“Gentlemen, honored guests. Please to board your transport. We will leave for final ceremony prior to launch.”
At their next stop, Wolf and Colter hustled from the bus to the front of the crowd. After thirty minutes of milling about, the assembly stirred. The lone American astronaut and his two fellow crewmen emerged to rippling applause. Following the ritual’s protocol, the three-man flight crew took position on footprints painted on asphalt. The crowd grew silent. Dressed in bulky pressurized flight suits, the trio came to attention and saluted. A Russian general, gray, gruff, and solemn, returned the salute and shook each man’s hand in a touching farewell.
With the official ceremony ended, the space tourists were herded back on board for the trip to viewing stands one mile distant. At the launch pad, the towering gantry had risen, the Soyuz embraced in its muscular arms. The crew arrived and rode an elevator to their waiting capsule. An hour passed. More buses arrived. Chattering groups of Russians, Chinese, Japanese, and westerners filled the viewing stands. Out of habit, Wolf scanned the incoming crowd. A large brooding man drew his attention. One of the heavyweights from the Sputnik’s bar was climbing the stands to take up position on the same upper tier. The Tatar eyed the SEALs but averted his gaze when Wolf caught him looking their way.
A tail? Better mention him to Colter, thought Wolf. Could be nothing but curiosity. You never know. Aside from the stranger’s quick glance, Wolf saw nothing else to concern him. He and Colter stood off to one side, near a railing. Below them, Warren and his NASA engineers claimed prominent positions in the first row.
Wolf focused a pair of small binoculars on the bulbous capsule crowning the slender upper stage of the Soyus7. Wolf shifted the glasses, studying the rocket’s glistening coat of frost—a result of the liquid oxygen added to the fuel. The support booms and trusses released, dropping away gracefully like petals, leaving a lone support boom steadying the cylindrical second and third stages topped by the spacecraft. Ignition. A distant growl rumbled from the launch site’s concrete dock. The first stage’s four conical exhausts shook, belching fiery white-hot tongues, enveloping the pad in smoke and fire.
The rocket rose majestically, blasting clear of its support tower and shooting heavenward, trailing volcanic flames. Spontaneous applause broke out among the mesmerized ranks. Within minutes, the four boosters separated, falling away in intersecting vapor trails forming what was called the Korolev cross. The rocket became a glowing torch, then a pinpoint of light arcing high overhead.
“Just another day at the office,” said Colter, binoculars locked on the flight. He and Wolf came down the steps and rejoined the NASA engineers milling in the thinning crowd. There were more pictures, congratulations, laughter, and handshakes, then a place in the queue to the buses.
“Did you pick up our tail?” whispered Colter.
“Affirmative. You saw him, too?”
“I did. Hard to fit in at his size. Not a very discreet shadow, is he?”
Wolf said, “If you mean subtle, no. If you mean intimidating, yes. I pegged him for one of those linebackers from the hotel.”
“Where’s his clone? I didn’t see him at the sendoff.”
Wolf frowned. “You don’t suppose…”
Colter nodded. “I do indeed, Wolfman. We got problems.”
Chapter 11
The two SEALs climbed aboard their tour bus, endured a windy lecture about the Russian space program, and counted the minutes until they returned to their hotel. A final lunch was planned, followed by a ride to the airport for an afternoon flight to Moscow for those leaving. The NASA delegation and the Italians were to stay on a few days. Wolf excused himself and went upstairs. Alone in the hallway, he pressed his ear to the door of his room. Hearing nothing, he entered.
Though things seemed untouched, Wolf wasn’t fooled. Someone had been in the room. Maids, turned away by a “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging on the door since breakfast, were not the likely culprits. His luggage and Colter’s, black nylon bags with shoulder straps, looked undisturbed. A second look told him otherwise. At Colter’s suggestion, the bags’ zippers, deliberately left open earlier to satisfy the curious, had been returned to uneven positions along the track.
An amateur oversight, thought Wolf. Cocksure bastards.
