the FSB. Demoted, depressed. Once you submitted your transfer request to the SVR, that was my window of opportunity.”
“You really think I can believe you kept such a close eye on me and my moves?”
“You can believe whatever you want, Max. But I know exactly what happened at Sheremetyevo Airport. I have an eyewitness.” He tipped his head toward Ava.
“Did you have anything to do with that operation?”
“No, but I would have caused something to make you want to apply to the SVR. I could have used Sasha, your best friend. Or perhaps Helena—”
“Leave her out of this.” Max’s voice rose up with anger.
Ava said, “You should ask her out. I’m sure she’ll say ‘yes.’”
Volkov said, “Once you applied to the SVR, I just called in a couple of favors. Old contacts who still care. It was easy to shuffle papers around, so that your request reached the right hands. Blokhin and Kasparova, the old scoundrels.”
“Still, it was a long shot to assume that they’d assign me to this case…”
“I know how they operate. They’d do everything to fatten their pockets. This hasn’t been the first time they’ve accepted bribes to turn a blind eye.”
Max sighed, unable to make sense of Volkov’s explanation and follow the trail. “So, what was their game?”
“You were inexperienced, especially in such transfers on foreign soil. This is your first assignment outside Russia. In the slight chance that you’d figure things out, Feliks was there to balance the scales. And if he failed, there was the rest of the GRU team.”
“But the GRU could have handed you to Tupolev as soon as they captured you.”
Volkov shook his head. “Too much exposure, even for those two crooks. They needed to make it look like someone came to my rescue. And the transport agents—you and potentially Feliks—either cooperated with the detainees and disappeared, or were killed, while the detainees vanished. They could have played it either way.”
Max nodded. The GRU had made two attempts to get to Volkov. Max wasn’t sure that Feliks was a part of the set-up, considering how well he had fought against the GRU assault team. “Feliks had nothing to do with these dirty games.”
“That’s why I said ‘potentially’. But it doesn’t matter anymore. They failed. In a few hours, we’ll take care of Tupolev. Then, we can go home.”
“You’re forgetting something…”
“No, I’m not. I’ll hand you everything I have about … Berlin, before the assault on Tupolev’s house. In case something happens during the operation … I want you to be fully convinced about what I told you … about our relationship.”
Max held Volkov’s weary eyes for a long moment. A melancholic glimmer flickered in them. “That would be useful, so I know for sure.”
“You will know for certain that I’ve told you nothing but the truth.” Volkov paused for a long moment, then added as an afterthought, “And, if everything goes well, perhaps, who knows, maybe there’s a chance we can … we can give this … this relationship another shot?”
Max shrugged. He really didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
Volkov drew in a deep breath, then exhaled. “Let’s think about it no more. We’ve got things to do in New York.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Bronx, New York City
United States of America
Volkov parked the Mustang at the curb in front of the house with red brick walls and small white windows. The house looked old, but it was well-kept. He gestured with his hand and said, “This is it. Stefan lives here. He’ll help us gather everything we need.”
Volkov had already called Stefan on a new phone they had bought at a convenience store in a highway rest stop. If Max’s personal phone was being tracked, their sensitive conversation wouldn’t be intercepted and monitored. Max and Ava had already disabled his SVR-issued phone and the phones they had collected from the SVR team at the hotel.
Max stepped out of the car and looked around. The crescent was quiet and very peaceful. The old neighborhood had large trees, and their branches met one another, forming a canopy dome covering the street. Max wondered how much Stefan made to afford to live in such an area. In New York, even rundown houses cost half a million dollars or more.
Volkov gestured for Ava to walk in front of him. When they climbed the stairs and came to the brown, wood panel door, it opened before she could knock. A gray-haired man wearing a blue track suit with white stripes along the sleeves and across the chest smiled at them. “My dear Ava.” He kissed both her cheeks. “You look gorgeous.”
Ava shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
Stefan gave Volkov a tight hug. “My friend, so good to see you.”
“Every time I see you, you look younger and younger.”
Stefan shrugged. “It’s the drugs my son gives me.”
Volkov laughed out loud. “Can he get me some?”
Stefan joined in the laugh.
Volkov turned to Max. “Don’t get any wrong ideas. His son is a pharmacist. Everything’s legit.”
Stefan lowered his black-framed glasses to the tip of his thick nose and gave Max a measuring glance. “He kind of looks like you, Volkov.”
