‘Worth it? Buggered if I know,’ Richter echoed him, after a moment.
‘What was in that hangar, anyway?’
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘Try me.’
‘Fuck-all.’
Dekker looked blank. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. Nada. Rien. I said you wouldn’t believe me.’ Richter sighed. ‘The hangar was completely empty, or as good as. Just a cherry-picker and a couple of tractors.’
He pulled out the digital camera and selected ‘view’. The first image appeared on the small screen, and Dekker studied it closely. Taken from above, it showed a considerable section of the interior of the hangar, but all he could see was a large expanse of empty concrete, and part of the cradle of a cherry-picker. He flicked to the next frame, and then the next.
‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ he concluded. ‘Are you sure that was the right hangar?’
‘It was not only the one Six told me to investigate,’ Richter replied, ‘but it also had the largest number of sentries guarding it.’
‘But why would the Algerians be guarding an empty hangar?’
‘That’s easy. Something’s obviously missing, either lost or stolen, and I presume the guards are there to preserve the integrity of the scene. The difficult bit will be working out exactly what’s been mislaid, but my own guess is they’ve lost an aircraft.’
Chapter Five
Monday
Letneozerskiy interceptor base, Karelia, Russia
Anatoli Yershenko stood just inside the hangar and stared at the two massive grey interceptors in front of him, then glanced down at the paperwork he’d been given.
That was both the problem and the strength of a no-notice inspection. Because the base staff had no idea they were going to receive a visit, they had neither the chance to conceal their errors or omissions, nor the opportunity to ensure that their normal documentation was correct. What Lieutenant-Colonel Yershenko now had to decide was whether he was looking at sloppy paperwork or something much more serious.
He had no queries about the two interceptors. All the documentation the 524 IAP squadron staff had supplied for these aircraft was in order, as far as Yershenko could tell. The problem was that there should be four aircraft in this hangar, and so far nobody he had talked to was able to explain exactly where the two missing MiG-25s were.
According to squadron records, the two Foxbats had flown to the Zaporizhia state aviation maintenance plant in the Ukraine some two months earlier, which was certainly plausible. But when Yershenko had contacted Zaporizhia by telephone, nobody there could confirm the date when the interceptors had arrived there or, more worrying, even if they had arrived at all. In fact, the administrative officer Yershenko talked to could find no trace of the side-numbers of the two MiGs anywhere in his records for the last six months.
But the two aircraft had certainly taken off from Letneozerskiy, so they must have landed somewhere, and Yershenko was determined to find out where.
What paper trail there was started with the air traffic control records in the tower nearby. As were all aircraft movements, the departure of the two interceptors had been logged, and their recorded destination was Zaporizhia. It was then things started getting foggy. ATC didn’t record the names of the pilots, and the squadron records revealed that neither man had subsequently returned to Letneozerskiy. Both had been approaching the ends of their tours with 524 IAP, so had apparently proceeded to join their new squadrons once they’d delivered the Foxbats to the maintenance facility. Yershenko had already initiated a search to identify the current location of each pilot, but that was of secondary importance to finding the aircraft themselves.
One advantage in conducting such no-notice inspections was that the man in command of the team had the authority to compel officers of a much more senior rank to obey his instructions. He had scheduled a second interview with the station commander in a little over an hour, and the man should have found some satisfactory answers by then, or else Yershenko had the power to remove him from his post pending a full on-site investigation into the missing aircraft.
T’ae’tan Air Base, North Korea
When he’d polished off the homogenous mush that served as his lunch, Yi Min-Ho resumed his scrutiny of the airfield spread out below him.
Though he wasn’t sure if it had any significance, he had earlier noticed that only two of the six aircraft shelters he was studying appeared to be in use, and the doors of the four new ones had remained firmly closed the whole time he’d been watching. At first he’d assumed they might be empty, until he noticed a two-man patrol was guarding each one of them, a level of security not evident outside any other buildings on the base. That had to suggest there were items of some importance inside them.
One other thing also puzzled him. In the foothills beyond the new hangar entrances, and a short distance from the few administrative buildings, a three-storey structure had recently been erected. With curtained windows on all three floors, it looked residential, but that didn’t make sense because people didn’t normally live on an active airfield. Perhaps it was accommodation for the guards, but the building itself seemed far too big for that. He noted this down in his book as another oddity.
One set of the older hangar doors opened suddenly and a tractor backed out, towing another F-5 which Yi hadn’t recorded before. He looked carefully at the fighter’s side number and scribbled it in his notebook, together with the current time. The tractor halted and the driver unhitched the F-5, then drove back to the hangar. Two ground engineers appeared, pulling a low cart that maybe held tools, and stopped next to the fighter. One of them lifted an inspection panel on the fuselage below the cockpit, and both men got to work on the aircraft. Yi watched them with vague interest, simply because there was nothing else to do.
On the hillside about five hundred metres above and behind the lone NIS agent’s observation point, a North Korean lieutenant stood staring down the slope. He could just see his quarry, or rather the man’s head and his hands, holding a pair of binoculars, as he studied the airfield.
