Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  Dragan came straight to the point. "When are you planning to go in?"

  "When are ‘we’ planning to go in," he corrected him.

  He smiled coldly. "Yes, we. I will be with you."

  "A helo to drop us onto the roof, it's the only way."

  "A helicopter? That'll alert them straight away."

  "Unless you can organize a diversion."

  "A diversion? What do you have in mind?"

  So he told him. He talked for some minutes, and Dragan eventually smiled. "Yes, I like it. It could work. What could be more innocent than a party? Andy, David, come over here. We need a boat."

  Lorak still looked uneasy. His corpse-like face was even paler than ever. Raider noticed his hair had started falling out.

  Jesus, the pressures of a big corporation! Someone should tell him it isn't worth it.

  "What's this about a boat? There isn't a river next to the museum."

  Dragan spelled it out. "If we're going to get inside, we need a noisy diversion, loud music, engines, you name it, to cover our infiltration. I want a party organized on the Moscow River. You'll need to hire a big boat, something substantial, and send out invitations to as many people as you can think of. Start with the staff of our Moscow office. They can bring their relations, friends, anyone. I want the biggest, noisiest party you can organize."

  "When, what's the date?" Lorak asked, his face sour and grim.

  "Tomorrow night." He checked his watch, "No, that'll be tonight."

  "Tonight! Impossible, it'll take several days, more like weeks to make the arrangements."

  "It has to be tonight."

  "We can get it together," Brackman said quietly. Lorak shot him a poisonous glance, but he ignored it, "This is Moscow. Spread enough 'grease' and you can move mountains. Literally."

  "We still can't do it," Lorak snapped, his voice raised with anger, "The permits alone will take weeks to come through."

  "Pay them off," Dragan said quietly, "Whatever it costs. Get it done."

  Lorak stalked away, muttering to himself. Raider watched him keenly. Something was wrong. He even walked like he was sick, a kind of staggering sway.

  "What's up with him? I know he's not normally very friendly, but something's bugging him."

  "He's not well," Dragan replied, out of earshot of his employee, "I made sure he went to the finest specialists my money could buy, but they don't know what the problem is, not yet."

  "Cancer?" Al asked quietly.

  He nodded. "Probably, although it could be anything. He's waiting for more blood tests, but in the meantime, I'm trying to be patient with him."

  Raider was surprised. It was a new side to Alexander Dragan, one he hadn't expected to see, the compassionate boss, a man wanting to help a loyal employee, no matter what. He was impressed.

  "We'll have to bear it in mind, but if David handles the riverboat side of things, we shouldn't need him for anything much. As for the helicopter, I want you to hire something that won't be out of place in the city. I've seen them buzzing overhead, try and find something similar."

  He smiled. "The oligarchs, sometimes the heads of the Mafiya clans, and occasionally high-ranking politicians visiting the Kremlin use them. Yes, I can do that."

  "We'll need it this afternoon. Find a landing site outside the city, and when it's dark, we'll practice rappelling from the helo. It's essential, as it'll be a craft we won't be familiar with."

  Dragan nodded. "That's no problem. One difficulty will be negotiating the building, especially in the dark. Even with NV gear, you don't know your way around, so you'll be blind when you get inside. Normally, you'd spend time with a mockup and have a schematic to guide you. I tried to locate a map in the city archives, but since Pamyat took over, they destroyed anything connected to the building. We need a guide." He looked at Elena, "I want you to go with them."

  Her eyes widened. "You want me to go with them? Are you crazy, Alexander? I'm a vet. I want to take my truck and return to Vyborg. Unless you've forgotten, I have a practice there. A lot of people rely on me to look after their animals."

  He nodded and smiled. The smile didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fully aware of your situation in Vyborg, Elena. I'm also aware of who owns the building you operate from. As I recall, it's held on a short lease. It would be extremely difficult if that lease was suddenly terminated."

  She stared at him, horrified. "You're not serious? You'd threaten to throw me out of my home and evict me from my surgery, just because I refuse to help you get inside that fucking museum. Haven't I done enough for you already? I can't believe you'd resort to blackmail."

