Sentinel

by Matthew Dunn

Laith answered, “Target’s slowing down, on his cell again, about a hundred and fifty feet from Sadovnicheskiy Proyezd.” Laith went silent. “Hold, something’s happening.” More silence. “His phone’s stowed away. He’s stopped. Now he’s looking left and right along the road.”

  “He’s going to cross it and take the bridge.” Will placed a hand on Roger’s shoulder. “We must be at the other side of the bridge before he gets on it.”

  Roger accelerated harder, swerving expertly between two cars to overtake them.

  Vitali spoke. “Target’s spotted a gap in traffic. He’s running over the road. If we follow him we’ll expose ourselves, as this isn’t a place pedestrians would normally cross.”

  “Stay on your side of the road.” Will’s mind raced. “Korina, can you turn around?”

  “Impossible on this main road. But I can abandon the car and get closer on foot.”

  “No, stay with the car. It’s vital we retain one mobile unit on the north side of the river.” Will spoke to everyone. “Okay, we’ll take up point as soon as the target reaches the south end of the bridge. Once we know where he’s headed, I’ll update you so that we can adjust formation.”

  “He’s on the northern end of the bridge.” Laith’s voice was quiet. “He’s slowed to a fast walk. We’re stationary now. He’s a hundred and fifty feet away from us. Bridge has got medium traffic in both directions. He walks onward.”

  Will could see the bridge. Urgently, he asked Roger, “Can you stop anywhere here?”

  “Difficult, but I’ll put my hazard lights on and fake a breakdown. If cops or other officials arrive, I’ll deal with it.”

  Will nodded. “Vitali, Laith: update please.”

  “He’s slowing”—Vitali paused—“he’s stopped halfway along the bridge.”

  “Stopped?”

  “Stopped. Now he’s looking around.”

  Will’s heart raced. “Is his cell back out?”

  “No.”

  Roger pulled the vehicle onto the road’s hard shoulder. Will jumped out of the car, thrust a hand into his pocket, and gripped his handgun. Roger and Markov also exited the vehicle. Will glanced in the direction of the bridge. “Everyone, the bridge is the likely meeting point. Repeat, bridge is meeting point.” He darted a look at Markov. “Come with me. Roger, stay with the vehicle.”

  Roger looked angry. “I should be with you.”

  Will shook his head impatiently. “The chances of Taras doing a mobile pickup of the target are now very high. If that happens, you’re the only man south of the river who can tail him and take him down. Everything depends upon you staying with your vehicle.”

  Roger smiled; his anger evaporated.

  Will and Markov moved alongside the road until they were close to the bridge.

  Laith said, “He remains stationary. He tries to light a cigarette.”

  “I’ve got another pedestrian on the bridge.” This came from Vitali.

  Will and Markov instantly stopped.

  “He’s heading from the south side . . . big guy . . .” Vitali went quiet. His next words sounded confused. “He looks out of place . . . not right for this weather. He’s not wearing a coat.”

  Will snapped, “Vehicle?”

  “None, aside from civilian motors going back and forth on the bridge.”

  Will sprinted, pulling out his gun. “It’s him! It’s him!” He pulled back the workings of his weapon. “Laith, Vitali: get closer to the bridge so that you’re ready for takedown, but stay out of sight of the target for now!”

  Markov was running fast by his side, his handgun held at waist level.

  Will reached the bridge and turned onto it. He saw cars, heavy snowfall, more military boats cruising along the river beneath him, and a man walking at a steady pace with his back to him, no more than two hundred feet away. Will stopped and grabbed Markov’s arm to bring him to a halt. “Wait, wait.”

  The man reached the target and stopped right next to him.

  “They look like they’re communicating.” Will held his fingers against his throat mic. “No other pedestrians are on this bridge. But why the hell is he here without a vehicle and without an overcoat?”

  Vitali said, “We’re at the other end of the bridge. We see them both. They’re definitely talking. Big man pulls out something . . . can’t see what it is.”

  “Nor can I,” Laith added.

