Sentinel

by Matthew Dunn

  There was silence for a moment before Markov said, “Not sure.”

  A thought suddenly entered Will’s mind. “What time does Moscow’s subway system open in the morning?”

  “Five twenty.” Markov went silent for two seconds. “Shit! He was waiting for the system to open. Tverskaya and Chekhovskaya stations are on the road he’s headed toward.”

  Will was now at full sprint, running across snow-covered pavement, between parked cars, and along the center of the street. “Are they interlinked?”

  “Yes. Between them, there are three lines through the complex, giving six possible directions.”

  Will grabbed his throat mic. “Korina, drive one mile north. Wait there. Vitali, Laith: get to any station east of me. Park there and await updates. The rest of us will follow him in on foot.”

  Will reached the main road and saw his colleagues sprinting right, then crossing the route. The target was ahead of them, running fast.

  “He’s gone into the Chekhovskaya entrance.” Roger was only fifty feet behind the sailor.

  Will called, “Markov, do these comms systems work under-

  ground?”

  “Most of the time.”

  Will’s stomach tightened. “We’ll have to hope they do. I’m taking the Tverskaya entrance. Keep talking to me inside.”

  He ran into the subway station. Aside from one official, it was empty. Grabbing some notes of rubles from his pocket, he approached a ticket machine, bought a one-day pass, cursed the few seconds he had lost, and sprinted to the barriers. “Which line?”

  “Don’t know. We’re following him further into the station, but he’s not yet committed to a platform.”

  Will moved through the barrier and along a corridor; then he paused by a map of Moscow’s subway system and memorized the names and locations of the other stations in the vicinity. He saw that only the green line traveled through Tverskaya, although he could access Cherhovskaya and its other two lines from within the complex. He moved forward, desperate not to lose communication with Markov and Roger.

  Markov’s voice came into his earpiece, speaking in a slow, deliberate manner. “He’s going to take the purple line, heading east.”

  “Damn!” Will searched for signs to Cherhovskaya.

  “No, wait.” Markov’s voice grew quieter but was clear. “We’ve got seven minutes before our train arrives. Check what time the next green line train heads south.”

  Will ran to the platform and saw that a train was due to arrive in less than one minute. He relayed this to Markov.

  “Good. If you take that train, change at the next stop at Okhotny Ryad, and then head north on the orange line, you can be at our next stop at Lubyanka before we get there. If the target gets off at that station, you’ll be ahead of him, and we can drop out of sight.”

  As Will stood on the deserted platform, watching his train emerge from a dark tunnel and come toward him, he said, “Provided my connections are swift.”

  Roger spoke. “It’s a risk, but I think my friend’s right. Taras could have us running around all day as long as we’re stuck like glue to the target. Maybe we should gift him a deliberate mistake.”

  The train drew nearer. Will desperately tried to decide what to do. By getting onto the train, he could be rendering himself useless to his surveillance team. Or, if the risk paid off, he could take up point in a way that would make the target think he had lost his current two followers. The train slowed and stopped, and its doors opened. Will sighed and stepped forward. “I’m getting on the train.”

  Three men were in the carriage. They looked to be in their late twenties, had shaven heads, were brawny, and carried bottles of liquor. They eyed him from the end of the carriage. Will lowered his head to avoid eye contact with the drunken group and remained standing by the doors. “I’m moving south. Mobile units, can you hear me?”

  The line crackled for a moment before Korina said, “Yes, William. I’m stationary near Belorusskaya subway station, north of you.”

  Over static, Vitali said, “Laith and I are northeast of your location, outside Chistiye Prudy station. We’re not going anywhere until you tell us where.”

  The train rattled as it continued its journey. Will tried to imagine where Razin was waiting within Moscow. He wondered if Razin might not even be in one of the other carriages on this train or on the train containing Markov, Roger, and the target. Or maybe he was now watching Korina or Vitali and Laith, readying himself to walk up to their vehicles and use a knife to gut the occupants.

  The train stopped at Okhotny Ryad. He stepped out of the carriage and began walking. So did the three men. They were laughing.

  Roger spoke, but his words were distorted.

  “Say again.” Will held his throat mic. “You broke up.”

  This time the words were clear. “Three minutes until we depart.”

  Will followed signs for the orange line, walking quickly along a brightly illuminated tunnel. He heard the sound of glass smashing behind him. The drunken men laughed again.

  “Two minutes until we leave.”

  Will walked out of the tunnel and onto the orange line platform. Looking at the electronic timetable above him, he saw that his train was due to arrive in one minute. Checking his watch, he said, “It’s going to be very tight.”

  The three men emerged onto the platform. They were looking at him. One of them called out in Russian; his words were slurred. Will shook his head, walking away from them until he was farther down the platform. He heard the noise of his train, and soon it was thundering alongside the platform, its bright interior and exterior lights causing him to wince. When the doors opened, he walked into the carriage.

  Markov spoke, although it was impossible to understand what he said. Will was about to respond but stopped as the three men jumped into the same carriage he was in. They looked at him, grinning. Two of them took swigs from their liquor bottles. The third held his by the neck. It had been smashed in half and was nothing but jagged edges at one end.

