Hard Cover Page 24

  ‘Good to know. I’m about to set out. As soon as I find the target again you can tell the guys to bug out for home – and say thank you for me. Is there anything else I should look out for on the radar? That includes military roadblocks, cops and helicopters with angry men on board.’

  Her voice developed a smile. ‘Nothing on those, Watchman. There are military training units at various locations in the region – I’ll send you a graphic in a second. There are none near you right now, but there is a camp on a line between you and Counselor’s current location. It’s listed on our database as a specialist training school, confirmed and updated as of one month ago.’

  I knew the CIA and other agencies, including the US military, kept a regularly updated check on all known facilities as a matter of course and shared the information among themselves when it suited them. Right now that sharing could be of real value to me. ‘What sort of specialist?’

  ‘Sniper training and winter survival for regular troops looking to step up.’

  Great. Special forces intakes, in other words; hot to trot and eager to prove themselves worthy of selection. They’d be out in all weathers and conditions and wouldn’t be advertising their presence. They would also look on anybody out and about in the area as potentially part of the testing procedure they were going through. I’d have to steer well clear of them.

  ‘I lost sight of the helicopter during the night,’ Lindsay continued. ‘They must have put down and gone dark. Did you have any contact?’

  She meant did I shoot anybody but was too polite to ask outright.

  ‘No. I was a good boy and stayed out of sight. But they weren’t fooling. I think they’ll be back.’

  ‘Copy that. I’ll keep an eye out.’

  I thanked her and signed off, then had a field-style breakfast, which was water, a can of juice and a couple of energy bars. It would do me fine until I got something better. I’d had about an hour of hard driving after leaving the lake before I gave up the chase and found a place to pull in and get my head down. With no visible signal to follow it meant Tzorekov had headed for the horizon beyond my tracking range. Right at this moment he could be anywhere and certainly wasn’t going to wait around for me to buddy up to him again. Now he knew I was here and what I represented, I was nothing more than a distraction – and a danger for him and Gurov if I got picked up.

  I stamped around the pickup a couple of times to warm up, then changed the magnetic decals on the pickup back to the logging company. The best way to not stand out was by blending in like a local, and you couldn’t be more local around here than a logging contractor. Then I hit the road, keeping one eye on the skies in case the helicopter popped up on my tail. I had no cover now and the roads were few and far between in this area, which gave them a far smaller area to cover. I didn’t know what kind of electronics they had on board or whether it included cameras, but it was a safe bet to assume that they hadn’t come armed only with opera glasses and a borrowed road map.

  Another roadblock. I’d been driving for less than an hour when I rounded a long bend on the side of a hill and saw brake lights up ahead. I wasn’t too surprised; I’d overtaken a few trucks and slow cars along the route but seen oncoming vehicles neatly spaced out, which meant something was breaking up the traffic flow like an accident – or something a lot less welcome.

  I started to brake, looking for turnings. Nothing doing. A solid belt of trees lay on one side with a deep ravine on the other behind a metal barrier. A half dozen soldiers were standing on each side of the road, this time with a light armoured vehicle and a GAZ-Tigr utility to back them up. And instead of one man like the last one I’d seen, they were moving in pairs along the lines of vehicles, checking each one.

  ‘Lindsay, come in.’

  ‘I hear you, Watchman. Go ahead.’

  ‘Have there been reports of any radio chatter from military bands? I have a roadblock up ahead of me and no way out. It might be nothing but I could use a heads up if I have to run.’

  ‘Nothing specific on that, Watchman. There have been news reports about a clampdown on all non-essential flights north of Moscow, but no details given. It could be a random exercise but it’s being described by observers and some of the press as a show of strength after Putin’s visit to the south.’ She paused. ‘I see a track off to your right, but I think that might be too late.’

  It was. I was stuck and would have to sweat it out. I checked I hadn’t left anything out, like the cell phone or the weapons. But the car was a convincing mess of food wrappers, empty water bottles and some fruit on the front passenger seat. We loggers can be real slobs.