Max flinched and almost opened his mouth to object. But he looked at Volkov and noticed a slight resemblance. He had the same eyes as Volkov, not because of the color or the size, but the same intense look, and the same hair color.
Volkov shrugged. “This is Stefan, the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Max offered his
hand, but Stefan gave him a big bear hug. “Come this way.” He led them through the hall and into the living room that had a large Persian rug with a medallion design and four brown fabric armchairs set around a fireplace. A large winter landscape painting took almost half of a wall. Pictures of Stefan and his family were on the other wall and above the fireplace.
“Make yourself at home.” Stefan gestured toward the armchairs. “I’ll prepare some coffee.”
Max remained standing until Volkov had sat with his back to the window, then Max sat across from him and looked at Ava. She said, “Oh, I’ll help Stefan in the kitchen. You boys needs some time to talk.”
Volkov called out to Stefan. “Where have you put my briefcase?”
“In the guest bedroom. In the closet.”
“I’ll bring it,” Ava said.
She returned in a minute and handed Volkov a black leather briefcase. He snapped it open, then lifted the lid slightly. He picked up a brown leather-bound, rustic-looking photo album that had a wrap tie closure. “Your mother found this at an antique store in Berlin, and I bought it for her. She liked to scrapbook,” Volkov said in a wavering voice and ran his hand over the album’s top.
He held it in his hands a moment longer, then leaned forward and handed it to Max.
He hesitated for a moment, uncertain of what he’d find when he opened it.
“Go ahead,” Volkov said. “You want to know, right?”
Max nodded slowly and unhooked the tie. He opened the album and looked at a portrait of his mother. He had never seen that picture before. Max had only seven pictures of his mother, given to him by his adoptive family. The inscription on the other page read, “To Maria with love from Valery. March 89.” A small heart with his mother’s and Volkov’s initials was stamped near the bottom.
Max ran his hand over the faded portrait, fighting back tears. He looked up and away, through the window.
“I’m sorry,” Volkov said.
Max shrugged and didn’t look at his father. “About what?”
“Everything. I wish things were different, that none of this had happened, that I and your mother … we had been like any regular family.”
Max put the album down. “After she died, you could have come back. If she went away against her will, you made a choice to leave me…”
Volkov shook his head. “No, Max, that’s not how things went. I never left you.”
“What? I never saw you. I never heard from you. No letters. No one to tell me something, anything about you. Only a few hours ago I learned you’re my … father…”
“You might have not seen me, Max, but I was there.”
“Where?”
“When you were adopted, I made sure you went to a good family, and that your new family had enough money to care for you. When you got sick, when you were twelve, and needed that eye surgery in Vienna, in 2001, remember that?”
Max blinked back his surprise. “I was there; I remember.”
“It cost twenty-five thousand dollars. Guess who paid for that?”
Max hesitated for a moment. “The least you could have done…”
“Right, and I’m not claiming otherwise. But I want you to know that I didn’t leave you; I didn’t abandon you. I was there, a ghost, watching over you from the shadows, from a safe distance.”
“Safe for you.”
“To the contrary. Safe for you and your new … parents. Your adoptive father died when you were still two, but I couldn’t help that. Heart attack. Now, think about it: Once my enemies knew I had a son, what would have happened to you?”
“Still, you should have cared more, done more…”
Volkov drew in a deep breath. “Max, I don’t expect you to understand, or to forgive … or love. I don’t expect anything. I don’t deserve anything. I simply wanted you to know.”
Before Max could reply, Stefan coughed and stepped closer to them. He was holding a phone and handed it to Volkov. “Pardon my intrusion, but Evgeniy needs to talk to you, right away.”
“We were finished here anyway,” Max said.
Volkov stood up. “I’ll take this in the other room. Come with me,” he said to Stefan.
When they left, Ava handed Max a cup of coffee. She sat on the armchair next to him and said, “How are you feeling?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t know. How would you feel if you were in my situation?”
“Terrible. Overwhelmed. But I’m here for you … if you want to talk. I might not be of much help, but I’ll listen.”
Max smiled. “I appreciate that.”
Ava said, “My father was there, but he wasn’t … Always busy, always working. I saw more of my grandfather than my dad…”
He sipped his coffee. “I’ll be okay. Once we’ve taken down Tupolev … maybe Volkov and me … maybe we’ll have some time, make some time…”
“I hope so. You might disagree, but he’s a good man.” Ava brought her cup to her mouth.
“What can you tell me about the plan?”
