Hard Cover Page 22

  There was nothing for it. If the flight Lindsay had identified leaving the Saint Petersburg area really was the same one I’d seen previously – and shot at – then standing here and hoping they’d get lost or run out of fuel was pointless.

  I walked into the restaurant.

  Inside was warm, dry, homely and pretty much empty. An array of old photos around the walls gave the atmosphere an ancient, musty feel, as did the series of animal heads mounted on wooden plaques. I saw a bear, a couple of wolves and some kind of deer. Nice.

  Three guys in ancient padded jackets and pants were sitting on one side, spooning up some kind of soup and chewing large hunks of bread. A woman in an apron at the back was pouring coffee behind a counter, and smiled at me like I was the grim reaper come to call.

  Tzorekov and Gurov were over by a window in the corner.

  Tzorekov had his back to me but Gurov saw me immediately. I could tell by his body language that he was ready to go active. He was wearing a coat, even though it was warm, and he had his hand inside pretending to scratch his chest. But I was betting he had more inside there than chest hair.

  I nodded at the woman behind the counter and shook some raindrops off my shoulders, then walked towards the table adjacent to the two men, taking off my coat and dropping it on the next chair. I kept my hands well clear of my body, and when I sat down, left them resting in plain sight.

  Gurov was pretending not to look but followed my every move. He was as tense as a gun dog and clearly didn’t like me being so close. He looked very pale in the yellow light. I wasn’t sure if it was his normal colour or whether the tension of the trip was beginning to tell on him.

  When Tzorekov turned his head to look, I picked up the menu and said quietly, ‘Mr Tzorekov, I’m here to warn you that an Ansat-U with armed men on board is on its way here, tracking a signal from your car. They’re the same men who attacked the cabins at the fishing site and you have no more than thirty minutes to get clear of this place.’

  He was good. Very good. He might have been a long time out of the KGB, but he hadn’t lost his ability to remain cool in a crisis. He studied me for a moment, stretching out a hand to stop Gurov, who had stiffened when I began speaking and was pulling his hand out of his coat.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘My name doesn’t matter, but you found my tracker back at the power plant.’ I looked at Gurov. ‘Thanks for not smashing it – they’re pretty expensive and I have to account for all equipment.’ I was joking but they didn’t know that. I was deliberately keeping the talk flowing to show I wasn’t a threat. If I was I’d have come in all guns blazing.

  ‘You’re American.’ It came like an accusation. Gurov was looking pissed, which I figured was a mixture of professional pride at not having spotted me, and a lingering suspicion that I might be lying in my teeth and be something much worse.

  ‘Actually I hold both US and British passports – although I don’t expect either to help me much here. I was asked to shadow you in and make sure nothing happened along the way.’

  ‘How do we know that? We’re supposed to believe you, just like that?’

  ‘You landed at Pulkovo and stayed in the Solokna Motel for one night. Then you drove east and headed along the E105, turning north after Ladoga, where you encountered a military police roadblock. If I was going to be a threat I could have done something anywhere along the road or back at the lake. Do I need to say more?’

  ‘These men you say are coming after us,’ Tzorekov said. ‘Who are they?’ He’d looked exhausted and old when I first sat down, but there was suddenly an energy about him that jumped the space between us. Maybe he was one of those rare types who thrives on conflict and challenge even when they know it might be a losing battle.

  ‘I think you probably know who they are – or, at least, who they represent. The Wise Men want to stop you meeting with anybody important.’

  He looked shocked at the mention of the group. I wasn’t showing off what I knew, merely displaying that I knew enough about what was going on to have been well briefed.

  ‘We didn’t ask for help,’ said Gurov. He appeared to have got past the gun dog response, perhaps because Tzorekov was still holding his arm. But he was still in a feisty mood. ‘Who sent you?’

  ‘People who want the same outcome as you.’

  Tzorekov nodded. ‘Why did these men not continue their attack on the cabins? What stopped them?’

