The Kremlin Device

by Chris Ryan

  "What about Sasha?" asked Pete.

  "Good idea."

  As the number rang, I thought of old Lyudmila and her bloody great cat, tucked up there on the eighth floor.

  "Sasha, it's Geordie. Sorry to bother you, but we're in big trouble."

  I told him what had happened. As soon as he got the gist of it, he said, "No, it is impossible. Not real."

  "It's real enough," I told him.

  "They've gone.

  "I come in."

  "Well, if you can.

  "No problem. Twenty minutes."

  "Thanks." I rang off and said to the lads, "Sasha's on his way. Watch yourselves when you're speaking to him. This is where we need to start juggling the story."

  "The Embassy," said Whinger.

  "What about them?"

  "Christ, yes. Better inform them."

  "What about the bomb?" Mal asked in his voice of doom.

  "Same thing. Not a whisper."

  "They know you went in to collect kit," Mal persisted.

  "OK, we collected it."

  "So where is it now?"

  "It was in the car that got through."

  Even as I dialled the Embassy number on the secure link, I felt amazed at how easy it seemed to be to invent plausible falsehoods. They were fairly whipping off my tongue. At the same time, I was aware of how easy it would be to make one fatal mistake and bring the whole edifice of lies crashing down.

  "British Embassy," said an unfamiliar voice.

  "Geordie Sharp," I said.

  "I need to speak to the Charge."

  "I'm sorry. He's not here. It's the duty officer speaking. Can I help you?"

  "I need to talk to him urgently."

  "I'm afraid he's not available on this system."

  "Can you ask him to come in, then?"

  "Is it that urgent? Can't it wait till the morning?"

  "No."

  There was a pause. Then the guy said, "All right. In that case, I'll pass the message. Has he got your number?"

  "He'll have it there in the office, yes.

  I rang off, thinking of Hereford. Where the hell was the boss? He was taking his time to come through. Maybe he was out at a party. By now it was midnight - 9:00 p.m. in the UK. Not late.

  Mal looked up from his notes and asked, "Who's controlling the tracker satellite?"

  "The Americans," I told him. But his question prompted a sudden idea.

  "Jesus!" I exclaimed.

  "That's a thought, Mal. I'm going to call Tony Lopez right away."

  "Who's he?"

  "American, ex-SEAL. He was seconded to the Regiment before you joined.

  Now he's working for the CIA. It was him who put the ferrets in after Rick's girlfriend's sister. But he's a hundred percent on side. He'll help. What time is it in Washington?"

  "Five o'clock," somebody said.

  "Correction. Four."

  "He'll still be in the office."

  I jumped up, dug out his number and punched it in. Two -rings, and an American voice answered.

  "Tony!"

  "I'm sorry, sir. Major Lopez is in a meeting."

  "Break in on him, please. This is an emergency.

  "May I ask who's calling?"

  "Just say Geordie."

  "One moment, sir." The guy had that ultra-polite, deferential American manner that gives me a pain in the arse.

  I put my hand over the mouthpiece and said, "He's coming."

  A second later Tony was on the line but he didn't sound himself. His voice was quick and sharp.

  "Tony," I began, 'we're in the shit."

  "OK, I know what it is."

  "You know?"

  "Sure. Hereford have been in touch. That's what we're discussing right now. The satellite tracker system's up and running."

  "Thank God. Can you let us know if you get a line on where they've taken the thing?"

  "Sure can."

  "OK. I'll speak to you later."

  As I replaced the receiver, the phone rang.

  "Geordie?" It was the night com ms clerk in Hereford.

  "I've got the CO for you.

  "Put him on.

  The first thing the boss wanted to know was which two guys we'd lost.

  "Pavarotti and Toad," I told him.

  "Toad!" he said.

  "Jesus!"

  "Exactly. The next thing's going to be a ransom demand.

  We've got to recover Orange, and fast."