Little things caught Wolf’s eye: a lamp off center, the wall-mounted TV now at a slightly different angle as if someone had looked behind it. A faint trace of talcum powder Colter had purposely dusted on the bathroom’s threshold that morning, was smudged—the result of a clumsy foot belonging to an uninvited guest. He had seen enough. Locking the door behind him, Wolf went downstairs to warn Colter.
Surrounded by Italians, Colter said, “Hey, Wolfman, pull up a chair.”
Wolf nodded politely. “Buongiorno, signori. Per favore exuse noi.”
“Naturalmente,” said the group’s leader.
Colter got up, followed Wolf to a corner table. “I’m impressed. Who knew you spoke Italian?”
“Yeah, all of a dozen words that could get you laid in Naples. Look, Dawg, like you said, we got problems.”
“The big boys, right?”
“You got it. Looks like Tatar One stayed behind while Tatar Two went to this morning’s launch.”
“Probably to keep an eye on us. Okay, what’s the problem?”
“Well, Goldilocks, surprise. Someone was in our room while we were gone. My guess is they were looking for our little black book.”
Colter glanced around the dining room. “Okay. Our bad boys are probably still checked in. Doubt they’re booked on the next flight back to Moscow.”
“If they followed us here, they’re bound to stick with us until they get what they came for.”
“They must know we have the book. Maybe Yana talked.”
Wolf stared at the floor, a dozen grisly scenes flashing in his head. “Damn, I should have played hooky and stayed behind.”
“I’m not saying that’s what happened,” said Colter. “I’m only guessing at the probability.”
“You could be right. My only hope is that Kozuch gave them our names instead of Yana’s. I’m probably grasping at straws, but it’s a possibility.”
Colter softened. “Sorry, Wolfman. So, what do you want to do about these goons? They seem pretty ham-handed for an assignment like this.”
“It’s not a very sophisticated operation. Follow us, search our room, find the book, and whack us. Return with said book.”
“What if we take them out first?”
“Tempting. But even if we got away with it, how long do you think it would take for the news to get back to Moscow? We’d be picked up as soon as we set foot there. The way things are between the Kremlin and Washington, we’d be hung out to dry.”
“More likely we’d disappear,” said Colter.
“If we can get back to Moscow intact we have a chance. I like our odds better there than out here in Never-Never Land.”
“Yeah, but think about it, Wolfman. These guys will have backup in Moscow. We’d get pulled off the plane or frog-marched out of the airport and taken to some warehouse. The bad guys would have the book and we’d disappear.”
“Not exactly how I want to end my first trip to Russia.”
Brightening, Colter said, “I have an alternative that might work.”
Chapter 12
“We need to get rid of the book.”
At a corner table in the hotel dining room, out of earshot of the nearest group of hotel guests, Wolf and Colter talked over their limited options.
Bewildered by Colter’s suggestion, Wolf said, “Get rid of the book? Are you nuts? We’re already in deep shit. Why would we get rid of it at this point? No book, no bargaining chip.”
“What exactly does that bargaining chip look like?” said Colter. “And how do we go about playing that chip? Once these guys get their hands on it, we’re history.”
Wolf massaged his temples, trying to shape a response. “As long as we have the book, we stay alive�
��for now.”
Colter lowered his head. “Until they take it from us.”
“Exactly. Then we’re just so much excess baggage to get rid of. Hold on, Dawg, I see a tactical advantage here.”
“I’m all ears.”
Wolf spread his hands on the table, his eyes locked on Colter’s. “These bozos have overplayed their hand. They turned our room upside down but didn’t find anything, right? They don’t know we saw their big paw prints all over our stuff. They probably figure we have the book on us, right? That means they’ll come after us at some point. If not here, in Moscow.”
Colter thrust a hand inside his jacket’s breast pocket. “I’m the one out on a limb.”
“I appreciate that. So right now our best bet is to stay with a crowd at all times. I don’t think they’d try anything in public. Which leads me to think these guys may not be government thugs. If the FSB wanted the book they wouldn’t need an excuse to stop and search us.”
“That’s hardly reassuring. Consider this: the government might be farming this out to some of their own black hats so they can claim plausible deniability if it blows up in their faces.”
