Markov muttered, “Target’s on foot, looking right at me. Now he turns, walks away.”
Roger and Markov were two hundred feet away from Will. He saw them start to walk, tailing the target.
Will followed but kept his distance in case he needed to suddenly change direction. Speaking quietly, he asked, “Description of sailor boy?”
Roger answered in a near whisper, “Hooded, black down coat, jeans, running shoes. He’s walking quickly.”
“Cell phone out?”
“Not right now.”
The sailor had as yet been given the directions for only the first leg of his journey on foot.
Large snowflakes fell through the black air, illuminated by streetlamps. The sweat on Will’s face immediately turned icy cold; he rubbed it away before it froze. He thrust his hands into his overcoat pockets and gripped his handgun.
They walked past terraced residential and commercial buildings on either side of the street. All of the properties were in darkness. As they neared the end of the street, Roger muttered, “He’s stopped. He’s turning. He’s facing us, standing underneath a lamp. We’re a hundred feet from him, easily visible.” Roger went quiet for a few seconds. “He’s reaching into his pocket, pulls out something… could be his cell… correction, it’s a pack of smokes. He lights a cigarette, still watches us, remains still.”
Will stopped and waited fifty feet behind the CIA operative and the Spetsnaz soldier.
“He’s got direct eye contact with us… bastard’s smiling. He checks his watch, smokes some more, flicks his cigarette away, turns his back on us, but he’s still waiting.”
Will’s mind raced. He briefly wondered if this could be the place where the sailor was meeting Razin. He thought it was unlikely, that it was too risky when Will’s team was right by the target. But so far Razin had not cared about risks or opponents. Will said quietly, “Watch your perimeter. Taras could come at us from any direction.”
Five minutes passed. Nothing happened. Will, Roger, and Markov remained static, watching the target but also keeping their hands firmly fixed on their hidden pistols in case they were attacked.
Ten minutes passed. The target did not move.
Fifteen minutes. Markov advised them that the target had just lit another cigarette.
Will checked his watch. It was 5:16 A.M.
After seventeen minutes, Will was about to tell the rest of the team to drive their vehicles closer to the area.
But Roger spoke first. “He drops the cigarette, stamps on it, and walks away.”
Roger and Markov walked. So did Will.
“He’s running!” Roger immediately broke into a sprint.
Will sped after them, shouting, “What’s ahead?”
“Main road.” Markov was breathless. “He could be heading there for a mobile pickup.”
“Unlikely.” Will increased his speed. “Anything else on that road that could be useful to him?”
There was silence for a moment before Markov said, “Not sure.”
A thought suddenly entered Will’s mind. “What time does Moscow’s subway system open in the morning?”
“Five twenty.” Markov went silent for two seconds. “Shit! He was waiting for the system to open. Tverskaya and Chekhovskaya stations are on the road he’s headed toward.”
Will was now at full sprint, running across snow-covered pavement, between parked cars, and along the center of the street. “Are they interlinked?”
“Yes. Between them, there are three lines through the complex, giving six possible directions.”
Will grabbed his throat mic. “Korina, drive one mile north. Wait there. Vitali, Laith: get to any station east of me. Park there and await updates. The rest of us will follow him in on foot.”
Will reached the main road and saw his colleagues sprinting right, then crossing the route. The target was ahead of them, running fast.
“He’s gone into the Chekhovskaya entrance.” Roger was only fifty feet behind the sailor.
Will called, “Markov, do these comms systems work under- ground?”
“Most of the time.”
Will’s stomach tightened. “We’ll have to hope they do. I’m taking the Tverskaya entrance. Keep talking to me inside.”
He ran into the subway station. Aside from one official, it was empty. Grabbing some notes of rubles from his pocket, he approached a ticket machine, bought a one-day pass, cursed the few seconds he had lost, and sprinted to the barriers. “Which line?”
“Don’t know. We’re following him further into the station, but he’s not yet committed to a platform.”
Will moved through the barrier and along a corridor; then he paused by a map of Moscow’s subway system and memorized the names and locations of the other stations in the vicinity. He saw that only the green line traveled through Tverskaya, although he could access Cherhovskaya and its other two lines from within the complex. He moved forward, desperate not to lose communication with Markov and Roger.
Markov’s voice came into his earpiece, speaking in a slow, deliberate manner. “He’s going to take the purple line, heading east.”
“Damn!” Will searched for signs to Cherhovskaya.
“No, wait.” Markov’s voice grew quieter but was clear. “We’ve got seven minutes before our train arrives. Check what time the next green line train heads south.”
Will ran to the platform and saw that a train was due to arrive in less than one minute. He relayed this to Markov.
“Good. If you take that train, change at the next stop at Okhotny Ryad, and then head north on the orange line, you can be at our next stop at Lubyanka before we get there. If the target gets off at that station, you’ll be ahead of him, and we can drop out of sight.”
As Will stood on the deserted platform, watching his train emerge from a dark tunnel and come toward him, he said, “Provided my connections are swift.”
Roger spoke. “It’s a risk, but I think my friend’s right. Taras could have us running around all day as long as we’re stuck like glue to the target. Maybe we should gift him a deliberate mistake.”
The train drew nearer. Will desperately tried to decide what to do. By getting onto the train, he could be rendering himself useless to his surveillance team. Or, if the risk paid off, he could take up point in a way that would make the target think he had lost his current two followers. The train slowed and stopped, and its doors opened. Will sighed and stepped forward. “I’m getting on the train.”
Three men were in the carriage. They looked to be in their late twenties, had shaven heads, were brawny, and carried bottles of liquor. They eyed him from the end of the carriage. Will lowered his head to avoid eye contact with the drunken group and remained standing by the doors. “I’m moving south. Mobile units, can you hear me?”
The line crackled for a moment before Korina said, “Yes, William. I’m stationary near Belorusskaya subway station, north of you.”
Over static, Vitali said, “Laith and I are northeast of your location, outside Chistiye Prudy station. We’re not going anywhere until you tell us where.”
The train rattled as it continued its journey. Will tried to imagine where Razin was waiting within Moscow. He wondered if Razin might not even be in one of the other carriages on this train or on the train containing Markov, Roger, and the target. Or maybe he was now watching Korina or Vitali and Laith, readying himself to walk up to their vehicles and use a knife to gut the occupants.
The train stopped at Okhotny Ryad. He stepped out of the carriage and began walking. So did the three men. They were laughing.
Roger spoke, but his words were distorted.
“Say again.” Will held his throat mic. “You broke up.”
This time the words were clear. “Three minutes until we depart.”
Will followed signs for the orange line, walking quickly along a brightly illuminated tunnel. He heard the sound of glass smashing behind him. The drunken men laughed again.