  "The Americans are tracking it already."

  "I know. I just spoke to Tony Lopez in Washington. He is to be on the tracking team. Boss what do you advise?"

  "Very difficult. You'd better stand by to come out. The political situation's extremely volatile. The Director's coming here for eight tomorrow morning. We're going to take a decision then on whether or not we pull you.

  "We can't come out with two guys missing."

  "I don't know. We might take the view that it's better to lose two rather than risk losing nine. The shit's hit the fan in London as well."

  "Why's that?"

  "The computer disk you got. The information on it has sent the police ballistic, in London and New York. They've made fifteen arrests in London alone."

  "Russian Mafia?"

  "Leading players."

  I took a deep breath. Then I said, "How does that affect us?"

  "Too early to say. Your kidnap could be a reprisal for the arrests in Europe. But losing Orange complicates the issue still more. We've got a QRF on standby. We may establish an FMB in Berlin in any case. That would put them within three hours of you."

  I told him I'd be through again if there was any news, and hung up. Seconds later Sasha appeared, and we started going through everything again. He was upset about the disappearance of our guys, and kept apologising.

  "Come on, Sasha," I said, forcing myself to smile.

  "They're not dead yet. We'll get them back."

  Before he could answer, the satellite phone beeped again. It was Tony.

  "We got it!" he announced triumphantly.

  "Your hardware's still with you."

  "Wait one." I looked up and saw Sasha watching me eagerly.

  "Sasha," I said.

  "It's our base in Hereford. This may take a few minutes. Could you get on the local line and set up a police search?"

  "Konechno! Immediately!" He sprang to his feet and headed for the other phone. I felt a turd, lying to his face but what else could I do?

  "Tony," I said.

  "Carry on. Where is it?"

  "In the south-western sector of the city. We can give you the location within a couple of hundred metres."

  "Fantastic! Can you give me the co-ordinates?"

  "Sure. Ready?"

  "Fire away.

  He read out a series of figures, which I took down and checked back.

  "Brilliant," I said.

  "Let me know if it moves.

  Roger and good luck."

  "Miracles of modern science," I told the lads.

  "Correlate these on to a street plan and we can go right in and get them."

  "Wait a minute," said Mal.

  "How do we know this? I mean, what are you going to tell Sasha?"

  Once again a plausible lie rose effortlessly to the surface of my mind.

  "Pay has a tracking device fitted into his jacket," I said.

  "Some of our guys always do, in case this very thing happens.

  "Yeah, but if we organise a hit, with the Russians, they're going to find Orange at the end of it."

  "We'll play that one when we get to it..." I broke off because Sasha reappeared.

  "General police alert," he announced.

  "All Moscow forces to search. I give car number. And Zheordie, I make suggestion."

  "What's that?"

  "We can stop training course, freeze everything. Instead of lessons, we make students rescue your hostages."

  "Great idea!" I went. Privately I thought, Christ!

  Luckily I was
distracted by yet another beep from the secure phone.

  This time it was the Charg& Hell, I thought when I heard his voice. I can't send Sasha out again. Then suddenly I realised I didn't need to: the Embassy knew nothing about Orange.

  I started into the whole spiel again. I said that Sasha had got a search under way, that I'd been through to Hereford, and that we were expecting a decision about a possible pull-out in the morning.

  "Yes," said Aliway.

  "Your people were talking to us earlier in the day."

  He nattered on for a minute about the general situation, which he described as jittery'. As he spoke, I was thinking, Do I tell him we've traced the signal? No, I decided. If we get our guys back, yes, of course, we tell him, but there's nothing definite enough yet.

  It was just as well I didn't bother, because within five minutes of that call Tony had come through again to say, "It's moving."

  "Ah Jesus!"

  "Yep. I've got it on a computerised map screen. Heading south-west. It's already five miles out from the location I gave you. You want to stay on the air till we see what's happening?"

  "Sure. I've got the map in front of me."

