From Russia Without Love

by Stephen Templin

  The woods became thicker and darker as he ran, and Xander disappeared until a brilliant white flash of lightning spotlighted him. The forest thinned out into a clearing where a dacha—a Russian country home—stood. Chris thought he saw Xander enter it, and he ran across the clearing and attempted to open the door, but it was locked. He kicked it open and rushed inside. As he searched the living room for Xander, he also looked for any weapons of opportunity. When he passed through the kitchen, lightning struck again, and he spotted an ax embedded in a tree stump outside.

  There’s a weapon of opportunity if I ever saw one.

  A creaking noise came from one of the rooms down the hall. Chris checked the first room but only found a bed and a dresser—the closet was empty, too. He checked the rest of the dacha, only to find that no one was home.

  Maybe the house is settling, he reasoned.

  He exited the dacha through the back door. The sound of movement in the leaves came from around the house, and Chris followed the noise. A rat. When he turned the corner of the building again, he saw the tree stump, but the ax was gone. His stomach dropped.

  A jagged streak of light descended from the sky, branching out toward the earth. Its white branches sprouted more branches, smiting a nearby tree and causing an explosion at the trunk. Chris had been under effective mortar attack before, but this lightning strike gave him pause to check if he’d pissed himself. Just then, he heard a noise behind him. He spun around to see Xander standing there wielding the ax.

  “I did not realize you were alone,” Xander said.

  Chris said nothing.

  “You do not know when to give up, do you?”

  Chris remained quiet. He hoped to grab Xander’s arm before he could swing the ax, but he swung before Chris could move in to grapple. Chris stepped back instead, the blade just missing him. Xander was too quick.

  Chris positioned himself next to a tree, and when Xander swung again, Chris stepped outside of the swing. Xander missed, and the ax imbedded itself in the trunk. Before Xander could pull the ax loose, Chris kicked him in the crotch. Xander lifted to his toes with a grunt. Then Chris swung at his enemy’s solar plexus, but Xander released his grip on the ax, leaving it in the tree, and stepped back. Chris’s punch missed. He had put so much oomph into it, though, that he overextended himself. Xander blew at Chris like a squall, exploiting his awkward positioning, and iron-fisted him in the side of the gut. Chris’s air caught, breath ceasing to come as the wind was knocked out of him.

  “Prepare to join Michael Winthrop,” Xander said.

  He punched at Chris’s head, and Chris ducked, averting the blow. But Xander’s other fist was too speedy, and the follow-up smashed Chris in the face, throwing him to the ground. It hit him with such devastating impact that he struggled to lift his body from the dirt. It rained so heavily that he didn’t know if the stream running down his face was water or blood.

  Xander retrieved the ax, his dripping hands clenched tightly around the handle. “You Americans are no match for Mother Russia. That is why you could not save Michael. You cannot even save yourself.”

  “I agree with one thing you said,” Chris said.

  Xander moved in closer with the ax. “What is that?”

  “I don’t know when to give up.” Chris scrambled to his feet, but he staggered from the cast-iron aftereffect of Xander’s punch. His body reacted slower than he intended. He didn’t know whether he was about to throw up or pass out.

  Xander’s shoulders and arms moved back, body coiled as he lifted the ax and prepared to deal the final blow. Lightning flashed. Rain poured down Xander’s face, and his eyes filled with insane rage.

  Chris needed to move out of the way, but something was wrong, as if there was a disconnect between his brain and body. And there wasn’t enough time for the effect to wear off.

  This is the end.

  Crack! Lightning struck the tree next to Xander. Then his countenance changed as if an artillery shell had struck him. In the next instant, something struck Chris, too. His skin clenched his bones. The noise was so deafening he thought his head had exploded. His body felt like it had been hit by flaming shrapnel, knocking him off his feet, and his vision whited out.

  The outline of trees appeared on a blank white canvas and the morning aquamarine of the sky seeped through. The lightning and rain had stopped. In fact, all sound was gone. Chris had lost his hearing, but he was thankful he could still see. He smacked his lips at the strange metal taste in his mouth.

