by Ethan Jones
“You’re right.”
“Where did you learn how to drive like a maniac?”
Max smiled. “You know the answer to that…”
Ava returned the smile. “Let’s say I don’t. But even if I do, I want to hear it from you…”
“I started when I was sixteen, just to make some money on the side. I had a couple of friends, great car thieves. They could break into virtually any vehicle, no matter the brand or the year, within two minutes. But they couldn’t drive to save their lives.”
“They needed a driver.”
“And I needed the money. But not a record. So I did that for about seven months, until I got caught by the Moscow police. We were actually set up, by one of the thieves, who turned on his buddy and on me. Otherwise, I would have never gotten caught. Thankfully, I was still a minor, and this was my first time, so the judge went easy on me. My mom cried her eyes out, and that helped. I got off easy, with no record. I had to stay away from driving cars for six months.”
Ava smiled. “I’m sure you did.”
“I’m not saying anything incriminating.” Max shook his head. “But I turned my life around. Stopped driving stolen vehicles. Went to school, got my degree, found a job.”
“But you kept driving fast…”
“On weekends, amateur rallies, the occasional race, all legit.”
“Mostly legit.”
Max shrugged. “Legit is a fluid concept.”
“You’re right about that.” Ava stood up. “Now, try to get some sleep, or at least relax. Don’t fret over it. Okay?”
Max said nothing.
Ava leaned over Max and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
Max hesitated for a moment, then kissed her back.
“I’ll be in the guest room upstairs, if you need anything.”
“Good night, Ava.”
“Good night, Max.”
He looked at his arm wrapped in a gauze bandage, then his eyes moved down to his leg also covered in the white sterile casing. He sighed, and his mind went to the fateful events of that day back at the Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow. How would things have turned out had Ava intervened? Why did Volkov send her? And why didn’t he allow her to assist me when things went sideways? He shrugged and, in an instant, felt completely exhausted. The grueling events of the day had finally caught up to him. He was dead asleep before he had pulled the blanket up to his chin.
Chapter Twenty-one
The Bronx, New York City
United States of America
Max woke up because of a blaring horn that seemed to be just outside the window. He reached for his pistol under his pillow, then sat up in the bed. He listened for a moment, then stood up, trying to put very little weight on his injured left leg.
When he reached the window, he peered through the blinds. A short, Asian-looking man was arguing with a large, black cab driver. They were both in the middle of the street, next to a yellow taxi and a silver truck. It seemed the truck driver had cut in front of the taxi. Road rage?
Max lowered the pistol and slid the safety switch to the off position. He couldn’t hear the words, only muted sounds, but their argument didn’t seem to have anything to do with him or Stefan. Still, Max observed the exchange for another few moments. The fearless, tiny Asian man was in the black man’s face, gesturing at the taxi, then at the truck, and then at the black man. After a while, the black man threw both his arms in the air, shook his large head, and returned to the truck. He drove away, tires screeching as he went. The Asian man shrugged, then pulled out his phone and began to yell at someone, judging by his animated gestures.
There was a knock on the door, then Ava said, “Max, you awake?”
“Yes, come in.”
She was dressed in green jeans and a matching green t-shirt. Her blond hair was pulled in a tight, long ponytail. “What are you doing there with that gun?”
Max shrugged. “I … The ruckus woke me up, and I wasn’t sure what it was…”
“Welcome to the Bronx. Thank God it wasn’t a drive-by shooting…”
“Are you serious?”
“Very. It happens more often than you’d expect for a stable, democratic, free country…”
“There’s no such thing.”
“So why pretend, then? Why claim this place is better—no, the best country in the world, when it’s simply not true?”
Max shrugged again. “I don’t. I just got here yesterday.”
Ava nodded. “Volkov is up as well. He doesn’t sleep much.”
“And Stefan?”
“He’s making coffee.”
“I need some clothes.”
“I heard Volkov bought some. Maybe he got you something.”
“All right. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”
“You want coffee?”
“Sure.”
Five minutes later, Max joined them at the table. “What did the doc say?” he asked Volkov.
“Bruised rib, contused lung, normal stuff.”
Max scoffed. “Completely normal.”
Stefan said, “He’s seen much worse.”
“How did you sleep?” Volkov said to Max.
“Broken sleep, but I feel better.” He took a sip from the coffee mug in front of him.
“There are some clothes there.” Volkov pointed toward a chair behind them in the living room. “They should fit.”
Max looked over Volkov’s shoulder. Blue jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt, along with a couple of other clothing items. “What’s the plan now?”
Volkov said, “The police are looking all over the city for us. They know what we all look like.” He gestured at Max and Ava, who were sitting next to one another. “Security cameras at the terminal entrance, plus the clerk’s testimony.”
Stefan nodded. “So it’s getting harder to move you out of the country. And more expensive, but not impossible. It looks like I’m stuck with you for a few more days.”
Volkov said, “We’ll take this time to plan our next steps. And you need some time to recover.”
“I’m good to go right now.”