Ava grinned. “That wasn’t the talk I meant when I offered, but I can tell you some of what I know. Tupolev is in the steel business; that’s how he made his fortune. He owns a small mill in New Jersey, so he can say that his steel is made in America. Every time he comes here, he visits the mill, then goes to New York Harbor, to look at the facility and some of the products as they’re being loaded. It’s more of a show, you know, shake hands, take pictures, mingle with local politicians, announce new investments. Political currency goes a long way both here and in Moscow.”
Max nodded. “So, where are we hitting him?”
“Volkov is still deciding. The mill and the harbor are both targets, but difficult ones. Plenty of people around, both witnesses and Tupolev’s men.”
“What about the house? That should be easier.”
“That’s what I thought, but Volkov isn’t sure. Tupolev knows that’s his vulnerable point.”
“Which one do you think he’ll choose?”
“It will depend on the intelligence we’ll receive and how much support we can get.”
“Which is?”
“The intel or the support?”
“Both.”
Ava took a long sip of her coffee. “Intel’s coming from one of Tupolev’s men, so that’s pretty solid. The support…” She shrugged. “I’m wary of people until I’ve seen their work in person. Sometimes, reputations don’t match up with the reality. As you know, no two missions are alike.”
“That’s so true.”
“But I have no problems working with you.” Ava smiled. “I know what you can do.”
Max returned the smile. “And I’ve seen what you’re made of…”
Volkov walked into the living room. “Evgeniy, that’s my associate, has found us three people. So, it will be six of us.”
“It could have been seven,” Stefan said in a somber tone as he walked behind Volkov. “But Volkov is stubborn like a mule.”
Volkov smiled at Stefan. “If you came, it would have been eight, or nine, as you’re a great fighter. But if something happened to you, Svetka would kill me.”
“Volkov, if something happens to you, I will kill you.”
Volkov laughed and looked at Max. “Are you ready to go?”
Max stood up. “We’re hitting him at the house?”
“Yes, it’s less protected. My intel places only ten guards on the property. I like those odds.”
“Who’s in Evgeniy’s crew?” Ava had finished the last of her coffee and had also gotten to her feet.
“No one we know or we’ve worked with before. I know: not the best scenario, but we’ll make it work.”
“At least you won’t be outgunned.” Stefan gestured with his head toward the door. “The truck’s full of everything you need.”
“Did you find RPGs?” Volkov asked.
“Do you have any idea how expensive they were?”
“I don’t want to know. How many do we have?”
“Six. That
’s all I could find.”
Max shook his head. Stefan had been able to secure them six rocket-propelled grenades. Max wondered who Stefan knew in the dark underworld of crime to procure such devastating weapons.
“Do we get a PKM?” Ava said.
“Of course…” Stefan smiled.
“You’re the best, Stefan.”
Max nodded. The PKM machine gun would definitely give them the upper hand. The weapon fired 7.62 x54R cartridges, at a rate of 650 rounds per minute, and was effective at over a thousand yards.
Volkov said, “Well, that should give us an advantage. That and the surprise, and maybe that dog Tupolev will meet his end today.”
Chapter Eighteen
Long Island, New York
United States of America
Mansion was a better term for Tupolev’s residence. It was surrounded by a grayish, twelve-foot-high wall, crowned by two coils of concertina wire and cameras every twenty yards or so. A small glass-and-steel guards’ shack stood near the large black wrought-iron gate, and a guard was sitting inside the shack. He gave no second glance to the white Dodge utility van that Volkov was driving. The guard would have a clear view of everything from two rotating cameras mounted on the wall on both sides of the gate. Besides, the lettering on the side of the van read Complete Housekeeping & Landscaping, along with a bogus address and a phone number.
Volkov was wearing a blue New York Mets cap and silver aviator shades, so even if the cameras had caught his image, his face wouldn’t be recognizable. As they rounded the corner and left the mansion behind, he said to Evgeniy sitting on the front seat, “Looks good.”
“Surveillance tells us the target’s still inside.”
Volkov nodded. He had been following the live feed from the surveillance camera set inside a small grove across from the gated entrance. About fifteen minutes ago, six of Tupolev’s guards had been dispatched to pick up Volkov, as per Max’s phone call, at the yacht club on Long Beach. This opened the window of opportunity for Volkov’s team.
He turned his head slightly and looked at the two men sitting in the back of the van, next to the PKM machine gun set on a tripod. “You boys ready for action?”
