by Ethan Jones
Max crouched so he could be at the gunman’s eye level. “It’s your second chance … Don’t waste it, but do something good.”
The gunman hesitated for a moment, then gave Max a small head nod.
Ava said, “We still need to tie him up, so he doesn’t call and warn Tupolev…”
“Good idea. But let’s call 911 for an ambulance for him…”
“Do we have to?”
“Yes, otherwise he’ll die. And we promised him.”
Ava nodded and made the call.
Max searched the bodies of the dead men and found a pair of handcuffs. He took it, along with their phones and a set of car keys. Ava dragged the gunman to one of the bedrooms and cuffed him to one of the heavy wrought-iron headboards, then she helped Max collect the rifles and pistols scattered on the floor.
When they got outside, Max said, “Let’s take the BMW.” He waved the keys at her. “Found them on one of the bodies. I’ll drive.”
Ava said, “Let’s take everything we can from the truck, the RPGs especially.”
“Get them ready. I’ll bring the car around.”
“They have a ten-minute lead on us.”
“We’ll make that up in no time.”
“And I’ve got to patch your wounds.”
Max shrugged. “They look worse than they are, just scratches…”
“Yes, tough guy … just scratches. You’ll bleed to death…”
“I won’t—”
“It will only take five minutes.”
“The bullet went through and through…”
“Don’t argue now.” Her firm voice told Max the argument was over.
Chapter Nineteen
Long Island, New York
United States of America
It was imperative for Max and Ava to reach the IMTT terminals before Tupolev and his security detail arrived and received reinforcements, or boarded one of the ships. The International-Matex Tank Terminals were loading and unloading facilities mostly for petroleum products, chemicals, and other types of fuel. Located ten miles south of Manhattan, the complex covered six hundred acres, full of reservoirs, railcars, warehouses, office buildings and trailers, so searching them would take a long time and manpower, which the team didn’t have. Their only hope was to be in position and lying in wait as Tupolev’s crew pulled into the terminal.
Max kept his foot on the gas pedal for pretty much most of the drive. Their white BMW was a 2013 Series 3 model of the 335i variant. Not the fastest car on the road, but it still put out 300 horsepower. Max drove about ten miles over the speed limit, but went faster when he came to straight stretches that had little traffic. He calculated the minutes and the seconds, wondering if they were already too late to save his father. His eyes searched the nearby vehicles for Tupolev’s Mercedes SUV. They weren’t sure if he had switched vehicles, or if he had taken this route, which was the shorter one of the two that connected Long Island to New Jersey. But they had to keep looking.
When they were close to the Bayonne Bridge, Ava glanced at Max. “Don’t worry. We’ll find them. Tupolev needs intel from Volkov. That will keep your father alive.”
“For how long?”
“Until we can free him. Do you have a plan?”
Max nodded. “Kind of. We need to slip inside the yard undetected, then find Tupolev’s office complex and wait for him there.”
Ava glanced at one of the phones they had taken from the dead gunmen. It had a picture of a couple of trailers that served as Tupolev’s office headquarters when he came to the terminals. His company’s logo—a large black “T” inside a golden circle—was stenciled on the side of the trailers. “At least we have a location,” she said in a calm tone.
“But we don’t know if he’s there.”
“Let’s get to the trailers. Either Tupolev will show up, or we’ll grab someone who will tell us where we can find him.”
Maxim nodded. “Then we rescue my … dad.”
He hesitated for a moment before saying the last word. It sounded strange, almost foreign, to say that word about Volkov.
“Yes. We’ll do everything we can to save him.”
Max nodded and drove fast through the bridge. In a matter of minutes, they were on the New Jersey 400 Highway, heading toward the west entrance to the terminals.
Ava said, “We’ll draw the wrong kind of attention if we pull onto the yard in the BMW…”
“I was thinking the same. How about that one?” He pointed at a semi-truck parked on the side of the road coupled to two huge fuel tankers. They were white and yellow and the word Shell was painted on the side.
