The Hunters

25

Sarah jumped backwards over the edge of the rooftop directly above Dobrev’s apartment. Her rappelling gear held fast, preventing a quick plummet to her death. In a mere fifteen seconds, she had dropped several stories to Dobrev’s locked window. A quarter-minute more, and she had popped the latch that anchored the window to its sill. She climbed inside the apartment then unfastened her harness, leaving the rope dangling down the side of the building.

She would need it again in less than a minute.

Darting through the apartment with the grace of a ballet dancer, she deftly avoided the floor lamp that cast a dim light on the apartment’s only chair. The scene struck her as sad, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many nights the old man had sat alone in the dark, staring at his treasure. But it was a thought she quickly dismissed when she spotted the coin on a small wooden table near the door, right next to the closet where Dobrev had grabbed the saddle-bolt spanner from his toolbox. With gloved hands, Sarah tucked the coin into a zippered pocket, then scampered back to the open window. She reattached her harness to the rope, closed the window behind her, and began her descent.

Anyone who happened to be looking up at the side of the building as Sarah made her way down would have been forced to choose between two, equally unlikely scenarious: Catwoman exists, or the laws of gravity had changed. Dressed from hood to booties in another black catsuit, Sarah literally ran down the edifice. The muscles in her arms burned as she pulsed her grips to keep her pace. It was not a beginner’s move; it required practiced balance and unbelievable strength. But once Sarah had gotten the hang of it, she preferred it over the standard, backwards dismount. Today it actually served a purpose, as it was the fastest way to reach the ground… other than a freefall.

True to her word, it had been little more than a minute since Sarah had entered the apartment. As she hit the ground, she reached inside her suit and withdrew a credit-card-sized remote control. Sliding back the cover to reveal the buttons beneath, she entered the combination. On the roof, the electromagnet that held the loop of rope in place around the fire escape ladder decoupled instantly. Sarah could feel the slack, moments before the full length of the rope hit the pavement. It was the latest in climbing technology, a gift from McNutt.

This is too easy, Sarah thought as she spooled the rope around her arm.

‘How we doing?’ Cobb asked as he slammed the door of the SUV behind Jasmine and Dobrev. She was doing her best to keep the old man calm.

‘Satellite says you’re clear for about forty seconds,’ Garcia said in everyone’s ears. ‘Cops are converging from the north and east.’

‘Look to your left,’ McNutt said.

Cobb glanced and saw a glimmer of light where the roadway curved. It could have been a small mirror, a pair of glasses, or a watch face, but he knew it was McNutt.

‘On my way,’ Cobb said as he climbed behind the wheel.

Cobb pulled the SUV into the street and started his U-turn. As he did, Sarah appeared from the shadows and ran to join them. She jumped into the passenger seat as Cobb pressed the accelerator to the floor.

‘We’re golden,’ Sarah said. ‘Literally.’

Cobb smiled. ‘Jasmine, tell Andrei we got his coin.’

They drove forward as the faint red glow of police lights illuminated the horizon. Nearly a block away, Cobb slowed just enough to allow McNutt to climb into the rear of the truck.

‘About time,’ McNutt joked. ‘I almost caught a cab.’

He slammed the tailgate shut as Cobb floored it.

Jasmine stared at the lights ahead. ‘Where are we going?’

‘B to A,’ Cobb answered as he turned off the main road to avoid the flashing lights. It was the second time he had used that expression in the last five minutes.

McNutt, who was familiar with the term from the military, leaned back and smiled. ‘B to A — music to my ears!’

‘B to A?’ Sarah asked. ‘What does that mean? You keep saying it.’

‘It’s an exit strategy,’ Cobb explained as he looked for lights in his rearview mirror. ‘You’ve gotten to where you wanted to go, now you gotta get back to where you started.’

McNutt laughed as he closed his eyes for a quick nap. ‘B to the fuckin’ A.’

Their destination was the Moskva-Kazanskaya train station, the depot furthest southeast from Moscow’s center and the one with the biggest train yard.

Andrei Dobrev watched in amazement as Cobb drove past the security booth and into the private parking lot. The wonderment did not subside as Cobb led him and Jasmine through the Venetian-style, green-tinted glass entrance beneath the four-tiered spire. The structure had been modeled on the glorious seventeenth-century Soyembika Tower in Kazan, supposedly built by Ivan the Terrible’s artisans.

Cobb walked beneath it as if he had built it himself, and he led the two through the chandelier-lined, arched-ceiling lobby, along the tile-stoned floor, past the arched train platforms and granite columns, and around the advertising kiosks. He sauntered as if he owned the place; much to Dobrev’s surprise, no one stopped or questioned him. Cobb walked them past the waiting areas and up to the door that separated the passengers from the workers.

He looked back at Dobrev with a knowing smile, then pushed open the door.

Stretching out before the veteran railroad man was a scene out of his dreams. It was the rail yard, lit up like it was a Spartak-CSKA match in the Russian Premier League. The lights illuminated four linked train carriages.

The first one was from a Grand Express, which was essentially a hotel on wheels. But Dobrev knew that this was one of the conference cars, designed for moving meetings of top-level businessmen, politicians, and dignitaries. It came complete with Wi-Fi, LCD TV screens, toilets, showers, and air conditioning. It was taken from the country’s first private train company.

The second was a flatbed car, with a staging surface dotted with bolted-down handles and hooks. The third was a modified freight car with a new, dull gray, armored exterior and what looked like movable window slats at every level. Its ceiling also looked as if it were outfitted with tracking and surveillance devices.

The last was a classic first-class compartment car from the train Lev Tolstoy, which made the first direct trip between Moscow and Helsinki in 1975. It had sleeping quarters for six as well as a galley and restaurant area. As Dobrev watched, a four-man team was painting over the artful blue, white, and red exteriors of the once famous cars with a uniform dark gray.

He only managed to look away when Jasmine touched his arm.

Cobb stood behind her with an encouraging smile on his face. ‘Please ask Mr Dobrev, what engine would he want if he had to drive this train through any condition?’