  He shrugged but didn't reply. Raider listened to the interchange with fascination, but although Dragan's threat appalled him, time was running out. There was little time left for Abigail, and the only way to save her was to retrieve the Putin file. He looked at Elena, suddenly realizing she'd been talking to him.

  "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

  "I said; can you speak to Alexander and persuade him to change his mind?"

  He felt miserable, plagued with guilt. "I'm here to get my daughter back."

  "So you'd go along with threatening an innocent woman to achieve your own ends."

  She was staring at him with a look that was filled with fury, and he felt something snap.

  His voice was cold. "I'd assassinate the President if it saved her life, yes."

  If anything, her fury increased, and she glanced around the men, as if begging one of them to come to her aid. Each avoided her eyes, Joe, Waite, and Al. They all knew what was at stake. They'd met Abigail in the past, played with the kid. They'd burn down the Kremlin, if that was what it took to get her back.

  Brackman tried to calm her down. "Elena, you have to see it from their side. It's the…"

  "Fuck you!" she snarled at him, "And fuck you, too, Alexander Dragan. I wish I'd never set eyes on you. Yes, I'll go into the museum, but as soon as we get out, I'm returning to Vyborg. Alone."

  The Ukrainian nodded. "Agreed, Elena. Do that for me, and I'll even give you the deeds to the property in Vyborg if you wish."

  She glared at him. "That's the very least you can do, Alexander. I'll need a new truck, too. Fitted out as a mobile surgery."

  He gave her a curt nod. "Agreed. I'll call you on the satphone when I have the helicopter arranged and send a vehicle to bring you to the helipad."

  He stopped as Andy Lorak limped toward them, his eyes blazing with anger. "Mr. Dragan, I told you before, this is madness. These people," he waved in the direction of Raider's team, "These people are nothing but trouble. The key to retrieving the Putin file is negotiation, not sending in these thugs."

  Waite murmured, "Thanks for the compliment, pal."

  Lorak wasn't finished. "Don't you think enough men have died trying to recover it, are still dying even as we speak?"

  "Who is still dying?" Dragan asked curiously.

  Lorak shook his head with irritation. "Don't you..." He cut off what he was about to say, "It was just a figure of speech."

  Dragan considered a moment. "Andy, you know it's not that simple. Pamyat won't tamely give up the file, no matter what we offer them."

  "Not Pamyat, I meant the Kremlin. We should ally ourselves with them. Together, we can bring enough pressure to bear on Pamyat to force them to hand it over."

  He shook his head. "I think not. I have a line of communication with Vladimir Putin, that's true. However, no matter what we agree, his security forces will betray us to Pamyat. They're implacably opposed to a free Ukraine, and they see the file as the way to force Putin to invade. Whoever has it in their possession controls the balance of power. I could use it to barter with Putin, and also to keep Svoboda dangling on a string."

  Raider swapped glances with Joe. It was no surprise; the billionaire would use the package to increase his power, and certainly his fortune. Except it wasn't the deal they made.

  "You're forgetting my daughter, Dragan. We came here to get her out and recover the
file second."

  "That is correct, Mr. Raider. Nothing has changed."

  "If we don't hand over the file, they won't release her."

  He smiled. "That's not entirely true. When I have the Putin file in my possession, I will instruct Malenkov to hand back the girl, or I will release extracts to the media. The Internet, yes, Facebook or Twitter, that would attract a lot of interest."

  Raider felt furious, betrayed. Yet there was little he could do. They needed the Putin file, and the resources of the Ukrainian billionaire to carry out the operation. Afterward, it may be different to the way Dragan planned it. He nodded his agreement.

  "Okay, we'll go along with it."

  "Good. I will call you later."

  He left with the glowering Andy Lorak in this wake, and Brackman followed. They looked at each other, and then Elena took charge.

  "I know my way around this place. I will go to the kitchen and see if we have the means to prepare food. Raider, you will come with me."

