by Ethan Jones
“Who is that politician?” Volkov asked.
“I never learned that. But I know who the agent selling Tupolev KGB-era secrets is.”
A dark shadow fell across Volkov’s face. “Don’t tell me it’s—”
“Yes, it’s Zlobin, Matvei Zlobin.”
“It can’t be. You’re lying; you’re trying to trick me.”
Georgy’s face remained unchanged. “I’m not lying to you, Volkov,” he said in a calm voice.
“How can that be? Zlobin died. We shot him. Both of us.”
“Yes, well, I saw him the last night I left East Berlin. He was very much alive.”
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
“I tried. I opened fire, I gave it all I had … But I couldn’t stop him. And I … I wasn’t alone.”
Volkov shook his head. “You’re making all this up, to shift the blame from you to a ghost.”
Georgy grinned. “Volkov, I know you’re a difficult man to convince. So I have the evidence, because I suspected this day was coming. Zlobin is alive. I don’t know where he is now, but I have the evidence he didn’t die in Berlin.” Georgy nodded, his voice rising with excitement. “I knew what happened in Berlin would come to haunt me. So I kept track and saved whatever I could. Files. Documents. His birth certificate.” Georgy looked at Max. “Maria’s death records. And … perhaps more importantly, I know who the CIA rogue agent is.”
Volkov groaned. “A snake like you would say anything to save his life…”
“Why don’t we look at it before we decide?” Max said.
“You don’t know this man like I do. You can’t believe much of what he says.”
“I don’t want to believe.” Max shook his head. “I want to know. I want to see the proof, whatever he has stashed away all these years. What he did in Berlin for me … and my mom…”
Ava said, “We should go. Now. Before the French coast guard arrive…”
Volkov shook his head and lowered his weapon. “You should thank my son. He has a soft heart. If it were up to me, you’d spill your guts in the next five minutes, then become a shark snack…”
Georgy grinned. “There are no sharks in the Mediterranean…”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Ava said. “Even if it were so, barracuda bites wouldn’t tickle…”
She untied Georgy’s hands and hauled him to his feet. “Thank you,” he said to her, then looked at Max. “Thank you. You made the right choice.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” Max said.
Ava said, “Take him. I’ll search the cabins for anything useful. Laptops, phones, something that can result in intel. Won’t take long.”
The spearman was already halfway down the length of the yacht. He started the speedboat and turned it around, then helped Volkov and Max hoist Georgy onto the speedboat. His weak, injured legs could barely sustain the weight of his frail body.
Max counted the seconds while they waited for Ava. He searched the horizon for any lights from the coast guard or other boats that might be approaching the yacht. He saw nothing, but he couldn’t sit still.
At the five-minute point, Ava appeared at the platform. She jumped on the speedboat and shouted at the spearman, “Go, go, go! We only have a minute!”
“You always like to cut things short,” Volkov said.
She had set a few explosive charges throughout the yacht.
When she dropped onto the seat next to Max at the stern of the speedboat, he leaned closer and snuck in a quick kiss. “That was great back there.”
Ava nodded. “You weren’t bad yourself either. There might be more than just a talent for driving in there.” She tapped him playfully in the chest.
Max smiled at her. “You’ve seen me before in action.”
“I have, but not like this. You’ve outdone yourself.”
Max thought about Volkov’s words about not breaking Ava’s heart. She’s in love. In love with me. He smiled again, then held her close. He tried to enjoy the moment as the speedboat shot across the choppy seas, flying from the crest of one wave to the next. But his mind went to Georgy’s words, what he had said about Max and his mother. How much of that is true? He shrugged. We’ll find out soon enough.
He glanced as the explosive charges went off, all at the same time. The yacht blew up into a million pieces, the fiery fragments resembling endless bursts of fireworks.
Ava leaned in for another kiss, and Max held her close to his chest.
Rendezvous Hotel, Cannes
Southern France
Two Days Later
The sitting area of the hotel suite was small, but cozy. Max held in his hands his birth certificate, yellowed with time, torn at the folded creases and fragile to the touch. He read it yet again, still incredulous at the truth, although it was right in front of his eyes. Stenciled in black, yet faded, ink, almost illegible, in German, but still clear enough to have a significant meaning—his birth certificate, with the date and year of birth and the location, West Berlin. Georgy’s man had delivered the document about an hour ago, as a sign of goodwill and to prove that he was not lying. In exchange for his freedom, Georgy would hand over to Max the records of his mother’s death, along with the name of the rogue CIA agent.
Volkov, who was sitting on the couch across from Max, cleared his throat to get Max’s attention. When he looked up, Volkov said, “What do you think?”
“Had you seen this before?” He waved the document at him.
“No. When I was able to get to you, it was three weeks later. You were in a house in Stahnsdorf, about twenty miles south of Berlin, in the care of a local asset, a Russian woman. She told me someone had dropped you off, and I assumed it was someone Maria trusted to take care of you in case … it happened, what did happen … I inquired about the documents, but she had none. I looked to find the hospital, or the clinic where you were born, but no one knew. I had to take you and disappear, so my search ended at that point.” He shrugged. “To me, paperwork didn’t really matter, since I had you … That’s all I needed.”
