Part 7
St. Petersburg
Sunday, January 25
Very Early Morning
When I’m on a mission, that old adage about sleeping with one eye open is true, and when I hear the noise outside the door, I wake fully. Even though he’s being quiet, I recognize his footsteps. Probably doesn’t want to face me. But I have a reason to live and return home now, so I don’t take any chances. My gun is in my hand before I even realize it. He doesn’t seem too shocked by my actions, nor by my suggestion that he go shower the smell of the bar off him.
I fall asleep once again, thinking of the phone call that I shouldn’t have made while Rabb was with his brother. If the NSA picks it up on one of their sweeps – oh shit, who am I kidding? If we were that good, the skyline of New York wouldn’t have been forever altered.
"Hello?"
"Hi. It’s me."
"Is everything okay?" Thank God she knew better than to use my name.
"So far. The brothers are visiting."
"That’s good. How bad has it been between the two of you?"
"Quiet. Really, really quiet."
"I’m sorry."
"I’ll live. I miss you."
"I miss you, too."
I wanted to tell her I love her, but it’s too soon. I shouldn’t have told Rabb, but he needed to know this wasn’t a fling. I’m at a loss for what to say. "So, do you know where you want to go for dinner?"
"Paris?"
I laugh. "The city in France, or the new restaurant on the Northwest side?"
"Wellllllll."
It’s so nice to hear her voice. It’s nice to have someone to call. She has the clearances. Mother doesn’t. But then, Mother understands.
"Is the fact that you’re short-handed a bigger strain than before?"
"A little, but it keeps me busy. This way I can actually hold off worrying about you until I get home." She doesn’t equivocate by adding Rabb’s name. She knows I know she worries about him. I don’t even mind, or I wouldn’t, if it were all settled between them.
"Uhm…" I can hear my name in her hesitation. "I meant what I said, in the elevator."
I close my eyes, and can’t keep the stupid grin off my face. "I know. It meant a lot." I can still feel her arms around me. I can still hear her whispered, "Come home to me, Clay."
"I know that you and your partner will always be friends. Hell, I want him to be my friend again, once we work this out."
"We will work this out."
"I… I should probably go; don’t want any little spy satellites picking this up."
"Some world, huh?"
"Not a bad one from where I’m sitting." It’s as close as I dare come to laying my feelings on the line.
"Well, when you put it that way." I can imagine the slight flush on her cheeks. "Take care of yourself."
My dream isn’t erotic. Considering the tension between Rabb and me, though it’s a tad strange. Sarah and I, walking hand in hand down a beach, we’re watching the sailboats off in the distance, but no so closely that we ever lose sight of two small children.
Sunlight streaming in through the window wakes me. Rabb’s still asleep and damn, his snoring would be dangerous on a lot of missions.
We breakfast in relative peace at a small restaurant. The locals eye us, but say nothing. We meet Sergei, as planned, at the back entrance of the cargo company where he works. He has the flight suits and boots that we’ll need to keep us warm, not only in the chopper, but also at 30,000 feet in the F-14. We change inside a very cold hangar.
The company isn’t really a front for the CIA; we just keep it afloat through a dummy corporation. We use it when needed, but always manage to keep the owner in the dark. At least, I think he’s in the dark. Regardless, it works. I’ve used them a couple of times, and the owner would recognize me. I don’t want that this time. What I want is an easy in, and for Sergei to get back here without raising so much as an eyebrow.
Sergei sneaks us into the cargo bay, and we sit huddled together. The gloves are bulky, and I need to check some things on my PDA. Within five minutes, my teeth are chattering from the cold on my hands, though the rest of my body is reasonably comfortable.
Finally, we can join Sergei in the cockpit. I let Rabb take the co-pilot’s seat, and I sit in back, donning the headphones so I can talk to both of them without yelling. We take off, and I marvel at the terrain below us. Nothing, outside of Antarctica and perhaps the moon, is quite so desolate as this part of Russia in winter - it stopped Napoleon, it stopped Hitler. If you get stuck out there too long, they’ll find your bones sometime in the summer – if the wolves haven’t run off with them.