  The others smiled as he followed her through the forest of broken exhibition stands into a side door. It was a small kitchen with a refrigerator that was switched off. As there was no electricity, it was no surprise. There was also a small stove.

  "It's bottled gas," she explained, seeing his gaze, "If they haven't stolen the gas bottle, it may be possible to use it."

  He handed her a lighter. The flame lit almost immediately.

  "Excellent, all we need now is some food."

  "How about the local market?"

  She smiled. "No need, I always kept a stash of food hidden here. With any luck, it should still be where I left it."

  "After all this time?"

  "Yes. We used to work here, cataloguing the artifacts stored in this place, and the security guards would steal my food for themselves if they found it."

  "They'd steal your food?"

  "Of course," she replied, without looking up, "They'd sell it on the black market. This is Moscow. Everything has its price."

  "Not me," he said quietly.

  She looked around at him. "What about your daughter?"

  He didn't answer. She went to a wooden cabinet standing against a wall. The door hung open, the hinge broken, and the contents had disappeared. But she slid the cabinet to one side, and behind it there was an old iron safe, almost five feet high and three wide, and with a combination lock. She dialed the numbers, and the heavy door opened. Inside, there were cans of food racked on the shelves.

  She began to pick through them, selecting what she needed. "I know it's excessive, using a high security safe to store food," she said as she handed him the cans, "But this is Moscow."

  "So you keep saying. It sounds like the old Wild West."

  "In the cowboy films? Yes, I imagine it was similar. Except here they use assault rifles, explosives, and even poison against their enemies."

  "Poison?"

  "Of course. There was a high profile case in London, a few years back. Alexander Litvinenko, a former FSB officer, wrote a couple of books in which he accused the Russian security services of staging bombings and other terrorist acts to bring Vladimir Putin to power. He made it clear it was Putin who ordered the murder of the Russian journalist Anna Politkovskaya in 2006. In the November, he fell ill and died shortly after. The diagnosis was poisoning by Polonium-210. According to other FSB officers, he was murdered by an FSB hit squad."

  He grimaced. "A hell of a way to die."

  "Yes, it was terrible. But that's the way things work in Moscow."

  She managed to open the cans and prepared a dubious looking stew. But it was hot, and they were wanted men, so they could hardly eat dinner in a cafe on one of the city streets. She served it on paper plates, which she also had stored in the safe. Before they ate, she closed the door, spun the combination lock, and slid the cabinet back in place.

  "You never know when it may be needed," she explained, sitting down with them on upturned wooden crates, "Now, what can I tell you about the Aleksey Arakcheyev Museum?"

  "The layout," Al replied, "Our lives could depend on getting it right."

  She nodded. "Very well. I understand we'll be making the entry from the roof. There is a single elevator in the museum, a large freight elevator. Apart from that, access to the lower floors is by means of two sets of stairs, one at the front of the building and the other in the center. I already told you it has four floors, as well as a basement. That is where they kept important artifacts. The museum has a strong room where they stored smaller, more valuable exhibits, especially those on loan from foreign museums."

  "A strong room?" Waite looked interested, "How big is the door, and how thick?"

  She thought for a few moments. "I recall the door was about thirty centimeters thick. As for the rest, I have no idea. It is quite large inside, perhaps about as big as a single car garage."

  "Uh huh. And the lock, combination or key?"

  "Combination," she replied, "but I have no idea of the number."

  He nodded. "That's okay. I already have the combination."

  "You have? What is it?"

  "C4." She looked puzzled, "It's another name for plastic explosive. I'll blow off the hinges. It's the only way to open it in a hurry."

  "I see. Won't that be dangerous?"

  "Only to the hinges. The big problem is getting out. We need a rear entrance or exit."

  She shook her head. "I do not believe there is anything like that. You have to go up the stairs, or there is the freight elevator I mentioned, if it is still working."

  Al leaned forward. "Tell us about this elevator. Where does the shaft emerge?"

  "At the rear of the building, next to the loading bay."

  He nodded. "That sounds like the way out."

  "Yeah, it has to be." Raider looked at Elena. "How are you with climbing? Ropes, rappelling, that kind of thing."

