Agent Rising

by Ethan Jones

  “Whenever you say so, sir,” one of the men replied. He had a buzz haircut and was dressed in a forest camouflage jacket and pants.

  “Ava, how about you?” Volkov said into the radio.

  “As our American friends like to say, ‘locked and loaded.’”

  Ava and Max were bringing up the rear. She was driving a white Ford F-150 truck. In the back, under the black tonneau cover, there was a rocket-propelled grenade launcher with the warhead screwed to the front. Once the van breached the front gate, it was Max’s task to eliminate the next line of defense.

  “Let’s see if we can get Tupolev alive. But if not, dead’s good too,” Volkov said.

  “With pleasure,” Ava said.

  “Good. Let’s go for it,” Volkov said.

  “We’ve got maybe ten minutes…” Evgeniy said more to himself than anyone else.

  “More than enough,” Volkov said. “Once we’re in, they’ll try to escape. That’s when we’ll cut them down.” He turned his head and looked at the machine gun. One of the men was holding the long ammunition belt loaded with one hundred cartridges. He had linked another belt to it, and there were eight more belts in a metal box next to the weapon.

  Volkov made a sharp, three-point turn, then looked at Evgeniy, who readied his SIG Sauer P320 9mm semi-automatic pistol. He had loaded it with armor-piercing rounds. Uncertain whether the glass of the shack was bullet-resistant, Evgeniy was taking no chances. He cocked the weapon and held it near the door, so that it would be out of the guard’s line of sight.

  Ava copied Volkov’s maneuver and looked at Max. He smiled at her, then said, “Have you ever done this?”

  “Dozens of times.”

  “No, I mean run an unauthorized op, driven by revenge?”

  “You meant to say ‘justice’?”

  Max shrugged. “One man’s revenge is another man’s justice.”

  Ava returned the shrug. “We have no time or inclination toward philosophy, Max. But if it helps, this op will make sure these people won’t come to kill us.”

  “I don’t need any help. Just wondering if you had gone rogue before…”

  Ava didn’t respond right away. “I have. And … there’s no going back.”

  Max nodded. “I’ve already gone too far down the road of no return…”

  “Thirty seconds,” Volkov’s voice came over the radio.

  Ava pulled out her MP-443 Grach 9mm, and Max did the same. He gave Ava a reassuring glance, then looked at the van as it pulled into the small road leading to Tupolev’s mansion. The van slowed down, and Evgeniy rolled down the front passenger window. He started to talk to the guard, who had drawn closer to the shack’s window, then Evgeniy raised his pistol. He fired a couple of rounds that pierced, but didn’t shatter, the glass. The guard fell backwards, obviously hit by the bullets, but Evgeniy kept shooting.

  Ava picked up the radio. “What’s going on?”

  “The guard’s fighting back,” Volkov said. “Got to go.”

  He stepped out of the van and so did Evgeniy. He reached the guards’ shack and began to push the glass backwards. It didn’t budge. Evgeniy tried again, harder, but the glass was still standing. Then he stepped back and squeezed the pistol’s trigger.

  Gunfire erupted from somewhere inside the yard. Bullets lifted sparks off the front of the van, and a couple shattered the driver’s glass.

  “They’ve seen us,” Ava said and cursed.

  “The cameras,” Max said.

  “We’ve got to do something.”

  She had parked behind the van, but alongside the wall.

  Max said, “Blow up the gate.”

  “Right. I’ll get them to stay back.”

  They stepped out, and Max lifted the truck’s cover. He pulled out the grenade launcher and checked that the warhead was properly affixed to the weapon’s muzzle. He dropped to one knee and shouldered the launcher.

  Ava had already run to Volkov and Evgeniy and was bringing them back and away from the line of fire.

  Max aligned the weapon with the concrete pillar at the edge of the gate and pulled the trigger. The warhead cut through the air and slammed into the pillar. A mushroom cloud of gray smoke engulfed him, so Max stepped to the side and closer to the truck. The hit had pulverized the pillar and had twisted the metal gate. However, it was still there, and the gap formed was not large enough to allow the van to go through.

