by L J Morris
She had to get outside the building. Quinn would be okay for now: Bazarov needed her too much. The kids were hidden and, unless a detailed search was carried out, would remain that way. Sinclair had to find Frank – if he was still alive. The two of them needed to work together. That was the only chance they had of stopping this in time.
Quinn stumbled as Sergei dragged her along the corridor by her arm and pushed her through the swing doors into the control room. She overbalanced and went sprawling across the floor in front of Bazarov. He bent down and helped her to her feet. ‘You must be more careful, Josephine. We don’t want you coming to any harm when we are so close to fulfilling our goal.’
She pulled herself free of his grasp and backed away. She rubbed her arm where Sergei had gripped. ‘Don’t touch me.’
Sergei was standing by the doors, looking nervous. This was the second time he’d come to Bazarov with bad news. He stepped forwards. ‘Sinclair’s gone.’
Bazarov stopped what he was doing and turned to face Sergei. ‘What do you mean gone? Gone where?’
Sergei held up his palms and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, Viktor. I don’t understand how she got out of the room.’
Bazarov shook his head. ‘Who are these people? McGill kills Uri and disappears. Now, Sinclair vanishes. I thought I’d hired the best.’
Sergei was beginning to fear for his safety. ‘It’s not my fault, Viktor. I said we should put a guard on her.’
Viktor Bazarov wasn’t a man who enjoyed being told by an underling that he was wrong. His reputation as an unforgiving, brutal boss was well deserved. It was only the amount of money he paid that kept men working for him. He drew close to Sergei and looked him in the eyes. ‘I want you to go outside and set up a cordon around the building. I want McGill kept out. Then, I want Sinclair found.’ Bazarov prodded his finger into Sergei’s chest. ‘I’ll hold you personally responsible if it isn’t done. Do not let me down again, Sergei. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Sergei hurried out of the control room, eager to get away from the threat of his boss.
McGill lay under the foliage next to the compound fence and watched as Sergei appeared and gathered the guards together. After lots of pointing and shouting the men dispersed around the building. The only guards left near the fence were controlling access through the gate. To McGill, it looked like they were concentrating on keeping him out of the compound. They’d decided he wasn’t a threat as long as they kept him out of the building. He could now move around the island almost unhindered.
As he watched the Russians setting up their cordon, he became aware of the sound of an engine. Not the single tone of a car or truck engine, but a low rumbling throb that he recognised well. It was the sound of a large, transport helicopter.
He raised himself up on his knees so he could see the compound’s helipad. QRL used large choppers to ferry people over to the mainland. A direct flight to the States was outside the aircraft’s effective range so it was necessary to fly to Belize City first then catch a flight to the US from the airport. All large items of equipment had been brought in by sea, but Bazarov had travelled by seaplane from Texas to avoid crossing borders. Whoever was landing now wasn’t worried about that.
The helicopter came into view. It was a civilian version of a Chinook. It flew over McGill’s position as it approached the helipad. He could feel the throb of the engines in his ribs. The Chinook’s twin rotors created a dust storm as the downdraft blew across the compound floor. Its wheels touched down on the helipad and the pilot cut the engines. As the rotors slowed, the tailgate at the back of the aircraft dropped open and the choppers lone passenger made his way down the ramp.
Bazarov walked out of the main entrance and across to the helipad. The new arrival was a tall man who looked to be around forty years old. Only the flecks of grey hair around his temples hinted that he was in fact in his mid-fifties. He wore a plain, white shirt and cream trousers. A light brown blazer was slung over his shoulder and mirrored aviators covered his eyes.
McGill couldn’t see the man clearly and had no idea who he was, but he recognised his type. He was wealthy and had power, but the power he had wasn’t enough. He wanted more. His type lived a life of privilege governed by greed. They competed with each other to see who could amass the biggest fortune like it was a game. They never paused to consider the effect they had on others. The world was full of them: politicians, bankers, CEOs. They sat in their comfortable offices and directed men, like McGill, to do the dirty work. They didn’t usually get their own hands dirty. This man was taking a big risk to be on the spot when the shit hit the fan.
His body language was confident, assured. He walked upright, unworried by the possibility of an attack. He considered himself to be the big dog, the alpha male, no one was going to threaten him; he was in charge and giving the orders.
Bazarov welcomed the passenger at the edge of the helipad. They obviously knew each other, but the Russian was fully aware of his place in the pecking order, almost bowing as they shook hands. Whoever the new arrival was, he was obviously Bazarov’s boss. McGill watched them chat for a minute before they walked away from the helipad and into the building.
The office that Bazarov led his boss into was just inside the main entrance. It had a modern, light-coloured wooden desk at one end with a comfortable couch opposite. On the left-hand wall was a small drinks cabinet, this was the room where QRL did their VIP meet and greets before setting off on a tour of the facility.
Bazarov poured two large glasses of Scotch and handed one to his boss. ‘It’s better if you stay in here until launch time, Vadim. Out of sight and out of the way.’
Vadim took the offered glass and inhaled the aroma of its contents. ‘Is there a problem I should know about?’
