by Will Jordan
Drake watched as the FSB agent reached out and clipped his line into the pylon mounted on the side of the aircraft, then gave it a hard yank to test the clip. This was the interesting part, when the team roped down to their assault position.
They were utterly vulnerable during that time, unable to return fire or take cover if someone decided to have a pop at them. The Hind’s gunner was no doubt sweeping the area with his thermal optics, looking for any sign of anti-aircraft weaponry. The aircraft too was vulnerable while they waited for the team to deploy.
With his line checked, Pushkin gripped the thick nylon rope and disappeared over the edge. The next agent followed a few seconds later, and the next, until the entire tactical team had descended in short order. Miranova, like her male comrades, paused at the hatch just long enough to get a good grip of the rope, then pushed herself off the deck and vanished into the darkness.
Now it was Drake’s turn.
There was no great technicality to fast-roping. In essence it involved gripping the rope with thick padded gloves, loosening it a little and allowing gravity to do the rest. It was simple and quick, the only downside being that there was no descent harness, no backup line, no safeguards. If you slipped or lost your grip, it was game over.
Wrapping his fingers around the rope to get a good grip, and trying not to think about the sickening fall that would result if he fucked this up, Drake pushed himself off from the chopper’s deck and relaxed his grip a little to start his descent.
He didn’t wrap his boots around the rope, even though it would have given him extra grip and taken some of the strain off his arms. Boot polish from the leather could rub off on to the descent line, making it dangerously slick.
The downwash from the main rotors was immense, jerking the rope from side to side despite his considerable weight. He felt like a kid on a rope swing, swaying uncontrolled and clinging on for dear life. The frigid air clawed his throat, rain whipping into his eyes, while pain burned outwards from his injured shoulder.
He was going too slowly. He felt as though he was still 100 feet in the air. Easing off his grip even more, he felt the tiny nylon braids slipping through his fingers, accompanied by rapidly building heat from the resulting friction. Then, almost out of nowhere, the ground rushed up to meet him.
He braced himself as he landed hard, rolling to lessen the impact and releasing his grip on the line. It wasn’t the most graceful landing ever, but at least he was down. And he’d managed to take the weight off his shoulder, much to his relief.
Drawing his automatic, he picked himself up and rushed forwards, eager to get clear of the landing zone. Not only would it keep them spread out and prevent a single burst of fire from wiping out the whole team, but it would also ensure Mason didn’t land right on top of him.
No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than Mason abruptly released his grip and fell the remaining 15 feet or so, landing in an awkward sprawl mere feet away. Fortunately for him, the deep mud had at least served to cushion his fall, if not his pride.
As the Hind peeled away to begin circling the target area, Drake turned to his friend, who was struggling to extricate himself from the mud. Hurrying forwards, Drake grabbed him by the arm and applied more than enough pressure to get his attention.
‘What the fuck was that?’ Drake hissed. ‘You trying to fly in?’
‘Not now, man,’ Mason growled, shoving him away. He was making a show of being angry, but nonetheless Drake could tell the descent had taken a heavy toll on him.
The other agents were already spreading out to form a perimeter, moving in pairs to cover each other and bent low to present smaller targets.
Up ahead stood the first major structure Drake had seen in the facility – an air control tower overlooking the overgrown wilderness that had once been the runway. It was obvious the building hadn’t been used in a long time. All of the upper windows, which must once have offered a panoramic view of the airfield and runway, were long gone. The big radar array on top was a rusting, decrepit wreck, with one entire panel missing and broken cables hanging down the side of the tower like vines.
‘Come on,’ Drake hissed, pulling Mason to his feet. ‘Get the fuck up.’
Gripping his automatic tight in his gloved hands, he hurried over to join Miranova at the base of the control tower, with Mason right behind him. Despite the freezing air he was already sweating through his BDUs with a combination of exertion and nervous energy.
The adrenalin was flowing hard and fast as he backed up against the rough, pitted concrete wall next to her, his heart thumping so loud that it seemed anyone nearby must hear it. Taking a deeper breath to calm himself, he craned his head around the edge of the building to survey their surroundings properly for the first time.
Two aircraft hangars stood about 50 yards away. They were big structures, about 30 feet high and twice as wide, resembling giant concrete hexagons laid on their sides, with steel sliding doors covering their mouths. They were hardened strike shelters, designed to protect high-value aircraft from all but the most powerful of bombs. He’d seen plenty of structures just like them on air bases throughout America and Western Europe.
Further away stood a large two-storey building, probably once an office and administrative area, and perhaps even an accommodation block. It looked just as neglected and dilapidated as the rest of the buildings here, with broken windows, empty doorways and ivy creeping over the crumbling walls.
Trees and bushes were beginning to take root here and there, forming small forests of new growth. Nature was gradually reclaiming the abandoned airfield.
Drake heard the rustle of fabric as Miranova sidled along the wall next to him. She was so close he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. ‘It is quiet here,’ she remarked, clearly suspicious of the lack of resistance.
Drake nodded. The assault team had announced their arrival as plainly as it was possible to do, yet no shots had been fired. What was Anya doing?