  Nearby, a gray squirrel sat up on the ground, watching him with big black eyes. Then there was a faint sound of birds chirping. At first, he thought he’d imagined the sound, but it became louder, and he thanked God his hearing was returning. The air smelled fresh, and the forest was peaceful.

  Chris fought to sit up. He noticed one shoe had a hole in the sole, probably where the lightning had entered from the ground. His other shoe was missing, and there was a charred hole in the bottom of his sock. He looked around and spotted his missing shoe, crawled over to it, and noticed it had a hole in the bottom, too. The lightning had entered one foot, traveled through his body, and exited his other foot, taking his shoe off with it.

  Groggily, and without thinking, he put his shoe on. His legs were unsteady as he stood. He wobbled a little and put a hand out, leaning against the tree nearest him. Its bark seemed to be intact, confirming that the lightning current had traveled from the bottom of the tree trunk over the surface of the ground, rather than exiting the tree’s side. Then he saw the ax in the dirt and picked it up. At first, the ax felt heavy, but as his strength came back, it became lighter.

  Off to the side, Xander sat stock-still with his eyes open, as if paralyzed. His hair looked wiry, and his clothes were charred. One of his shoes and a sock were missing, and the bottom of his naked foot was fried.

  “I need an ambulance,” Xander said with a moan, battling to breathe and slurring his words. “Get me an ambulance!” He drooled out of one corner of his mouth.

  Chris’s hate for Xander bubbled inside him. Reverend Luther said hate could destroy a pastor quicker than most anything. He tried to heed the reverend’s warning and took even sips of air into his lungs. With Xander already incapacitated by the lightning strike, he wasn’t an immediate threat, he reminded himself. Killing him would be akin to cold-blooded murder, especially for a pastor. Even so, Chris was madder than hell.

  Xander seemed to read his eyes. “You cannot kill me here,” he said quietly, “not in my own country.”

  Chris had let the anger boil up until he was so full of it that all he could do now was explode. He moved into position and raised the ax high in the air.

  “You cannot do this to me,” Xander objected, “not in my own—”

  Before Xander finished, Chris brought down the ax with a mighty swing, stopping Xander midsentence. The ax split a fallen tree trunk.

  Chris’s dark side chided him for not killing Xander right then and there, but he loved God more than he hated Xander. It was a small price to pay for giving his soul to a greater good.

  28

  _______

  Chris searched Xander’s pockets and cleaned out the Azeri cash and a cheap pocketknife—probably taken from the poor passenger he killed on the cruise ship. Chris used the knife to cut some vines to use as rope, then hog-tied Xander.

  “You make one wrong move or sound, I’ll kill you,” Chris promised. And it was a promise he intended to keep. He took off Xander’s other shoe and sock, so if Xander miraculously recovered enough to make a run for it, he’d have to run in his burned bare feet. He stuffed the sock in Xander’s mouth as a gag and used the vine to tie it in place. Then Chris dragged him through the woods for several minutes, having to stop for a moment to rest, before he found his vehicle.

  Still not functioning at one-hundred-percent strength, Chris strained to hoist Xander into the vehicle. Then he crawled into the driver’s side and started the engine. There would be trouble waiting for him to the so
uth, near the Russian supply port where he and Xander had jumped ship and stolen the vehicles, so he drove to the nearest port and absconded with a boat, tarp, and two containers of fuel. He covered Xander with the tarp and cast off.

  After motoring south on the Caspian Sea for a while, he was alone on the water with his prisoner. He uncovered Xander, who remained quiet and motionless. Xander had his eyes open, squinting at the sunlight, but he was still alive. The vines remained tied tightly. Chris undid the gag and let Xander breathe freely.

  Chris observed him. “Did you think it would end like this?”

  “I was fulfilling destiny,” Xander said, slurring his words, spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth.

  “So was I.”

  “I am KGB.”

  “FSB,” Chris said.

  “Whether I am called KGB or FSB, I am still alive and thriving,” Xander said.

  “It’s true that you’re alive, but I wouldn’t call your present situation thriving.”

