That Time in Moscow Page 7

  Before he crossed the threshold, he already knew she was dead. Sparrow lay on her back, foaming saliva trailing down one cheek and her empty eyes staring up at the ceiling. Wolfgang slid to his knees and grabbed her wrist out of habit, feeling her cold, thin skin under his touch. Her eyes were sunken in, and patchy blotches covered her neck.

  “She’s dead,” Kevin said. “Can we go now?”

  Wolfgang held up a hand, his mind still racing. The frailty of her body—the way her skin clung to her bones, and the look in her eyes—he’d seen it all before. He felt through her pockets, finding nothing but a worn photograph of her with a man he didn’t recognize. He pocketed the picture, then saw something glistening beneath the edge of her neckline. He pulled the shirt down just a little and exposed a metal chain around her neck, disappearing beneath the shirt. A quick tug of the chain produced a metal tag, stamped with Russian writing on one side.

  “Wolfgang!” Kevin bellowed.

  Wolfgang snatched the tag, breaking the thin chain and jumping back to his feet. He gave Sparrow another long glance, feeling a sudden wave of sadness consume him as he stared into her forlorn eyes. He nodded. “Okay. Let’s go!”

  They barreled out of the cell, and Wolfgang scooped up a helmet. Megan waited by the door, supporting Edric with one arm as Kevin slammed the bottle down on the floor and twisted the knob next to the nozzle. Wolfgang heard a soft click, then a hiss as gas burst from the top. A moment later, dense white fog filled the room, clouding near the floor and spilling toward them.

  Chlorosulfuric acid. A smoke screen.

  “Let’s roll!” Kevin said, pushing from behind.

  The group crashed out of the dentition facility and into the hallway, immediately colliding with four Russian firefighters carrying axes and fire extinguishers. They paused in confusion as Megan and Wolfgang crashed ahead hauling Edric, his body limp and his shoes dragging.

  “Gaz! Gaz!” Megan shouted.

  The brigade of firefighters looked toward the clouds of white smoke billowing from the detention facility, and their eyes turned wide. They walked backward, shouting into radios as Megan, Wolfgang, Edric, and Kevin barreled through.

  “Charlie Eye, which way?” Megan shouted, cupping her free hand over her ear. She nodded a couple times, then pointed to the left as they approached a T in the hallway. Wolfgang wheeled in that direction, dragging Edric with him. A small crowd of Russians dressed in business suits were being ushered down the hallway by another line of firefighters. Red lights now turned to blue overhead, and the siren continued as the computerized voice cycled through languages.

  “Gas contamination detected. Obtain fresh air, immediately.”

  A panicked shout rose from the crowd while some of the firefighters looked to the ceiling and frowned.

  Wolfgang grinned. Nice one, Lyle.

  They merged with the crowd, charging around the corner and toward the nearest exit. Russian security guards stood at the door, holding out their palms in an effort to check the flood of humanity, but there was no stopping the stampede. Wolfgang caught sight of the bright Russian sky through the double exit doors as the fire alarm blended with the whine of fire engines parked on the street. People screamed, crashing forward like a tidal wave toward the exit.

  Then Wolfgang saw Ivan. The Russian stood next to the door, shouting into a cell phone, his face a dark shade of red. Wolfgang ducked his face, twisting away and shielding Edric. His elbow slammed into Ivan’s arm, but the Russian didn’t give him a second glance as the four burst into fresh air and crashed down the hillside.

  Russian soldiers in full biochemical gear stood near the wall, corralling the evacuees into a group away from the exit, where they could be contained, evaluated, and treated. Wolfgang steered his small brigade of pseudo-firefighters away from the rest of the crowd and toward the nearest gate, where the Russian State Fire Service had run hoses through the wall and were busy pulling them toward the building.

  As they neared the gate, a Russian soldier stepped into their path and held out a gloved hand. His breath hissed through a gas mask, and he shook his head. “Ostanovka!” he ordered.

  They slid to a stop, and Megan tore the helmet off Edric’s head, exposing his purple and swollen face. Edric played the part, hanging limp with the tip of his tongue protruding between his lips.