  I grabbed an apple and took a large bite. One way of disguising a foreign accent is to talk through a mouthful of food. It isn’t foolproof but works more often than not, especially if the people asking the questions are themselves a little jumpy. There was also a second reason: I was sending out the silent message that anybody apparently calm enough to be chewing an apple can’t be too nervous about being stopped by cops or troops.

  A pair of soldiers arrived, one each side of the pickup. They had assault rifles at the ready and were standing back in a way that showed they were trained and ready in case anything kicked off. I nodded a greeting and carried on eating, hoping they weren’t looking to have a chat. Both men gave me the dead eye, ducking to get a good look at my face, and I waved the apple. They seemed relaxed enough, but they were professionals; if they had any suspicions they were sitting on them.

  The one on my side checked out the logging company decals on the side of the pickup, taking his time. When he looked through the window at the inside, he pulled a face. Maybe he was a neatness freak. He gave a quick glance at the back space then looked over the top at his colleague and waved him on, before turning to jerk a thumb at me to get moving and take my mess with me.

  I was more than happy to comply.

  As soon as I got through the roadblock I called Lindsay again. The delay hadn’t been too long but I still didn’t have a signal from the Touareg.

  ‘Copy that, Watchman. I have a location from the Pathfinders as of ten minutes ago. Coming through now.’

  ‘Thanks. Got that.’

  As I signed off and put my foot down, I glanced in the mirror. The GAZ had pulled out from the side of the road and was coming after me, flashing its headlights. I wondered if it was me they wanted or if they were simply telling me to clear the road. But there was nobody else around.

  It had to be me.

  FIFTY-SIX

  ‘We need to refuel.’ The navigator was looking back at Chesnokoy. ‘We have thirty minutes flying time left and are within two minutes of a small depot. Beyond that we will be reducing our flight time and will lose more time coming back to refuel than is practical.’

  Chesnokoy nodded. ‘Do it. But make it quick.’

  After an uncomfortable few hours’ sleep, they were back in the air and heading north along the road from the lake. After touching down on the road to pick up the two Chechens, Gorin had jumped out and confirmed that mud tracks led from the lake and turned left, showing the target vehicle’s direction of travel.

  ‘That bloody Gurov,’ he’d muttered, climbing back aboard. ‘I can’t wait to get him in my sights.’

  Chesnokoy shared the sentiment, but some instinct cautioned him about assuming that Gurov was to blame for leading them on a dance. Surely he wouldn’t have endangered the man he’d been protecting for so long by doing that? What if he’d miscalculated and they’d managed to catch them out in the open? It didn’t ring right.

  ‘How safe is this depot?’ he queried. Although they were operating under the radar and being given help to avoid being questioned too closely, that situation would not last indefinitely. Neither would they stand too close an inspection by one of the military’s ‘paper’ soldiers wielding a clipboard and a sense of self-importance.

  ‘It’s fine as long as we land, refuel and leave immediately. We have a clearance code as a Spetsnaz training mis
sion but only as long as we don’t run into one of their unit observers. Your men will have to remain on board and out of sight, though.’ He flicked a hand at his own face. ‘In fact it might be better if they wear their masks.’

  Chesnokoy gave the order for his men to don their balaclavas and get ready for landing. He thought having the men stay onboard and concealed was over-elaborating the issue but was content to take the precaution. He trusted Gorin to know the score and keep his head down; like himself, the former sergeant had spent a lifetime knowing when to talk and when not to; when the seemingly innocent man standing next to you round the camp fire was actually reporting back on the cynics, the disgruntled and the dissenters. But he didn’t know Kasbek or the others. All it needed was a careless word from one of them and their cover could be blown in a second.

  ‘Prepare for landing.’ The pilot’s voice drifted over the comms system. ‘There are other flights here, some with men onboard. I’ll land away from them and wait our turn. Nobody gets off, OK?’