The patrol leader now had to ensure that the spy’s focus remained fixed on the scene below, while he and his men attempted to make their approach unnoticed. The orders received from the official in Pyongyang might help them achieve that, so he raised the radio to his mouth and murmured a brief report, informing his superior officer that they were ready in position. Then he hand-signalled for his men to begin their approach. They’d already been briefed to halt a hundred metres away from the spy’s position and await the lieutenant’s command to move in for the kill.
Yi Min-Ho suddenly tensed and shifted his gaze. Three uniformed men had emerged from one of the few administration buildings and were heading briskly along the taxiway towards the four mystery hangars that were so carefully guarded. As they approached the nearest one, the two sentries outside it snapped to attention and saluted, then led them towards a side door.
Perhaps, Yi wondered, they would now open the main doors and he’d finally discover what the North Koreans had stored inside. And moments later his unspoken wish seemed about to come true, as the two massive hangar doors began to slide slowly apart.
The lieutenant had halted his men behind a low rise, gesturing them to keep out of sight while he himself moved forward to a position where he could more clearly overlook the spy’s observation point. He too could see the airfield below, and he watched just as carefully as the officers approached the hangar. Everything was going as planned.
He paused another minute until the main doors began to open, then slid back down the slope and ordered his men forward, as quietly as possible. Though he was certain the South Korean’s full attention was directed at the activity below, there was still the possibility that, despite outnumbering him six-to-one, if he heard them coming he could somehow escape down the hillside. The lieutenant’s orders were specific: the man must be taken alive if possible, or else killed. His escape would no
t be tolerated. So they readied their weapons and moved carefully down the slope towards him.
Yi Min-Ho hadn’t taken his eyes off the hangar since he’d watched the officers approach it, and at last both the doors were wide open. The problem was that he still couldn’t discern what was inside because the interior lay in deep shadow. But that might not be a problem, because a towing tractor was now approaching the building. So Yi watched and waited.
On reaching the hangar, the tractor drove straight inside. For a couple of minutes there was no further movement, then the tail of an aircraft began to appear, which the tractor was clearly pushing. But the aircraft Yi now saw emerging from the hangar was completely unanticipated.
He had expected an F-5, which is a fairly small aircraft with a distinctive single rudder carrying horizontal stabilizers, but instead found himself staring at two enormous jet exhausts, topped by massive twin rudders. For a few seconds he had no idea what this huge aircraft might be, then, as realization dawned, he reached for his Kyocera satellite telephone. This news couldn’t wait for his formal debriefing, so he switched it on, punched in a number, and waited for the connection to be completed.
Yi’s dedication and focus often received favourable comment at headquarters, but unfortunately this time he had become rather too focused. So, as the North Korean soldiers approached his hiding place, all his attention was fixed on the open hangar door and the slowly emerging aircraft.
Just then a T’ae’tan soldier stepped silently onto the ledge beside him and pressed the muzzle of a Kalashnikov AK47 into the middle of his back. Yi reacted instantly. He dropped the phone and binoculars, and twisted away, knocking aside the barrel of the assault rifle as he simultaneously reached for his pistol. The guard stepped back, momentarily taken by surprise.
This brief moment was enough for the South Korean agent. He grabbed up the satellite phone and vaulted off the ledge, running for his life down the slope towards the airfield, all the time dodging and diving from side to side.
The lieutenant shouted immediate orders, and within seconds the air was alive with Kalashnikov bullets. But shooting downhill isn’t easy because of the perspective, and most of the shots went wide, smashing into the ground all around the fugitive.
As he ran, Yi Min-Ho heard the tinny voice of his controller issuing from the earpiece of the Kyocera. He dropped flat to the ground and rolled over so that he could face back up the slope. Then he pulled out the CZ75 and let loose half a dozen rounds at his pursuers, even as he tried to gasp out his story.
‘They have new aircraft,’ he yelled. ‘I’ve seen a—’
At that moment three shells from one of the Kalashnikovs found him. The first tore through his left hand, severing two fingers and ripping the Kyocera from his grasp. Maybe fortunately, his agony lasted well under a second. The next round entered the top of his skull, ploughing through his brain and killing him instantly. Yi Min-Ho didn’t even feel the third bullet.
Hammersmith, London
‘I originally assumed it was just another cock-up by Vauxhall Cross,’ Richard Simpson grumbled. ‘Telling you to look in the wrong hangar, or even sending you off to the wrong airfield. But now it looks like they were probably right.’
Simpson had a famously low opinion of the professional abilities of the Secret Intelligence Service, commonly known as ‘Six’, and was always happy to share his prejudices with anyone who’d listen.
Richter had got back to the Hammersmith office fifteen minutes earlier, after spending what felt like a week bouncing around in the back of the ‘Fat Albert’. The Hercules had stopped at Meknes for a refuel, but had taken off immediately afterwards, heading straight for Gibraltar and the Royal Naval Air Station, HMS Rooke. There they’d off-loaded the injured loadmaster, fearing he would not survive the flight back to the UK. The wounded man had lost so much blood that Richter personally doubted he’d last the day, but at least at Rooke he’d get proper medical care.
