The Persona Protocol

by Andy McDermott

  Fortunately, the ATV eventually reached more level ground, before dropping sharply back down on the hill’s far side. Another long trudge across the snowy landscape, and finally the torment ended as the Vityaz rattled to a halt. The tailgate clanged down, and the four men jumped out.

  Adam waited until he was sure they had moved away before raising the tarp. ‘Bianca?’ he whispered. ‘Are you okay?’

  She hesitantly looked out from her own cover like a small animal emerging from its nest. ‘I haven’t been killed, so . . . yes. What’s happening?’

  ‘Baxter and his team are on their way. Holly Jo?’

  ‘Yes?’ came the reply through his earwig. There was even more interference than before.

  ‘Where’s John?’

  ‘They’re about five miles out.’

  ‘That didn’t sound like a good answer,’ said Bianca, seeing his grim expression.

  ‘It wasn’t. At that rate, it’ll take them well over an hour to get here.’

  ‘They’re on skis, so they’ll make better time once they reach the downhill slopes,’ Holly Jo assured him. ‘They can follow a valley down to the lake and approach your position from the south.’

  It was better than nothing. ‘Is the UAV here?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Kyle, ‘but the signal’s pretty weak ’cause of the distance and the hills.’

  ‘Do the best you can. What do you see?’

  ‘You’re about a quarter-mile from some buildings by the lake, but they’re wrecks. The chopper’s landed not far from you.’

  ‘What are the bad guys doing?’

  ‘They’re walking to the helicopter. They didn’t leave anyone guarding the ATV, but the driver’s still inside.’

  ‘Okay.’ Adam crawled out from under the bench, standing and stretching with relief before moving to the open tailgate. Bianca got up behind him. He gestured for her to stay put, then looked out.

  Beyond were the first trees he had seen since arriving in Russia, a stand of stunted, snow-heavy conifers. The Vityaz had stopped on relatively level ground between the long lagoon and the steep hill to the west. The waters around the shore were still frozen, but not far out the ice had thawed and broken up enough to be navigable.

  As if his thought had acted as a trigger, he heard the distant drone of an engine.

  But it was no boat.

  He leaned out of the trailer, searching for the source. More trees along the shore blocked his view. ‘Kyle, there’s a plane coming in from the south. Can you see it?’

  ‘Hold on, I’ll have to turn the drone around . . .’

  While he waited, Adam surveyed his surroundings. The Hind had landed a hundred yards away. Zykov, al-Rais and Sevnik were leading their respective followers towards it. Two of the terrorists carried the cases of money. Past the helicopter, something stood out even under the snow – a line running from a cutting through the trees across the flat ground and up the side of the hill. A railroad track? It led to a tumbledown structure about two hundred feet higher, rusted machinery around it.

  The mine entrance.

  Probably dug to extract tin or tungsten, according to Adam’s research on the area, it now contained a far more deadly element. Somewhere inside was a container full of radioactive strontium.

  And the world’s most wanted terrorist was about to take delivery of it.

  The thought of al-Rais again caused a brief surge of hate to rise inside him. But why?

  He forced the question – and emotion – aside as Kyle’s distorted voice sounded in his earwig. ‘Adam, I’ve got a seaplane on camera. It’s a Beriev Be-200 amphibious jet – pretty cool, actually.’

  ‘It’s a jet?’ That made matters worse; if al-Rais got away with the RTG, he would have the advantage of both speed and range over the image of the lumbering boat-like turboprop Adam had associated with the word ‘seaplane’. Even with the US’s array of satellites attempting to track it, over the empty wilds of eastern Russia or the vast nothingness of the Pacific it could easily be lost.

  ‘Yeah. Looks like the pilot’s overflying the lake to check the ice. He’s probably going to come back from the north to land.’

  That meant only minutes before the Beriev splashed down. Adam looked at the helicopter. The group had now reached it. Sevnik and al-Rais apparently still did not trust each other, an animated debate taking place before agreement was reached over who should keep hold of the money. The cases were placed on the ground by the Hind, wary Russian soldiers facing two of the terrorists over them. The others continued towards the mine.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Bianca asked.