Bazarov shook his head. ‘Nothing that can’t be controlled. I just don’t want you in harm’s way if things get violent.’
‘Is that a possibility?’
‘I’m afraid not everyone shares our goals. They may need persuasion.’
Vadim drank his Scotch in one gulp and handed over his glass for a refill. ‘And will I be able to maintain my anonymity? What if someone recognises me?’
Bazarov filled up the glass and handed it back. ‘Quinn and her staff were never going to leave this island anyway. Your identity will be safe.’
Vadim smiled. ‘You are a bastard, Viktor.’
‘You wouldn’t have hired me if I wasn’t.’
‘Very true, Viktor, very true.’ Vadim held up his glass. ‘A toast. To success.’
Bazarov clinked his glass against Vadim’s. ‘Success, and the new Soviet Union.’
Sinclair was hiding in the next room. She’d tried to get out of the building but the cordon of guards outside had put a stop to that. When she had seen Bazarov and the other man heading straight for her, she’d ducked through the closest door and was now crouched in a corner listening to their conversation. She hadn’t recognised Vadim, his face wasn’t familiar, but his accent was definitely English. Upper class, privately educated, inherited money English. This was the mole that London were trying to track down. If only she was armed. She could kill them both now and save everyone a lot of trouble.
Bazarov drained his glass. ‘Stay in here out of sight. I’ll come and get you when it’s ready to go.’
Vadim nodded. ‘Be quick, Viktor.’ He stood up and helped himself to another Scotch.
Sinclair heard the door open and a single set of footsteps leave the room. Finding out Vadim’s true identity wasn’t a priority for her; time was running out. She had to find a different way to get outside.
She looked up; the ventilation system and cables didn’t come through this room, she’d have to take her chances along the corridor. She opened the door and checked for guards, they were all outside manning the cordon. She sneaked past the other office door and made her way towards the basement where she had hidden the Quinn boys.
Sergei picked out three of the guar
ds and brought them inside. He had to redeem himself to Bazarov. Finding Sinclair was all he cared about now. He positioned one guard next to the entrance, cutting off Sinclair’s exit and the whole of the control room side of the building. The other two guards tore apart every room, one by one, as Sergei patrolled the corridors looking for signs of movement.
Beds and office desks were overturned by the two searchers; cupboards were emptied and their contents spilled across the floor. Ceiling tiles were ripped down – Sergei had a feeling he’d figured that one out too late. They worked their way through the building – Sinclair’s options were running out.
She had made it to the maintenance room down in the basement. Tom and Aiden Quinn were nowhere to be seen: they’d done exactly what she’d told them to do. She tapped on the door of the steel cupboard. ‘It’s okay guys, it’s Ali.’
Sinclair opened the door and the two boys climbed out. She crouched down and took their hands in hers. ‘Well done, Tom. You too, Aiden. If I didn’t know you were in there, I’d never have guessed.’
Aiden smiled. He’d always liked hide and seek. ‘Where’s Mom?’
‘She’s doing some work in another room. You’ll have to stay here a little bit longer. Okay?’
The two boys nodded. Tom was beginning to look worried but Aiden was enjoying the game, unaware of the danger they were in.
Sinclair checked the rest of the room. There was no way out other than the single door she had come through. ‘I have to go and help your mum now. Remember, if you hear anyone coming through the door and down the steps, you hide back in the cupboard. Can you do that for me?’
Tom smiled and put his arm around his younger brother. ‘We’ll be okay. We’re good at this. Aren’t we Aiden?’
Aiden smiled. ‘The best.’
Sinclair didn’t like leaving them alone again but they would be much safer away from her. ‘That’s my brave boys.’
She left the maintenance room and went into the main part of the basement. In the corner of the room she could make out some light coming from behind one of the large air conditioning plants. The ceiling lights were dim and didn’t cover that area so there must be something else: another room, a fire escape, a window. She ducked under the handrail, which ran along the side of the central walkway, and clambered over pipes and ducts to check it out.
Behind the machinery was a small window, six feet from the floor. Sinclair stepped up onto a pipe, which ran around the wall, and rubbed some of the grime from the glass. The window was at ground level on the outside and just large enough for her to squeeze through.
From the look of the frame and the catch, the window had been painted several times but hadn’t been opened for years. Sinclair turned the handle and tried to push it open but it was jammed – the years of paint holding it shut. Using the screwdriver out of her belt, she scraped some of the layers of paint off the wood and worked the screwdrivers tip into the gap beside the handle. The window started to give a little. She worked her way along the frame; the gap widened as she went. The paint split and began to flake off until, with a loud crack, the window gave way.
Outside the window was an overgrown area littered with old wooden crates and lumps of metal that must have been left over from the construction of the facility. Sinclair gripped the frame and pulled herself through.
It was a tight squeeze and there wasn’t much to hold on to but she gradually shuffled her way through. Once her upper body was clear she turned over onto her back, so she could push with her legs, and looked directly into the muzzle of an assault rifle that was pointing at her forehead. The guard on the other end of the weapon tried to crack a smile but it was more of a grimace. ‘Out.’