The C-130 filled its tanks again and got airborne, routed around Spanish airspace and headed north, landing at RAF Northolt to off-load Richter, the dead soldier and the injured SAS trooper – he had a badly broken leg, but the injury wasn’t life-threatening – before continuing to RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire, where transport was waiting for the SAS team.
Simpson had sent a car to meet Richter, with a man from Vauxhall Cross in the back seat to collect the camera and receive a verbal debrief on what was seen at Aïn Oussera. The moment Richter opened his office door at Hammersmith, the direct line had begun ringing.
‘So how come you think they were right?’ Richter asked, wearily.
‘Because of what’s happened since you left for your away-day in Algeria. The troops that pursued you – they weren’t regular army?’
‘I doubt it. Most Third-World armed forces run a mile the moment they come up against any kind of competent opposition, but these guys didn’t. They didn’t back off and they used good tactics. They were definitely some kind of elite troops, and they bloody nearly had us.’
‘And what are your conclusions about the empty hangar?’ Simpson probed.
‘My best guess is they’ve lost a valuable aircraft – or somebody’s stolen one. The guards are probably just there to protect the scene of the crime while they continue to investigate it. So what else has happened in my absence that suggests Six have got something right for once?’
‘Two things have arisen,’ Simpson replied. ‘Firstly, Algeria might not be the only nation to be having problems with its fighter inventory. The NSA claims to have intercepted signals in Iran that suggest the country may be missing a pair of interceptors. But then the Americans add that the traffic was “ambiguous”, whatever the hell that means.’
‘And second?’ Richter prompted.
‘And secondly we’ve had a surprise request from the Russians for assistance in tracking certain military aircraft movements. Their own military aircraft movements, to be exact. I’ve said you’ll go to Moscow and help them out.’
‘Why me? I was hoping for a bit of a break. Can’t someone else go?’
‘No, because the request from Moscow asked for you specifically.’
‘Who’s behind that?’
‘Viktor Bykov – and he’s now a senior general in the GRU. Despite what you did to him in France, I think he trusts you – maybe more than I do. Anyway, it’s your name on the ticket, and there’s a diplomatic passport waiting for you now in the Documents Section. You’re booked on tomorrow’s British Airways flight, and Bykov or one of his staff will be meeting you at Sheremetievo.’ He paused to check his notes, then continued.
‘The Registry staff are preparing a laptop for you. It’ll contain pictures from the US Keyhole birds that cover the specific dates and times the Russians have requested – suitably sanitized, of course. They’ve highlighted possible radar contacts that could be the aircraft the Russians are interested in, with their estimated points of departure and possible destinations. We’ve also arranged for a photo interpreter from N-PIC to be standing by in Washington and another one at JARIC in case you need further analysis, or additional frames to be sent.’
‘What about a personal weapon?’
‘Certainly not. You’re going to Moscow to help the GRU track down some missing aircraft. It’s merely a joint investigation into an anomaly, so what the hell do you want a gun for? And, Richter, I know that your concept of diplomacy is to break someone’s leg and then say “Lean on me”, but we’re supposed to be working with the Russians on this, not against them. So try not to kill too many people while you’re over there.’
Letneozerskiy interceptor base, Karelia, Russia
‘I assure you, Colonel, that my staff correctly completed all the documentation before the two MiG-25 interceptors left this station. You’ve seen it, all of it. If any mistakes were made, they must have occurred at Zaporizhia. I’ve never trusted that maintenance facility. This isn’t the first time their record-keeping has proved less than adequate.’
&nb
sp; Anatoli Yershenko looked across the desk at the officer commanding 524 IAP. Colonel Grigor Adashev hadn’t actually obstructed his inspection team, but he certainly hadn’t helped much. And the colonel was now sweating slightly, which might be due to the heat pumping out of two large radiators – rusty and wheezing but undeniably effective – bolted to the walls either side of his desk. Or might there be another reason?
‘So you say, Colonel, so you say. My problem is that I’ve talked to Zaporizhia, and the officer I spoke to insists there’s no record of either aircraft in their database over the last six months. Your problem is that your recorded squadron strength isn’t matched by the aircraft currently parked in your hangars, and you don’t need me to tell you how serious that could be.’
‘It’s just a paperwork problem,’ Adashev blustered, returning to the tune he’d been playing since this interview began. ‘The fault lies at Zaporizhia, and if you do your job properly that’s where you’ll go next.’
Yershenko shrugged. Ultimately, it wasn’t his problem anyway. He’d simply write up his report of the inspection, highlight the discrepancy and pass the buck to Moscow. But he would certainly visit the maintenance facility. The colonel might be right and, if only for the sake of completeness, the inspection team would have to investigate his claim.
‘We’ll be flying straight to Zaporizhia when we leave here.’
Adashev nodded. ‘You might like to send a preliminary report through our communication facilities?’
‘No thank you. Until we locate those two missing aircraft, it would be premature to contact Moscow. I’ll file a complete inspection report once we’ve checked the records at Zaporizhia.’ And he could have added: I’ll file my report when there’s no possibility of it being altered or delayed. In fact, he’d already telephoned his superior in Moscow with a brief outline of what had been discovered at Letneozerskiy.
Foxbat Page 7