Max nodded. “So, is it safe to assume this is genuine?”
“For now. I’ll have it examined to make sure it’s not a forgery, but I don’t think so. Georgy wouldn’t play that trick on us. But it will have to wait until we return to Moscow.”
Max sighed. “Yes, Moscow. There’s a lot to do when we get there.”
“Have you heard from your boss, Yezhov, at the FSB?”
“No. I’ve stayed away from email. Considering what happened with the GRU and the SVR operatives, I can look forward only to trouble when we go back home.”
Volkov gave him a warm look. “Nothing of that sort will happen to you. Now that we have Georgy and the intelligence he’ll give us, any official inquiry will clear you of any wrongdoing. You were acting in self-defense, for the most part, or to protect me, the ‘package.’” He smiled.
“Not when we went after Tupolev, twice.”
“That was in the heat of the moment. Again, you were trying to recover the detainee. That’s part of your job. What were you supposed to do, call reinforcements? The people who tried twice to kill you?”
Max nodded. He glanced out the window at the periwinkle Mediterranean Sea stretching for miles. He wished he could be out there, going for a long stroll, holding Ava’s hand. But they had to keep a low profile. Ava was staying at a different hotel, again so as to not draw attention. Volkov had asked for the team to split up, but Max did not want to leave his new-found father. Max said, “I’ve been in the path of Yezhov’s wrath. Not pleasant. Then, there will be the mess of Internal Investigations.” Max shook his head. “There’s this character, Director Izhutin. He’s the worst … He’ll probably recommend my dismissal from the FSB.”
“We won’t let that happen.” Volkov’s voice turned firm and resolute.
Max thought about the compromising intelligence he had received from the CIA about Izhutin. If Max decided to use it, the result would be uncertain. A cornered animal, I
zhutin, might deal a deadly blow to Max, or his family. He thought of his adoptive mother and Arkady, his younger brother, who was going to turn eighteen the next month. Volkov might know what to do with that intel. He shrugged and shook his head. No, I still don’t know if the compromising information is real, or who that “friend” in the CIA is. Volkov might overreact.
“What is it?” Volkov asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
Volkov grinned. “Don’t overthink it. Some things are quite clear.”
“Like what?”
“We’ll have to take care of both Captain Kasparova and Director Blokhin personally, unofficially, and permanently.”
“How will we do that? We have no way of knowing who betrayed me, and I doubt we’ll find out…”
“There’s always a way.”
Max shook his head. “Without torture.”
“Now, you’re taking away most of the fun…”
“We can’t be sure it’s true if we torture them…”
“There’s a way around it, but if you want no torture, I respect that.”
“What’s the other way?”
“King Solomon’s way.”
“I don’t think I know it.”
“In the Bible, Old Testament, there’s this story of Solomon. A beautiful story, and I’m doing it no justice by retelling it and cutting it short.” Volkov sat back on the couch. “Anyhow, two women come before the king, claiming they both are mothers to the same child. The king doesn’t know which one to trust. So he comes up with a genius idea.”
Max nodded. “Oh, that story. Cut the baby in half.”
“Right. King Solomon asks for a sword, to test them. Of course, he’s not going to chop the baby in half. Far from it, he wants to know which one loves the baby; that’s the mother.”
Max thought about it for a brief moment. “I don’t get it: How does this apply to Captain Kasparova and Director Blokhin?”
Volkov grinned. “You’ll see. You’ll be there.”
Max didn’t like the suspense but knew better than to argue with his father. “What will you do about the charges of treason?”
Volkov waved a dismissive hand. “Those lowlifes, they can’t do anything about it. They’re just simple cogs of the complicated state machine. I will have to find out who gave the order.”
“The lowlifes might be able to tell us.”
“I doubt it. But I know some people; I’ll pull some strings. I’ll find out who put me in the crosshairs, and make them regret the decision,” he said in a stern voice.
“What will you do when Georgy gives you my mother’s death records?”
“That will depend on what they show. If she didn’t die in childbirth…” His voice trailed off.
“Then what?”
“Whoever caused her death; they’ll pay for it.” His voice turned low and cold, ice-cold.
Max shivered as if the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees. “I doubt they’re still alive.”
“We’ll see. Even if they’re dead, they have relatives, families, loved ones…”
“You wouldn’t go after them, would you? Hunting innocent ones?”
“Like I said, we’ll see.” This time, Volkov’s voice rang curt, but kept the earlier determination.
“And what about the rogue agent?”
“The CIA agent?”
“Yes.”
“If the story checks out, the CIA might be interested to know about that…”
“Would you tell them?”
“You mean to ask if I’d exchange intel with the CIA? Of course I would. If they want what I have, I’m more than willing to trade. One day, I might need something … It’s always good to have a friend in the CIA.”
Max gave Volkov a sideways glance. He emphasized the word “friend” perhaps a little more than necessary given the context. Max flinched as a crazy thought zipped through his mind while he connected the dots. The friend … The mutual friend in the CIA … Could that … Is that Volkov?
