Agent Rising

by Ethan Jones

  Deafening metallic banging and clanging came from behind him. Max could only imagine the train engine plowing into the tankers, but fiery shards began to hail all around him. He turned his head, and his worst nightmare became real.

  The train engine was rushing toward him. Its front cut through the mound. He raced as fast as he could as the train engine slid behind him, missing Max by a few yards. It slowed down, but still came dangerously close, as metal pieces shot from all directions.

  Max didn’t know how he was still alive and running, but he continued his mad dash. He hid behind a truck, just as a new, even greater explosion echoed from behind him. Max flattened himself to the ground as loud clanging came from the front of the truck. Something heavy hit its hood and shattered the windshield. A large, orange fireball erupted and enormous flames leapt at the dark sky, lighting up the area as if it was daytime. Max glanced at the train engine turned into a fiery wreckage, as more flames burst from a series of smaller explosions inside the engine cabin.

  Max continued to crawl backwards as he listened for screams of pain from the wreckage. He heard nothing, and there were no more gunshots.

  He ran his hands over his face and chest, checking for blood or other wounds. A few bruises, but nothing major. Searing pain came from his right shoulder. Max had reinjured the wounds on his left arm and leg, and he imagined they’d be bleeding badly. He shrugged. They’ll heal. Everything will heal.

  “Max, Max,” Ava’s voice came from behind him. “How are you?”

  He tried to turn his head, but his entire body trembled. “I’m … I’m all right.”

  She crouched next to him and began to check him.

  Volkov squatted on the other side. “Stay, stay there, my son. We’ll take care of you.”

  “I’m okay … Dad.” A moment of hesitation before the last word, but Max was getting used to saying it.

  “I’ll bring our getaway truck closer.” Ava stood up.

  “You did well, my son. I’m so proud of you.”

  Max smiled and nodded, and laid his head on his father’s chest. The latter brushed his hair, and Max felt something he’d never felt before in his life.

  A moment later, the truck’s bright headlights fell upon them, and Ava jumped out. “We’ve got to go. Security has called the cops, and they’ll be here soon.”

  Volkov and Ava pulled Max to his feet, and the three of them slowly made their way to the truck. When Max was lying on the backseats, he said, “Now what?”

  “We’ve got to make a quick exit,” Ava said and turned the truck around.

  Volkov nodded. “First stop, Atlas Yacht Club Marina, a few blocks away.” He gestured with his left hand. “We take a boat and sail across to New York. We find Stefan, and make our way out of this great USA.”

  Ava said, “We’ve overstayed our welcome.”

  “And then what?” Max said.

  Volkov shrugged. “I think it’s time to go home, Moscow, and settle a few accounts…”

  Ava glanced at Volkov. “What about France?”

  Volkov returned a mischievous grin. “France is on the way to Moscow…”

  Chapter Twenty

  Richmond Terrace, Staten Island

  New York City, United States of America

  Volkov hadn’t expected Stefan to come in person to meet them at the rendezvous point. But there he was, waiting right outside the Trinity Church Cemetery, in the front passenger seat of a gray windowless utility van. There was no one in the driver’s seat, to give the impression that Stefan was waiting for his driver, who, presumably had gone to one of the automobile repair shops across from the cemetery.

  As soon as Ava stepped out of the small thicket behind the Heritage Park along the shore of the Kill Van Kull Strait, two of Stefan’s men came out of the shadows. They were standing next to one of the townhouses across the street. One of them helped Volkov into the front seat of the van as Stefan slid to the driver’s side. The other man slid open the back door and scrutinized the area. His pistol was at the ready, low against his side.

  “My friend, you had a rough night.” Stefan smiled at Volkov and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I needed some fresh air.” He turned on the engine and started the van, driving slowly along the snaking Richmond Terrace. “Cops are hovering around like vultures.” He gestured with his hand upwards.