  "OK. It's coming up to a place called Vnukovo. Hey wait a minute. That's marked as an airfield."

  "Vnukovo," I said to Sasha.

  "What is it?"

  "Main airport for southern departures."

  "Tony," I said.

  "It's Moscow's airport for the south."

  "Then I guess they're putting it on a plane. Target now stationary. Can you organise an intercept?"

  "What in the air?"

  "No, on the ground."

  "I'll ask."

  I put the question to Sasha. He frowned at the size of the problem, but headed back to the local phone.

  "How far are you from that field?" Tony was asking.

  "At least an hour. Our Russian contact's phoning the police down there."

  "Target still stationary. If it is Mafia, they'll have a big armed escort round it."

  "Precisely."

  "There's a major highway heading out of the city due southwest. Which side of that is the airfield?"

  "Immediately to the north."

  "That's it, then. They're on the field."

  He went quiet for a few moments, then added sharply, "Signal lost. Wait a minute... no. Confirm signal lost."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Most likely they've loaded Orange into a plane. That would mask the transmission. Yep. It's gone dead. I'll come back if we get it again."

  "Thanks, Tony."

  I found Sasha glued to the other phone, talking hard, as if he was having to galv anise the police into action against their inclination. I left him at it, returned to the mess room and called Hereford again.

  "Boss," I said.

  "It looks like they're being taken south."

  He already knew that the moving signal had given out at Vnukovo, and had come to the same conclusion.

  "What destinations does that place serve?"

  "Rostov-on-Don, Sochi, other Black Sea resorts." I reeled off names that Sasha had told me, and added, "Word here is that the villains could be Chechens."

  "Who says that?"

  "I don't know.. ." I hesitated, suddenly aware that I was on the point of dropping myself in the shit by revealing our participation in the bust on the flat.

  "The idea came from Sasha, our main contact here."

  "Chechnya!" went the CO.

  "Bloody hell. If that's where they're heading, we'd better scrub Berlin and start looking for jumping-off points further south."

  Sasha reappeared, scratching his head.

  "Private jet has just made take-off from Vnukovo," he said.

  "Unofficial departure. No clearance from tower no lights, nothing. This can only be Mafia."

  "Can the air force track it?"

  He raised both hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  "I have passed message. But you know, little co-operation between police and armed forces.

  "These criminals," I said.

  "D'you think they're Chechens? Is this a reprisal for our raid on the apartment?"

  He nodded vigorously.

  "I think so. Yes. These Chechens will demand big money for ransom.

  "When would you expect them to start?"

  "Tomorrow morning." He looked at his watch.

  "This morning -later."

  "Sasha," I said.

  "I'm afraid a couple of guys got killed in the contact on the highway."

  "Only Mafia!" he said, as if they'd been rabbits.

  "No problem."

  I saw him yawn and said, "Listen you've been great. Thanks for coming in."

  "It is nothing. Zheordie, I am sorry."

  "Don't start all that again. It's not your fault. Off you go now.

  I ushered him out in a friendly way, and said to the lads, "Better get your heads down. There's nothing to be done for the time being."

  "You too, Geordie," said Whinger.

  "You look knackered."

  "I feel it. What I'm going to do is bring a bed in here, in case Tony comes back on the blower."

  Two of us dragged my bed into the room. I took off my boots, but stretched out otherwise fully dressed. Gradually the place quietened down, but I couldn't sleep. Would the kidnappers try to use the bomb themselves? Would they have the technical capability to detonate it?

  But my worst worries now were about our two missing men. I shrank from thinking what they might be going through. Much as I disliked Toad, I didn't want him hurt. I had to admit that on this task, so far, he'd pulled his weight and caused no trouble.

  As for Pay still less did I want him to get beaten up. I clung to one small straw of hope. Neither of them had been involved in the bust on the apartment, so they could deny all knowledge of that.

