Under Fire

38

The next morning after breakfast, as Medzhid was getting ready to go into the Ministry, Jack, Ysabel, Dom, Spellman, and Seth sat down at the conference table. Jack ran through the plan one more time. “I don’t expect it to go bad, but assume it will.” Advice you should have taken with Pechkin, he reminded himself. “Either way, Medzhid will want to find a way to dismiss it. We can’t let him. This close to the coup, he needs to get his head right. Questions?”

Seth said, “I hope you’re wrong about this.”

“I’m not, but if I am we’ve got much bigger problems.”

Now that Jack had already decided that Seth, Spellman, and Medzhid were innocent of burning him and Ysabel in Khasavyurt, only two suspects remained: Anton and Vasmin. But which one?

Followed by his personal assistant Albina, Medzhid strode down the hallway from his suite, adjusting his tie and cuffs as he walked. “Good morning, everyone. I will be—”

“Rebaz, we need to chat.”

“I am running late, Jack. Can we do it later?”

“No. Anton and Vasim should hear this, too.”

Medzhid frowned. “Jack, I don’t like the expression on your face. What is going on?”

“Just call them and I’ll explain.”

Medzhid sighed, then walked to the apartment door.

Dom got up and walked toward the windows while Spellman moved in the opposite direction until he was standing against the wall a few feet from the door. Ysabel stayed at the table within arm’s reach of Albina.

Medzhid stepped back and Anton and Vasim entered.

“Now, Jack, what’s this about?”

“It’s about Pechkin.”

On cue, Ysabel, holding Pechkin’s phone behind her back, hit the send button.

“What about him?” asked Medzhid.

A phone started ringing.

“Pardon me, Minister,” Anton said, and reached into his coat.

Medzhid said to Jack, “Have you found him?”

“No, but we just found out who he’s been working with.”

Ysabel held up the cell phone.

“That’s Oleg Pechkin calling you, Anton,” said Jack.

Anton glanced down at the phone, then shook his head. “I don’t know who this is. I don’t recognize the number.”

“Show the minister your phone.”

Anton narrowed his eyes at Jack. “You are setting me up. Why are you doing this?”

“Show him your phone,” Jack repeated. “Do it.”

“Anton, what is he talking about?”

“This isn’t right, Minister. This man is lying to you. I am loyal. He’s trying to turn you against me, please believe me.”

Anton slipped the phone back into his jacket.

“Move, Rebaz!” Spellman shouted. He lunged for Medzhid. Vasim backpedaled out of his way, then reached out and snagged Spellman’s sleeve; Spellman tried to shake it off, his arms extended toward Medzhid.

Startled, Anton backed away. His hand came out with a gun.

“Drop it, drop it!” Jack shouted.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dom moving, his Ruger out as he sidestepped and tried to clear Medzhid from his sight line.

Anton pointed his gun at Spellman and fired. The bullet slashed across his neck. He stumbled sideways. Vasim wrapped his arm around Spellman’s neck and they fell through the doorway to the ground.

Jack heard Ysabel shout, “Oh, God!”

He drew his Ruger, leveled the muzzle with Anton’s chest. “Don’t!”

Anton turned toward him, gun coming around. Jack fired. The bullet hit him in the chest, shoving him backward, but his gun was still up. Jack fired again, as did Dom, whose round struck Anton in the throat a split second after Jack’s punched into Anton’s belly. He went down.

Jack rushed forward and kicked his gun away.

On the other side of the door, Spellman and Vasim were wrestling, the latter trying to crawl from under the CIA agent to reach his fallen friend. “Anton! Anton!”

“Stop, Vasim, you don’t—”

“Get off of me!”

Medzhid yelled, “Quiet! All of you, quiet!”

Vasim stopped struggling. Spellman rolled off him, then helped him to his feet. Vasim shrugged off his arm. He stared down at Anton’s body.

“Matt, you’re bleeding,” said Jack. “Your neck.”