  ‘They’re going to get the RTG. There’s a seaplane on the way in – we’ve got to stop it from being loaded.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘When I figure it out, I’ll tell you.’ He reached into his coat and took out his gun. ‘Okay, bring the cases. We need to get into those trees.’

  Bianca collected the gear. ‘Will we be safe?’

  ‘Safer than in here if they put the RTG aboard.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Yes, yes, we should absolutely get out of here,’ she said, quickly convinced.

  Adam jumped from the trailer, then helped Bianca down. He peered round the side of the Vityaz. The vehicle would shield them from the men by the helicopter. The driver was more of a concern, but Adam caught sight of him in the wing mirror, watching his former passengers as they headed up the hill. ‘Okay, come on,’ he said, leading the way to the woods.

  They quickly reached cover. ‘Wait here,’ he told her.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To check the lake. Keep out of sight.’

  Adam slung the Geiger counter’s case from his shoulder, then picked his way through the trees. The woods were far from dense; he soon had a clear view of the lake. A snow-covered jetty extended about a hundred feet out into the icy waters.

  An echoing sound from behind. He looked round to see the Beriev, its lights standing out clearly against the rising hills to the north. The seaplane, red and blue stripes running along its white fuselage, descended towards the lake. It dropped to just feet above the dark surface, jet wash from its high-mounted twin engines kicking up a great plume of spray behind it, then almost hesitantly lowered its keel into the water. More spray exploded outwards, the jet bouncing before falling again. This time it stayed down, the shrill of the engines echoing across the valley as the pilot engaged reverse thrust to slow it.

  Adam turned away from the sight and set off again. Before long he arrived at the cutting and cautiously crouched behind some snow-covered logs at its edge.

  At the shore end of the jetty were several buildings, all in disrepair, with broken windows and missing planks. The workings were long abandoned. A line of battered, corroded mine carts, some of them overturned, was not far to his right; he had been right about the railroad track. Further away was another little train. He looked up the hill at the mine entrance. The purpose of the machinery there was now clear. It had been a simple gravity-assisted system, full carts being sent down the slope under their own weight, using a cable and pulley to bring the other, empty train back up to be loaded.

  He also saw Sevnik leading the way into the mine. Once al-Rais confirmed that the RTG was genuine and the money was exchanged, the terrorist leader would load his prize into the seaplane and leave. ‘Holly Jo, how far away is Baxter?’

  ‘They’re still about four miles from you. I’ve told Tony the situation – they’re trying to get there as quick as they can.’

  That surprised him. ‘Tony’s with them?’

  ‘Yes, he wanted to even up the numbers. There are a lot more of them than us.’

  ‘I’d noticed. Look, al-Rais is going to take possession of the RTG. I’m going to delay things for as long as I can.’

  ‘How?’

  The mine carts gave him an idea. ‘Just tell Kyle to keep watch.’ The noise of the Beriev’s engines grew louder as it pushed through the drifting ice towards the pier. Keeping l
ow, Adam headed for the nearest row of carts.

  A steel cable, scabbed with rust, was attached to the leading wagon’s frame. When the mine was operational, the line would have led all the way up to the entrance, then looped around the pulley to link up to the other train.

  He gave the cable an experimental tug. Coils of it popped up from under the snow like a startled snake. It had been broken or cut. Another wary glance uphill. A couple of men were at the mine entrance, but the others had all gone inside.

  Still crouched, he followed the line of the cable, staying close to the trees. The skeletal remains of a tractor lay beside the tracks, surrounded by discarded scrap. ‘Heavy metal . . .’ he muttered.

  ‘Say again?’ said Holly Jo.

  ‘Nothing. Am I still clear?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Kyle. ‘The plane’s coming up to the jetty.’

  He had to act fast. Gripping the cable with his gloved hands, he pulled more of it free of the snow and headed along the edge of the cutting to the tractor. He brought the rusted line around the front of the machine, then crouched by its rotted tyre and looked up the hill.