‘Anything from our eyes in the sky?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No movement. Nothing on thermal imaging.’
He wasn’t surprised. Infrared cameras were all well and good, but even they couldn’t see through solid walls. If Anya was here, she was likely hidden away in one of the buildings.
‘Then we do it the old-fashioned way,’ he decided. ‘Building by building, room by room. Take your assault team and move in on those hangars. Cole, on me. We’re going for that office building over there. Ready?’
‘Say the word,’ Mason assured him. House assaults and urban combat had been his speciality back in the day, and he was no doubt eager to prove he could still cut it.
‘I don’t—’ Miranova began.
‘No arguments,’ he said, a harder edge in his voice now. He wasn’t interested in negotiating with her over who was in charge of the assault. If he had to, he’d tear this airfield apart with his bare hands to find Anya. ‘We’re moving now. Cover by twos, five-yard spread. Go!’
Without waiting for her response he pushed himself off the wall and took off at a sprint, keeping low to present a smaller target. The scattered trees and bushes provided some visual cover, but they would be of no help if someone started shooting at them.
He could hear Mason’s boots pounding through the mud behind him. Just as he’d instructed, the man was keeping several metres back. This way they could support each other in a firefight, but maintain enough distance that a single burst of gunfire couldn’t wipe them both out.
At any moment he expected to hear the distinctive crackle of automatic fire and feel rounds whistling past to churn up the muddy ground, yet no such thing happened. Aside from the distant beating of the helicopter rotors and the patter of raindrops, the airfield remained oddly quiet.
An empty doorway lay ahead, the space beyond shrouded in shadow. Pausing a moment or two to allow Mason to catch up, Drake switched on the flashlight mounted beneath the barrel of his automatic and slipped inside.
H
is eyes were by now accustomed to the gloomy conditions, but the darkness inside the ruined building was absolute. The narrow beam looked like a 1,000-watt searchlight illuminating the empty, desolate corridor in which he now found himself.
The place was a mess. Years of rain and wind, freezing and thawing had gradually undermined the building’s internal structure. Plaster was falling off the walls in big chunks, paint was peeling, and roofing panels had collapsed to reveal the electrical wiring and rusted pipes above. The walls were streaked with mould and damp.
The flashlight beam reflected off tiny shards of broken glass scattered across the floor. About halfway along the hall, a stairwell led to the upper level.
He inhaled, tasting the scents on the air. Despite the freezing temperature, there was a strange, unpleasant odour lingering in the corridor. Stale and rotten; the festering reek of decay. The smell turned his stomach, reminding him of another time, in Afghanistan, when he and his companions had stumbled across the decomposing corpse of a man they had been sent to rescue.
Surely that wasn’t possible here? Masalsky had only been abducted a couple of hours earlier.
‘Come on,’ he said under his breath as he crept forwards, his boots crunching on the broken glass. ‘Come on. I’m ready.’
He could hear movement behind, and felt a tap on his shoulder as Mason fell into step behind him, covering his back. Whatever their earlier differences, Drake knew he could rely on the man in situations like this.
Together they advanced down the corridor, passing by an empty room on the left. The door was missing, and a quick glance inside revealed nothing save for a couple of rusted filing cabinets piled in a heap in the centre of the room.
Two more rooms also yielded nothing of interest. It felt as if no one had walked this hallway since the day the airfield was shut down.
‘Fucking ghost town, man,’ Mason said quietly. ‘Reminds me of that city they evacuated after Chernobyl. Dishes still in sinks, kids’ toys lying where they’d been dropped …’
Drake was about to tell him to shut up, but a sudden crash further down the corridor abruptly halted their conversation. Both men froze at the unmistakable sound of movement coming from deeper inside the building.
Drake’s heartbeat soared, and he could feel the pulse pounding in his ears as a mixture of fear and anticipation swept through him. Someone or something was in here with them.
Glancing at Mason, he raised his weapon and pointed down the corridor. The older man nodded understanding, his body held taut and ready.
Taking a deep breath and gripping his own weapon tight, Drake crept forwards. The lingering stench that he’d noticed on entering the building was growing stronger with each step, causing bile to rise in his throat.
Whatever it was, it seemed to be coming from just up ahead. Most of the rooms stood open, their doors either removed or destroyed when the airfield was abandoned, but this one remained closed and sealed. Rusted and decayed by age, the heavy steel door was an imposing barrier standing in their path.
The footsteps had stopped and silence descended on the ruined building. The place was eerily quiet as the two men crunched their way through the debris-covered floor. Even the howl of the wind outside seemed to have died down.
Drake’s heart was pounding as he approached the door. The knowledge that Mason was covering his back did little to ease the sense of dread and foreboding that seemed to have descended on him.
Halting in front of it, he raised his foot and glanced for a moment at his companion. ‘Three, two, one …’
With a single powerful kick, he sent the heavy door flying inwards, flecks of rust grating off the neglected hinges. Drake was in straight away, his weapon and flashlight sweeping the room while Mason moved in right behind him.