That’s the rural area. Once we enter Kazakhstan, and begin to see the pollution from its cities, I touch Sergei on the shoulder. "Are you seeing the doctor I told you about?"
Rabb looks concerned but Sergei nods. "Yes. Everything is fine. I wasn’t there that long. There is no indication of poisoning."
"What the hell are you two talking about?"
"Nothing," Sergei tells him. "I spent a great deal of time in Taraz for the company – mine, not Webb’s – and I was worried about radiation poisoning. Tatania and I wish to have children, and I do not wish that they be born with problems. Webb found me a doctor who checked me out. I told Valdamir that I wouldn’t go to Taraz again."
"How bad is it?" Rabb demands.
Sergei looks upset at having to explain, so I take over. "Most of Kazakhstan relied on defense industries before the fall. There are old nuclear test sites all over the country. The cancer rate here is phenomenal."
Rabb pales even further. "Where we’re going?"
"Don’t worry, we won’t be there that long." He doesn’t look happy, but then, I’m not particularly happy about it either. If it weren’t for the information in the safe, we would’ve blown up the jet on the ground. What’s another forty-five million dollars?
I can tell Rabb’s fighting to get into his game. I’ve waited for five days for his next question. "So, what’s the final plan?"
Sergei looks back at me, and I sigh. At last, Rabb’s ready to listen. I knew he would come around. It’s a simple plan, as simple as I can make it. "Sergei always has a helper. That’s you. You don’t say a word; just do what Sergei tells you to do. He’ll keep the instructions simple, pointing and gesturing a lot. Just move the stuff to where he points. I’m going in as his new supervisor. I’ll meet the foreman in charge at the general’s dacha; ask all the questions about how the company’s doing, blah, blah. Give him a case of good vodka to insure good will. We’ll spend the night in the men’s dormitory. Before dawn, we’ll make our move. You and Sergei will ready the plane; I’ll go up to the house and do what I have to do."
"And if something goes wrong?"
"Nothing will go wrong. I’ll meet you at the plane, then the three of us will check back in with the foreman. Sergei will sign off on the papers, we’ll all get on board the chopper, but then you and I will get back out, and make our way back to the barn. He’ll take off, and while everyone’s ducking the noise of the diversion that I’ve arranged, you and I will fire up the plane, and get the hell out of dodge."
"This is the Russian mob, Webb! They’ll figure Sergei is part of it, and track him down."
"Already planned for. We have our patsies lined up; the evidence is already planted. Everyone will think that a rival planned the theft to coincide with Sergei’s normal delivery to use it as a diversion."
"Why are you going with me? Why not just go back to St. Petersburg with Sergei? One of us has a better chance."
"Yeah, but you need the help. Opening the door at the last minute, moving the block. Besides, the stuff I’m stealing is time sensitive." Again, he’s not happy. But I don’t care right now. I ignore him to go over the floor plan in my head. It should work. I don’t usually accept assignments where my odds are such that I might as well just put a gun to my head in the office, and save everyone the time and bother of painting another star on the memorial. It should work.
We land. We make nice with the guards and the foreman. Rabb actually pulls off his end of the masquerade with little problem. The dormitory for the workers is fairly tight, and there a huge stove. We stay together, and the other men don’t seem too suspicious of our actions. Sergei whispers, "They aren’t a very friendly lot. They’re suspicious by nature, but they always leave me and my helper alone."
I lie on my bunk and watch the room. Rabb doesn’t snore at all, so I suspect he doesn’t sleep either. At three thirty, I rise and check to make sure that the rest of the men are sleeping. As warm as the stove is, we’ve left our clothes on. I slip on my boots. Rabb is already sitting, as is Sergei.