  “Plan B,” Volkov shouted as more bullets struck the front of the van.

  He ran behind it and made his way into the driver’s seat ignoring the rounds flying overhead. He drove the van a few feet away, turning it sideways. The door swung open, and the PKM machine gun began to thunder. Max wasn’t sure if this was suppressive fire, or if the gunner could see the targets. It didn’t really matter, as long as they could gain entrance into the yard.

  Evgeniy and Ava were still behind the wall next to the half blown-up shack.

  Max returned to the truck and reloaded his grenade launcher.

  The machine gun reports stopped for a moment, and Evgeniy and Ava dashed toward the gate. They picked it up and hauled it to the side. A man stepped out of the van and fired a rifle at targets Max couldn’t see. As Evgeniy and Ava began their retreat, the man hopped back inside the van.

  Volkov drove the van in reverse, then inside the mansion’s yard.

  Ava ran toward the truck. “Get in, quick,” she said to Max.

  The machine gun volley resumed before Evgeniy had a chance to climb into the van. He stepped cautiously inside the yard, then nodded at Max and Ava as they passed alongside him and down the long, curved driveway.

  The red brick mansion came up on their right. Two gunmen were firing from a couple of positions next to white columns by the front entrance. Their bullets struck the van, and one of the men in it fell outside through the open door. His body rolled onto the cobblestone driveway, then he stopped moving.

  As the truck came near the man, Max looked out the window. The man was on his back, bleeding from his chest and his head. If he wasn’t dead already, he’d be in a matter of minutes.

  “We can’t stop for him,” Ava said.

  Max nodded.

  The van was still a few yards up ahead and drawing closer to the main entrance. Volkov was turning the steering wheel so that the gunner would still be able to fire at the shooters hammering the van with their automatic rifles. The machine gun volley tore chunks from the columns, then a couple of bullets struck one of the shooters, killing him instantly. The gunner realigned his weapon, concentrating the firepower on the second shooter. In a matter of moments, that one also dropped to the side, dead.

  Volkov stopped the van and got out. He was carrying a rifle that Max recognized as one of the AK-105 carbines they had loaded into the van. Volkov nodded at them, then made a hand gesture, indicating he was going inside the mansion.

  Max said, “That wasn’t the plan.”

  Ava shrugged. “Volkov’s unpredictable.”

  Gunfire erupted from a second-story window, and bullets battered the side of the truck. Ava swerved, to make them a harder target. Max squeezed off a few rounds from his pistol. The incoming fire stopped, so he turned his attention toward a window on the first floor. A rifle barrel had just appeared there, and Max fired a quick burst. Whoever was holding the rifle vanished inside the house.

  Ava stopped the truck. “I’ve got the launcher. Go find Volkov.”

  A shooter popped up at the same window where Max had aimed his rounds. He fired at the truck, then at the van.

  The second man inside the van unleashed the machine gun. Its volley shredded to pieces the shooter’s window. The gunner turned his attention to the rest of the windows on the first floor.

  Max made his way around the van and toward the front entrance. He was halfway there, when a couple of gunmen burst out of the door. Max raised his pistol and opened fire. His bullets struck the first gunman in the chest. He dropped to the side.

  As Max turned his weapo
n on the second gunman, Volkov stepped out through the entrance. A gunman was walking very close behind Volkov, with a pistol pressed against the man’s head. “Drop your pistol,” the gunman shouted.

  “Run, run, run!” Volkov said.

  The other gunman raised his rifle, but Max was faster on the trigger. He fired a single round that caught the gunman in the right side of his chest, near the top of the shoulder. His arm flapped, and the rifle flew out of his hands.

  “Run!” Volkov shouted.

  Max shook his head. “I won’t let them take you.”

  “You should have listened,” an angry shout came from behind Volkov and the gunman using Volkov as a shield.

  Even before Max could see the man speaking those words, he recognized the voice. It was Tupolev. He appeared at the door, holding a rifle in his hands. He was partially covered by Volkov and the guard.

  Max said, “His life for yours.”

  Tupolev laughed. “A fair trade, but I can do better.”