  “Gaz!” Megan said theatrically. “Gaz!”

  It was probably the only Russian word she knew, but Wolfgang didn’t need to speak Russian to get the message, and neither did the soldier. He stepped back and motioned them through the gate, panic flooding his eyes.

  The team barreled onto the street outside, now a mess of parked fire engines and snaking hoses. Megan led the way, hopping over hoses and sidestepping firefighters. She jabbed her chin toward a parked ambulance twenty yards away. It was a Mercedes Sprinter, painted yellow with the word скорая stenciled on one side.

  Wolfgang powered through the last stretch, hauling Edric to the back of the van as the doors burst open and Lyle appeared, a headset clamped over his ears, and his array of laptops scattered over the stretcher in the middle of the ambulance.

  “Glad you could make it,” he said. “Let’s roll!”

  They hauled Edric inside and set him in the nearest seat, then Kevin slammed the doors from the outside and rushed around to the front door. Wolfgang tossed his helmet to the floor and peeled the jacket off, surprised by the sweat streaming down his back.

  I’m sweating in Moscow. Now, there’s a story for the grandkids.

  Edric leaned against the wall, wiping his own face and casting a glance around his team. Then he let loose with a quick chuckle. “You guys are idiots, you know that?”

  Megan patted him on the shoulder, then sat down and fastened her seatbelt in one of the EMT seats. “Don’t laugh yet, boss. We’re still in Moscow. Kevin, let’s move!”

  Wolfgang hurried to sit next to Megan. “Do you have it?”

  Megan opened a drawer beneath the stretcher and produced a padded envelope with a small lump inside. Wolfgang opened the end of the envelope and saw Sparrow’s flash drive resting inside.

  “Pen,” Wolfgang said.

  Megan handed him a Sharpie, and Wolfgang tore a strip of paper from a clipboard hanging on the wall. He uncapped the marker with his teeth and scrawled a brief note on the paper as the van began to move.

  Dear Ivan,

  Hope this helps. Sorry about the fire.

  Until next time,

  Amerikos

  Wolfgang stuffed the note inside the envelope and sealed it, then flipped it over and jotted down Ivan’s name, along with an address. It was in English, but somebody would translate it, and it would eventually find its way to his desk.

  “You sure about this?” Megan asked. “He could be one of them. He could be playing you.”

  Wolfgang smiled. “He’s not.”

  “How do you know?”

  Wolfgang turned to Edric. His boss leaned against the wall, flinching as Lyle slid an IV needle into his arm.

  Wolfgang tucked the envelope into his shirt. “I just know.”

  “Train station?” Kevin called from the driver's seat.

  “No,” Wolfgang said. “We’ve got one more job to do.”

  Kevin frowned through the rearview mirror. “Huh?”

  “Are you crazy?” Megan said. “We’ve got to get out of here. Now.”

  “Not without Koslov. He’s put his life on the line for this mission. We’re not leaving him behind.”

  “We don’t have time,” she objected. “We don’t know where he is!”

  Wolfgang looked at Edric, and his boss nodded.

  Wolfgang said, “I know where he is.”

  10

  Wolfgang tore another strip off the clipboard and scratched down an address, then passed it to Lyle.

  “Translate that into English, and give Kevin the directions.”

  Lyle squinted at the paper, then punched the address into one of his computers and waited
a moment while the browser loaded. His head snapped up. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Megan pushed past Wolfgang and leaned over the computer, then looked up, already shaking her head. “No, no, no. Are you out of your mind? We’re leaving. Right now! Kevin, take us to the train station.”

  She pushed toward the front of the ambulance, but Wolfgang caught her arm. “Megan, listen to me. Koslov was a private scientist. The terrorists recruited him to build a chemical weapon, leading him to think they were Russian authorities. But why did he take the job, Megan? Have you ever asked yourself that?”

  Megan jerked her hand away. “I don’t care why! It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. It matters because Pascha Koslov is a good man. A man in love with a woman who was dying and needed very expensive treatment.”

  Megan frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Sparrow, Megan. Sparrow was Koslov’s girlfriend.”