We part at the back door. I can feel the early morning chill through the protection of the flight suit. Cautiously, I approach the modern dacha. I enter the back door. Even the cook isn’t up yet. Using my memory of the map, and the smallest of penlights, I make my way through the house. This dacha, built cheaply during the seventies, was never meant to be a stronghold. The only reason why the plane is here, is the fact that the general has a big enough barn and a runway. Its location is good for getting the plane to Syria. We have no idea why they want the plane, but after 9-11, we aren’t taking any chances. Hopefully, what’s in the safe will shed some light.
The safe isn’t really all that hard to crack. Again, Dosivitch isn’t a pro at espionage. Right now, he’s sound asleep upstairs. So is the guard who’s supposed to be on duty. It shouldn’t be this easy. I’m starting to feel awfully nervous at the way things are going according to plan.
The safe door swings open, and I grab everything I can get my hands on. We’ve set it up so that evidence points to another faction of the Russian mob. Frankly, the Russians make Chicago in the early twenties look like a Napa Valley dinner party. There’s no central leader for very long. The gang wars are as vicious as anything you can imagine. People who I trust will set up a diversion in less than half an hour. I pause and try to remember if I sent the latest payroll out. Yeah, I can count on him.
I carefully make my way past the guard, who nearly gives me a heart attack when he snorts and grumbles in his sleep. I don’t want to have to kill anyone yet.
Rabb is just climbing down from the plane. He gives me the thumbs up, and Sergei tells me in Russian that there’s plenty of fuel to make it to Turkmenistan. The guard who’d been on duty sits tied to a chair, a sack over his face. He can hear every word we say. So, also in Russian, I ask, "Did he see you, Dimitri?" To which Sergei curses me, and tells me to shut my stupid mouth. It’s all an act to make sure that everyone’s looking where we’re not.
Together, the three of us walk to the door of the barn. Rabb hugs Sergei. There won’t be time later. Sergei backs away from him, and gives me a rather strange look before clasping my hand. "You are both good men, who mean much to me. I hope that you can work out your differences." I look at Rabb, surprised that he would’ve told his brother of our conflict. But he’s looking anywhere but at the two of us.
"I hope so too, my friend." Then, just as he’s about to turn and open the door, Sergei’s eyes open in surprise. Before he can do anything though, we hear in Russian, "Don’t move. I will kill you where you stand!"
Son of a bitch. I knew things were going too well. Rabb looks at me. For once in his life, he’s looking for direction from me. You don’t need to understand Russian to know the tone. "Put your hands up and turn around slowly." He does, and I reach for my gun.
"No!" Sergei sees something I don’t, because the next thing I know, I’m sprawled on the ground, a shot goes off, and a heavy weight falls on me. I hear another shot that sounds like a canon blast.
"Sergei!" Rabb’s voice is full of anguish as he lifts his brother’s body off me. I scramble up to see what the hell happened. A guard is dead near the door. Sergei, in Rabb’s arms, is bleeding to death, the wound in his chest spreading red across his flight suit.
"Webb?" I’ve never seen Rabb so scared.
"Oh, Jesus." I do a quick scan of the building, and find what I’m looking for. The first aid kit is surprisingly well stocked. Or perhaps, not so surprising, it’s American. I pack the wound, and place Sergei’s hand over it. "Hold it. Don’t you dare die on me."
"Webb, what’re we going to do?" Rabb whispers.
"Get him up."
"We have to get him to the chopper. I’ll fly us out of here. We’ll come back for the plane later."
"There is no later. We have to get this information to our people now. That’s why we’re really here. If the helo could make it to Turkey I’d say screw the plane."
"Damn you, I’m not leaving him."
"I never said you were."
"Webb, you idiot! There’s no way to fly all three of us out of here in that plane. There’s no room."
I don’t even bother to look at him. I know what I have to do. "Can you carry him up the ladder?"