  ‘Agreed.’ Chesnokoy looked round each man in turn and signalled that they should stay onboard and keep their faces covered. In most places a group of men dressed in combat gear with their faces masked would attract a level of attention out of the ordinary. Russia’s Spetsnaz troops were the best of the best and were accorded the appropriate level of mystique and admiration by the public. But among other military professionals there was always a degree of interest that went beyond that. Some would be looking for individuals they might know, looking to put a face to the figure and bask in the glow of a shared acquaintance.

  And that could be disastrous.

  The pilot circled the depot, housed at the end of a small airfield with a few buildings and a repair facility. He touched down and switched off the engines, then got out and walked away towards the buildings to sign off a fuel voucher.

  Chesnokoy stayed where he was, eyeing the rest of the field. He counted three other military helicopters and a fixed-wing plane. Several men in combat or flight uniform were standing in groups away from the machines being refuelled, some looking at the Ansat-U with interest. New arrivals, he thought; always of interest to soldiers bored with waiting and looking for the opportunity to exchange some gossip.

  Twenty minutes later the pilot still hadn’t returned.

  ‘What’s the hold-up?’ said Chesnokoy.

  The navigator shook his head. ‘Could be anything. Probably some lazy clerk who doesn’t want to put himself out. We have an open docket to take on fuel; it was guaranteed the same as the one we used in Saint Petersburg. They get picky sometimes, demanding extra codes and ID.’

  Chesnokoy sat back and took a deep breath. Don’t sweat it, Alex, he told himself. It’s probably some typical military pencil pusher flexing his authority because it’s the only way he can.

  Then Gorin touched his arm and pointed through the window. Three men in combat gear were walking towards them. They had left a group clustered around a Mil Mi-24 attack helicopter, squatting on the field like a giant dragonfly, bristling with guns and missiles. As the men got closer it was possible to see they were wearing blue-striped T-shirts under their jackets. They looked tanned and fit, and walked with the brazen confidence of elite troops.

  ‘Great,’ Gorin muttered. ‘That’s all we need – a bunch of hulking paras looking to make new friends.’

  Or GRU Spetsnaz, thought Chesnokoy sourly. The telnyashka striped T-shirt was worn by naval, army and airborne troops, the color of the stripes denoting which branch of the service they came from. But some soldiers with few brains liked to wear them for the buzz even if they weren’t entitled.

  He watched the men and felt a drumming sensation building in his chest. Anywhere else in the world, faced with nosy civilians eager to meet a bunch of soldiers, he could have bluffed his way out with no trouble. Or told them to get lost.

  But this was different.

  He pulled the mouthpiece of his comms headset close and said quietly to the navigator, ‘Don’t let these idiots onboard, you hear me?’

  ‘Got it.’ The navigator unclipped himself and climbed out, and walked across to meet the three men, two senior sergeants and a captain. They stood and talked, with the captain gesturing at the Ansat-U and lifting his chin in a query.

  The navigator shook his head. The captain frowned and said something else. Again the navigator shook his head, this time moving slightly to block the path of one of the sergeants who looked like walking past him.

  Chesnokoy felt his blood pounding. He dropped his hand and picked up his pistol, a 9mm Makarov. The other men saw the movement and were instantly at the ready, reaching for their own weapons.

  ‘Nosy bastards, aren’t they?’ said Gorin. ‘This could get messy.’

  ‘Stay calm,’ Chesnokoy warned them, feeling a lot less relaxed than he probably sounded. ‘Let the fly boy do the talking.’

  ‘What if it doesn’t work?’ said Kasbek. ‘He doesn’t look very convincing to me.’

  ‘He’ll do fine, don’t worry. He’s been round the block a few times; I’m sure it will take more than a para captain to scare him off.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. If they find out we haven’t got official clearance, we’ll be an open target.’ He licked his lips but Chesnokoy noticed he had his hand on his rifle ready to fight.

