by Chris Goff
They were outside of Nowinka, approximately thirty-one kilometers west of the Russian border. In one hour’s time, this would all be done and they would safely be home, provided they weren’t discovered.
“Is the gun ready?” He’d asked the question before, and he got the same answer.
“It’s ready, Vasyl.” Barkov slapped a hand on Kozachenko’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s time for a shot of vodka.”
“We can toast once the job is done,” Kozachenko said, shaking off Barkov’s hand. “We are not home free yet. We need to keep our wits about us.”
“You worry too much, Vasyl.”
Kozachenko ignored him and gathered the men. “Up to this point you have done an admirable job. We have one more task, and then we go home to Russia. It is most important that we get the gun back to Kaliningrad, and we all know that the Polish Special Forces will try to stop us.” His thought went to the DSS agent responsible for the manhunt. The pakhan indicated she was in Poland, no doubt leading the chase. “Many of you have military training, but these men are like our own Spetsnaz. They have better training than you, better weapons. Once we fire the gun, we must move quickly for the border.”
Kozachenko outlined the route they would take on the map, then asked if anyone had any questions.
“Won’t they already have patrols set up on the major roads?” Yolkin asked.
“I’m sure they will have the guards on alert at the checkpoints, but I know of a crossing place to the north. It’s here.” He showed the men on the map.
“And what if they catch us?” Celek asked.
“Then Barkov and Yolkin will keep driving toward the border, and the rest of us will stand and fight.”
“You want me driving the truck?” Barkov said.
Kozachenko wanted nothing more than to drive the truck himself, but a leader stood with his men. “Yolkin is injured and, next to me, you stand the best chance of reaching the homeland.”
* * *
The team dropped Jordan and Adamski at Łęcze, where an armored Range Rover waited for them. Davis stayed with the team on the chopper while they continued their aerial search. They’d switched back to their code names. Avatar (Adamski) and Ratchet, the name of the chopper team leader, were both on VOX. The others could listen but not speak without pushing their transmit buttons.
Jordan tapped the captain on the shoulder. “Avatar, tell your men to keep the thermal imaging camera lens open to its widest aperture. When the gun is fired, it’s going to get hot, so hot that it should light up the truck, at least long enough for us to spot it.”
“What then?”
“First we get the GPS coordinates of the location for Zhen, and then we go for the Russians. They’ll make a run for it. If the team can get eyes on and guide us in, we may be able to stop them before they can cross the border.”
At five minutes to 4:00 PM, Jordan got Lory on the line. “It’s almost time, sir. Are you ready on your end?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be.”
She kept the line open as she listened to the voices through the comm. She could occasionally pick up Davis’s voice and pictured him happily snapping photographs of GROM in action. Then the urgency of the voices changed. She heard a shout, then Ratchet confirming what she already knew: the Russians had fired the weapon.
“Lory, it’s coming,” she said. “Tell Zhen! Lory?”
“He’s already working on it.”
“Stay on the line.” Jordan could hear him urging Zhen to hurry.
Ratchet’s voice came through the comm. “Avatar, the Russians are somewhere near Nowinka. We’re headed there now.”
“Roger that.” The captain turned to Jordan, throwing the SUV into gear. “Buckle up, Jumper. We’re sixteen minutes away, and I plan on making better than average time.”
Jordan tightened her seat belt, still hanging on the phone. “Lory, tell me he’s found it.”
“Not yet, he’s still working.”
They were two minutes in.
Adamski drove at breakneck speed along the winding country road, sirens blaring. Birch and oak trees whipped past the window, and Jordan found herself hanging on.
“Avatar, we’ve lost the signal,” Ratchet said.
“That’s impossible,” the captain said. “The heat couldn’t have dissipated that quickly.”
Jordan shook her head. “Unless they covered the gun. Maybe the tarp has a heat shield? Tell them to keep looking, to look for a cluster of people, several vehicles.”
“Lory?” The line was dead. Shit!
Redialing his number, she checked the time. They were four minutes in and counting.
“He’s still working on it,” Lory said when he answered. Jordan’s fear climbed into her chest, making her skin tingle.
“We’re at four minutes, twenty seconds.”
“I know where we are. We’re fu—Wait! I think he’s got it. Yes, it’s locked on!” Lory celebrated, then stopped short. “He says there isn’t enough time. It’s not going to go far enough out in the gulf. Fuck. No!”
“Lory, what’s happening?”
Jordan heard the explosion, then the phone went dead. Twisting, she looked out the back window of the Land Rover and saw a plume of smoke rising into the air along the coastline.
“We need to turn back,” Adamski said.
“No! We need to stop the Russians from taking the gun across the border.” Jordan didn’t like not knowing what had happened in Gdánsk. But she knew with no uncertainty that if the Russians managed to get away with the gun, they could back engineer the latest in U.S. weaponry, and the world would be screwed.
The captain pressed harder on the accelerator. The Land Rover picked up speed. “Ratchet, keep eyes on the main road. Use extreme measures.”
Jordan felt him brake as they came to a small town, and then he accelerated through a series of S-curves that followed. Time was quickly running out.