  “Big man places a hand on target’s shoulder . . .” Vitali sounded totally focused. “. . . target tries to shrug him off . . . tries to move away . . . big man pulls him closer . . . something in big man’s hand . . .”

  In an instant Will knew what was happening. “It’s an assassination! Takedown now! Now!”

  He sprinted along the bridge, ignoring oncoming civilian vehicles sounding their horns. His feet slipped on the snow and ice beneath them, but he kept upright and ran faster. Markov was right by his side, his gun now at eye level.

  Will raised his weapon to shoot. He was only 150 feet away. As he did so, the big man spun to face him, using the sailor as a shield.

  It was Razin.

  In a flash, the Russian raised a handgun, firing three bullets at Will. One of the bullets sliced alongside Will’s face just as he and Markov dived behind a passing car that had come skidding to a halt. Getting to his feet, he could see the sailor beyond the car, lying on the ground; blood-saturated snow surrounded him. Beyond the dead body, Razin was sprinting away, dodging between cars.

  Will and Markov chased. Markov shouted, “Vitali, Laith: he’s coming right toward you!”

  They could catch only glimpses of Razin, too brief to get a clear shot. They heard two more shots from the other end of the bridge, followed by Vitali saying “Fuck!”

  Reaching the end of the bridge, they saw Vitali on his knees, his face screwed up in pain, a hand clutching his leg. Laith was running along the river; he fired four shots.

  “What happened?”

  Vitali answered between clenched teeth. “It’s just a flesh wound, but it put me on my ass.”

  “Okay, get to Roger. Markov, with me.”

  Laith shouted in a near-breathless voice, “I’m moving east along the river’s north-side road. Can’t see him.”

  Roger spoke, “I’ve abandoned my car and am also going east, checking the south bank.”

  Korina said, “I’m on the north bank, about five hundred feet from your position. Six military trucks have just raced past me, heading toward the bridge.”

  “Stay with your vehicle, Korina.” Will still needed at least one of his team to remain mobile.

  “GRU! GRU!”

  Will glanced toward Roger’s location on the south bank. “What’s happening?”

  Silence.

  “What’s happening?”

  More silence.

  Then gunfire.

  “I’m”—Roger was screaming over the sound of rapid shots—“under attack! Cops and soldiers.”

  Will saw flashes of light on the south bank; the noise of gunfire in his earpiece was now constant.

  Korina shouted, “I can get mobile, drive ahead to find a turning place, then try to pick you up.”

  “No!”

  Vitali said, “I’m with Roger, we’re being pushed east.”

  Will urgently looked ahead. He was sprinting as fast as he could, but he’d no idea if he was still on Razin’s trail. “Laith. Anything? I have no visual. Repeat, no visual!”

  “Nothing.”

  They’d lost him.

  Frustration surged through Will. “Fuck! Fuck!” He continued running. “Laith, Markov: get across the next bridge and extract Roger and Vitali.”

  “You can’t go after him on your own.”

  “Just do it!”

  Markov moved away from Will’s side and took the next river crossing. Moments later, Laith appeared on the bridge running at full pace, his gun held in one hand.

  Will kept moving along the road.

  Ten seconds later, Markov shouted, “We’re
heading southeast on Sadovnicheskaya Ulitsa!”

  Laith spoke. “Vitali, Roger: we’re on the south side of the river now. We should be close to you.”

  Roger spoke over the sound of rifle shots and bursts of submachine-gun fire. “We’ve got about a hundred soldiers on our tail.” His words were strained; clearly he was in pain.

  More heavy gunfire.

  Laith shouted, “We can see you! You’re coming right toward us!”

  Will stopped at a crossroad, frantically looking in every direction. This was hopeless. Razin had vanished.

  “William.” Korina’s voice was full of despair. “Should I go to the team?”

  Laith said, “We’re all together now. There’s too many of them. William, we’re going to draw them away from you by taking them south on Novokuznetskaya Ulitsa.”

  Will cursed and continued running, keeping the river by his side.

  “Changing magazines.” Roger was clearly running. “Last clip in. I’ll cover you all. Run behind me for twenty, then cover me while I move back.”