  Max lowered his head and glanced through the window. A helicopter was circling over the IMTT terminal, and the powerful searchlight beam was cutting a swath through the dark night, sweeping over the waters.

  “And there’s so much chatter about the terminal explosions.” Stefan tipped his head toward the radio mounted on the dashboard.

  “What are they saying?” Max asked.

  “The terminal security staff reported shots fired, followed by large explosions. They didn’t intervene, but ‘monitored’ the situation from a safe distance, whatever that means,” Stefan said.

  “It means they didn’t see anything,” Volkov said.

  “And we saw no police, uniformed or not,” Ava said.

  Stefan nodded. “That’s good, because this side is teeming with the boys in blue. So much, that I thought we’d need to dress the part for this pick-up.” He grinned. “It’s been a few years since I dressed like a cop, other than on Halloween.”

  “You’ve become a true American.”

  “Yes, with a capital ‘A’.”

  Stefan turned left onto Broadway as police sirens echoed from the distance. He glanced in the rearview mirror, but no police car, or any vehicle for that matter, was driving behind them. “I’m so American I’ve picked up some New York fun facts.” Stefan said in English, faking an accent, making the words sound like “Noo Yawk.” He smiled and added, “Did you know that each of the five boroughs has a street named Broadway? And this one, right here, is the shortest, and I say the beautifullest.”

  Volkov groaned. “That’s not a word…”

  “It is now, since I just said it…”

  “Let’s just stick with Russian, shall we?”

  “But of course. It’s our mother tongue.”

  The van hit a large pothole. The rear wheel sank, causing a jolt to go through Max’s back. A grunt came out of his mouth almost involuntarily. He leaned forward and said, “Stefan, you were saying about this road being beautiful?”

  Stefan grinned. “Smart-aleck. I said ‘beautiful,’ not well-kept.”

  Volkov turned on his seat. “How are you, son?”

  Max nodded. “All right, I’m all right.”

  “We’ll have a surgeon waiting at the house,” Stefan said. “He’s very good.”

  Max said, “No doubt about it.”

  He lay back onto the seat, trying to avoid resting the injured part of the shoulder against the fabric. His entire back burned with searing pain, but he wasn’t about to complain. Not in front of Stefan and Volkov. My dad. He felt awkward even thinking about who Volkov truly was. It was going to take a while to get used to the idea.

  Max shrugged. Not tonight. His eyelids weighed a ton, and he closed his eyes. He put his head against the seat rest and fell into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  Max dozed off for a few minutes while Stefan drove to his house. He took back roads and back alleys and avoided the largest intersections. When they came to Red Hook in Brooklyn, they stopped behind an abandoned warehouse and changed vehicles, switching the van for a Lexus SUV with tinted windows.

  At Stefan’s house, the surgeon had already turned one of the guest rooms into an improvised operating theatre. He worked on Volkov first, because of Max’s insistence. Volkov had only minor bruises and cuts and perhaps a fractured middle rib, as a result of being manhandled by Tupolev’s guards. The surgeon suspected that because of the bruising and swelling around the injury, as well as pain in the chest when taking a deep breath. He also thought Volkov might have internal bleeding, as the fractured rib might be pressin
g on the lungs or other organs. The surgeon gave Volkov painkillers and told him he’d have to go to the surgeon’s private medical clinic at once, for X-rays and further tests.

  Max’s condition was more straightforward, but his wounds were more difficult to treat. The surgeon cleaned and stitched the bullet wound on his left arm. The bullet had torn through flesh, but had missed the bone. The back of his calf had also been pierced through, and the bullet had sliced through two muscles of the superficial layer, the gastrocnemius and the soleus, as the surgeon called them. Max would have to avoid overexerting the leg, and take it easy for the next two to three days. Especially since grenade shrapnel had cut through the upper part of the same leg. That wound was superficial, but still had caused Max to lose a large amount of blood and had weakened him.