Volkov’s eyes held a defiant glance as if he was daring Max to ask the burning question. He hesitated for another split second, then said, “It was you. The ‘friend’ who gave the CIA the compromising material on Izhutin. That was you, right?”
Volkov held Max’s gaze. “Say it with conviction.”
“I am saying it—”
“No, you’re asking me. But you know the truth.”
“It was you.”
“It was me. I was looking out for you. Besides, I wanted to see how honorable you’d be.”
“You know I haven’t called the number. I don’t want to get back at Izhutin in that way.”
Volkov nodded. “I know, son, I know … You’re a much better soul than I’ll ever be. But you’ve got to learn that sometimes there’s no other way. You’ll have to choose, or let them make the choice. They have only three options: bribes, blackmail, or bullets.”
“Is there no other way?”
“Not really. Izhutin isn’t going to become your friend, or have compassion, mercy. You know the FSB is not a charity—”
“I know that.”
Volkov nodded.
Max thought about his next question, but Volkov said, “I can handle Izhutin if you—”
“No, that wouldn’t be necessary. Once you’ve explained to me Solomon’s way, I’ll take care of both the captain and the director.” Max’s voice came out louder and stronger than he had anticipated.
“That’s my boy.” Volkov grinned and nodded. “That’s my boy. Then, we still have the unresolved matter of Zlobin and this phantom of a politician pulling the strings … Things will get busy when we return to Moscow…”
Max nodded. “I can hardly wait.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Somewhere in Southwest Russia
Three Days Later
It had been extremely difficult for Volkov to find the team a safe way to return to Russia. He was wanted as a traitor and Max as a rogue agent who had killed the members of his own team. However, Volkov had been able to pull it off. Whether it was bribes or blackmail, Max didn’t know.
He didn’t want to know.
They went through the Bobrowniki Border Crossing between Poland and Belarus without any issues. Officials checked their passports and waved them through. A dark gray Audi was waiting for them in the parking lot. Max found the keys in the console between the seats and drove the four-hour trip to Minsk, the capital of Belarus, where they stopped for lunch. When they restarted their journey, Ava offered to take the wheel, but Max declined her offer. It was a bright sunny day, the car was an old model, but in great shape, and he missed driving.
His wounds were healing well, but once in a while pain shot through the left arm and up his shoulder. Volkov’s recovery was also going according to the doctor’s best-case scenario. His rib was not fractured, but only bruised, and there had been no internal bleeding. I probably get the endurance and a lot of my other traits from him. Max wondered what life would be like after all of this was over. Will things go back to how they were before the airport incident? Do I want things to go back to what they were?
When they came to the border with Russia, Max tensed up. This would be the most difficult moment of the entire journey and the true test of Volkov’s contacts. The border guards studied the team’s passports, but, as Volkov had assured them, they didn’t check the Audi. Even if they did, there was nothing illegal or contraband in the vehicle. But that was the signal that everything was all right. If one of the guards insisted on searching the Audi, the team knew they’d have to escape by using any means necessary.
Still, Max kept glancing over his shoulder until they passed through the village of Krasnaya Gorka, about a mile and a half from the border. Then he became more relaxed, feeling good about being home again. Although there was still a lot they’d have to do, he felt confident they were on the right track.
When they had driven for about fifteen minutes, Volkov decided it was time for him to
start making calls. Although he was using burner phones, he was extremely careful, considering the people from whom he was asking favors and especially the opposition.
The first call connected him to an old friend from the KGB times. Volkov hadn’t told the name to Max, but the implication was that the man belonged to the powerful echelon of political powers in Russia. Volkov had called the man from France, when he had asked for the first favor: the name of whoever had given the order branding Volkov as a traitor and had attempted to frame him for the assassinations of GRU agents in the United States. That had been the catalyst of the entire witch-hunt against Volkov.
Now, Volkov informed “the ghost”—as Max decided to nickname him—that a certain Matvei Zlobin was rumored to be still alive, and that Volkov needed some evidence on whether this was true. Volkov had reviewed the documents obtained from Georgy, and they appeared to be genuine. A few of the pictures were grainy, since they were taken from a long distance. Zlobin looked different, and Volkov suspected it was not only because of his age. Some of his facial features had changed, as if a surgeon had worked his scalpel magic on Zlobin’s face. But his piercing eyes had remained, although they were now smaller and blue, rather than gray, as Volkov remembered them.
He knew for a fact that many former operatives of the East Germany security agency had undergone plastic surgery to increase their chances of fading into the safety of obscurity. For a brief time, Volkov himself had considered such an option and had contacted a couple of surgeons in Berlin and Vienna. But he had never taken the step, which had become unnecessary since Volkov had returned to active service after being called back to Moscow.
The man at the other end of the line agreed to examine the pictures along with the copies of passports that Zlobin had allegedly used during his visits to the United States, Canada, and Portugal. According to Georgy’s intelligence, Zlobin’s last known location was Lisbon, the capital of Portugal. That’s where the ghost’s men were going to start their search.