“Possibly. Volatility is their downside. Kill first, then ask questions.”
“How about you babysit the book for a spell.”
“You’re doing a great job, Dawg. Let’s stick with the plan.”
“That’s it? This is your tactical advantage?”
“Actually, yes. These guys do not know we’ve made them.” Tapping his forehead with an index finger, Wolf said, “We’re already one step ahead of them. They think they’re invisible right now. That’s their weakness.”
“I don’t disagree, but I still think we should get rid of the book. That’s our best option.”
“Explain to me how that’s supposed to work.”
“We photograph every page in the book. Then we embed the image in pictures on our cameras.”
The light went on for Wolf. “Of course. Then we wouldn’t need the book.”
“Affirmative.”
“But wait, how do we get the photos out? What if one of these assholes gets their hands on your camera?”
“Won’t matter. They won’t be able to read what we’ve got. Once we get the files encrypted on the photos, I’ll sweet-talk Dana into using the NASA link to send the data to both our stateside email accounts as backup.”
“Would she do that?”
“I’ll tell her I want to dump some of the photos because I only have one card. She’ll help us send the photos back stateside.” Colter grinned like a devious college boy. “That’s our ace. They use the link to send launch shots to NASA, CONUS, and all the major media outlets. Hell, we’ll be the only ones who will know the initial algorithms used to embed the text. We can decrypt at the other end. Wolfman, it’s a slam dunk.”
“I like it.”
“I have five hundred shots on my camera,” said Colter. “Between us we’ve got more than enough to do the trick. Plus, you sew the card in your coat sleeve as backup. You cool with that?”
“And why am I sewing the card in my coat?”
“Cause it’s your turn in the barrel. I’ve been carrying around this damn book since Moscow.”
“Okay, I get it. You sure Dana will go for it?”
“I bought her some drinks the other night. We’re tight.”
Grinning, Wolf sat back. “Ha, you thought I was the incorrigible one.”
Colter punched Wolf’s arm. “Lucky for you I’m thinking, sailor.”
“I think we should tear out a couple of the pages for safekeeping.”
Colter frowned. “Why? If we’re caught with them it would just confirm we had the book. I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”
Wolf said, “We may need them down the line at some point. They could be a bargaining chip of some sort.”
“Uh, I’m not sure about that. The card ought to be enough.”
Putting a hand on Colter’s arm, Wolf said, “I’ll take the risk. Look, I’ll stash a couple of pages in my jacket lining as backup.”
A reluctant Colter gave in. “Okay. But we still have the problem with the Tatar twins.”
Wolf was focused. “First, step one: copy the pages and have Dana set up the link transfer. Once that’s done, step two: we go into town and buy some very sharp Kazakh souvenirs.”
“Then, step three.”
“Which is?”
“We take out the bad guys.”
Chapter 13
Wolf’s role in baiting his trap that night in the hotel’s bar proved surprisingly easy. Hamming it up for the eavesdropping Tatars, Wolf played it loud and loose-lipped in the bar after dinner while wearing an outfitter’s camping headlamp. He held court at a corner table covered with a large, hand-drawn map of the old Soviet ICBM sites. Wolf pounded the chart for emphasis during a rambling tabletop tour of the long abandoned launch facilities. “There’s a lot of Cold War history there,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, my friend and I intend to explore it.” The western barflies erupted in cheers.
“How are you going to find your way among the ruins?” asked a Brit.
“Good question,” said Wolf. “I’m glad you asked.”
Wolf mounted a chair and signaled for silence. He and Colter had hired Yorgi, he announced. A local cab driver familiar to western tourists, the wrinkled Kazakh, who claimed descent from a line of khans dating to the great Genghis himself, was instantly the center of attention.
Wolf boomed, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present tomorrow’s guide, the well-known and well-beloved Yorgi!”
Wolf climbed down and threw an arm around the slight and perpetually smiling Kazakh elder. Applause rippled across the room. Wolf bought a round for his audience. Guiding the little man by the elbow, Wolf parted the crowd and leaned over the map, his headlamp darting across the paper. The Kazakh, wearing a faded Soviet Olympic tracksuit and a prized Yankees ball cap, stabbed gnarled fingers at the map.
