Domination Bid

by Don Pendleton

  Dratshev couldn’t be sure what she meant at first but then he noticed just the slightest shift in Mishka’s gaze. He knew the telltale signs and he turned his attention toward the dance area in time to see several men approach from various directions.

  He’d been betrayed! There could be no other explanation. Oleg turned from the men and tried to leave but he found Mishka blocking his path. He went to shove her aside but something stung his side. It felt as if a needle had been shoved into the space between his third and fourth ribs.

  Dratshev’s mind began to swim and then he felt woozy and it became suddenly difficult to breathe. He heard Mishka scream and begin to shout in a dialect he didn’t recognize, but then it didn’t much matter because the periphery of his vision turned spotty. Stars danced in front of his eyes and his lungs burned not with the scar tissue of his past but more like that sort of respiratory attack brought on by suppressive chemicals.

  With his head becoming foggy, his vision spotted and his capacity to oxygenate inhibited, Oleg Dratshev knew that to continue fighting and resisting would become futile. At long last he succumbed to the sweet rapture of what he assumed would be death and blacked out just a heartbeat after he felt his knees become wobbly. Then he hit the thinly carpeted floor of the club.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Oleg Dratshev woke to a dull ache in his head and a thick, dry tongue. When he ran his tongue inside his mouth he came away with a pasty feeling similar to what he might have experienced after a night of drinking. At first he thought maybe he’d been blindfolded but that quickly gave way to the sensation of dark, ominous shapes surrounding him.

  Around him he perceived the steady, rolling drone of what could only be the vibrations caused by plane engines. Slowly his surroundings took shape and he realized he’d been secured to a reclining chair. His arms felt heavy and he reached to rub his eyes but the motions were stopped short. He felt his wrists and realized they were encircled by thick leather restraints. The subsequent jingling were those of chains attached to the restraints.

  Low-watt, recessed lights above him came on and bathed his prison in a warm, red-orange glow. A door in the far wall of the compartment opened and two men entered. The first man was tall with a thick neck and muscular build. The man who followed stood much shorter. He was dressed with impeccable taste in tan slacks and a tailored silk shirt. Under the light, Dratshev found it difficult to determine the color but it looked perhaps aqua or azure in hue. He had black hair, dark skin and a neatly trimmed black beard with mustache.

  The man sat in a chair directly across from Dratshev’s. The expensive leather creaked under his weight. The bigger man stood behind him with his arms folded.

  “Good morning, Dr. Dratshev,” the seated man said in near flawless Russian. “I trust you enjoyed your nap.”

  “Who are you?” Dratshev asked, his voice sounding muffled in his own ears.

  “We’ll get to that in a moment,” the man replied with a pleasant smile. “Would you like something to drink? Water perhaps?”

  Dratshev thought about a moment and then nodded. The man gestured to his companion, who immediately turned and left the compartment.

  The man said, “The drug we used will leave you severely dehydrated. I’d suggest when my assistant returns that you sip the water rather than gulp it, as you might be tempted. I would not want to see you vomit, as this would only dehydrate you more.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Dratshev said with a new sense of defiance.

  “Fair enough. My name is Ishaq Madari. This will probably not mean anything to you.”

  It didn’t and Dratshev saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

  Madari continued. “I regret that I had to take such extreme measures to make your acquaintance but I can say with assurance that I have so long wished to meet you.”

  “You may not feel the same way when my people discover that you have kidnapped me.”

  “Perhaps,” Madari replied, inclining his head. He looked around the compartment a moment, appearing to gather his thoughts. “Once we’ve landed safely I will certainly make every effort to provide more comfortable accommodations. For the moment, however, I’m afraid this is the best I can do.”

  The big man returned with bottled water. He opened the cap and handed it to Dratshev, who took it and tipped it high to his lips.

  “Easy, Dr. Dratshev, please. As I said, too much too soon will make you ill.”

  Dratshev remembered and resisted the urge to take more than a couple of swallows. When he’d finished drinking he asked, “Why you have done this? Do you realize who I am?”

  “I do!” Madari clapped his hands like an excited child and then steepled his fingers and touched them to his chin. His dark brown eyes gazed on Dratshev with intense curiosity. “I would surmise there’s very little I don’t know about you, in fact. Your work in the field of electromagnetic pulse weapons is practically legendary in some circles. Oh, please, Dr. Dratshev, there’s no reason to look so surprised. The FSB lacks proper security precautions. Information can be had for the right amount of money, and money is a resource of which I have no short supply.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Madari smiled and shook his head as if Dratshev had told a crude joke. “I’d hoped you’d have enough sense not to play such games with me. I’m aware of your fierce loyalty toward your government. I understand loyalty more than you could ever know. I used to have the same toward my own government.”

  “And what government is that?”