  “Everything I did, I did for my country. You should understand that.”

  “Maybe that was true for you at one time. It was true for me at one time. Immediately after 9-11, everything I did, I did for my country. But after a while, everything I did, I did for my Teammates. My guess is that now everything you do, you do for yourself.”

  Xander said nothing.

  “Did you ever try to be anything different?” Chris asked.

  Xander groaned. “I have. More than once. This is all I know how to do. This is all I want to do.”

  Chris shook his head. “It doesn’t sound like you tried very hard, then. And now your days as a spook are over. Your body is so paralyzed you can hardly speak without slurring your words and spitting on yourself. You are something different. A prisoner.”

  The skin around Xander’s eyes drooped as if under a tremendous burden.

  “And now you have no protégé to carry on your legacy,” Chris said.

  Xander’s voice shook as he spoke. “You have no idea how hard I searched for him. And you cannot comprehend the investment of time, the laser focus, and Herculean efforts I made to polish him.”

  “You speak of Animus as if he was a tool.”

  “He was. A very valuable tool… You and I are not so very different. We both devote our lives to creating valuable tools.”

  “Don’t confuse your life with mine.”

  “As long as I live, I will remember you, and one day I will make you pay.”

  Chris thought for a moment. “You’ll have to take a number and stand in line.”

  Xander gave an odd stare as if he didn’t understand.

  Chris spotted a vessel up ahead in the distance. He turned to Xander. “Babushki bayu.” He gagged Xander with his sock again and covered him with the tarp.

  Chris kept composed and didn’t try to hide. On the boat was a net and a man who wore what looked like a wetsuit overall. He neared Chris’s vessel, so Chris waved at him and cruised past.

  He sailed until the gas tank ran dry, and he used one of the cans to refuel. Then he continued until the sun surrendered to the evening, and he arrived in Baku. There, he broke into a car, locked Xander in the trunk, hot-wired the ignition, and drove to the Agency jet at Heydar Aliyev International Airport. Chris was so exhausted and weakened he feared he might lose consciousness at any moment. He parked the car and stepped out. Hannah and Sonny must have seen him approach the tarmac because they met him on the stairs.

  Hannah was the first to join him, and they greeted each other with a hug. Her eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m alive,” he said. “Xander is in the trunk.”

  Her face lit up like she’d been given a brightly wrapped birthday present.

  “You’re shitting me,” Sonny said.

  Chris barely had the energy to shrug. “See for yourself.”

  Sonny pushed past Chris and Hannah, skipping steps as he raced to the bottom. He reached the vehicle, opened the driver’s side, popped opened the trunk, and hurried to the rear to peek inside. “Hot damn!”

  When Hannah took her turn to look inside the trunk, she let out a whoop and high-fived Sonny. They wasted no time in dragging Xander out and dumping him on the tarmac. There, they searched him. When they picked him up to his feet, he fell.

  “What did you do to him?” Sonny asked. “Looks like you stuck him in a bathtub full of electric eels. Holy shit. Dude can’t even stand up.”

  Chris couldn’t see Xander’s face from his perspective, but he imagined Xander with slobber on his chin and a scared look in his eyes. He wanted to help them carry Xander onboard the jet, but he barely had enough strength to carry himself, so he boarded the plane and took a seat.

  After Hannah and Sonny brought Xander aboard, Hannah told the pilot to go wheels up and take them to Langley.

  While the pilot made preparations for flight, Hannah and Sonny checked out the homemade vine ties Chris had used on Xander and the dirty sock in his mouth. “You totally went primitive,” Sonny said with glee. “I love it.”

  But they cuffed Xander to the plane, anyway, and put sensory deprivation headphones, blinders, and a black hood on him. Sonny volunteered to take the first watch over their prisoner.

  Hannah returned to Chris and sat beside him. “You look like you’ve been shot out of a cannon.”

  “I feel like it,” he admitted.

  “Do you need medical attention?”

  “Just some rest. Feels good to sit in a cushioned chair.” He paused a moment. “How is Mikhail?”