  The two men, one Russian soldier and one of al-Rais’s followers, were still at the mine entrance. The Beriev was holding their attention as it moved towards the dock. He needed to get to the other side of the cutting, but if he crossed the open, snow-covered ground they would spot him immediately . . .

  Both men turned, looking down the darkened shaft. The others were coming back out. Adam seized his chance. Running the cable through his hands, he bolted across the tracks.

  The steel line twanged, resisting him. He yanked at it. More coils burst from the snow. He headed for a mound of mouldering logs. Twenty feet to go, the cable heavier with each step. Ten feet, five. The Russian soldier turned back round—

  Adam dived behind the logs, the Geiger counter’s case digging hard into his side. Had he been seen? Heart thudding, he flattened himself against the wood. ‘Kyle! The men at the mine – what are they doing?’

  No alarm in the younger man’s voice. ‘Looks like they’re coming out. I can see Zykov, al-Rais . . . Sevnik’s waving to the guys by the helicopter.’

  He was safe – for now. But he still had to set up his plan. He reeled the cable in to pull it semi-taut across the cutting at ground level. One log had the large stump of a severed branch jutting from it. He formed the metal line into a loop and hooked it around the wooden stub, then wedged the cable under the log itself.

  The whine of the Beriev’s engines died down – and at the same moment, he heard the growl of the Vityaz setting off. As he’d hoped, al-Rais was going to use the all-terrain vehicle to carry the RTG to the jetty. He took out a pair of compact binoculars and looked up at the mine.

  The deal had obviously been agreed. Sevnik was considerably happier than before. Even the terrorist leader seemed in a better mood. Whatever he had seen inside the mine had been to his liking.

  Zykov clapped Sevnik on the shoulder, his expression suggesting that he could almost taste the champagne. Al-Rais shouted something into the shaft.

  His men were bringing out the RTG.

  ‘How far out are Tony and John?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Still more than three miles away,’ Holly Jo told him apologetically.

  ‘They’re not gonna get there in time, are they?’ said Kyle.

  ‘They might if I can stall things here.’ Adam picked up the cable again and gave it an experimental shake. Sinuous steel ripples ran across the cutting.

  The Vityaz’s engine note changed. He looked up the hill to see it crawling laboriously but relentlessly towards the mine’s entrance. It would reach it in a couple of minutes. He raised the binoculars again.

  Before long, al-Rais’s men came into view, along with the Russian soldiers. They were clustered together, carrying something extremely heavy.

  The nuclear generator.

  Browning’s thoughts resurfaced, almost excited about what he was about to see. What have they got? Is it a Senostav, or one of the older units? Is it damaged?

  The RTG was now out in the open, but he still couldn’t see it properly past its bearers. Put the thing down, damn it! ‘They’ve got the RTG,’ he reported grimly. A look back towards the lagoon. The Beriev was at the end of the jetty, a man using a rope to secure the seaplane to the dock. A hatch was open, ready to accept cargo.

  The Vityaz snarled, the articulated crawler bending as its driver made a tight turn just below the minehead to position the trailer for loading. Those who had stayed at the helicopter climbed out with the money. The cases were placed on the ground.

  The shuffling men brought the RTG to the vehicle. Adam was concerned that he wouldn’t get a proper look at the device before it was placed aboard, but then al-Rais gave an order. With obvious relief, the men set down the generator and stepped back.

  Adam focused the binoculars. Browning’s knowledge instantly told him what he was looking at. An IEU-2M, the core’s green-painted radiator fins visible within its outer frame. Weight: six hundred kilograms, of which just five was the strontium – the rest was mostly shielding. Planned service life: fifteen years. This particular unit was well beyond that. But its fuel was still deadly. Strontium-90 had a half-life of close to thirty years, so even though its radioactive emissions were far down on what they had been when the RTG was built, it remained active enough to be lethal.