  A few seconds later, Vitali shouted, “In position and covering you. Move!”

  “Two more hostiles down, now three.” Laith spoke over the sound of three shots from his handgun.

  Markov cursed. “More sirens, reinforcements.”

  “Low on ammunition . . . last clip.” This was from Vitali.

  Will stopped, his stomach sick with failure. “I’ve lost him. I’m coming to you.”

  Roger responded immediately, “Get to Korina. Get out of the city.”

  Will repeated, “I’m coming to you.”

  “No, you’re damn well not! We’re surrounded on all sides now. You’d make no difference.”

  Will pulled out his handgun. “Tell me your location. I’m coming for you.”

  “No.”

  “Tell me your location!”

  Roger made a sound like a sigh; more shots rang out. “We’re on Novokuznetskaya Ulitsa. It’s about half a mile south of the bridge where Taras killed the sailor. But for God’s sake, don’t come”—rapid bursts of fire interrupted him—“stay away.”

  Will moved onto the next bridge, ran across it, and headed south toward the gunfight. He ran along residential streets, commercial routes, and roads containing administrative buildings. Compacted snow covered the roads and sidewalks, and pedestrians cowered in doorways, hiding from the gun battle that was taking place farther ahead. Some of them stared at Will as he ran past them, making no effort to hide his handgun. The civilians looked terrified.

  Will did not need a detailed knowledge of the city to know where he was going. He just followed the noise of the battle. “I’m very close now. When I see the hostiles, I’ll open fire and try to draw some of them away from you.”

  “There’s too many of them.” Laith sounded exasperated. “We’re pinned down on all sides.”

  The sounds of gunfire were now very close. Will slowed down as he approached the turning into Novokuznetskaya Ulitsa. Reaching the entrance to the street, he stopped and crouched next to a building. The place was swarming with troops and police, most using the cover of doorways and vehicles to fire at his team. Halfway along the street, he saw glimpses of the four-man CIA-GRU unit. They were about 250 feet away and were using whatever cover they could to return fire. Beyond them, more soldiers.

  Will pulled away from the street, desperately trying to work out what to do. Even if he fired shots at them, he would draw only a few of the two hundred or so troops toward him. Roger was right. The situation was hopeless. He glanced again into the street containing the soldiers and his team. He spoke to his men. “I’m sorry. Stop fighting. We’ve failed. Surrender to them.”

  There was silence for a while.

  Then Roger spoke to his comrades. “Switch your comms systems to any other channel and smash the kit so that they can’t monitor William and Korina. No matter what the soldiers do to you, keep your mouths shut.”

  A few more seconds passed before Markov shouted out words in Russian. Then he walked out of a doorway, his hands placed on his head. Laith appeared from another doorway and tossed his handgun onto the street. Roger moved into view from behind a vehicle, his arms outstretched, his palms facing the soldiers, blood dripping from one of the limbs. Vitali came to his side, arms high in the air, and shouted more words at the soldiers. The troops and police moved close to the four men; all of them had their weapons pointed at the team. One of the cops barked instructions at them. Roger got to his knees; then the rest of the team followed suit. The troops rushed forward. As they did so, Roger looked toward Will and smiled.

  The police and soldiers grabbed the men, wrenched their arms behind their backs, and placed plastic handcuffs on each of them. A soldier smashed the butt of his rifle into Laith’s head, causing the CIA officer to crash back to the ground, his head now a bloody mess. Another jabbed the muzzle of his gun into Markov’s gut, forcing the Spetsnaz operative to double over and vomit. A police officer wearing captain tabs stepped forward, shouting at the soldiers, clearly berating them for their brutality. Some of the troops and cops grabbed the team and yanked them to their feet. At the far end of the street, a four-ton military truck pulled up. The captain pointed at it and shouted orders. Will’s team was slowly walked toward it, hands gripping them, the rest of the army and police units continuing to point their weapons at the joint Russian-American intelligence unit. As they were placed into the back of the truck, Will looked at his men one last time, knowing that they would be imprisoned, brutally tortured, and executed.