“I know this place. Very dangerous. Not so good to visit, you know? Plenty trash. Underground is bad. Everything broken there.”
Wolf played along. “But it is a very famous place to see, Yorgi. I am not afraid to explore. You will take Colter and me there tomorrow, yes?”
Shaking his head, the chauffeur said, “Yah, yah, I know what you want. There is a big red building, all rust now. By old train depot. I don’t think you go there. Too dangerous.”
Thumping his chest, Wolf regaled his multinational audience with an anecdote. “Dangerous? Hah! When I was in Gibraltar I spent an entire day exploring tunnels where the big guns used to be. You hear me? An entire day by myself in the dark with a tiny flashlight. You think deserted rocket test pads and crumbling bunkers scare me? Not a chance!”
Between downing shots of vodka and his loud bravado, Wolf lulled the Tatars and everyone else into believing he was drunk. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the big men at the fringe of amused drinkers.
Listen up, boys. I don’t want you to miss a thing.
“Okay, I take you,” sighed the Kazakh. “What time you want to go?”
“Ten o’clock,” roared Wolf. “Tomorrow morning. You take us there and come back at three o’clock, okay?” He flashed his diver’s watch in the headlamp’s glow. Making an exaggerated drunken effort to focus on the dial, he said, “Three o’clock, Yorgi. Go at ten; come back at three. You understand?”
“I know, I know,” said the Kazakh. “Three o’clock. Okay. Crazy Amerikanski. Tomorrow.” The little man pushed his way through the ring of hooting bystanders.
Colter worked his way to Wolf. “Sir Laurence Olivier couldn’t have done it better,” he whispered. “How’s your sobriety? Had enough?”
“Yeah. I reached my quota two drinks ago. Get me outta here.”
Wolf surveyed the crowded room. Reeling in the Tatars, he lifted a shot glass of vodka. “To tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow!” parroted his amused audience, Tatars included.
Chapter
14
Swirling sand scoured upended blocks of ragged concrete, stinging Wolf’s eyes. Kneeling behind a half-buried cement casemate, he turned his backpack to the whirlwind. Colter, his head wrapped in a makeshift turban, lingered at the end of cracked pavement with a water bottle in hand. He gave Yorgi final instructions about the pickup time for the return, then sent him off with a wave. The Kazakh drove away in coiling brown dust.
Colter strode to the ruined bunker where Wolf squatted, sipping from a bottle. “Game’s on. Let’s set up.”
Wolf rose to his feet and pointed at a scorched concrete depression in the distance. “Might be some access belowground over there.”
“Lead on.”
The two SEALs battled the wind across a landscape littered with crushed piping, burned scraps of fuselage, rusting stripped jeeps and charred girders. More ravaged moonscape than military site, the abandoned ICBM launch pad was a hollow reminder of the catastrophic misfires that had happened there during Russia’s nascent rocket age.
Wolf did a three-sixty turn atop a reinforced pad faint with a kerosene scent. “This place makes a Mumbai landfill look good by comparison. Wonder how many acres of Kazakh real estate the Russkis trashed.”
“Reminds me of Eastern Europe when the Soviets were in charge,” said Colter, disgusted. “Move in, rip a place apart, turn it into a garbage dump, and move on to the next spot.”
“The next five generations of Kazakhs are gonna regret letting the Soviets screw up their land.”
“Not like they had much choice, Wolfman.”
“True. Okay, where do we set up?”
Colter said, “These bunkers ain’t deep enough.” He nodded at a towering shed. “How about that building? According to Yorgi it’s honeycombed with underground passages. That’s what we’re gonna need for the boys.”
“Agreed. My money says they’ll collar Yorgi so he can drop them at the same spot he left us.”
“That’s the plan, Wolfman. He knows what to do.”
“We’re the only two coming back, Dawg.”
“You read my mind. How much time we got?”
Wolf's Vendetta Page 5