  "I've never done it. Why?"

  "Because that's the way we'll leave, up through the elevator shaft."

  She shivered a little. "I suffer with vertigo, Raider. I do not like heights."

  "That's okay. We'll take care of you. In the meantime, I suggest we grab our gear out of the Zil, and get ready for when our transport arrives. We’ll ditch the arctic suits. Waite, can you set a charge, make sure the truck disappears?"

  He grinned. "My pleasure, I've grown to hate that thing. But it's still freezing outside, it must be minus thirty. We're gonna feel it without the suits."

  "You'll feel the bullets even more if we keep them on. Think about it, going into a darkened building wearing white suits. We'd be sitting targets."

  "Copy that."

  They dragged their gear out of the Zil and checked everything over. The wait was a short one. A few minutes later, David Brackman knocked quietly on the door and stepped inside. He wore an anxious expression on his face.

  "Everything's ready, and I have a vehicle outside to take you to the helipad. Mr. Dragan will meet you there."

  "Any problems?" Raider asked.

  He nodded. "A couple. Andy Lorak is still trying to put a stop to the operation. He believes it could all go wrong and hurt the Dragan Foundation badly. For some reason, he's totally against the whole idea."

  "How does he propose to retrieve my daughter?"

  "He didn't mention her."

  "I thought not. Anything else?"

  A pause. "The Kremlin has put a unit of Special Forces troops on alert. They could be targeting the museum tonight."

  He thought quickly. The agreement with the kidnappers was they'd retrieve the file and swap it for Abigail. It seemed Malenkov was out of patience, and he'd decided to do it himself.

  "I assume Pamyat will get wind of it."

  "No question. We heard about it, so it's fairly certain they know already."

  "In which case it could be a blood bath when they go in." He thought for a few moments, "We'll need respirators. I want you to call Dragan and arrange it."

  "Respirators?"

  "Yep. Do you rememb
er that Kremlin operation to rescue hostages from the Moscow Cinema? They were held by Chechen Islamists, as I recall."

  Understanding came to his expression. "The Russians used gas, a soporific, to knock everyone out."

  "Right. Except they pumped in too much and killed a hundred and thirty hostages."

  "I'll make sure he supplies respirators. Anything else? You have night vision equipment?"

  "We do. What we need most of all is Intel on this Kremlin operation. If we run into them head on, we'll be in serious trouble."

  "I'll do my best."

  "You'd better." He stared at Brackman to make sure he was paying attention, "If this goes wrong, there's going to be war on the Moscow streets. They'll need a fleet of trucks to cart away the bodies."

  He nodded. "Understood."

  He wondered if any of them really understood; Dragan with his agenda to promote and defend Ukraine, Malenkov, prepared to go to any lengths and pile up as many bodies as it took in order to protect his boss. Pamyat and Svoboda. Both a bunch of rabid fanatics, prepared to sacrifice anything for their cause, and sandwiched between all of them, Abigail, an innocent child about to be sacrificed on the altar of ambition. He felt a shiver down his spine.

  If this operation goes wrong, there's not a damn thing I can do to save my daughter. Right now, I feel it's going to go very, very wrong. What can I do about it? There has to be something. My God, I feel so helpless.

  "This unit they're sending in, do you know who they are?"

  "Spetsnaz," Brackman replied immediately.

  "Spetsnaz. Fuck it."

  "Yep. They're a specialist assassination squad."

  "You're not serious."

  "Yes, Malenkov has apparently decided he wants the Pamyat people dead, as well as the return of the Putin file. He wants to make sure of their silence.

  An assassination squad, just what we needed. Fuck! Abigail, my darling, we're coming for you. It just got a little harder, that's all.

  Chapter Six

  They watched the city lights race past as their helo flew through the night sky. A few of the buildings were ancient, many modern. There were plenty of grim, concrete high-rise blocks, the legacy of the Communist era, along with many newer buildings, plusher, more luxurious, similar to the New York City skyline. They were flying in a Russian-built aircraft, always a nerve wracking experience, but this time they appeared to have got things right.