* * *
The Russians had gotten out ahead of GROM and made their way north along the Pasłęka River. The road across the border that Kozachenko knew was an old abandoned farm road north of Rusy. From where they were stopped now, getting there posed a problem.
Kozachenko leaned against one tree, Barkov against another, both staring out at the farm fields.
“We’ll be out in the open for over three kilometers, then visible along the trees for another one and a half, Vasyl.”
Kozachenko looked at Barkov and shrugged. “It’s the only way. It’s simple. We wait for the air patrol to fly south along the border, and we make our run.”
“And if they see us?”
“We shoot them down with an RPG.” Kozachenko could see the distaste on Barkov’s face. “What? You don’t have the stomach to kill a few Poles?”
“I don’t have the stomach for going to jail for committing terrorist acts. You can’t believe for one second that pakhan can save us if we’re caught.”
Kozachenko swallowed the sour taste in his mouth. He wasn’t used to having his orders challenged; something Barkov had been doing for days. If he were any other man, Kozachenko would have put a bullet through his head by now.
“No more discussion,” he said. “We go at dusk.”
Chapter 45
Other than the hit on the thermal imaging camera near Tolkmicko, they’d come up with nothing. There was no trace of the Russians. They had moved on, and all available emergency units were being called to Gdánsk. They’d diverted the missile, but it had struck the fuel tanks at the port, setting off an explosion and starting a chain reaction fire. The northern port and inner port were both in flames. Two tankers had been at the docks, along with a ferry and a cruise ship. The tankers had exploded, and the passenger ships were on fire. The number of casualties was still unknown, and the flames were spreading toward the city.
“We’ve been ordered to return to Gdánsk,” Adamski said.
“We can’t go back. Not yet. What we have to do is find the Russians.” They were parked on
the side of the road just outside of town. They were so close. “We need to get the people who did this, so we can stop them from doing it again. If they get across the border with that weapon, this is only the start.”
“How do you propose we stop them? We can’t even find them.”
“There has to be a way.” Jordan pulled up a map of Poland on her phone. “What if we map the border? How many roads cross into Russia from Poland?”
“Three.”
“What about old crossings?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“During World War II, all this land belonged to Prussia. They must have had roads interconnecting the towns with Königsberg, now Kaliningrad.”
“Sure, but they haven’t been used since the war.”
“Are there any parts of the border that are less protected?”
“What are you implying? Our border is secure. We have been fortifying ever since Putin singled out Poland as an enemy.” His contempt for the Russian president was palpable. “To protect ourselves, we installed CCTV towers along the entire 232 kilometers, and we fly regular air patrols.”
“That’s good,” she said. “It keeps the Russians out, but does it stop them from crossing the other way?”
That silenced him.
“Heading east puts them north of the Gronowo border check. Have we had Ratchet and the team fly the border from Gronowo to the Lagoon?”
Adamski shrugged. “Ratchet, check the border to the north. Look for old crossings.”
While they waited for the team to report, Adamski monitored the activity in Gdánsk via the radio, and Jordan tried calling Lory again. Still no casualty reports. Still no answer.
“There’s one,” Davis said, his voice clear through the comm. “It looks like an old service or logging road.”
Jordan perked up and depressed her transmitter. “Where?”
“Just north of Rusy,” Ratchet said. He gave them the coordinates, and Adamski plugged them into the GPS. The monitor showed a thirty-two-kilometer drive, about forty-three minutes away. That would put them there just before dusk.
“We’re going to head your way,” said Avatar.
“Copy that, but we’re running low on fuel.”
“Gas up at the border crossing, then rendezvous with us in the north.”
Forty minutes later, they pulled into the small town of Rusy, a cluster of seven or eight red-roofed houses with barns. Adamski pulled over to talk to a farmer walking on the side of the road. The conversation was animated, then Adamski thanked the man and rolled up the window.
“They came through about two hours ago,” he said. “They’re probably across the border by now.”
“I don’t think so,” Jordan said. “Look at the picture.” It showed an aerial of Rusy, the forests and the road crossing the border. “The GROM helicopter was patrolling, and the Russians must know about the CCTV towers. They wouldn’t want photos of themselves circulating, identifying them as terrorists. They would lay low and wait for dark. CCTV cameras are only good in daylight.”
“Our CCTV cameras all have night vision capabilities.”
“Even so, they require some light. Until the moon rises, if the Russians drive without headlights, it will be incredibly dark out here.”
Adamski drove cautiously around the next curve. The trees were thick on each side, while ahead of them farm fields stretched to another copse of birch and oak. The light had faded. In the middle of the fields, two vehicles and a truck lumbered toward the forest on the opposite side.
Adamski slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “There’s no way we can catch them. Ratchet, this is Avatar. How close are you to being fueled?”
“Another ten minutes.”
“Hurry. We’ve found them, and they’re making a break for the border.”
Adamski started forward, but Jordan reached out and put her hand on his arm.
“Turn right.”
Adamski braked to a stop. “The road crosses here and doubles back along the tree line on the other side.”