  Dratshev could see his ploy to glean as much information from his captor as possible wasn’t lost on Madari. It was a standard tactic his FSB instructors had taught him early in his career. As a military scientist, kidnapping was an all too real and constant threat. This wasn’t lost on those within the Russian government and they insisted on putting Dratshev through regular training so he would know how to handle most scenarios.

  “I was born and raised in Libya, and a prominent member of its government. But that time has long passed. Like you, I was loyal to them and they betrayed that loyalty because of certain political views I had. Had I been a wiser man, I would’ve kept those views to myself but I believed in them so much that they ultimately became my undoing. So now I am an exile.”

  “A very touching story,” Dratshev said as he took another sip. “However, it doesn’t change the fact that you have illegally seized a Russian citizen. My government will not sit still for this.”

  “Please, Dr. Dratshev, let’s not squabble. You are my honored guest. And when I’ve obtained from you what I need you will be released back to your government unharmed.”

  “Ha! You’ve killed my security team, drugged and kidnapped me. Those are hardly the actions of a gentleman.”

  “They were extreme measures, agreed, but wholly necessary.”

  “Just what is it you want from me?”

  “Ah, now that’s the part I think will intrigue you most. I know you were transferred to Belarus to begin practical testing of your EMP theories and designs. I fully intend to give you that opportunity. Imagine that you will be able to expand your work beyond your wildest imagination.”

  “That would be very difficult to imagine.”

  “But true, nonetheless.” Madari sighed. “It may come as a surprise to you, but your government has been less than honest with you in the advancements they’ve made on your prototype designs.”

  “Dishonest in what way?”

  “In just how far they’ve gotten in the manufacture. They’ve been purposefully slow implementing your designs, fearful what would happen if they moved up the timetable, I would guess.”

  “And how could you know this? Even if it’s true, it wouldn’t make any sense. Stalling progress of my research is hardly in their best interests.”

 
“Not when it comes to certain parties that may not be known to you—parties that have the direct confidences of your president. You see, there are conservative elements within your government that have been attempting to persuade investors buildup of conventional armament is the key to restoring Russian military superiority. They see technical advancements as merely fodder to be stolen by others and used against them. This is why they’ve done everything in their power to slow the manufacture of your prototypes.”

  Dratshev shook his head. “Then why go to such great lengths to protect me? Why not simply kill me?”

  “I do not have the answer to that question, although I have frequently considered it.” Madari gestured at him. “However, I think you are sufficiently intelligent enough that you have pondered this point yourself, and most likely formulated your own answer.”

  Dratshev had, in fact, and it was something he’d dared never utter for fear it might become a reality. Those inside the government who preferred conventional military might would never have risked assassination for fear of alienating those holding the power of the purse. What impressed Dratshev, however, was Madari’s refusal to conjure some story in answer to Dratshev’s question. Madari’s simple acknowledgment of ignorance demonstrated a rare and unusual sense of honesty. Dratshev had to admit he actually found that refreshing.

  “This is all interesting,” Dratshev said, “but it still doesn’t drill down to the reason you’ve gone to these lengths.”

  Madari smiled and then stood. “I believe it would be wiser to wait until you are more lucid to engage in such a conversation. All in good time, Dr. Dratshev.”

  Madari whirled on his heel and as he headed for the door he added, “In the meantime, please consider yourself a guest and, should you need anything, perhaps food or a blanket, my assistant will be happy to get it for you. You should take every opportunity afforded you on this point. We’re still six hours from our destination.”

  When Madari was gone, Dratshev took time to inspect his bonds. As he’d suspected, the restraints circling his wrists were thick leather fastened by chains. Escaping such bonds would be impossible. He looked at his legs and noted they were also secured in like fashion.

  Finally, Dratshev laid his head back and closed his eyes. Best to get as much sleep as possible and wait for a more opportune time to make his escape.

  Sooner or later, he knew such a solution would present itself. It always did when one exercised patience.

  * * *

  ELEVEN MEN WAITED as their leader studied the facility through a night-vision scope. To local residents, it appeared to be nothing more than what it was advertised: a research center run by the department of agriculture.

  Colonel Jack Cyrus knew it to be otherwise, which was why he and his team were in rural Iowa.

  Cyrus lowered the scope and passed it to his second-in-command, Riley Braden. “Interesting. The security appears to be minimal.”

  Braden took the scope and performed his own inspection. “I agree, sir.”

  Cyrus tried not to wince at the “sir” despite the fact he understood it. It was protocol but difficult to hear coming from a man that had not only been his peer throughout their respective military careers, but also his friend since high school. In private, they addressed each other by name but out here in the field they had to set an example and chain of command in front of the others.

  Braden continued. “Ten-foot fence with cyclone wire. No visible sentries, so probably armed security inside.”

  “Rent-a-cops, at best,” Cyrus replied.

  “And probably not that many.”

  “Intelligence says they walk rounds with e-point checks at regular intervals. That means they can’t cover the whole area at one time.”

  “I’d concur with that assessment,” Braden agreed. “What’s your plan?”