  But what were they to say about the bomb?

  So far as we'd worked it out, our cover story in the event of getting bumped was that the device belonged to the Russians, and that we'd been moving it on their behalf. Toad had repeatedly assured me that every part of the device was anonymous and deniable: nowhere on the casing or any of the contents was there a single letter of Western writing. If he and Pay claimed to be ordinary squad dies and professed complete ignorance about how the thing functioned, they might get away with it for a few hours. As always when someone is captured, their policy would be one of controlled release letting out as little information as possible, as slowly as possible. The best I could hope was that they'd be able to hold out until we discovered their destination and got after them.

  THIRTEEN.

  It was the telephone that roused me.

  Tony's voice sounded incredibly close. Half asleep, I thought he'd flown into Moscow. Then I came round fully and realised he was calling again from New York.

  "I think I woke you," he said.

  "Sorry."

  "No sweat. What time is it?"

  "Here, we've got a quarter of nine. I don't know about you.

  "Still dark. Wait a minute. Quarter to five. What's happening?"

  "We've found your missing Orange."

  "Fantastic. Where is it?"

  "A nice quiet place called Grozny."

  "Ah, Jesus! Chechnya. Just what we thought."

  "That's where it is. It came back on the air ten minutes ago, and it's now proceeding westwards into the mountains."

  "OK. Can you continue monitoring it?"

  "Sure. How about we update you every quarter-hour?"

  "That'd be brilliant. I'm going to get tight on to Hereford, ask them to establish a forward mounting base."

  "Eastern Turkey's where you want to be looking. Kars somewhere like that."

  "I bet they're on to that already."

  They were. It was just before 2:00 a.m. GMT when I got through to the ops room, but the place was up and running. The ops officer and the CO were both there, planning to launch the

  QRF.

  "Orange h
as turned up in Grozny," the boss told me.

  "We'd been talking to the Firm, and we were expecting it. We've also been in touch with the Turks about using an airforce base in the east of the country."

  "Kars?"

  "Probably. That looks like being our FMB. We should have that confirmed by eleven this morning."

  "When are you launching?"

  "If all goes well, later tonight. The stand-by squadron's squaring everything away right now.

  At the risk of stating the obvious, I said, "We're not certain where the target's going to end up. The last I heard, Orange was still moving."

  "Yes. But we can only assume it's the Chechens who lifted our guys, and that the hostages are with the device. There's no point in hanging about. We're going to stage through Cyprus, so we'll get the squadron on its way. If the Turks play ball about Kars, the Here can change crews at Akrotiri, refuel and fly straight on."

  From that moment the Satcom phone was in continual use. At 5:30 Tony came back on to say that Orange had stopped at a point just north of a village called Samashki, fifty kilometres west of Grozny.

  "There's a river running east and west," he said.

  "The terrain is hilly looks like the foothills of the main Caucasus range. The site's one kilo metre north of the river."

  "Samashki," I said. Somewhere, sometime, I'd seen that name before.

  "Thanks, Tony. Tell me if the target moves again."

  An idea had developed rapidly in my mind. The site was going to need recceing. The Russians were stipulating that Sasha should co-ordinate the hostage recovery. He'd told me earlier in the night that they didn't want foreigners crashing around unsupervised in their territory, and I reckoned the same would apply, although more so, in Chechnya. What better plan than that I and he should drop in together? A HAlO descent.

  He was a trained parachutist, but had never done free-falling.

  Therefore we'd have to go in tandem, strapped together under one canopy. As it happened, at that time I was one of only three tandem masters in the Regiment. Where the other two were, I

  didn't know, but I decided to try it on the head-shed, anyway.

  They remembered Samashki in Hereford, all right.

  "Jesus!"

  said Dick Trafford, the ops officer.

  "That's where the Russian army murdered more than a hundred people. Burnt the houses. It was tactically pointless just a show of strength. It became one of the most notorious incidents in the war."