The CIA man touched the spot. “Ah, shit.”

“Jack,” Ysabel called, her voice barely a whisper, “it’s Albina.”

He turned. She was kneeling beside Medzhid’s assistant. The woman had a bullet hole below her left eye.

“Oh my God, oh God, no…” Medzhid muttered, almost chanting as he backed away. His legs bumped against the back of the couch. He plopped down. His eyes were vacant.

“What have you done? What just happened? Someone tell me!”

Jack stooped over, reached inside Anton’s coat, and tossed it to Medzhid. “Check his call history. The last number belongs to Pechkin. Ysabel, show him.”

She walked over and handed Medzhid the phone. The minister studied each screen in turn. “This isn’t… Are you sure?”

“We’re sure,” Dom replied.

Medzhid looked at Seth, who nodded. “Pechkin died yesterday outside Khasavyurt. That’s his phone. I’m sorry, Rebaz, I really am.”

“Anton called Pechkin after Ysabel and I left you in Buynaksk,” Jack added. “Pechkin then called Captain Osin and told him to raid Dobromir’s house and kill him. He would have done the same to us if we’d given him the chance.”

“Why?”

“Wellesley and Pechkin hired Dobromir to kidnap Aminat. They didn’t want him talking to us.”

“Anton and I have been together for almost nine years. I can’t believe he would be a part of this.”

“He did it for the same reason Salko snatched Koikov. He thinks you’re a traitor.”

“I’m not a traitor.”

“We all know that, but they thought otherwise, and there might be others close to you who feel the same way. You need to wake up, Rebaz. This is the second time the bad guys have tried to stop what you’re doing, first with Aminat, and then this. What’s about to happen in Makhachkala is going to be bloody and people are going to die. You need to get your head around that. Either that or we call it off.”

“That was pretty harsh, Jack,” Seth whispered. “He didn’t deserve that.”

They were sitting at the conference table. Medzhid had retreated to his suite. Grim-faced and avoiding eye contact with Jack and the others, Vasim had called in the rest of Medzhid’s day-shift bodyguards, who were gently wrapping Anton’s and Albina’s bodies in blankets for removal. The carpet where Albina’s head had lain was saturated with blood. Ysabel had found the bullet from Anton’s gun in the wall behind the conference table.

“Maybe so,” Jack replied, “but he needed to hear it. I learned a hard lesson yesterday and he’s learned one today — actually, his third lesson, counting Aminat and Koikov. Wellesley’s going to keep coming at us, probably even harder now that we’ve evened the odds a bit.”

“Well, we’re not calling it off, that’s for damned sure. That’s not your decision to make.”

“I know it isn’t.”

Dom said, “Jack’s right. The man needs to understand — really understand — what he’s signed on for.”

“You really don’t think he knows that?”

“You know him better than anyone else. What do you think?”

“If he didn’t get it before, he does now,” said Spellman.

“I’m not so sure,” Ysabel replied. “Has he given any thought about what will happen to his wife and Aminat if this fails?”

“Of course he has,” said Seth. “He’ll be moving them both out of the capital the day after tomorrow. The MOI minister in Azerbaijan has agreed to take them in.”

“Thank God for that.”

Vasim walked up to the table. He handed Spellman a handkerchief. “You will need sutures to close that. I will take you to the minister’s doctor later.”

“Thanks.”

“You weren’t lying about Anton? You did not set him up?”

Jack shook his head. “And we didn’t want it to happen this way.”

“Did this Pechkin man say anything before he died, anything that might explain why Anton did this? Perhaps he was being forced into it.”

“It’s possible,” Ysabel replied. “I don’t think we’ll ever know. We’re very sorry, Vasim. We know you were friends.”

“Yes, and for a long time, but he was the traitor, not the minister. You said Pechkin’s partner is still out there, yes?”

“Raymond Wellesley.”

“I hope you find him and kill him.”

“We’ll do our best.”