  ‘I did. I persuaded them to change their plans. When they left they had two walking wounded but I suspect they went for reinforcements.’

  ‘One man?’ Gurov muttered. ‘And you “persuaded” them to leave?’ The scoff of disbelief was missing, but the scepticism was there in buckets. No cynic like a KGB cynic, I guess.

  ‘I had the advantage of surprise.’

  ‘You say they are following a signal?’ Tzorekov said, waving that aside. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because I followed the same signal. I just got here first.’ I wasn’t about to mention the help I’d had from the Pathfinders, which would have been a step of information too far. An outsider by choice Tzorekov might be, but hearing there were foreign troops on the ground in his mother country would probably undo any good we were hoping to accomplish. Pride was pride and he was strictly old school at heart.

  ‘But I checked the car,’ said Gurov. ‘I found your tracker.’

  ‘There were two. They managed to place another one. Thing is, I’m not very far ahead of them and I guess as soon as they lock onto your signal again, they’ll come in fast to finish the job. You need to get out of here.’

  ‘But how will we find this device? It could be anywhere on the vehicle.’

  ‘You tell me. Did anybody get close enough to your car in the past couple of days to plant it?’

  They thought about it. Then Gurov’s jaw dropped. ‘The soldier at the roadblock. He opened the back to inspect the interior. He told us they were looking for a deserter.’ He looked annoyed, probably at his own failure to realize what had happened.

  ‘I think we should go.’ I waited until I was sure Gurov wasn’t going to blow me out of my socks, then stood up carefully and headed for the door.

  FORTY-NINE

  ‘I have them!’ Chesnokoy saw the signal flicker and go stronger. It was them, definitely. He released his belt and moved forward to pass the tracking monitor to the navigator. ‘This is where we have to go. Quickly.’

  The navigator nodded and reached for the onboard computer, feeding in the co-ordinates before checking the device and handing it back. ‘It doesn’t look as if they’re moving.’

  ‘No. They probably don’t know we’re coming. Let us hope it stays that way.’

  ‘What do you want us to do when we get there?’ The navigator was pointing to the map on his computer read-out. ‘We can find somewhere to land and let you off nearby or go in closer. It’s up to you.’

  Chesnokoy grinned at the thought of taking out the targets wherever they were. It was time to finish this. Then he could think about finding the other man – the one who had caused them such damage and inconvenience. ‘Go in as close as you can. As soon as you have visual, find a place to put us down.’

  ‘And if there isn’t one?’ He was referring to the carpet of trees.

  Chesnokoy turned and gestured at the coils of rappelling ropes by the door. ‘Then we’ll go in the old-fashioned way.’

  He moved back to his seat and signalled for the men to get ready. If Gurov was prepared for their arrival, there wouldn’t be time to stroll around and take it easy; they’d have to move in hard and fast. He watched them as they went through the ritual of checking their weapons, followed by the dozen other little things soldiers did before going into battle; tightening belts and buckles, doing up buttons, looking at their watches, tying and retying bootlaces and looking at favourite photos or charms. To fighting men it was a habit as common as eating and drinking, and to each individual, just as important.

  After goin
g through his own readiness check, he sat back and waited for a signal from the navigator that they were coming in on the target. He felt a keen sense of excitement. This was it; they were nearing the end.

  FIFTY

  The rain had intensified, a steady downpour that instantly ran down my neck in an unerring stream as soon as I stepped outside. We ducked round the back to the Touareg and found the tracker inside three minutes. Gurov unlocked the rear door and switched on the light, and we both began checking every inch of the compartment, running our hands around each corner and cavity.

  Gurov found it and swore as he held it up; it was no bigger than a matchbox with a wire transmitter aerial and a magnetic strip to hold the box in place. It was a neat piece of equipment and I wondered which government equipment store it had come from, legally or otherwise.

  ‘Bastard!’ Gurov muttered. ‘The roadblock was a fake!’