“Of course you are.” Volkov nodded. “But I’m not. I’m an old man, who might get pneumonia at any time. At least, that’s what the doctor said. And he knows what he’s talking about…”
Max shrugged, but didn’t argue. He sipped his coffee, then said, “I’m going to go change.” He stood up.
“When you come back, I’ll take you for breakfast,” Volkov said.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to go out,” Max said.
Stefan nodded. “I told your father, but he doesn’t listen.”
“The neighborhood is safe. There’s a Russian bakery a few blocks away. The owner is a good friend, from Saint Petersburg. Cops never go there, unless they want to start a war, or collect their paycheck.”
Max nodded. “I’d love a couple of vatrushkas.”
“Yes, they have buns, bagels, eggs, bacon, and, of course, desserts. Kirill will make everything for you on the spot. He’s such a great cook. Then we can talk.” Volkov’s voice turned sharper, with a sense of urgency and importance.
Max had suspected this was not just a father-son bonding time. “Sure.”
He returned to the kitchen in a matter of minutes and finished his now-cold coffee. He had already strapped his pistol to his side, but the bulge was somewhat visible underneath the sweatshirt.
Stefan pointed at the gun. “You look just like one of the neighborhood punks…”
“I’ll get you a jacket.” Volkov was already standing up. “Otherwise, someone might mistake you for a thug and shoot you.”
Ava smiled at Max. He asked her, “You want anything from the bakery?”
“No, I’m good, but thanks.”
“We’ll bring you dessert,” Volkov said. “One can never have too much dessert, not when it’s Ptichye Moloko.”
Max blinked in disbelief. “You know how long it has been since I’ve had Bird’s Milk?”
“No, but you’ll love it.”
Max thought about the dessert, a chocolate-glazed light marshmallow slice, and found himself salivating.
Volkov walked down the hall, followed by Max. At the door, they put on jackets and stepped outside. When they had just turned the corner, Volkov said, “Max, don’t break her heart.”
“What?”
“Ava. I saw how she looks at you.”
Max shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
“My eyes don’t deceive me. Ava has this tender look of affection every time she sees you. I know it. It was the same look your mother used to give to me.”
Max was caught off guard by the comparison. “Yes, we … we need to talk about her.”
“Not right now. Let’s have some breakfast and talk about what we’re going to do. Tupolev is dead, but this story is not over.”
They crossed the intersection, then Volkov led Max through a back alley. They came to a rundown, two-story building and walked around piles of debris on the pot-holed asphalt. “Doesn’t look like much, but the food is delicious,” Volkov said.
He knocked twice on a black metal door and nodded at the small dome camera mounted above the door. They waited for a few seconds, then the door opened. A young woman wearing a black leather jacket and dark pants gave them a curious glance. She rested her right hand on the door handle, while her left hand was behind her back, holding something. Max doubted it was a cooking utensil.
“Who are you looking for?” she asked in a raspy, curt voice.
“Kirill, my friend Kirill.”
“Let them in, Galina. They’re good friends,” an old man’s voice boomed from inside.
Galina took a step back and waved them in with her pistol.
Volkov walked through the dimly lit hall and found Kirill in the kitchen. He was wearing an apron stained with grease and flour and was bringing out a tray of buns from the large stove. “Volkov, I wasn’t expecting you for another half an hour or so. We’re not open yet…”
“I’m hungry, Kirill, and your vatrushkas are the best in the city.”
He shook hands with the potbellied Kirill. “What’s with the extra security?”
“A series of robberies in the area. Potheads who don’t know what they’re doing, but still dangerous. Who’s your friend?”
“His name is Max.”
Max almost expected to be introduced as Volkov’s son, but as he thought about it, Max realized it wasn’t prudent for Volkov to inform everyone about their relationship. Kirill might be a friend, but there were still boundaries in place even for friends, especially for some kind of friends.
Kirill and Max shook hands. “How are you doing, Max?”
“Very good. And you?”
“Oh, much better now that I see my good old friend … But you said you were hungry, so this way, let’s go this way.” Kirill led them to the left, through a small hall that opened into a dining area with just eight square tables. The chairs were placed on all of them and Kirill removed two of the chairs. Max and Volkov sat across from one another.
“The usual?” Kirill asked.
“Yes, but add some bits of bacon.” Volkov looked up at Max. “You like bacon, right?”
Max nodded. “Bacon is fine.”
“Bring four vatrushkas as well. And some coffee. Black.”
“Five minutes, but Galina will bring you the coffee right away. Just brewed it.”
Volkov nodded at Kirill. When he had left, Volkov looked through the small window that overlooked the back alley and a part of the intersection. A convenience store and a money mart were kitty-corner from Kirill’s bakery. They were both closed. He moved his chair closer to the table and glanced toward the kitchen. Both Kirill and Galina were beyond earshot, so Volkov said, “Once Stefan can get us out of the country, we’ll head to France. As we discussed last night, Tupolev was only the brute. We need to get to the brain behind the operation.”
“Do you have more intel on him?”
“Not yet. But I have a very good idea. I suspect he’s someone from my past, from my days in Berlin. I made a lot of enemies there. Someone is coming to exact revenge, and they’re using Tupolev as their tool.”
