along the street, he saw glimpses of the four-man CIA-GRU unit. They were about 250 feet away and were using whatever cover they could to return fire. Beyond them, more soldiers.
Will pulled away from the street, desperately trying to work out what to do. Even if he fired shots at them, he would draw only a few of the two hundred or so troops toward him. Roger was right. The situation was hopeless. He glanced again into the street containing the soldiers and his team. He spoke to his men. “I’m sorry. Stop fighting. We’ve failed. Surrender to them.”
There was silence for a while.
Then Roger spoke to his comrades. “Switch your comms systems to any other channel and smash the kit so that they can’t monitor William and Korina. No matter what the soldiers do to you, keep your mouths shut.”
A few more seconds passed before Markov shouted out words in Russian. Then he walked out of a doorway, his hands placed on his head. Laith appeared from another doorway and tossed his handgun onto the street. Roger moved into view from behind a vehicle, his arms outstretched, his palms facing the soldiers, blood dripping from one of the limbs. Vitali came to his side, arms high in the air, and shouted more words at the soldiers. The troops and police moved close to the four men; all of them had their weapons pointed at the team. One of the cops barked instructions at them. Roger got to his knees; then the rest of the team followed suit. The troops rushed forward. As they did so, Roger looked toward Will and smiled.
The police and soldiers grabbed the men, wrenched their arms behind their backs, and placed plastic handcuffs on each of them. A soldier smashed the butt of his rifle into Laith’s head, causing the CIA officer to crash back to the ground, his head now a bloody mess. Another jabbed the muzzle of his gun into Markov’s gut, forcing the Spetsnaz operative to double over and vomit. A police officer wearing captain tabs stepped forward, shouting at the soldiers, clearly berating them for their brutality. Some of the troops and cops grabbed the team and yanked them to their feet. At the far end of the street, a four-ton military truck pulled up. The captain pointed at it and shouted orders. Will’s team was slowly walked toward it, hands gripping them, the rest of the army and police units continuing to point their weapons at the joint Russian-American intelligence unit. As they were placed into the back of the truck, Will looked at his men one last time, knowing that they would be imprisoned, brutally tortured, and executed.
He turned away from the street, feeling sick, and more than anything wishing it was himself rather than his team who had been caught. Secreting his gun, he turned and walked. His face smarted from the bullet wound, but he didn’t care.
Snow fell faster. The air grew colder. He passed pedestrians who were now reemerging onto the streets and were calling to one another, ignoring him and pointing in the direction of Novokuznetskaya Ulitsa. Men, women, children, old and young.
He heard Korina’s voice in his earpiece, telling him where she was, telling him what to do. With every step he took toward her location, his stomach tightened and cramped.
He had one remaining option to capture Razin. But the thought of taking it repulsed him.
Chapter Thirty-seven
They were driving south, away from Moscow, and had been on the road for two hours. Korina was in the driver’s seat; Will was next to her. It was midmorning, though the sky was dark and the snowfall heavy.
Will had no idea where Korina was headed. He had not bothered to ask her as he did not care. He just sat in silence, feeling sick with failure. During the journey, the scenery had changed from urban to suburban, and now they were moving through forested countryside. As Will looked at his surroundings, he knew that ordinarily the snow-covered trees and rolling hills would seem pretty. But right now he could only imagine how the countryside around him would look in a devastating war.
Korina slowed her vehicle and turned off onto a thin track that took them into the forest. She drove for another ten minutes before stopping in front of a large eighteenth-century house. She glanced at Will. “My father’s house. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”
Will got out of the car and retrieved his bag and Bergen rucksack from the open trunk. Grabbing her bag, Korina approached the front door, tried the handle, realized it was locked, and looked at Will. “Stay here.” She disappeared around the side of the building, returning a minute later. “Dad always kept a spare key hidden in the shed.” Korina unlocked the door and stepped into the building. Will followed her.
He walked through a wide hallway containing gold-framed paintings, passed the base of a majestic, red- carpeted staircase alongside a study, a large kitchen which had a breakfast table set for six, and into a big open- plan dining and lounge area. At one end of the room was a Bechstein grand piano, lying on its surface were a violin and bow, and fixed in a stand next to it was a cello. Korina moved beyond an ornate oak dining table topped by a candelabra, stopping by a sumptuous leather three-piece suite, dropped her bag on the floor, and slumped into one of the armchairs.
She tousled her hair with both hands and looked around. “I haven’t been here for a while, but nothing’s changed. I still pay Dad’s cleaner to come in once a week, and I even keep the freezer and cupboards stocked with food in case-well, I don’t know why.” She nodded toward the instruments. “When I was a girl, Dad would accompany my violin recitals.” She half smiled, though the look was sad. “I think he tried his best to make me into a true lady, but in the end, he gave up and allowed me to pursue my own path.” Her smile faded. “But it must have been hard for him to see his little girl be like that.”
Will nodded slowly, looking around. There were photographs on the walls, and, after dropping his Bergen and travel bag, he walked up to them. One of the shots was of a younger Korina; she looked to be in her early twenties. She was wearing an army uniform and had tabs showing she was a junior lieutenant.
Handwritten, in black ink in one corner of the photo, were some words in Cyrillic:
To my dear Korina, I am so proud of you.
Korina called out, “It was taken on the day of my graduation from the GRU training academy.” Her voice grew quieter. “Even though Dad was shocked at my career choice, he seemed so proud of me on that day.” She said in a louder voice, “I need to look at your injury.”
Will was about to speak, but Korina wagged her finger, got to her feet, and walked to him. Grabbing his hand, she said, “The house contains plenty of medical supplies.” She walked him out of the room, up the red-carpeted stairs, and into a big bathroom. Turning her back on him, she removed some items from a wall cabinet and placed them by the sink. Then she took off her jacket and blouse to reveal a white tank top and stuck a cigarette in her mouth. After lighting the cigarette, she washed her hands, grabbed some implements, and moved to him. “Sit on the floor, please.”
“I can dress the wound myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” Korina said while clenching her cigarette between her teeth. “Or you can allow me to do it. You choose.”
Will looked at her for a while before lowering himself to the ground.
Korina crouched opposite him, carefully rubbed disinfectant-doused cotton wool swabs over the cut on his face, used more of them to wash away the caked blood around the injury, and finally applied butterfly Band-Aids to close the wound. “It will still scar.”
Will got to his feet, and so did Korina. She moved back to the sink, extinguished her cigarette, stripped out of her tank top and bra, and filled the sink with hot water. With her back to Will, she began washing. “I’ll bathe properly this evening. But first I want to prepare you some food, and I can’t do that without a wash.” She applied soap to her body before cupping her hands and splashing water to rinse herself. Grabbing a hand towel, she turned to face Will and stood still. Water from her naked upper body dripped down to the waistband of her pants.
Will looked at her face, her long black hair, her slender arms and shoulders, and her full breasts. He stood still as she walked up to him, dropped the towel on the floor, and wrapped her arms around him.
Bringing her lips close to his, Korina whispered, “Vitali and Markov will not break in interrogation, but it’s a matter of GRU record that I requisitioned them from their Spetsnaz unit. That means the FSB has issued a warrant to arrest me.” She raised a hand to his face and gently brushed her fingers against his cheek. “Unless I can get out of Russia, my life is over.” She pulled him right against her body, kissing him fully on the lips, holding him tight, pressing her breasts against his body.
