Under Fire

47

Jack’s unease grew stronger each block they drew closer to the Ministry of the Interior building. The streets were eerily empty. Shops and restaurants were closed. Buses and cars sat empty in the middle of intersections. It was, Jack thought, as though the whole of the government district had been transformed into a massive, post-apocalyptic movie set. The rain clouds had begun to break up, letting through intermittent patches of sun that warmed the still-slick streets enough that the pavement was shrouded in a thin layer of almost imperceptible fog. Another special effect, Jack thought.

The residents that hadn’t fled to the city’s southernmost neighborhoods were now behind locked apartment and house doors with curtains drawn, save a gap through which the owners could watch the streets.

Volodin’s ordering of the border garrison troops into Makhachkala hadn’t been announced on the radio or the television, for those, like the Internet and the power grid, had been shut down shortly after dawn. The news had instead traveled by word of mouth, as had the protesters’ heartbreaking realization that no one outside Makhachkala was seeing or even knew that Dagestanis were trying to take their first steps toward independence.

Jack pulled the truck to the curb outside the MOI’s rear entrance and they climbed out. The guard let them through the gate and they took the elevator up to Medzhid’s offices.

Jack found Seth leaning forward in one of the club chairs, his head in his hands.

“Why the hell aren’t you answering your phone?” Jack said.

Seth looked up. “What?”

“The Kvant is sitting at the bottom of the Akgel Reservoir. Without that, the two Krasukhas should be easy to keep ahead of.”

“It’s too late, Jack. Medzhid’s not going to send people back into the streets with the border garrisons on their way. It’s over.”

“It’s not over. Get him in here.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Jack said, “Hey, where’s Ysabel—”

He saw her emerge from the nearby adjoining hallway. She stopped and stared at him. She crossed her arms. Her eyes were wet.

Jack walked over to her. “I’m sorry.” He folded her in his arms. “I just couldn’t let—”

“I know, it’s okay,” she whispered. “Jack, you need to listen to me, okay?” The tone in her voice was deadly serious. “Just keep hugging me.”

“Okay…” he replied.

“There was something about Anton’s face when you accused him of betraying Medzhid. He seemed genuinely shocked. Heartbroken. This morning I decided to go through his phone. Aside from Pechkin’s number, there was only one other in his call history. It was labeled “Mamochka” — mother. I called it. The woman who answered said, ‘Vasim, where have you been?’”

Jack felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Vasim had covertly swapped phones with Anton.

“I’m sure about this, Jack. It was Vasim. He was the one working with Pechkin, not Anton.”

Oh, God, Jack thought. He’d killed the wrong man. He replayed the scene in his head and realized Anton had never actually pointed his gun at Medzhid, but instead had drawn it on instinct when Spellman had charged him.

Worst of all, Anton may have died thinking Rebaz Medzhid hated him.

“How did Vasim know we were onto one of them?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. You need to get to Rebaz and—”

“Jack!” Medzhid called. “Dom… Matt!”

Jack whispered to Ysabel, “Get to Dom or Matt and tell them what’s happening. I’ll try to get Medzhid and Vasim separated. Watch the muzzles and stay out of the line of fire.”

“Be careful, Jack.”

He turned to face Medzhid, who was striding across the carpet. Vasim was two paces behind and to his left. Seth stood to Medzhid’s right.

Jack shook the minister’s extended hand. “Rebaz.”

Out of the corner of his eye Jack saw Ysabel standing beside Dom. He glanced that way. Dom gave him a wink.

“Glad to have you all back safe,” said Medzhid. “Seth said you want to talk to me. If it’s about asking people to go back into the streets—”

“No, it’s not that. Let’s go in your office and I’ll explain.”

“Here is fine, Jack. I have staff in my office. And to be honest, I could use a break from commotion.”

“Okay, then. Let’s sit down.” Jack gestured to the couch area.

“Dom, what’re you doing?” Seth blurted.

Dom, who had been maneuvering himself behind Jack for a clear shot on Vasim, stopped. “What?”

“Why do you have a gun?”

Medzhid turned around. “Dom?”

Jack kept his eyes fixed on Vasim. Rather than moving to put himself between the principal and the threat, Vasim was staring at Dom. His eyes flicked toward Jack, then to Medzhid.

Vasim’s hand shot into his coat.

“Rebaz, down!” Jack shouted, and raised his Ruger.

Vasim was moving sideways, using Medzhid’s body to block Jack’s firing angle.

Seth shouted, “Jack, what the hell is—”

Suddenly he seemed to notice Vasim’s gun was out. “Hey, what are you—”

“Out of the way, Seth!” yelled Dom.

Time seemed to both slow down and speed up in Jack’s mind, a stop-motion blur he felt strangely disconnected from.

He ducked down, leaned sideways, fired a round past Medzhid’s leg. Vasim took the bullet in his thigh. To Jack’s left, Dom was trying to maneuver for his own shot, but Seth was also turning, his eyes wide, as though trying to make sense of what was happening.

Vasim raised his gun and took aim on Medzhid.

“No!” Seth shouted.

He lunged forward. Vasim fired. Seth seemed to freeze in mid-step. His body convulsed and he dropped to his knees, then rolled onto his side. Jack, already charging, shoved Medzhid aside, raised his Ruger, and put a bullet in Vasim’s throat, then another in his chest as he slumped back against the paneled wall.

Somewhere a woman screamed.

Jack was frozen in place, the Ruger still extended before him. His eyesight fluttered at the edges. Sounds seemed to fade in and out.

Seth is dead.

Seth is dead. He knew it in his gut.

“Jack.” Spellman’s voice. “Jack, let me have that. Let it go.”

He pried the Ruger from Jack’s grip.

Dom strode forward, knelt down to check Vasim’s pulse. He glanced over to Spellman and shook his head, then started toward Seth’s body, which was curled into an almost fetal position.

“Leave him alone,” Jack murmured.

Dom stopped, gave a slight nod, moved off to the side.

Jack stepped around Medzhid, who was trying to sit up. The sleeve of his white shirt was bright with blood.

“Check him,” Jack ordered, and kept moving until he reached Seth. He knelt down. He placed his palm on Seth’s side. His friend’s body felt somehow flat, deflated, missing whatever it was that made Seth Seth.

Jack bent forward at the waist, pressed his forehead against Seth’s shoulder, and squeezed his eyes shut.