  Will pushed his throat mic flush against his skin, and said in a near whisper, “Not sure if you can hear me. I’m on the orange line.”

  The train pulled away. Will moved farther down the carriage. The men took several steps nearer to him, until they were only a few feet away. One of them took another big slug of spirit, then spat the liquid at Will. Will shook his head again, moving farther away from them until he was at the end of the carriage.

  “Our train’s arrived, we’re—” The voice was Markov’s but was replaced by a crackling noise.

  Will said loudly, “Say again.”

  The Russian men heard his words. The largest of the three big men muttered, “American?”

  The men’s grins vanished, replaced by looks of hostility.

  Will said nothing.

  The Russian holding the broken bottle pointed its deadly shards toward Will’s head, while nodding. “American.”

  Will momentarily closed his eyes and silently cursed. He had no idea how long the journey to Lubyanka would be, but he thought it would be only a minute or two before he arrived there. Under no circumstances could he be delayed. He smelled bad breath and alcohol. Something sharp touched his cheek. Opening his eyes, he saw that the men were right by him. The largest held his makeshift weapon against Will’s face.

  Will smiled. Quickly, he swept his arm to knock the bottle away, stepped forward, and punched the flat of his hand into the man’s nose, crumpling it into a bloody mess and sending the man staggering back, clutching his face and screaming. Will dropped low as the two other men tried to punch him in the head. Using the heel of his shoe, he kicked one of them in the base of his knee, thrust sideways and upward, and used the power of the movement to smash his elbow into the other man’s jawbone. Both men fell to the floor. The big man with the broken nose shook his head, pulled his hands away from his blood-covered face, bellowed, and rushed toward Will. Will took one step to the side, moved low, and swung his fist upward into the man
’s gut as the Russian raced forward. The force of the impact lifted the man’s entire body weight off the floor and caused him to vomit the liquor and all other contents from his stomach.

  Will looked at the three men writhing on the ground by his feet, then walked quickly over them to the train’s doors. The train was slowing. Into his mic, he said, “I’m approaching Lubyanka station.”

  Roger answered in a clear voice, “Keep sharp. We’ve no idea what the target’s doing. He’s sitting at the end of our carriage, looking at us with a grin on his face.”

  “Which carriage are you in?”

  “Second from the front.”

  Will’s train stopped. He ran out of the carriage and along the platform’s exit, searching for signs of the purple line. As he did so he said, “Vitali, get your car to Kitai-Gorod station in case the target stays on this line. Korina, move further east in case the target switches lines and goes north.”

  They both replied, “Understood.”

  Will reached the purple line platform. A few other people were there, and most looked like early-morning commuters on their way to work. Will was glad of their presence, as they would give him some cover. He moved to the far end of the platform so that he would be by the back of the train when it arrived, away from Roger, Markov, and the target.

  Markov said, “We’re slowing down, approaching Lubyanka.”

  “I can hear your train.” Will looked along the platform. Some more commuters emerged onto it and joined the others, who were now moving closer toward the incoming train. “What’s the target doing?”

  “Still sitting, but close to the doors.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re both in seats, far enough away from the exits to lose him if he bolts as the doors shut.”

  “Good.”

  The train emerged and slowed as it traveled alongside the platform. Grinding to a halt, the train’s doors opened. No one got out. Everyone on the platform started walking in. Will started moving with them, staying close behind the couple in front of him.

  Roger’s words were quiet and controlled. “He’s still sitting, looking at the doors . . . we’ve just received the signal we’re about to depart . . . doors are closing . . . he still sits . . . now he’s up and running. He’s moving out of the train!”

  Will looked rapidly along the platform. At the other end he saw the sailor sprint out of the train just as the doors closed behind him. In the same carriage, Roger and Markov were now standing, their palms pressed against the window nearest to the platform while they shook their heads and stared at the target. Their playacting seemed to work. As the train began to pull away from the platform, the sailor turned, smiled, and raised a finger at them before spinning back and continuing to run. He had not seen Will.

  Will said, “Roger, Markov: your next station is Kitai-Gorod. Get out of the subway there.” He moved along a corridor until he was heading toward the station exit. The target was walking fast and had his cell phone planted on his ear; he was clearly receiving new instructions from Razin.

  Will followed him through the exit barriers, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the daylight outside the station. The snow was heavy, the air was freezing, people and cars were on the streets. Keeping a distance of 150 feet behind the sailor, Will matched his pace as he walked along a sidewalk. After thirty seconds, the target stopped, kept his phone against his head for a moment, then snapped it shut and put it into a pocket. Will waited. The sailor looked around, but not back at Will. Beside the man was the Lubyanka building. It was the current headquarters of the Border Guard Service, and it also contained one directorate of the FSB. But during the era of the Soviet Union it had been a notorious prison for political dissidents and spies. It was the place where Sentinel had been incarcerated and tortured for six years.