  He turned away from the street, feeling sick, and more than anything wishing it was himself rather than his team who had been caught. Secreting his gun, he turned and walked. His face smarted from the bullet wound, but he didn’t care.

  Snow fell faster. The air grew colder. He passed pedestrians who were now reemerging onto the streets and were calling to one another, ignoring him and pointing in the direction of Novokuznetskaya Ulitsa. Men, women, children, old and young.

  He heard Korina’s voice in his earpiece, telling him where she was, telling him what to do. With every step he took toward her location, his stomach tightened and cramped.

  He had one remaining option to capture Razin. But the thought of taking it repulsed him.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  They were driving south, away from Moscow, and had been on the road for two hours. Korina was in the driver’s seat; Will was next to her. It was midmorning, though the sky was dark and the snowfall heavy.

  Will had no idea where Korina was headed. He had not bothered to ask her as he did not care. He just sat in silence, feeling sick with failure. During the journey, the scenery had changed from urban to suburban, and now they were moving through forested countryside. As Will looked at his surroundings, he knew that ordinarily the snow-covered trees and rolling hills would seem pretty. But right now he could only imagine how the countryside around him would look in a devastating war.

  Korina slowed her vehicle and turned off onto a thin track that took them into the forest. She drove for another ten minutes before stopping in front of a large eighteenth-century house. She glanced at Will. “My father’s house. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

  Will got out of the car and retrieved his bag and Bergen rucksack from the open trunk. Grabbing her bag, Korina approached the front door, tried the handle, realized it was locked, and looked at Will. “Stay here.” She disappeared around the side of the building, returning a minute later. “Dad always kept a spare key hidden in the shed.” Korina unlocked the door and stepped into the building. Will followed her.

  He walked through a wide hallway containing gold-framed paintings, passed the base of a majestic, red-carpeted staircase alongside a study, a large kitchen which had a breakfast table set for six, and into a big open-plan dining and lounge area. At one end of the room was a Bechstein grand piano, lying on its surface were a violin and bow, and fixed in a stand next to it was a cello. Korina moved beyond an orna
te oak dining table topped by a candelabra, stopping by a sumptuous leather three-piece suite, dropped her bag on the floor, and slumped into one of the armchairs.

  She tousled her hair with both hands and looked around. “I haven’t been here for a while, but nothing’s changed. I still pay Dad’s cleaner to come in once a week, and I even keep the freezer and cupboards stocked with food in case—well, I don’t know why.” She nodded toward the instruments. “When I was a girl, Dad would accompany my violin recitals.” She half smiled, though the look was sad. “I think he tried his best to make me into a true lady, but in the end, he gave up and allowed me to pursue my own path.” Her smile faded. “But it must have been hard for him to see his little girl be like that.”

  Will nodded slowly, looking around. There were photographs on the walls, and, after dropping his Bergen and travel bag, he walked up to them. One of the shots was of a younger Korina; she looked to be in her early twenties. She was wearing an army uniform and had tabs showing she was a junior lieutenant.

  Handwritten, in black ink in one corner of the photo, were some words in Cyrillic:

  To my dear Korina, I am so proud of you.

  Korina called out, “It was taken on the day of my graduation from the GRU training academy.” Her voice grew quieter. “Even though Dad was shocked at my career choice, he seemed so proud of me on that day.” She said in a louder voice, “I need to look at your injury.”

  Will was about to speak, but Korina wagged her finger, got to her feet, and walked to him. Grabbing his hand, she said, “The house contains plenty of medical supplies.” She walked him out of the room, up the red-carpeted stairs, and into a big bathroom. Turning her back on him, she removed some items from a wall cabinet and placed them by the sink. Then she took off her jacket and blouse to reveal a white tank top and stuck a cigarette in her mouth. After lighting the cigarette, she washed her hands, grabbed some implements, and moved to him. “Sit on the floor, please.”

  “I can dress the wound myself.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Korina said while clenching her cigarette between her teeth. “Or you can allow me to do it. You choose.”

  Will looked at her for a while before lowering himself to the ground.