“You know how to drive that?”
Max nodded. “I had to learn soon after I joined the FSB, but I didn’t drive much.”
“I’ve heard it’s quite difficult…”
“It takes some time to get used to it, but once you got it, you never forget.”
They drove around the semi-truck, but the driver was not in the cab.
Ava said, “Maybe he’s at the gas station.” She pointed at a QuickChek across from where the semi-truck was parked.
“Or the Burger King.”
“I’ll check.”
“No, I’ve got it.”
Max stepped outside and hurried toward the gas station’s convenience store. He studied the faces of a few men smoking outside the door, but was not convinced any one of them was the truck driver. Then he entered the store and walked up and down the aisles. There were a couple of old ladies, but he doubted one of them would be the truck driver. Their faux fur coats weren’t the right clothes for the job. Lastly, he searched the men’s bathroom. Only one of the stalls was occupied, and the man inside was wearing a pair of brown loafers. Again, the shoes didn’t fit the truck driver profile. Still, he washed his hands and waited until the man came out. He was in his late teens, wearing a leather jacket and a bandana. Max doubted someone would trust the teen with a hundred-thousand-dollar truck and flammable liquid cargo.
So Max sighed and stepped outside, thinking the driver might be at the Burger King. Max glanced at the BMW, but Ava was gone. He stopped and looked around. What happened? Where did she go? He returned his eyes to the fast food joint. Ava came out of the side door carrying a blue jacket with yellow reflective stripes on the back. When they locked eyes, she smiled at Max.
He shook his head. “I told you I’ve got it.”
“Yes, but he was just coming out, and we’d miss our chance.” She showed him the truck keys.
“How did you get them?”
Ava grinned. “The promise of a kiss…”
“Really? He was that gullible?”
“Aren’t all men?”
“No, not all.”
“Well, he was. Now, he’s out cold in the ladies’ bathroom…”
“Good job, Ava.”
She handed him the keys and the vest. Max waited until they had gotten behind the semi-truck, then put on the jacket. He zipped it halfway and said to Ava, “All right, I’m the driver, Wayne Lockhart.” He pulled out the fake driver’s license he had used to rent the Ford SUV in Maryland. “And you are?”
“Jenny, the apprentice.”
“And where’s your gear?”
“Maybe the guard won’t ask that.”
“What if he does?”
Ava shrugged. “I haven’t earned it yet … Or even better, I’m your supervisor, doing some checks, inspections along the way.”
“All right, that should work.”
“Let’s do it.”
They took two large duffel bags with their weapons from the BMW’s trunk and walked to the semi-truck. Max unlocked the door, and a couple of empty beer bottles came flying out. He caught one before it landed on his chest. The cab reeked of garlic and olives. A couple of pizza boxes were on the passenger seat.
“Napolitano?” Ava offered him one of the boxes that had a single slice.
“Get that stinking thing out of my face.”
Ava tossed it behi
nd her, in the sleeper-cab, along with a few empty soda cans. She finished wiping her seat, then took some papers from the glove compartment. “Here’s the shipping order and everything we need to get inside.”
Max drove slowly and turned left as they came to the entrance, which was only a few yards away. A white van with the letters IMTT – BAYONNE SECURITY was parked to the right side, next to a large puddle of muddy water. A series of orange pylons were set up to block one of the lanes leading inside the terminal. Max smiled and waved at the clerk to his left, who just stepped out of the trailer serving as his office. “What’s up, my man?” he said in a cheerful voice to the old man sporting a red cap and a mullet.
“Really?” Ava whispered and shook her head.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Wayne, and we got a delivery.” He looked at the papers in his lap to avoid the clerk’s curious eyes searching Max’s face. “Eighteen thousand gallons of gasoline for—”
“Where’s Butch?”
“He couldn’t make it this time. Something about a sick relative.”
The clerk nodded. “His poor aunt. She’s on her deathbed.”