  The ambulance fell silent.

  Kevin stomped on the brakes and pulled them into a parking spot next to the curb. “Edric!” he said. “Can you be in charge again?”

  All eyes turned to Edric, who wheezed between busted lips.

  Wolfgang held up a hand and kept talking, more quickly now. “Sparrow wasn’t a professional spy. She was just a go-between. The CIA couldn’t interact directly with Koslov without the Russians being alerted, right? So, how did Sparrow manage it? She managed it because Sparrow knew Koslov personally. The terrorists weren’t alarmed by her presence because they knew who she was.”

  Kevin started to object, but Edric held up a hand and nodded at Wolfgang. “Keep going.”

  “Koslov believed he was working for the Russian government, designing illegal weapons. He fed the CIA information for a while, but then he suddenly demanded extraction. Why?”

  Megan shook her head. “Because he chickened out? It doesn’t matter. Wolfgang, we need—”

  Wolfgang dug the metal tag he’d taken from Sparrow’s neck out of his pocket and flung it onto the stretcher. “He wanted to leave because his girlfriend, Sparrow, was dying. She had advanced cystic fibrosis. That tag is a medical tag used to identify her condition to emergency medical services, and when I found her in the detention cell, all the symptoms of CF were there. That’s how she died. Koslov probably went to work for the terrorists in order to pay for additional treatments that state-sponsored medical care wouldn’t cover, but when he discovered what sort of weapons they were building, he sold the information to the United States instead. Koslov needed money to cover Sparrow’s advanced medical treatment, and he wanted to stop the Russians. So, for a while, he sold secrets to the CIA, but then Koslov discovered that the people he was working for weren’t the Russians at all. They were terrorists planning an actual attack. That’s when he reached out to the CIA demanding immediate extraction.”

  “He didn’t tell the CIA about the terrorists, though,” Edric said. “He withheld that.”

  “He withheld it because he wanted bargaining power to get Sparrow out, also. The CIA probably planned to abandon Sparrow, proven by the fact that they pulled her handler two days ago. That’s when Koslov panicked and sent Sparrow to meet with Edric to arrange a deal. He didn’t know Ivan would follow her to Bar Gypsy.”

  In the distance, sirens grew louder, and Kevin shoved the ambulance into drive again. “Edric, we’ve got to move.”

  “Just drive west,” Wolfgang said. “Let me finish.”

  “Why was Ivan following Sparrow?” Megan asked.

  Wolfgang could hear the engagement in her voice. The buy-in.

  “Because Ivan has been working leads to track down these terrorists for months, and somehow those leads led him to Sparrow,” he said. “Maybe he found the paper trail Koslov was feeding the CIA. I don’t know. Regardless, Ivan raided Bar Gypsy to take Sparrow, and his men took Edric because he was with her. I guess they didn’t check Sparrow’s tag, and the stress was too much for her. Cystic fibrosis reduces your lung capacity and cripples your ability to breathe. My guess is she had a panic attack and suffocated.”

  “Tragic, really,” Kevin said. “What does that have to do with us?”

  “It has everything to do with us,” Wolfgang said. “Koslov risked everything to protect the woman he loved, and when he learned about the Soldier Field attack, he risked even her to stop it. When the people he’s working for find out what happened, they’ll hunt him down and kill him. Ivan will deal with the terrorists, but we need to do what we came here to do. We need to save Pascha Koslov.”

  “Where is he?” Edric said.

  “Where he’s always been. At Sparrow’s apartment.” Wolfgang reached into his pocket and withdrew the photograph. It was worn and stained, just as he found it in Sparrow’s pocket. The washed-out color image depicted Sparrow and a tall man in wire-rimmed glasses holding each other outside an apartment building. In the distance, the Kremlin rose out of the cityscape, bathed in the blaze of a setting sun. They smiled into the camera, their warm eyes full of love and laughter, but Sparrow’s cheeks were hollow, and her body was frail, wracked by illness.

  Wolfgang passed the photo to Edric. “That’s Koslov standing next to her, isn’t it?”

  Edric gazed at the photo, then nodded.