"You’re not listening to me."
I grab him by the collar. "Shut up. Just do what I’m telling you. Get him in the Rio’s seat."
It finally dawns on him what I’m suggesting. "No! If you stay here, they’ll find you. They’ll kill you. She’ll never forgive me."
"I don’t die that easy, Rabb. I’m not going to let you win by default." I push him toward the plane, helping him support Sergei. It isn’t easy, but he gets him up to the cockpit. I check my watch. Damn. We’ve only got thirty seconds before they start the diversion. I’m kind of surprised that no one’s come looking for us. Maybe that’s why the guard was here. I reach into my flight suit, and pull out the papers I took from the safe. He’s climbing into the pilot’s seat. "Listen to me, carefully. Get him to the airbase in Turkey. You know where to go. Take this." I shove it into his hands. "You have to get this to the base commander before anything else. As soon as you land, you give Sergei over to the base personnel. You HAVE to get this to General Harris."
"What about you?" I swear he actually cares. Or maybe he really is afraid of what Sarah will say. I feel like a real ass for even thinking that.
"I’ll get away during the diversion. Frankly, they’re going to be paying more attention to you than to me. I’ll make my way back to Moscow."
"Isn’t there any place closer?"
"Not for help. Now get out of here." I start to climb back down the ladder, but he grabs my arm.
"Is there anything… do you have a message for Mac?"
I’m stunned. I see the anguish in his eyes. I know I’ve put him at a disadvantage. There’s no way he looks good in this. He doesn’t get a head start on me. Not like this. I know Sarah too well for that. "Yeah. Tell her not to come to Russia looking for me."
"You think I can keep her in DC? You know how she is. You think I won’t come back looking for you?"
"I’ve no time for this, Harm. You have to get that paperwork to the General. Lives, lots of lives depend on it." And with that I’m down the steps. I pull out the blocks, and he’s still got the canopy open as he’s flipping switches or whatever he needs to do to get the plane started. Several explosions take place somewhere on the other side of the dacha, and I can hear shouts from just outside the barn. Damn it. Not good. "Rabb!" I yell up at him.
"Yeah!"
"Tell her… tell her I want a rain check."
Even as I’m pulling open the barn door, he’s firing up the jets. The scream is deafening; the force blows out the back of the barn, and I wonder if it will collapse down on top of us. The cold wind blasting in my face is pure misery. How the hell am I going to get out of here? I have to make it to the garage on the other side of the compound. It’s the only hope I have.
Men are running toward the sounds of the explosion. As I hoped, they’re momentarily distracted from the sound of the jet moving out of the barn onto the hard packed snowy runway. The helicopter is in the way. One of these days, I need to learn how to fly one of those things. That would’ve been a neat answer to the problem. But now, Rabb just nudges it out of the way until it crumbles under the impact. From here, I can smell the gas as the tank ruptures. The fireball lights the gray pre-dawn sky, but the plane is halfway down the makeshift runway, already picking up speed. I should go, but I stand there waiting, praying, until it gets off the ground.
I need to get to the garage and see what I can steal. The best plan is to get to the main road. My PDA has a built in GPS, and I should be able to make it to Shalqir. From there, I’ll hop the train and make my way to Moscow.
People are running every which way, some pointing up at the jet streaking across the sky. Others are running toward the explosions. Everyone ignores me. I’d grabbed up the dead guard’s wool cap and rifle. I pull my gloves back on, and make my way toward the garage. I hope I blend in somewhat.
There’s no one at the side door of the garage, and I sneak inside. It’s dark here. No one’s even bothered to come for any of the vehicles. I let my sight adjust to the meager light. There are trucks and cars, as well as a few pieces of farm equipment. I bypass the pickup truck, as well as the limo. The Range Rover has snow chains and a full tank, AND the keys in the ignition. My luck is changing. That’s the last thing I remember, as my head seems to explode in a blinding white light of pain.