  “We have to assume a facility of that size will have full video-and audio-camera surveillance.” Cyrus turned to Braden. “I see a training opportunity here, Major. What do you think is the best course of action?”

  Braden didn’t hesitate in his reply. “Two teams. Breach the northeast corner of the perimeter fence. First team will locate the power sources and neutralize them, including generators. Second team makes entry to the building and then sends two to retrieve the data while the rest deal with any human elements. Outer team will provide perimeter and egress security, as well as mission failsafe.”

  Cyrus nodded, impressed with his friend and colleague. “Excellent tactical plan, Major Braden. Exactly what I would’ve done. I’d say the decision’s been made.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.”

  “You’ll lead the inside team.”

  Braden looked surprised. “I don’t know the job.”

  “You know it as well as I do.”

  “Yes, sir, but I was trained to do it only in the event you could not.”

  “Nonsense. There’s no difference.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, I strongly suggest you reconsider.”

  Cyrus didn’t look at Braden as he responded in short fashion, “I already have, Major. It’s not a request. You will lead the primary team and you will accomplish the mission objectives as they’ve been given to us. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then let’s move out.”

  Braden nodded and turned to the team members he would now be leading on the mission. As he briefed them on the change in plans, Cyrus sighed. He’d considered sticking to the original mission parameters but he wanted his friend to take credit for what he knew would be another success. Their employer, who’d expressed reservations about bringing Riley Braden into the fold from the beginning, had to know that Braden had as much command ability and skill as Cyrus. This would be Braden’s chance to prove it without even being aware Cyrus was putting him to the test. Cyrus had learned long ago one mark of a good leader was to set up those in his command to succeed whenever possible. Not only did it boost morale but it also instilled confidence in self—not to mention what it did for unit cohesion.

  The teams automatically performed a last check of equipment and then broke into approach formation. Every man knew what to do, where to stage in relationship to every other man, and what their individual responsibilities. They’d trained for this dozens of times until they’d had it down like clockwork.

  The exterior team arrived first and two men went to work on the fence, cutting links with the marked precision of professionals. Cyrus knew they’d practiced, but his chest swelled with pride as he watched them in action. Within thirty seconds they’d made the ingress.

  With a nod from Cyrus, Braden gestured to his team and they moved through the hold. The two squad weapons men took point and then Braden. The remaining trio proceeded after him. They moved across the field at a breakneck clip and located the power boxes stationed on the exterior of the main building.

  Braden knelt and flicked his thumb twice at two of his team members. The demo guys went to work on the boxes, priming them with the charges. Braden risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Cyrus making his way through the fence in the same way Braden’s team had just a minute earlier.

  Once the charges were set, Braden and his men broke from their positions and headed toward the rear door where they’d planned to make their entry. They were nearly there when the charges blew the power boxes apart. Every interior light in the building went out, as well as power to a small external building. One of the men blew the lock off the door with a small roll of self-detonating plastic explosive and within seconds Braden’s team had gained access.

  “You have five minutes.” Cyrus’s voice resounded in Braden’s headset. “Mark T-minus five, starting now. Radio silence from this point.”

  “Copy,” Braden replied.

  The six men pushed up the darkened corridor, moving smoothly as one unit
. They followed a standard fire-and-maneuver pattern, leap-frogging in pairs as they approached their objective.

  They reached the data room unmolested and Braden gestured for four of his men to fan out while the other would provide cover while he made his entry. The door proved no match for the pencil detonator that shot the bolt lock inward as if it had been fired from a potato gun. Braden eased the door open and snatched the red-lens flashlight from his equipment harness.

  He managed to get about three feet inside before bullets crashed into the chest of his comrade and drove the man into the door frame. Braden wondered how he managed to avoid a similar fate even as he threw himself the floor and a fresh volley burned the air where he’d stood a millisecond earlier.

  Braden brought his Steyr Aug Para into play and triggered a burst in the direction of the muzzle-flashes. The rounds bounced off a solid object marked by the sparks from their impact. It took Braden a moment to realize that he’d been firing into bulletproof glass.

  Braden rolled onto his back and yanked an HE grenade from his harness. He primed the hand bomb and tossed it overhead before jumping to his feet and rushing toward the door. He threw himself around the corner and landed on his belly just as the grenade blew. Red, yellow and orange flame whooshed through the open door.

  “We’re blown!” he shouted at his men. “Retreat!”

  None of them had to be told twice, two taking point and two more providing rear cover with Braden between them. The men dashed up the hallway at full sprint and exited the building in time to see a firefight had already ensued between Cyrus and his team.

  Braden and his men spread out and engaged whatever targets presented. The air came alive with reports from dozens of automatic weapons on both sides. To the observer it would’ve seemed as if a small war had erupted in the USDA’s “research facility” and it would’ve been a bizarre sight, at best.

  Braden managed to rendezvous with Cyrus, miraculously avoiding death in the process.

  “What happened?” Cyrus demanded during a lull in the shooting.