  “You can see the landmark in the background,” Wolfgang continued. “Neither Koslov nor Sparrow were professional spies. They didn’t have safe houses or know how to disappear in a crowded city. When they realized his life would be in danger, they hid him in the only place they could think of—her apartment. And that’s where he is right now, waiting for her, and for us, to come get him.”

  Edric examined the photo, then passed it to Megan.

  She gave it a quick glance, already shaking her head. “This is crazy. You’re connecting dots a mile apart. And this landmark is the Kremlin. The Kremlin. Does that name mean anything to you?”

  Wolfgang ignored her. “I’m right, Edric. I know I am.”

  Edric turned to Megan. She shook her head but didn’t comment, so he turned to Kevin. “When does the train leave?”

  Kevin rolled his eyes. “Two hours.”

  “Then we have time?”

  Megan started to speak, but Edric held up his hand. “Do we have time?”

  Kevin nodded reluctantly.

  “Okay, then. Let’s roll. Wolfgang, this better be quick.”

  Sparrow’s apartment building was easily recognizable from the photograph. It was built of dirty brown bricks, with trash tubes dangling from chutes down into dumpsters and windows smudged with years of filth. Kevin drove back and forth down narrow city streets east of the Kremlin for only ten minutes before Wolfgang pointed.

  “There! That’s it!”

  Kevin stared up at the building rising six stories out of Moscow’s concrete jungle. “Which unit? We have no way to know.”

  “Just get me to the building,” Wolfgang said. He turned back to Edric. “This is it. Give me ten minutes.”

  Edric turned to Lyle, and the tech shook his head. “It’s not a good idea. Ambulances don’t wander around like this. We’re drawing attention.”

  “Ten minutes,” Wolfgang repeated, throwing the back door open and jumping out before anybody could stop him. He broke into a run toward the apartment tower, then heard softer footsteps pounding behind him. Megan appeared next to him, her ponytail bouncing as they closed in on the building and rushed through the glass doors of the main entrance.

  The grimy lobby of the complex featured scuffed walls and a yellow light that flickered overhead. An oil heater burned in one corner, with soot gathered on the wall behind it. Everything smelled hot and dirty, like the inside of a machine shop.

  They approached the front desk, where a clerk’s wide eyes switched between them and the oil heater. Wolfgang remembered that he and Megan still wore firefighter gear, and he connected the dots quickly. The oil heater was probably a fire hazard and illegal.

  Megan produced the photogra
ph of Sparrow and Koslov from her pocket and held it up. “Which apartment?” she said in English. The clerk shook his head, still glancing impulsively at the heater. Megan repeated the demand, then paused and cupped her hand over her earpiece.

  Lyle. Thank God.

  Megan looked up again. “Kakaya kvartira?”

  Again, the clerk looked confused. Megan repeated the question, jabbing the photo closer to the clerk’s nose. Recognition dawned on his face, and he rattled off something in Russian.

  Megan snapped, “I don’t speak Russian, pal. Which apartment?”

  The clerk held up four fingers, closed his hand, then held up three.

  “Forty-three!” Wolfgang said, turning toward the stairwell. Megan followed, the two of them barreling up the steps two at a time. The fourth-floor landing was littered with garbage, and the stairwell door hung on one hinge. Wolfgang kicked it open and twisted down the hall, checking each of the doors as they passed. The brass numeral plates that adorned each door were all written in Cyrillic.

  Wolfgang cursed and scanned the doors again, then took a chance. He counted three doors from the end of the hallway, then tried the knob, but it was locked. He drove his foot into the door, and it blasted back on its hinges. They rushed inside, clearing the hallway and turning into the main living space, where Pascha Koslov sat on a couch with panic-filled eyes.

  Wolfgang recognized him immediately from the photograph.

  Koslov bolted to his feet and held out both hands.

  “Pascha Koslov?” Wolfgang asked.

  Koslov hesitated, seemingly confused by the uniforms, and Wolfgang decided to throw all his cards on the table. “Mr. Koslov, we’re the Americans. We’re here to get you out.”

  A tear slid down Koslov’s face. “America?”