“True, but there are access roads that run along the fields.” She showed him the map. “I’ll bet there’s also a maintenance road that runs alongside the border.”
Adamski sat at the intersection. “Why wouldn’t they take the shorter route?”
“The longer they remain out of sight, the closer they can get to the homeland. Crossing the fields where they did, at dusk, no one but a farmer or two would have seen them. The good news is it forces them to double back along the tree line. That will take time. We can beat them to the crossing.”
Adamski nodded and juiced the accelerator. Jordan felt a surge of excitement. She had no idea what was happening back in Gdánsk or whether Lory, Zhen, and the ambassador were safe, but they had a chance to stop the Russians.
“Go fast,” she said.
Adamski wrestled the Land Rover down the path alongside the field. It bucked over rows left by combines, tracked into the ruts, and slid sideways when the tires gripped the road again. Turning left, he started down the eastern edge of the fields, and Jordan looked to see what progress the Russians were making. They were still in sight.
“What’s our play?” Adamski asked.
Jordan looked across at him. “You don’t have any ideas? I figured you’ve led missions like this before.”
“We’re two against a minimum of three, and we know they have weapons.”
Jordan estimated the number of Russians higher. There were four men involved in the ambush and at least one person who had remained with the truck. Not to mention they’d had help. More likely they were talking about five to seven armed men. “Do we have any weapons?”
“There are two semiautomatic rifles in the back, and I have my Glock.”
Jordan had her 9-mil.
They beat the Russians to the intersection. Adamski parked the truck sideways across the road, making it impossible for another vehicle to pass. He handed Jordan a rifle and took one for himself.
“Let’s split up and move down the tree line on each side,” Adamski said, stuffing ammo into his pockets. They came up with a makeshift plan, hoping that they wouldn’t have to implement it before the helicopter came back. “Whatever you do, don’t shoot me.”
Jordan grabbed a couple of extra magazines and didn’t bother to tell him about her sharpshooter medal. In a situation like this, it wasn’t apt to matter.
“Ratchet, what is your ETA?”
“We’re four minutes out.”
Jordan peered down the road and saw the three vehicles moving toward them. They didn’t have four minutes. They’d be lucky to have two. She waited for the truck to pull abreast of her hiding place in the woods. Then, executing the plan, she shot out the truck tires on her side and took out the tires on the trailing vehicle before one of the Russians opened fire.
They’d caught the Russians unprepared, but it didn’t take them long to regroup. Jordan shot the first man out of the truck. He had a weapon in his hand, which meant he had the potential to kill her. Four men climbed out of each SUV.
“Barkov is down,” a man yelled. “You two and you, with me. Flank the shooter. Take him out.”
Jordan smiled grimly. This is where she had the advantage. She spoke Russian and had understood every word. Quietly she slipped back into the trees, far enough that one of the men circled around in front of her. She hit him hard on the back of his head between his ear and his spine with the butt of her weapon. He fell at her feet, and she took his rifle. That was two down.
She heard gunfire and wondered how Adamski was faring. Then she heard the whoop of the chopper blades. The reinforcements were here.
The chopper fired a rocket on the truck, exploding it into the air. Through the trees, she watched the gun come apart, then the flash of an RPG bathed the roadway in red. She could see Ratchet’s face as he turned the chopper, but he wasn’t quick enough. The RPG caught the tail rotor. He immediately powered forward and put the chopper in auto
rotation. Before he reached the ground, the man holding the RPG reloaded. Jordan took him out and in the process gave away her position.
Spinning toward the men coming in from both sides, she shot one before the other grabbed her gun and used it to throw her. She hit the tree hard. He raised his weapon to shoot, and she ducked sideways. The semiautomatic pummeled the bark near her head. She forced herself to stay completely still. She wanted to look and see if the helicopter had landed safely. She hadn’t heard a crash or felt the earth shake. Maybe they were okay.
The shooter emptied his magazine, and she heard him reload and start forward. By the sound of his walk, she could tell he thought she was dead. Without a sound, she slipped her 9-mil out of its holster. Her only chance was to shoot him before he found her pressed up against the tree. She counted to three, spun into his path, and shot him in the chest.
She heard the staccato of his gun as he doubled over, and then he fell backward and hit the ground hard. The gun bounced out of his grasp, and she kicked it away, holding her gun on the man.
He looked up and laughed, blood staining his teeth. “DSS Agent Raisa Jordan, I should have known.”
“How do you know who I am?”
“You’re infamous. I told the pakhan you were trouble.” It was a Russian term for the head of a bratva, mafia. That supported Zhen’s account of Russian mafia at the gun sale in China. But the fact that he knew her name gave her the chills. She didn’t recognize this man.
His head lolled to the side, and Jordan shook him with her foot. “Who is the pakhan?”
“Among other things, he sent me to retrieve the letter.”
A light dawned. He was one of the men who had attacked the ambulance. She nudged him again with her foot. “Stay with me. What did you do with the letter?”
He laughed harder and then coughed, spitting more blood. “It’s useless, you know. You haven’t changed anything.”
His eyes started to glaze.
“Changed what?” Jordan squatted near his head. “What are you talking about?”
