The Russian Renaissance (The Sokolov Saga Book 1) by Ian Kharitonov

Author:Ian Kharitonov
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: thriller
Published: 2013-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

21

WHEN THE AMBULANCE APPEARED, it came to a halt a few meters away from the Lexus, right in front of the school building as Sokolov had indicated. The Lexus was empty. Sokolov and Asiyah watched from the other side of the street, hidden from view. If the ambulance was not what it seemed, they would run away. He didn’t take anything for granted anymore.

The vehicle itself was ordinary—a white van, red stripe painted across—but for one exception. Stenciled below the windshield in mirrored lettering was the word Centrospas, the name of EMERCOM’s special medical unit.

“Is that the car your friend Klimov sent for us?” Asiyah murmured.

“I hope so.”

A moment later, the ambulance inched forward, then stopped again. The passenger’s door swung open and a man got out to scan the area. He kept his hands tucked inside the pockets of his blue-and-orange coat as he turned his shaved head as he scanned every direction. He froze when he caught sight of Sokolov and Asiyah in the distance, and banged his fist against the side of the van, yelling something to the driver.

“Thank God,” Sokolov said. He took Asiyah’s hand. “Let’s go, this is our ride.”

She followed him towards the ambulance. “Are you sure?”

“It’s my pilot and best mate. He was the one who found you in Sochi. The Minister picked the right escort for us.” In fact, Zubov was the last man he expected to see.

The driver, Sokolov noticed as they neared the ambulance, was Mischenko.

Sokolov made quick formal introductions.

Beaming, Zubov pulled the van’s sliding door open. “Happy to see you both alive and well. Hop in.”

“Shouldn’t you two be on vacation?” Sokolov asked as he helped Asiyah inside.

“We were vacationing in Klimov’s office when you called his private number. Let’s say we volunteered for this.”

Sokolov knew them too well—they would have rushed to his help regardless of Klimov’s decision. Also, from a security standpoint, Klimov did not have to involve anyone outside Sokolov’s own team, so there were hardly any other suitable candidates.

With concern, Zubov scrutinized him from head to toe.

“My goodness, you look like you really need first aid, Gene.”

That made Sokolov suddenly feel self-conscious. He was abominable. The wet cotton of his gi clung to his skin. He had dirt and soot on him, cuts from the glass shards, and red burn marks.

“Don’t worry,” Sokolov smiled wearily. “I feel much worse than I look.”

In the back of the ambulance, Sokolov sat next to Asiyah. Zubov climbed in last and shut the door. Mischenko put the car into gear, his feet feathering the clutch and accelerator. The engine rumbled, setting the ambulance into motion, rocking gently on the uneven pavement. For a second, a chilling deja vu of the Beriev leaving Sochi flashed in Sokolov’s mind.

“Where to, Gene?” Mischenko asked.

“Back to the Zhukovsky airbase.”

Mischenko glanced at him in the mirror, grinning. Then the big man flicked on a switch that gave life to the shrieking siren and accelerated like a street racer.

Holding on to his seat as the

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