  Max’s shoulders and back had fared better. The surgeon concluded that Max hadn’t dislocated his shoulder or injured his back to such an extent that a surgical intervention was necessary. The grass atop the mound had cushioned Max’s fall, he had been lucky. Max wanted to attribute the almost flawless leap from the semi-truck to his training and execution, but he knew he shouldn’t be cocky.

  He sighed as the surgeon finished with the wounds, then helped him out of the room. Ava, who was standing in the hall, hurried to him. “How are you?”

  “I’ll live, right?” He smiled and tipped his head toward the surgeon.

  The man nodded his silver-haired head. “Yes, but you’ll need rest, a lot of rest. Where did my other patient go?”

  “I’m here,” Volkov said from the living room

  He stood up and checked on Max, who walked slowly through the hall. “You’ll be fine,” Volkov said and patted Max on the back.

  “And so will you.”

  “We have to go,” the surgeon said.

  “This shouldn’t take long,” Volkov said to Max. “Get some sleep now, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Max nodded. “Hope it goes well.”

  Volkov said, “Of course it will. I’m in very good hands, right?” He looked at the surgeon, then at Stefan, who was standing further back in the hall.

  “The best in the Bronx, probably in the whole of New York,” Stefan replied.

  The surgeon shrugged. “Not really, but I get the job done. Rest and get better,” he said to Max, then headed toward the door.

  Max hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward and gave Volkov a hug. It felt strange at first, but the more he held onto his father, the more he didn’t want to let go. After what seemed like a very long time, but was only a few moments, he broke the embrace. “Go now.” He cocked his head toward the door.

  “I’ll see you back here soon.” Volkov’s voice had a hint of sadness as if this was the last time that he’d see his son.

  Max watched until everyone had left and Volkov closed the door behind him, then looked at Ava. She said, “You heard the doctor. Rest time.”

  “I’m not really sleepy.”

  “I know. I could hear you snoring in the van.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  Ava smiled. “Oh, you do snore. And, at some point, you rested your head on my shoulder.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ava stepped closer to him. “Don’t be sorry. You needed to, otherwise you’d have a kink in your neck. Plus, it felt nice, having … feeling a human touch.”

  She rubbed his arm as she stood very close to him. Max felt her warm breath on his face and looked at her eyes full of desire. Ava was very beautiful, even after a long day and night of car chases and gunfighting. He leaned in for a kiss, and did not close his eyes, unafraid of the potential rejection. He knew Ava wanted him to kiss her, and he wanted it even more.

  Their lips locked in a long, passionate kiss. Ava’s hands danced across his back while he held her tight against him. He felt her body warmth against his and longed to rip her clothes off and have her. But he stopped his hands. They were in Stefan’s house, and this wasn’t the right moment. He stepped back slowly, so that Ava wouldn’t misunderstand him. “This … this isn’t what the doctor ordered…”

  “But it’s better. It will help you heal … faster.”

  Max smiled, then shook his head. “We have time. I … I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

  Ava gave him a sideways look. “Are you sure, Max?” She said his name in an inviting tone, with a playful purr.

  It took all the willpower Max could gather to say, “Yes. Let’s … let’s take things slowly.”

  “Sure.” Ava planted a quick kiss on his lips and stepped back. She looked away for a moment, then down at the floor, as she shifted her body weight from one leg to the other. She shrugged and said, “The spare room is this way…” She headed to the left and opened a door.

  The room was small, with a twin bed and a couple of closets. Ava pulled back the beige blankets, and Max sat at the edge of the bed. He placed one of the pillows against the wooden headboard and slid his body slowly toward it, but did not lie down.

  Ava said, “I thought you wanted to rest…”

  “No, not yet. Stay, I want to chat.”

  “About what just happened in the hall?” Ava sat on a chair across from the bed.

  “No, about something else that happened a long time ago. Back in Moscow, at the Sheremetyevo airport. You were there, in the black Jaguar, weren’t you?”