  “He’s out of critical condition, but he’s undergoing surgery again,” Hannah said. “He’s got some tough bark on him, though, so we think he’ll be okay.”

  Sonny had a bag of nuts and munched on them like a damn squirrel at a movie theater while he watched Xander. Chris let out a soft chuckle, then met Hannah’s eyes, his expression serious. “Did the Azeri Coast Guard mistreat you?”

  “We had a cell to ourselves, and they were professional about it,” she said. “The Agency bailed us out pretty quickly. It was no big deal. But don’t worry about that now. We’ll do the full debrief when we return to Langley.”

  He smiled. Being with her lifted his spirits. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “I want to hear all about how you captured him, but you look like you could use some rest.”

  Chris smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

  “I have to make a couple calls,” she said before giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze and leaving him.

  Chris savored the catlike grace in her stride as she made her way to the cockpit. He closed his eyes, keeping her in his thoughts. At Harvard, he’d read the writer-philosopher Elbert Hubbard who said, A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you. Hannah knew more about Chris than he knew about her, but he hoped in time the scales would balance.

  The plane’s hull rumbled beneath him and an unseen weight pressed his body back into the seat. He opened his eyes and continued to feel the heaviness against the front of his chest as the jet accelerated and lifted off the runway. Baku’s city lights became smaller and smaller and were eventually extinguished by the clouds. Soon, the weight melted off his body, and the plane reached cruising altitude.

  Hannah returned from the cockpit, and Chris fluttered his eyelids open. She reclined his seat back before she sat next to him and reclined hers, and the cabin lights dimmed. He closed his eyes again, and just before he fell asleep he felt the softness of her hand on his.

  And in the realm between reality and dreams, he thought he heard Sonny’s voice. “Bubkes.”

  Chris, Hannah, & Sonny will return

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  GLOSSARY

  Agency: Central Intelligence Agency.

  AK: Abbreviated form of AK-47 and its variant
s.

  AK-47: Contraction of Russian, Automat Kalashnikova abraztsa 1947 goda (Kalishnikov’s 1947 automatic rifle). Holds thirty rounds of .308 (7.62 × 39 mm) ammunition.

  Azeri: Shortened word for Azerbaijani people or the Azerbaijani language.

  Blowout kit: Slang for first aid kit.

  BUD/S training: Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. Where all prospective SEALs must begin training, located in Coronado, California.

  Bug-out bag: A three-day survival kit kept handy in the event of having to suddenly evacuate, or bug out.

  Bubkes: Yiddish word meaning nothing, having no value.

  Circus: Slang for MI6.

  Comms: Communications devices.

  Delta Force: US Army’s Special Forces Operational Detachment—Delta. Has used cover name of Combat Applications Group (CAG) and Army Compartmented Elements (ACE), but its men simply refer to it as “the Unit.” Recruits mostly from top-performing Army Rangers and Green Berets. Similar to SEAL Team Six, Delta Force is the Army’s Tier One unit that conducts counterinsurgency and counterterrorism operations. For the most sensitive operations, they also work under the CIA’s umbrella of Special Operations Group (SOG).

  DEVGRU: Development Group, one of the cover names for SEAL Team Six.

  E&E: Escape and Evasion. For each mission, SEALs make an E&E plan for what to do when they can’t make it to the extraction. They also carry a small kit to help them escape and evade the enemy.

  Federal Security Service: The Federal’naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti (FSB), Russia’s version of the CIA. Formerly part of the KGB. FSB headquarters is in the Lubyanka building, northeast of Red Square, in Moscow.

  FSB: See Federal Security Service.

  Gulag: Originally a Russian acronym for Glavnoye Upravleniye Lagery, literally translated as the “Main Camp Administration,” the government agency in charge of Stalin’s forced labor camps. Although they imprisoned criminals, they also functioned to suppress opposition to Stalin.

  KGB: Russian acronym for Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, directly translated as Committee for State Security. From 1954 to the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991, the KGB served as part of the Soviet Union’s military, acting as secret police within the country and spies abroad. Following the end of the Soviet Union, the KGB was divided into the Federal Security Service and Foreign Intelligence Service.