  Tzorekov was more pragmatic. ‘It shows they have great reach, these people. It’s always the way: if you have connections and influence, you can get anything you wish done.’ He turned away and climbed into the Touareg.

  I figured there was plenty of time for philosophical discussions later. Right now we were on borrowed time. I grabbed Gurov’s arm; he was about to drop the tracker on the ground and stamp on it.

  ‘What?’ He looked ready to fight but I ignored him.

  ‘I can use that.’ I took it from him and nodded at the Touareg. ‘You two get going. They’ll be here any minute.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll lead them away with this.’ I held up the tracker. ‘You focus on putting some distance between you and this place and finishing what you came here for.’

  He gave me an odd look, then glanced quickly towards the front of the Touareg. I suddenly got the feeling that all wasn’t well in the Tzorekov camp. He was hiding something.

  ‘What?’ I hadn’t been going to ask if they had a location for their meeting yet; I’d figured they wouldn’t tell me and in their place, neither would I. It was enough that I was checking their backs. But something in Gurov’s expression told me he had a problem he wanted to get off his chest.

  ‘We have a serious situation,’ he said simply, and I could sense how difficult he was finding it to tell me. ‘We haven’t heard anything from … the person we expected to have contact with.’

  ‘A go-between?’

  ‘Yes. But also, Putin has just arrived back in Moscow.’ He jerked a thumb towards the bar. ‘There was a television broadcast.’

  ‘So why are you here? It’s in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘When the contact last spoke to us, he said we should aim for this region, maybe heading a little further north. He said that a specific location didn’t matter and he would give us co-ordinates where a meeting could take place. All we had to do was stay invisible.’ He sighed as if it had all been a waste of time.

  ‘So it wasn’t going to be Komsomolskoye?’

  He looked surprised again, but nodded. ‘You have been well briefed.’

  ‘What does he think?’ I nodded towards Tzorekov.

  ‘He is concerned … but resolute. I have to respect that.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I think maybe Putin will not be coming. I think this meeting will not happen.’

  Gurov was in a tough position. Like any bodyguard, there was only so much he could do to offer guidance to his boss. In a case like this, Tzorekov’s good intentions looked like trumping caution and realism. And that was always going to be dangerous.

  We were getting wetter and in more danger the longer we stood here. Since I couldn’t affect their hopes or plans, I just had to hang in there, like Gurov.

  Right now it was time to go.

  ‘I hope it works out,’ I said, and meant it. I didn’t wait to hear any arguments, but turned and jogged back to the pickup.

  ‘You there, Lindsay?’ I started the engine.

  ‘Right here, Watchman. You have fifteen minutes, no more. They’re now flying parallel to the road but the way they came in on your location so far, they’re zeroing in on the signal. What’s your plan?’

  ‘Uh … actually, not sure yet, just flying blind and hoping to luck. I’ll be in touch. In the meantime ask the Pathfinders to continue watching Counselor’s vehicle. The weather’s closing in again here, so they’d better watch their drone doesn’t go AWOL.’

  ‘Copy that. Uh, which tracker will they be following?’

  ‘The original.’

  A slight hesitation. ‘Please confirm, you’ve put your original tracker back on the Touareg?’

  ‘That’s the one.’ I’d slipped it back inside while Gurov was swearing about the roadblock, sliding it under the mat in the corner.

  ‘And the alien?’

  ‘I have that with me.’

  ‘Copy that, Watchman.’ She sounded cool and professional but I could tell she wasn’t. Underneath her words was a whole lot of surprise, the sort which said, Are you freaking nuts?

  ‘Keep me advised of their approach. Oh, and you might tell Callahan, there’s some doubt in the camp about this meeting taking place.’

  ‘He knows. He just told me Impaler’s back in Moscow. Does Counselor know?’

  ‘Yes. But I think he’s in denial. He’s got too much hope invested in this. They haven’t heard squat from their contact.’

