The Leveling

MARK HEADED AWAY from the arch, toward the two-story World Trade Complex—though his real destination was the old section of town, where he knew he could get lost in the crowded Russian tenements.

Several tall fountains, each layered like a wedding cake, stood anchored in the vast square that surrounded the arch. Soon after Mark left Thompson’s car, a man wearing blue jeans and a black jacket emerged from behind one of them. A camera hung from his neck, as though he were a tourist. He was a good hundred feet away, but walking slowly toward Mark as he read what appeared to be a map. Mark took a closer look and thought he detected Chinese features in the man’s face.

Mark bore off a bit toward the northern edge of the square, in the direction of a traffic cop. He had everything under control, he thought. The older Soviet tenements weren’t far away. He’d be fine as long as he moved fast and kept anyone who might be on his tail guessing. Daria should be photographing the whole dance routine from wherever she was hidden; he hoped she’d gotten a good shot of the Chinese tourist.

Then he saw Thompson jogging behind him.

Come on, buddy. Give it a rest.

Mark sped up, but Thompson sped up as well. So Mark let him catch up but kept walking at a fast clip. “Eleven o’clock, the guy with the map and camera. Watch him.”

“You’re going to the airport.”

Mark saw another man approaching. “Shit. More incoming at three o’clock.”

Mark was forced to veer off toward the center of the square.

“He’s one of mine,” said Thompson, struggling to keep up. “I told you all embassies in the region are on alert. I can’t leave the building without a guard tailing behind me. He’s armed and he’s coming for you. You’re going with me to the airport.”

A Caucasian guy with huge forearms and a neck like a tree trunk closed in. An embassy rent-a-soldier, Mark figured.

“Get us back to the car,” Thompson said to his guard.

Mark observed yet another man approaching from the side. He wore a coat that was heavier than the mild weather called for, and looked Chinese. Until a moment ago, he’d been seated on one of the benches on the perimeter of the square.

Mark began to think he’d miscalculated by pushing forward with the plan in spite of the Thompson complication.

“Move!” Thompson’s guard flashed a pistol he was holding underneath his jacket and grabbed Mark’s arm. “The Mercedes on the edge of the square.”

“William, we have to bail. Now!” Mark pointed to an alley that he knew led to the Russian quarter. “Don’t be stupid!”

A gray BMW screeched to an abrupt stop on a street a hundred yards directly in front of them. A man climbed out of the back of the car.

“They yours too?” Mark said to Thompson. “Because if they’re not, we could be screwed.”

“Just get us to your car,” Thompson said to his rent-a-soldier.

In the distance, Mark saw the two Turkmen army soldiers still standing at attention in their glass-walled shelters by the arch.

Thompson’s interference had allowed the Chinese—they were Chinese, Mark was certain of it now—to close in on all sides. The closest was only ten feet away.

“Ogry!” Mark called out in Turkmen. Thief!

“Shut the hell up!” said Thompson’s guard.

“Ogry!” Mark called out again. This time one of the soldiers by the arch turned. After taking a second to assess the situation, he started running awkwardly toward them, struggling to gain speed in his dress shoes and stiff slacks. Mark waved his arms.

The Chinese were upon them in seconds, each one positioning himself at a different point on an invisible triangle. They weren’t big men, but they all looked like professionals. Each of them wore a radio earpiece.

“Get the fuck away from us,” said Thompson’s guard. He stuck out his elbows and pushed forward like a bull.

“If any of you lay a hand on me, there’ll be hell to pay!” said Thompson.

Mark felt a sharp stab in his side. When he looked down, he saw the butt of a pistol being held by one of the Chinese. Thompson’s guard turned, saw the gun in Mark’s side, then drew his own. He pointed it at the Chinese and said, “I’m paid to guard this man.” He pushed Thompson forward a foot. “You let the two of us through, you’ll have no problems.”

“Búyào pèng wǒ!” said Thompson. Don’t touch me!

The two Chinese in front appeared ready to back down and let Thompson go, but then one put a hand to his earpiece and nodded. A second later, a single sharp shot rang out. Mark ducked just as Thompson’s guard slumped forward and fell to his knees.