  Ava nodded slowly, and a frown began to spread across her face. “I’m not going to deny it. I was there. And I saw everything. In case you never found out, the AP security was called in by the banker. He wanted to escape at any cost, and he thought that was his way out. We’re not sure if someone in the SVR tipped them off, or how they were able to obtain the information about the banker’s arrival. But, there they were…”

  “Yes, and they almost killed you…”

  “Right, and you saved my life.”

  “Were you working for the GRU?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever worked for them?”

  “No.”

  “You disappeared after the shooting, and the FSB couldn’t find you. You told me you were there to observe the detainee’s transfer, but that’s not true. How were you involved with the incident?”

  Ava shrugged with a certain amount of hesitation. “I … I don’t know how much I should tell you. How about you discuss this with your father?”

  “What does he have to do with it? Is he connected to the banker?”

  “No, no, he had nothing to do with the banker.”

  “But he sent you there, didn’t he?”

  Ava sighed. “Come on, Max. Enough with these questions…”

  “No, I need to know what happened and why you disappeared.”

  “You know what happened. The banker tried to escape, but he had made some miscalculations. Your appearance brought a new, unexpected variable to his escape equation.”

  “And what was your role there? Why did Volkov send you?”

  “My assignment had me act purely as an observer.”

  “And that is why you didn’t intervene?”

  Ava nodded. “Correct. Plus, you had a good handle on the situation and didn’t need any assistance.”

  “And what if that hadn’t been the case?”

  “Then my objective would have changed. I would have made sure you weren’t hurt.”

  Max gave her a cockeyed glance. “I was hurt…”

  Ava smiled. “You got a couple of scratches, but you had everything under control at all times. Frankly, I didn’t think I needed to be there at all and … you know, babysit.”

  “Thanks for your confidence. But Volkov thought otherwise?”

  Ava shook her head. “I’ve said enough, Max. You’ll have to ask your father about that. Now, since I was at the airport, I decided to observe until the end. Once you dropped me around the office building, I stayed there, ready to intervene, if there was a need. As things turned out, that wasn’t necessary.”

  Max nodded, but held Ava’s look for
a long moment. “The FBS launched an internal investigation, which blamed me for everything that happened. I was demoted, lost everything I had invested in my job for the last three years…”

  Ava stood up and sat on the bed next to Max. She rubbed his arm, then gave him a saddened smile. “Sorry about that, but I couldn’t just show up. I had no business being at that place, at that time. My presence wouldn’t have helped you; it would have made matters worse.”

  “Probably, but you should have tried to help—”

  “Trust me, I did.” Ava sighed. “But it doesn’t always depend on me.”

  “Volkov—”

  “That’s all I have to say, Max. But let me ask you a question: How did you decide to join the FSB?”

  Max shrugged. “Nowhere else to go, I guess.”

  Ava smiled. “Come on now, Max. I’m sure it’s not that simple.”

  “It wasn’t really a conscious choice, if that’s what you’re looking for. I wasn’t someone who was told—or who decided on his own—that he was destined for great things, or who thought he could do better than others, or was more patriotic than the rest of the people.” Max sighed. “I was just a grunt, trying to eke out a living working for a bank in Moscow. My best friend Sasha—I’m sure you know about him; we’ve been friends since we were kids. We grew up together, in the same neighborhood. Then we were together at Lomonosov University—Sasha was accepted to the FSB. He knew I was in a rut, and he encouraged me to think about something different, and give the FSB a try.” Max smiled. “They accepted me.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I was, and I still am. I mean, I have a business degree, and I’ve taken some auto mechanics courses. But, what are the odds?”

  “Pretty good, I’d say. You got in, and the FSB selection is tough, Max. You must have done something great to impress them.”

  Max shrugged. “I just drive—”

  “You do more than just drive, and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Others will do that for you very well. You pick up your package and ensure that you deliver it safely. You’ve never lost anyone. You deserve to take the credit for that.”