  I signed off and hit the gas and took the pickup through the parking lot and onto the track behind the restaurant. On the way I saw the Touareg’s tail lights disappearing down the road heading north. At least Gurov had listened to me instead of arguing. I hit a long section of single-lane cinder track bordered by trees and bushes, wide enough for trucks with occasional passing places. Lindsay had said this was logging country and she was right. I saw cleared sections of trees in the headlights and deep ruts in the earth where logs had been hauled out and loaded onto flatbeds, churning over the ground and revealing fresh earth glistening in the headlights. Elsewhere, neat piles of wet logs stood waiting for removal.

  I drove for a good ten minutes, bouncing around like a beach ball and throwing up gouts of muddy water, and passed close by a small lake on my right, shown as a glimpse of silver through a thin strip of trees. This was nowhere near as fast as the road I’d come here on, but I was short of choices and had to work with what I’d got. All I wanted to hear right now was that the helicopter was following me, not the Touareg.

  I soon got my wish.

  ‘Watchman, come in.’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘The signal has just passed the bar where you stopped and … is now turning east – I repeat, turning east. It’s now on your track although they’ve reduced speed. Is that the rain? It looks heavy on my current weather map.’

  ‘Sure is. How far behind me?’

  ‘I estimate no more than five miles and closing.’

  ‘Copy that. And the Touareg?’

  ‘Wait one.’ She went silent for five seconds, then said, ‘They’re heading north, speed steady.’

  I hit an uphill section of track that had me sliding back on my seat and made my ears pop. I changed down a couple of gears and stamped hard on the gas as the engine began to labour under the strain and the wheels began to skid. Getting caught out here with a car going nowhere wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I’d be like one of those little ducks in a fairground shooting gallery, except the men in the helicopter could simply sit up above me and hose me off the road at their leisure.

  The engine picked up and the tyres suddenly bit deep on something firm and we shot forward. A clatter of stones hit the underneath as we swished sideways under the rush of power and the nearside wheels dipped into a rut. I kept going; slowing now would lose valuable ground and momentum and I had to get over this hill and see what was on the other side if I was to stand any chance of getting out of this in one piece.

  I hit the top of the rise and felt the nose dip and bounce, and had to fight the wheel as I hit a series of deep ruts going downhill
. It was like being shaken by a giant hand, with everything inside the pickup jumping around and a worrying metallic rattle coming from somewhere underneath my butt. Trees flashed by either side of me but I couldn’t see the terrain off the track and figured it would be best not to find out. Going off here would be a one-time thing only and it was probably a mandatory slow section for logging trucks so they didn’t lose their loads on the downslope. Unfortunately, I didn’t have that luxury. Every minute I lost was giving a hand to the helicopter, and with night-vision equipment, which I guessed they must have, they’d soon be seeing me as clear as day even through the rain.

  ‘Lindsay, give me a reading.’

  ‘Watchman, you’re approaching the road I mentioned before. If you turn left and follow it for fifteen miles, it joins up with the road you just left and continues north. Turn right and it circles a large lake some twenty miles long.’

  ‘And the chopper?’

  ‘Now three miles behind you … and closing.’

  Three miles. If the pilot put on even a hint of speed, he could overtake me in no time at all. I had almost no margin for error.

  ‘Check the map for me, will you? How close to the lake does the road go and what’s the tree cover like?’

  ‘Trees everywhere, Watchman, either side of the road and right down to the water. There’s no clearance work showing up just here. Further, the road runs parallel to the lake in a fairly straight line for approximately ten miles, with turnings off on that side only for access to the water. But no secondary routes out that I can see.’

  In other words once I got onto the road past the lake, I’d have to stay on it for miles. It would be like sitting in a shooting gallery, where the men in the helicopter would find me pretty much out in the open. The only alternative was to go down one of the dead ends with only one way back.

  Some hell of a choice.