“Yes, I think that’s what it was…”
“Let me see the papers.”
Max passed them to the clerk, and he gave them a long studious gaze. He returned to his office, typed something on his computer, then came outside and handed the papers back to Max. “Who’s the lady?”
“Good evening,” Ava said in a warm voice and with a big smile.
“She’s my supervisor. I’m the new guy and all…”
“Well, new guy, you can go in.”
“Thanks so much, man.”
The clerk rolled the chain-link gate to the side, and Max drove in slowly. He went straight for a while as they drove past a series of train cars to their right and large oil reservoirs and pipes to their left, then turned right. The information retrieved from the dead guards placed Tupolev’s offices about a hundred yards up ahead and to the left.
Ava said, “Do you think he’s here?”
“I know he’s here. I can smell that dog…”
They went by more oil reservoirs, then came to a blue building that looked like a warehouse. The railroad tracks were now to their left. Work was still ongoing in the well-lit yard, although Max suspected there was less activity than during the day. In a moment, he saw what they had been looking for over the last two hours. The black Mercedes-Benz was parked about sixty yards away, next to a couple of trucks and other vehicles. Tupolev’s trailers were on the other side, and the lights were on in both of them. They were about fifty yards away, set up next to a reddish-brown three-story building. While Tupolev was nowhere in sight, a couple of men were shoving Volkov toward the nearest trailer.
“Get ready,” Max whispered to Ava.
She pulled out her AK rifle from one of the duffel bags. “Ready. Yours is right here.” She nodded at the second rifle by her feet.
As soon as the semi-truck rounded the curb, Max floored the gas. The behemoth barreled toward the two men. One of them clued in to what was taking place and pulled out his pistol.
Ava had already turned her rifle toward the gunman, but her bullets might strike Volkov, so she didn’t fire. The gunman, however, had no such fears. He fired a few rounds that pierced the semi-truck’s windshield, right about the middle. Sharp glass flew all around the cab, but Max didn’t let that stop him. He dropped down on his seat, but kept his foot on the gas, going straight toward the shooter. The man tried to jump away, but it was too late.
The semi-truck squished him like a bug, then Max hit the brakes.
The other gunman had jumped out of the way and was dragging Volkov toward the trailer. He was putting up a good fight, but the younger man had the upper hand. A couple of gunmen barged out of the nearest trailer and opened up against the semi-truck.
Ava had already jumped out of the cab. She stayed low next to the front wheel, then popped around the hood and fired a quick burst. Her bullets hit one of the gunmen, but the other kept pounding the truck with his volley.
Max had slid over the seats and landed next to Ava. He stood up and came to the gap between the semi-truck and the first tanker. He leveled his rifle squarely on the second gunman’s head and fired a couple of rounds. The gunman fell backwards and against the trailer.
Max turned his attention to the gunman still wrestling with Volkov. The older man had dropped onto the ground, and the gunman was trying to drag him toward the trailer. Max aligned the sight of his rifle with the man’s back and fired a single round, followed by a double tap. The man fell face first to the ground.
One more gunman stepped out of the trailer, but Ava cut him to the ground with a short burst. She opened up against the trailer, shattering its panes of glass.
“Cover me,” Max shouted over the deafening gunshots.
Ava nodded.
He slid underneath the first tanker, then bolted toward his father. Volkov was still on the ground, lying on his stomach. Max reached him without anyone firing at them. “Dad, Dad, how are you?”
Volkov groaned and blood trickled out of his mouth. “Eh … I’ll be fine. You?”
“I’m good. Let’s go.”
Max lifted Volkov slowly and gently by his waist, and they hurried toward the semi-truck. Volkov was limping on his left leg and was leaning hard against Max. The younger man felt the wound on his arm split open, and the pain shot through his body. But he hauled Volkov to the semi-truck, and they sat behind the hood.
“Good to see you,” Ava said to Volkov, who smiled.