“When I talked to Tupolev, he said he wanted you…”
Volkov nodded. “Because of what I know, of all the years I’ve spent in the KGB. I know many, many secrets that can bury powerful men, some of whom are now heading companies or in powerful political positions…”
He let his voice trail off as Galina brought their coffees. The butt of her pistol was visible in her shoulder holster. “Nice Sig.” Volkov tipped his head toward the gun.
Galina’s face was emotionless. “Let me know if you need cream or sugar,” she said in a lackluster tone.
“We’re good,” Volkov said.
When she had returned to the counter, Volkov said, “When I met Tupolev, on his yacht, off the coast of France, he offered me five million dollars. When I refused, he asked that I reconsider, but he also told me that I was not indispensable.”
Volkov shook his head and sipped his coffee. “No, he didn’t mean he was going to kill me, not at that time, anyway. But he indicated that he could get that intel from others.”
“Other KGB agents?”
“Yes. Of course, I wasn’t the only agent stationed in Berlin or in East or West Germany. So, I started to dig deeper and narrowed it down to two potentials. Considering the specifics of the information Tupolev was after, there were only two men who could provide him those secrets. One of them is dead, so it’s unlikely that it’s the dead man.”
Max took a sip of his coffee. “Who’s the second man?”
Volkov didn’t reply right away. A glint of fury flashed in his eyes, like Max had never seen before. “His name is Georgy Azarov. He operated in Berlin and in Germany at the same time when I was there. We worked together on a number of missions. That man had the intelligence or access to the intelligence that Tupolev was seeking.”
“But does this Georgy character have the motive?”
Again, Volkov didn’t reply right away. He took another sip of coffee and said, “Well, money is always the best motivator. But, in this case, Georgy has one more reason to betray me and his country. Your mother.”
Max gave Volkov a look of confusion. “What does she have to do with this?”
“Georgy liked her a lot. But Maria … your mother … she didn’t have any feelings for him.”
“So your thinking is that Georgy is retaliating for a slight that happened over thirty years ago?”
Volkov shrugged. “I don’t know, but this was more than just a slight. Georgy took it very personally, especially since we both had to work with your mother on a regular basis. He just couldn’t handle seeing her, but not being with her. And some people, they know how to hold grudges forever.”
Max nodded. “I know what you mean. And you believe that’s what’s going on here?”
“Only one way to find out. We’ll find Georgy and ask him.” Volkov grinned when he mentioned the word “ask.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No, but knowing Tupolev, I have a very good idea. If he wanted me, he probably has Georgy.”
“Where?”
“Not sure, but most likely on his yacht. Easy to move around and hide, and almost impossible to escape.”
“Where is the yacht?”
“Somewhere off the coast of France. Tupolev didn’t like to move it much. Maybe go as far as the coast of Tortosa and Palma in Spain. But we’ll find it.”
“And you have a plan, I imagine?”
“You imagine right, but you had a few other questions. I’m assuming it’s about what happened back in Moscow, at the airport…”
Max gave Volkov a sideways glance. “Did Ava talk to you about it?”
“Maybe she did; maybe she didn’t. But it’s not difficult for me to come to that conclusion…”
“Right. So, why did you send Ava to the
airport?”
Before Volkov could reply, Galina appeared tableside with their food. The cheese-filled buns were still steaming, and the aroma filled the hall. Volkov drew in a deep breath. “Oh, this is delicious. You’ll love it.”
Max picked up the closest bun, but Volkov gave him a small headshake. “We give thanks first…”
“What?”
“We thank God for the food.”
“Really? After what we’ve done, all the people we’ve killed, the lies we’ve told?”
“We killed no one who didn’t come for our life, or who didn’t deserve it. But we still thank God for our food and our life. Since you’re new at this, let me show you…”
“Is this one of those father-son bonding moments?” Max didn’t hide the tinge of mockery creeping into his voice.
Volkov either didn’t notice, or he chose to ignore it. “Only if you want it to be.” He bowed his head and said, “Our Father in Heaven, honored be Your name. May Your Kingdom come into the hearts of everyone, especially those truly seeking You. Thank you for giving us our daily bread and saving our lives from our enemies. Yours be the glory forever. Amen.”
Max hesitated for a moment, then said in a low voice, “Amen.”
“Next time, it’s your turn.” Volkov cut into the fried eggs, which Kirill had cooked with the yolks unbroken. So they resembled two large yellow eyes, which gave the meal its name, glazunya, from glaz, meaning eye.
Max was still working on his bun. The cheese was sweet and melting against the warm, crusty bread, with a heavenly taste.
Volkov enjoyed a couple more bites, then said, “Your question, about why Ava came to Moscow? I had heard about you, and your talent, and capabilities, but I needed some personal assurances. No offence, Max, but it’s different when you’ve experienced something firsthand … And since I couldn’t be there, Ava was the next best thing.”
“Is that the whole reason?” Max said.
Volkov grinned. “I won’t hide it from you: I had some doubts. I wanted to be absolutely sure that you could do this job, and the one at the Moscow airport. I knew you could do it, but just in case things got a bit more difficult than even you could handle, Ava was there, in case you needed a hand.”