She could have dropped back into the basement and made a run for it, but that would have brought more guards and put the boys at risk. She couldn’t take that chance. If the guards had orders to kill her, they’d already be dragging her corpse through the window. They must be taking her to Bazarov. That would give her time to plan something else. Two more guards arrived and Sinclair held out her hands. ‘A little help would be good.’
The two new guards grabbed an arm each and dragged her into the open.
Chapter 24
McGill crawled through the undergrowth and up to the fence to get a better view of the entrance. He could’ve done with his binoculars to help him make out details, but they’d been left back at Quinn’s ranch; he’d have to manage without. The guards were patrolling around the concrete walls, each guard in view of the next. There was no way in or out while they were there; he had to find something to distract them and pull them away from the building.
McGill heard a shout coming from the rear of the building. Two of the guards left their posts and disappeared around the corner, out of sight. Something was going on, something that was enough to distract them. If he could find out what it was, maybe he could use it to his advantage.
The rest of the guards didn’t move up to fill the gaps in the line. That was good news for him. It meant he didn’t have to move them all away from their positions to get through. He looked at his watch. He needed to know how long they would leave the gap open – how long he would have to break in. One minute passed, then two, it was looking good. The longer they were away, the better. Three minutes passed then McGill’s heart sank. When the guards came back into view, Ali was walking between them.
‘Shit.’ While McGill was pleased to see Sinclair was still alive, he doubted she would stay that way for much longer. He didn’t know what they had planned for Ali, but Bazarov didn’t have any reason to keep her around. McGill’s timeline had just shortened. He had to get her out, give the Russians something else to worry about. If he could rig up an explosion to distract them, that might work. First, he needed to get a look at the whole building, especially the back. If Sinclair had managed to get out of the building there, that could be his way in. He crawled away from the fence and into the undergrowth.
Jo Quinn sat at the Kraken’s control terminal typing in commands. As she did, each of the symbols on the wall display turned red. The west coast was now complete. Quinn carried on typing and the eastern seaboard launchers changed colour one at a time: Florida, Georgia, Virginia, New Jersey; only Maine was still green. Quinn typed the last line of code and hit enter. The last icon turned red, the new fire missions were ready to be transmitted to the Kraken.
A white-coated engineer ticked some more boxes on his clipboard. ‘That’s phase two complete, Mrs Quinn.’
Quinn looked up at Bazarov. ‘We’re ready for phase three, the two-stage approval process. When we’ve completed that we’ll have total control of the missiles and can send your target details to the launchers. The US authorities may know something’s happening, though.’
‘They’ll never figure it out in time. Even if they did, they can’t stop the countdown. Right?’
Quinn nodded. ‘That’s right. It can only be stopped from here.’
Bazarov looked pleased; the plan was entering its final stage. ‘Thank you, Josephine.’ He pointed at Garrison. ‘You first.’
Garrison sat up in his chair, his handcuffs rattling against the steel frame. He looked at Quinn, unsure what to do. ‘What if I refuse?’
Bazarov freed him from his shackles and stood him up. ‘James, the first thing I need is your fingerprints.’ He pulled a large knife from his jacket. ‘Whether they are attached to you or not, makes no difference to me.’
Garrison’s bravado once again faded away. He was ashamed of himself. Maybe if he wasn’t such a coward he could have done something to prevent this from going any further. He walked over to the console, his head bowed. ‘What do I have to do?’
Quinn took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She guided it onto a scanner. ‘Just put your hand on here, the system will do the rest.’
As soon as Garrison’s hand touched the scanner the glass plate lit up and took an image of the palm of his hand. The blue light seemed to shine through his pale skin. Within a co
uple of seconds, a picture of a younger Garrison had appeared on the main display along with all of his details. Everything from name, rank and number to age, height and hair colour.
Quinn pressed another key on the panel and a box on the screen flashed. ‘Can you give me your code word please, Admiral?’ She paused, her fingers hovering over the keys.
Garrison shook his head. ‘I … I can’t remember it. It’s been a long time.’
Bazarov aimed his weapon at Garrison’s face. ‘Let’s stop this game, Admiral. This is your last chance. Cooperate or die, your choice.’
‘Prometheus. It’s Prometheus.’
Bazarov lowered his aim. ‘Thank you, Admiral.’
Quinn typed the code word into the box and another line of flashing text appeared. ‘Now, if you’d look into the eyepiece.’
She tapped what looked like a telescopic sight. Garrison bent forwards and placed his eye against the rubber cup at one end. A white light flashed and Garrison pulled back, blinking.
Bazarov nodded towards him. ‘You can go and sit down again.’
Garrison returned to his chair, relieved that he wasn’t being handcuffed to it this time. If he kept quiet, maybe he would live through this.
* * *
Sergei opened the door to the basement, it was one of the last rooms they had to clear. He held the door open and sent his two men in to carry out the search. Descending the steps, they let their eyes adjust to the darker conditions, then carried on along the walkway.
In the maintenance room, Tom and Aiden got inside the cupboard as they heard the men approach. They held each other, holding their breath. One of the searchers approached the door and, with his Glock at the ready, turned the handle.