The damp, mould-ridden room beyond must have been an armoury when this airfield was still operational. Ammunition racks lined the far wall, all empty and corroded. A couple of cheap tables sat in the middle of the room, their wooden veneers long since rotted away. The floor was covered with paper that had decomposed into piles of frozen pulp.
His inspection was interrupted by a sudden flurry of movement as something huge and dark bounded from a darkened corner and into the centre of the room.
Drake’s heart surged with a burst of adrenalin, and instinctively his finger tightened on the trigger as he brought the weapon up to fire. But at the last moment, he stopped himself.
Of all the enemies Drake had faced in his career, never before had he encountered a wolf. This one, however, was a monster, topping the scales at 120 pounds or more. Broad, shaggy shoulders gave way to long, powerful legs and wide clawed feet splayed out for extra purchase on the decaying floor. Its thick grey-white pelt, able to resist the cold far better than their own clothing, seemed to ripple as the muscles beneath bunched and coiled.
Sleek, powerful and agile, it was perfectly adapted to the environment that it called home. Its vicious predatory eyes were fixed on the two humans who had been foolish enough to wander into its territory, lips drawn back to reveal rows of wicked-looking teeth.
That explained the source of the smell, Drake thought. It had never occurred to him that with humans gone, the indigenous wildlife would have stepped in to fill the void. This wolf had made the office block its territory, and would likely defend it to the death. There was no telling how many more were lurking in the darkened rooms and corridors.
Mason was apparently entertaining similar thoughts. ‘This is not a good place to be.’
‘Easy, mate,’ Drake whispered. ‘Let’s back off, yeah? No sudden movements.’
Covering the deadly predator with his weapon, Drake took a step back, then another, slowly retreating down the corridor. The wolf watched them go, hackles raised, teeth bared, ready to strike the moment it sensed a threat.
Behind him Mason took another step, eager to get out of there. Drake heard the faint rattle as he disturbed something, then winced inwardly as a rusted section of the ammunition rack gave way, landing on the floor with a horrific metallic clang that echoed down the corridor.
The uneasy stand-off was broken. In an instant, the wolf launched itself forwards, loping towards them with powerful bounds, jaws already opening wide to tear into flesh.
The report of the gunshot in the confined space was deafening, causing Drake to flinch aside. He heard a frightened yelp, and suddenly the wolf crashed to the ground, its momentum causing it to skid and roll several feet before finally coming to rest at their feet.
Spinning around, Drake saw Mason standing beside them, wisps of smoke trailing from the barrel of his weapon.
‘What the fuck were you doing?’ he demanded, angry both at the needless death he’d just witnessed, and the gunshot that had just given away their position.
‘Saving your life, you asshole,’ Mason replied, lowering the gun. ‘Or would you rather I let that thing kill you?’
Drake opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say a word his radio unit crackled into life, Miranova’s urgent voice resounding in his ears.
‘Ryan, come in! Report.’
Still watching Mason, Drake hit the transmit button at his throat. ‘We’re fine,’ he said, an edge of anger still in his voice. ‘Just local wildlife. There’s nothing here.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘Then you need to come to the hangar.’
He frowned, struck by the tone of her voice. ‘What have you got?’
‘We have found Masalsky,’ she said simply. ‘He’s dead.’
Chapter 46
Anya once again found herself alone, this time picking her way northwards through quiet woodland towards the border with neighbouring Dagestan. As before, she and her unlikely comrades had separated for the journey to their next location, minimising the chances of the group being compromised.
Anya had chosen this route specifically because there were no border checkpoints here. It was little more than a winding forest trail, seldom used except by the occasional hunte
r or logging company. She had abandoned her car some distance back, knowing it was useless in the heavily forested terrain.
She was going to have to hike across the border on foot. It made for a long walk in poor weather, but she had endured far worse.
She didn’t doubt that the FSB would be out hunting for her and the others, but the Chechen border was hundreds of miles long and largely unmarked by either natural or man-made barriers. It was impossible for them to cover every avenue.
So far she had encountered nothing since leaving the main road, and had no reason to believe her way was guarded. Still, she remained wary and unhappy, particularly with the FSB’s rapid advance on the airfield. Despite Atayev’s apparent calm, the group had been forced to clear out of there much faster than they’d originally intended.
Only a prompt warning had saved them from capture.
Temporarily absorbed in her dark thoughts, she allowed her normally acute awareness of her surroundings to slip. Thus it took her a moment or two to heed the increasingly urgent warnings being ferried by her subconscious mind. Only when she felt a chill of foreboding ripple through her did she realise something was wrong.
She was being watched.
Cursing her carelessness, she reached for the weapon at her back.
‘Forget it, mako,’ Goran’s familiar voice warned her, coming from perhaps 20 yards away. ‘I’ve got you covered.’
Anya closed her eyes and let out a sigh of disappointment, angry with herself for not seeing this sooner. Worse, she should have detected him following her long before this.
Perhaps he was a better soldier than she’d given him credit for. Or perhaps she had allowed herself to grow complacent.
‘Are you here to kill me, Goran?’ she asked without turning around.
‘Depends what you do next. Take your weapon out by the barrel and drop it.’
To resist now would be foolish. Anya removed the weapon as he’d instructed, then dropped it on the ground.