Bullets thumped against the other side of the hood. Others shattered the glass, and sharp fragments rained over their heads. Max glanced at the trailers through the gap. “Tupolev’s leaving through the back trailer.”
“Go after them. I’ve got your dad.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, go, go.”
“Don’t let them leave,” Volkov said between gasps, blood still trickling from his split lips.
Max gave Volkov a firm nod. “For what they did to you, they’ll die … All of them.”
He fired the last of his magazine at Tupolev and the three gunmen darting out of the trailer. They rounded the trailer and were now running on the rail tracks.
Ava fired at the first trailer. Someone returned fire from inside. Their bullets lifted sparks off the semi-truck’s hood.
“Toss me those RPGs,” Ava said to Max, who had climbed into the semi-truck’s cab. “And let’s change positions.” She gestured at Volkov, then turned her head toward the trucks about five yards to their left.
Volkov crouched and reached the nearest truck. Ava dragged the duffel bag and removed the rocket-propelled grenade launcher. She screwed in one of the warheads, then shouldered the weapon. A moment later, she climbed to her feet, remaining partially covered by the truck. She took a couple of steps to the side and pulled the trigger.
There was a burst of orange light as the warhead left the launcher, followed by gray smoke. Then the warhead pierced the trailer less than fifty yards away. The structure blew up in a hail of fragments. Everyone who was still inside or behind it was either dead or cut to pieces.
Max began to turn the semi-truck around. It took longer than he hoped, because he hadn’t stopped with that goal in mind. Besides, someone was still taking shots at the semi-truck. Max smelled the gasoline and concluded it was his cargo spilling from numerous holes.
When he had straightened the wheels, he glanced at Ava. She was still firing at unseen targets by the second trailer. When Max looked up and further ahead, he saw the bright lights of a locomotive without any cars coupled to it. The locomotive was perhaps half a mile away and coming toward Max slowly. Four silhouettes were running toward it.
That’s Tupolev and his cronies. How did they get that far?
The four men climbed into the locomotive, which began to pick up speed, barreling toward Max.
I won’t let them escape.
> He drove the semi-truck onto the train tracks. They were almost flat to the ground, which made Max’s driving less difficult. He almost lost control of the wheel at one point, but only for a moment.
The engine driver blasted the horn, warning Max to get out of the locomotive’s way.
Max stepped so hard on the semi-truck’s gas pedal he thought his foot would go through the floor.
The train engine screamed toward Max’s semi-truck.
He didn’t even flinch but kept going straight ahead. The semi-truck had no chance against the hundred-ton locomotive. This was going to be a David-vs.-Goliath fight, and he didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it.
He wasn’t.
The engine driver punched the horn once again. The ear-busting horn screamed louder and louder as the freight locomotive raced toward Max. The lights were now almost blindingly bright, filling his entire field of vision.
Max’s palms turned sweaty. His heartbeat grew so rapid he thought his heart would explode inside his chest. He held his breath, waiting for the right moment. He reached over the passenger seat and threw the door open. It was easier to jump out of the driver’s door, but the ground on that side was flat. Across the tracks, a tall, grassy mound would cushion his fall. If he could roll onto the other side of the mound, and the train engine didn’t derail in that direction, he might escape with his life.
A big might.
When the semi-truck was about twenty yards away from the now-screaming train engine, Max threw his body across the seat, then leapt as far as he could from the semi-truck. Airborne, he tucked his body into a tight ball, with his arms around his chest and his legs scrunched up. He heard the bone-rattling screech of the engine brakes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the semi-truck beginning to veer off to the right, in the wrong direction.
Max couldn’t do anything about it.
He landed almost on the center of his back and flat with the top of the mound as the train engine slammed into one of the gasoline tankers. Gigantic flames burst in all directions. Max barely had time to roll over the mound. He didn’t break the fall with his hands, as that could snap his wrists. Some of the flames leapt toward him, and he smelt burned skin. His hair was singed, and the back of his collar had caught fire. He kept rolling down the mound, fighting to quench the fire.