  ‘We have official clearance all right,’ he said lightly. ‘It’s just not official official.’ After a second or two he saw Kasbek’s lips move in a smile, and the others did the same. They might be in an awkward situation, but they could all appreciate sticking up a middle finger at officialdom whenever the opportunity arose.

  Then he heard a voice snapping out orders and saw the navigator returning to the Ansat on the double. The man doing the shouting was their pilot, who marched straight up to the captain and issued a stream of invective at him, jerking a thumb away towards the Mil in a way that was impossible to misunderstand.

  ‘Piss off, junior, in other words,’ Gorin translated, ‘and go fly your own machine.’

  Everybody relaxed and lowered their weapons.

  The pilot jumped aboard. ‘There was a query with the paperwork, but it’s sorted out,’ he explained. ‘Petty bureaucrats, even out here.’

  ‘And the captain?’ Chesnokoy thought the pilot was a lot less calm than he sounded.

  ‘The snot in the fancy T-shirt, you mean? He’s part of an inspection mission. He demanded to know our names and unit details so I told him to get lost and go polish his medals.’ He settled himself into his seat and put on his helmet, then said softly to Chesnokoy over the intercom, ‘Something doesn’t feel right about this. I don’t want to worry your men but they’re querying all “non-essential” flights in the region. That means anything that doesn’t qualify as a training flight or special operations will be shut down for an unspecified period. The captain said they were considering grounding any that fail to show proper identification and mission plans. I think that means us.’

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘No. Instructions from the Air Transport Agency, he said, but that’s bullshit; they don’t give orders to the military. Somebody must have rattled the bars somewhere and everybody’s jumping to attention. Could be a terrorist exercise or some such crap. I suggest we carry on and refuel; to leave without it would look very suspicious and we’re dangerously low on fuel as it is. With luck we can fill up and get out of here before Captain Parachute grows some balls and comes back with an order to ground us.’

  Chesnokoy nodded. ‘Let’s do that. Then we can go hunting. I feel the need to shoot somebody.’

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  ‘Lindsay, come in. I’m going to need some fancy map reading.’

  ‘Copy that, Watchman. I have your location.’

  ‘I’ve got a Russian military muscle-wagon on my tail and it looks like he wants to take a closer look. I can’t let him do that but I won’t be able to outrun him on this road before he calls up some help, so I need an escape route.’

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nbsp; ‘Copy that. Running map overlay now. Get ready to follow my call.’ She sounded amazingly calm and I hoped she had some tricks up her sleeve. If the soldiers in the GAZ knew the area at all, it would be way better than I did and they’d react very fast to any change of direction. But maybe between us we could fool them.

  ‘Watchman, two hundred yards, left!’

  I was already hitting eighty when she said it and I just had time to see the turning coming up before I had to haul the wheel round and stand on the brakes. The tyres protested and I prayed they’d hold out and not start to shred under the further round of abuse I was about to send their way. Then we were facing left and the nose was dropping into a black void before we hit ground and I saw a track heading away into a long dark tunnel of trees.

  I floored the accelerator and felt my guts heave along with the suspension as we hit a rough patch before levelling out on a slightly better section of track. Trees flashed by close on both sides and I heard the slap-slap of low-hanging branches bouncing off the bodywork.

  When I looked back I saw the GAZ had turned off the road after me and was closing fast. Whatever had caught their attention and made them come after me, I had a feeling wasn’t about to go away.

  I had once ridden in a Humvee on a high-speed raid and knew the things it could do in the hands of an experienced driver in spite of its size. I figured the GAZ would be little different. And if the men inside had an itch to catch me, they would simply play it out by staying right on my tail until I ran out of road or hit something.

  ‘I need some fast turns, Lindsay,’ I said. ‘These guys are serious.’

  ‘Got that, Watchman. Wait one. Checking I don’t send you down a dead end.’

  I waited, doing my best to keep the pickup on the track while trying to ignore the way the GAZ was gaining on me as if I was standing still. Just my luck – they probably had a rally champion in the driver’s seat who knew this area better than his own mother’s face.