  He aimed the rifle at Max, but he had already stepped out of the line of fire. Bullets whizzed to the side, and Max ran toward the van, a few yards behind him. A bullet struck his left arm, a couple of inches above the elbow. A second bullet grazed the back of his left calf. He stumbled and fell onto the driveway.

  The fall saved his life.

  A volley erupted behind him and bullets flew above his head. If he had still been standing, they would have mowed him down.

  Max crawled toward the van to his left.

  Ava opened fire from her position near the hood of the truck to cover Max’s advance. “Come on, Max. Come on.”

  “Yes, crawl like a worm,” Tupolev shouted over the sounds of the receding gunfire.

  Max slid behind the van as a couple of rounds struck the hood. He reloaded his pistol and held it near his face. He glanced at Ava, then gestured with his hand that she should attack. She shook her head.

  Tupolev shouted, “You tried to trick me. We had a deal, but you broke it. Now you’ll die like a worm.”

  Max listened for their movements and heard a metallic clang against the driveway, followed by a rolling noise. He knew what it was. “Grenade,” he shouted at Ava.

  Max jumped back as far as he could toward the back of the van.

  The grenade exploded, sending shrapnel all over him. The metal pieces sliced through the van, and a painful groan came from the gunner. Max clenched his teeth as pain shot through his body. Shrapnel must have cut through his left leg.

  He looked inside the van through one of the bullet holes. The gunner’s head was tilted back, and he was not breathing. Blood was oozing from two large wounds in his neck and chest. Max stole a glance from around the other corner of the van. A couple of bullets almost blew his head off. He fell back again, then got up to his feet, using the back of the van for support. Through a bullet hole, he saw Tupolev, Volkov, and two gunmen get into a black Mercedes-Benz SUV. The driver gunned the engine, and the SUV rocketed down the driveway.

  Max aimed his pistol, but before he could open up, gunfire rang from the mansion. Bullets whizzed overhead, forcing him to flatten himself to the ground, then slide around the front of the van.

  Ava returned fire to the shooter at a second-story window.

  Max turned toward the speeding Mercedes-Benz and let off a quick burst. Most of his bullets missed their mark, but a couple struck the back of the SUV. Still, it was not enough to stop it or slow it down. The SUV rounded the curved driveway and disappeared from sight.

  Max listened for a moment, but there were no gunshots. “Ava, you okay?” he shouted.

  “Yes, I’m alright. You?”

  “I’ll be okay. Where’s Evgeniy?”

  “He’s gone, Max. A bullet to the head; two to the chest.”

  “The gunner’s dead too. Get in the truck.”

  “Truck’s useless, Max. Engine’s all shot up.”

  “Let’s get one of those cars.” He pointed at a couple of sedans and a Jeep further to the left. “And give chase.”

  “Then what, Max? Tupolev has your father and his gunmen. By now, he’s calling others. We can’t fight them all.”

  “So, we do nothing?”

  “Let’s clear the house, and think about it. We’ve got to be smart about this.”

  Max nodded and stood up slowly. He studied the front door and the windows, but no one was moving. He checked his pistol’s magazine. Seven rounds left. Enough to reach the entrance. “Cover me,” he shouted at Ava.

  She fired at the nearest windows to the entrance as Max bolted toward it. He came to the body of one of the dead guards and retrieved his AK rifle. Max checked it to make sure it was in working order, then peered inside the house. The large entrance hall and the living room to the right side were all shot up. The bodies of two gunmen were sprawled on the hardwood floor amid expensive furniture that had been reduced to debris. Max checked them to confirm they were dead, then shouted to Ava, “Front is clear.”

  He saw her move toward the entrance and enter inside the house. He gestured to her to take the kitchen to the left, while he moved through the large hall and toward a circular staircase. He came to two more bodies as he reached the staircase. One of them had a bullet wound in the side of his head and was dead. The other one was slumped against the wall, bleeding from two chest wounds, but was still alive.

  Ava said, “Kitchen is clear.”

  “I’ve got one alive here, by the staircase.”