  Nobody at the mine appeared concerned about taking a terminal dose, though. As far as Adam could tell, the core was intact and undamaged. He put down the binoculars and switched on the Geiger counter. Even at this distance, an exposed nuclear core would set it crackling furiously, but the reading was only slightly above normal background levels. He wouldn’t want to spend any appreciable time in close proximity to the unit, but for short periods it was safe.

  At least . . . until it was deliberately opened.

  He couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Adam returned the counter to its case, then retrieved the binoculars. An order from Sevnik, and the men heaved the RTG off the ground and brought it step by careful step to the Vityaz’s tailgate. The entire vehicle lurched on its suspension as it was placed aboard.

  Another couple of minutes passed while the generator was secured for its short journey, then people climbed aboard the crawler. Zykov, al-Rais and Sevnik got into the cab, two of the terrorist group picking up the money cases and joining their leader. A sort of musical chairs began amongst the others, nobody wanting to ride in the trailer with the RTG, but some unlucky soldiers drew the short straw.

  The Vityaz revved up and started down the slope. It followed the tracks, heading straight for the cutting. Adam crouched lower behind the logs. He would only get one chance: his timing had to be perfect.

  The engine noise grew steadily louder. He didn’t dare lift his head to check the Vityaz’s position in case he was seen. Instead he inched forward to look past the logs at the dilapidated tractor across the cutting. The cable he had run around it was partially visible in the snow, a dotted rust-orange line.

  His own footsteps ran alongside it.

  Nothing he could do about that. He was committed to his plan. If it failed, he would be left with only two choices: either watch impotently from hiding as al-Rais flew the RTG and its deadly contents to parts unknown . . . or make a desperate suicide attack in the hope of at least killing the terrorist leader before he could escape.

  Neither appealed. It had to succeed.

  His hands tightened around the cable. The Vityaz drew closer, the growl of its engine making the logs tremble. Only seconds away. Wait, wait . . .

  It drove past, the fat tracks kicking up clods of snow. The cable bucked in his grip as the ATV rolled over it. Not yet—

  Now!

  The instant the first of the two articulated units was past, Adam whipped up the cable and snapped it forwards to hook it over the caterpillar tracks.

  It caught on one of the deep rubber blocks and was yanked along the top of the tread
. The line was snatched from Adam’s open hands. If he had kept hold of it for a fraction of a second longer, it would have sliced off his fingers. The log he had looped the cable around leapt from the pile and spun across the cutting, smashing against the Vityaz’s side in a shower of rotten flinders.

  The ATV jerked sharply off course. The cable had jammed the track – and also become entangled in the clutch of hydraulic rams linking the forward unit to the trailer. The two sections of the vehicle convulsed, the trailer slewing sideways and crashing to the limit of its articulation. Metal shrieked. The Vityaz slithered to an emergency stop, the back end of the trailer about thirty feet from Adam.

  He pressed himself against the piled logs. ‘Tell me what’s happening,’ he hissed. His cover was already slight enough that he couldn’t risk looking out from it.

  ‘They don’t know what the hell just happened,’ Holly Jo told him. He heard shouted Russian. ‘Sevnik’s yelling at the driver, the driver’s yelling at him, all the other guys are piling out – lots of guns.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll shoot each other and save us the trouble,’ Kyle added.

  Adam doubted he would be that fortunate. Instead he lay still, listening to the commotion. Zykov implored everyone to calm down, with mixed success. ‘We hit a mine!’ someone cried.

  ‘It wasn’t a mine – it was a log!’ the arms dealer yelled back. ‘Look! We ran over a log, that’s all.’

  ‘No, it’s not all,’ said another voice – the driver, Adam realised. ‘The tracks are jammed, there’s something – what the hell? Shit! Look at this.’

  ‘They’ve found the cable,’ Holly Jo reported. ‘The driver’s trying to pull it out – nope, not happening.’

  ‘Is it stuck?’ Sevnik asked.

  ‘It’s caught in the hydraulics!’ A few strained grunts of exertion. ‘Balls! It’s jammed in there.’