  The target was about to walk across the road but stepped back as fourteen military trucks quickly turned onto the route. Pedestrians and cars stopped on the road to give way to the convoy. As it thundered past them and the target, spewing up snow from the road, Will quickly glanced at the military vehicles. They were stuffed with armed paratroopers wearing sky blue berets. As the last truck passed Will, he saw that one of the soldiers at the back of the vehicle looked familiar. In an instant, he recognized him as the young soldier who had been unable to assemble his rifle during the flight to Moscow. The man was looking not at him but at the weapon Roger had expertly assembled for him.

  The target crossed the road. So did Will.

  Will spoke into his throat mic, “We’re heading southeast.”

  “You’re heading toward our position outside Kitai-Gorod.” Vitali’s voice was clear.

  “And us.” Roger sounded as though he was walking fast or jogging. “We’re just about to exit the same station.”

  Will nodded. “Roger: you and Markov are compromised so can’t be seen on foot. Take over Vitali’s vehicle and head a few hundred yards further south. Then wait there.”

  Markov answered, “We’ll go to Nikol’skiy Pereulok.”

  “Okay. Vitali, Laith: get on foot and stay outside the station. Korina, the target might be heading for the river. Get mobile, and see if you can find somewhere there or near there to wait.”

  After another minute of pursuing the target, Will saw the subway station. He examined all the pedestrians near it and spotted Laith standing to the left of the entrance and Vitali about thirty feet away from him. “I can see you both. If the target goes into the station, I’ll drop back to allow you to take point but will follow you in. If he doesn’t go in, take point and I’ll go ahead of you all.”

  Vitali and Laith shifted position. Neither man spoke.

  The sailor walked up to the station and stopped suddenly. He was right next to Laith. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his cell phone and listened to it. Will watched him, motionless. The target closed his phone and kept walking, passing the entrance and continuing down the street. Laith walked behind him; Vitali moved to the other side of the road to follow him. Will waited where he was for a few moments, then walked quickly across the road. He moved into another street before turning left onto a road that ran parallel to the route containing the target. Now that he was out of sight of the sailor, he broke into a jog, dodging pedestrians on the ice- and snow-covered sidewalk. As he ran, he passed a stationary vehicle. Inside it were Roger and Markov.

  Vitali said, “He’s still walking, same pace.”

  Will replied, “I must be ahead of you by now. Let me know if he deviates from the road.” He reached the end of the route, broke left, and continued forward until he was back on the same street as the target. He stopped. “I’m at the end of the road.”

  Laith said, “We’re halfway along it.”

  Will started walking away from the team behind him.

  “Target’s increasing pace.” Vitali’s voice was quiet. “William, I can see you, and we’re getting closer to your location. Increase speed.”

  Will did so.

  “Target moves through crossroads, keeps going straight.” Vitali’s voice grew louder. “Korina, we’re following the target toward Moskvoretskaya Naberezhnaya, on the river. Where are you?”

  Korina answered, “On that road, close to the place your route joins it.”

  Will said quickly, “Go east before he spots you.” He kept walking fast until he reached the main road and the adjacent Moskva River. “Roger, Markov: I’m turning west on the road. Start driving toward my location.”

  He walked faster for a while and then slowed to his previous pace. Soon the target would reach the road and Will would know if he was continuing to walk behind him or had instead turned left toward Korina’s location. A Russian voice, amplified by a loudspeaker, barked close to him. Will froze, then turned to face the noise. Two powerful river police boats and one military gunboat sped along the river, knocking aside large sheets of ice that were floating on the surface. The Russian man speaking through the amplifier kept repeating the same sentence. Will l
ooked at the various civilian vessels on the mighty river and saw that they were slowing. He understood what was happening. They were being told to berth, that only military and police boats were now allowed to use the route.

  “Target’s turned left, heading east.” Laith’s voice was tense.

  Will silently cursed and increased pace again as he said, “Markov, Roger: get to me fast. I need picking up.”

  Roger answered, “On our way.”

  Will mentally pictured the road map of Moscow he had earlier studied. “Korina, he’s heading toward the bridge at Sadovnicheskiy Proyezd. Are you east of that place?”

  “Yes. I’ve parked, although I’m not sure how long I can remain static.”

  “Do what you can. If he doesn’t go south on the river crossing, he’ll be coming toward your location. Roger, Markov: I need you here now.”

  “We can see you.” Markov’s deep voice was controlled. “Start running, we’re going to have to pick you up at speed as there’s nowhere to safely stop on this route.”

  Will did so. Cars passed him, but none of them belonged to his team.

  “We’re three hundred feet behind you . . . now two hundred . . . now one hundred . . . now fifty . . . passenger door’s open . . . we’re slowing . . .” Markov paused. “Look left now.”

  Will glanced to his side, saw the car and its open door, sprinted faster to keep up with it, and dived headfirst into the rear of the vehicle. Markov grabbed his arm and pulled him in. Roger thrust his foot down on the accelerator, causing the car to skid on a patch of ice before getting a grip and pulling away fast.

  Will slammed the door. “Take the next bridge, then double back on the other side of the river so that we’re heading east and paralleling the target.”

  Roger drove fast, taking them right up to the eastern tip of Red Square before turning onto the crossing to take them south, over the river. Once they were over the waterway, Roger turned left.

  Will looked across the river. “We’re heading back toward you from the other side of the river. Where are you?”