  She stepped closer to Max and lifted the wounded gunman’s head with the barrel of her pistol. His eyes were half-closed and blood trickled from the side of his mouth. Ava crouched next to him and said to Max, “I’ve got him. Finish clearing the house.”

  Max nodded and climbed the staircase.

  Ava leaned closer to the wounded gunman. “Where did they go?”

  The gunman said nothing.

  “Where did your boss, Tupolev, go?” Ava said again.

  The gunman shook his head and groaned. “You … you’ll never catch them.”

  Ava grinned. “I know that, and that’s why I’m asking you.”

  “I … I won’t tell you,” the gunman said in a throaty voice.

  Ava took a moment to examine his wounds. “You’ll die in ten minutes, unless we call you an ambulance.” She pulled out her phone and waved it in front of the gunman’s face. “Three numbers, 9-1-1, and you can save your life. All your teammates are dead. Tupolev left you behind like garbage, but you still want to protect him?”

  The gunman gave Ava a tired head nod.

  “Okay, then. You’ll have it your way. Your last ten minutes will be the most painful of your entire life.” She picked up the gunman’s left hand by the tip of his fingers, placed the muzzle of her pistol on his palm, and pulled the trigger. The bullet blew a hole through the gunman’s hand. He howled in pain as his entire body jerked violently. The arm fell next to his body like a withered branch, dripping blood and tissue.

  He began to curse Ava, but she rammed her pistol’s barrel into his mouth. “Shhhh … not another word. I will do the same with your other hand, and your feet, then move up your legs. Blowing up your crotch … that will be extremely painful, but lots and lots of fun.”

  The gunman shook his head, but Ava kept her pistol in his mouth. She said, “You can end all this self-inflicted pain if you tell me where they went. I can make a call, and the ambulance will come and save your pathetic life. You tell the police you have no idea who attacked the house, and, if you ever talk to Tupolev or your teammates, you tell them that you played dead, and we didn’t see you.”

  The gunman struggled to breathe, so she pulled back her pistol. “What do you say?”

  The gunman coughed up blood, and Ava was glad she had moved back, away from the filthy spray. He drew in a series of quick, shallow breaths, but hesitated to talk.

  Ava said, “You’re not convinced. Let me motivate you to talk.”

  She picked up his right hand. The gunman tried to fight her off
, but there was no strength left in him. As Ava placed her pistol against the palm of his hand, the gunman said, “No, no, I’ll … I’ll talk.”

  “Talk then.”

  “They’re going to the terminal … the IMTT terminal.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s … that’s what I heard them saying seconds before they left.”

  “Not lying to me?”

  “No, no, I swear … I swear on my mother’s grave.”

  Ava nodded. “Where’s this terminal?”

  “New Jersey. I think the name is Byonne or Byron, something like that.”

  “What’s Tupolev doing there?”

  The guard hesitated for a moment, but Ava kept her pistol pressed against his hand. “Talk.”

  “He has a hideout there, for situations like these…”

  Ava nodded again and lowered her pistol. The gunman’s hand fell to the floor with a thump.

  Max appeared atop the staircase. “The house is clear.”

  “Good, I’ll finish him off, then we can go.” She rammed the Grach pistol into the gunman’s forehead.

  “No, no.” The gunman tried to move his head, but Ava had pinned him against the wall. “I talked, I told you where you can find Tupolev.”

  “Did he?” Max asked as he bolted down the stairs.

  “Yes, he’s at an oil terminal in Bayonne, New Jersey.”

  “Yes, yes, you can find him there, or catch him on the way…”

  Max said, “Did you promise to let him live?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then let him live.”

  Ava looked deep into Max’s eyes, which showed his determination. “This man would have killed both of us, if our bullets hadn’t stopped him. He could be the one who killed Evgeniy, or our other teammates. And now we should let this scum live?”

  “It pains me, but you promised. All we have is our honor. Otherwise, we’re no better than these thugs.” He nodded toward the wounded gunman.

  Ava said, “You’re making a mistake, Max.”

  He nodded. “I’ll live with it. Now, let’s get in the car and go find Volkov.”

  Ava shook her head and looked at the gunman. “It’s your lucky day, because he has a heart…”