ENEMY -THE-

by WOOD TOM

  The woman chuckled. ‘Not your genre?’

  Clarke shook his head and put the book back on the shelf. ‘I prefer fact over fiction.’

  ‘A cerebral man then.’

  ‘I have my moments,’ Clarke said.

  He turned and faced the speaker, who smiled and inclined her head in a brief nod. She was smartly dressed in a business suit, somewhere in her forties and attractive. She was short and slender but held herself with an obvious inner strength. Her eyes were small and intelligent and cold. She took another book from the shelf and handed it to Clarke.

  ‘Maybe this would be more to your liking.’

  Clarke accepted the book without looking at it. ‘Thanks, I’ll give it a try.’

  The woman seemed pleased. ‘I think you will not guess how it ends quite so easily.’

  Clarke spent a minute reading the back and flicking through pages without interest, before saying, ‘I’m not sure meeting here was such a good idea.’

  ‘It is a perfect place to talk,’ the woman replied. ‘This is the busiest airport in the world. Look around you. Do you know how many people pass through it each day? I read nearly two hundred thousand. This is a liquid city. We are all but invisible.’

  ‘Unless British intelligence knows you’re here.’

  ‘Impossible. Few outside of Russia know I even exist, even less know how I am employed. To the British, Yuliya Eltsina is but a simple, albeit successful, businesswoman. She is in London to see clients. Besides, I am a very cautious lady. I take many precautions.’ She made a floating gesture. ‘I am but a ghost gliding among the living.’

  Clarke thumbed through the book to maintain the act. ‘I’d like an explanation regarding Beirut.’

  ‘What about Beirut?’ Eltsina asked, infuriatingly calm and composed.

  Clarke frowned. ‘Kindly stop the charade. Playing the fool isn’t your forte.’

  She said, ‘My astute powers of telepathy inform me you are talking about the attack on Baraa Ariff.’

  ‘Of course I am. Do you think I’d fly halfway around the world to discuss anything else?’

  Eltsina shook her head, but said nothing.

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘An explanation.’

  ‘And what, dear Peter, would you like me to say?’

  ‘We had an understanding. We had a deal. Long before I told you where to find Ariff we specifically agreed Kasakov was not to move against him until I gave the all clear. We agreed this war would last months, not weeks.’

  Eltsina raised her small hands. ‘You have to understand the position I was in. I had no choice. In the past few weeks Ariff has killed eight of our people. Important people. He also destroyed four major shipments, at a loss of almost half a billion dollars.’

  ‘And? Attacks were inevitable. We discussed Ariff’s ability to hurt you a hundred times, so don’t plead ignorance now.’

  ‘These were not the minor attacks I anticipated. The level of damage being done to the organisation was far, far too severe. Another two months of such incidents would have left Kasakov’s empire as but a broken kingdom.’

  Clarke sighed. ‘I would have helped you rebuild. You knew that.’

  Eltsina sighed too. ‘It was Kasakov himself who forced the matter. He was going crazy with the desire for vengeance against Ariff, even before the attacks against us started. As his intelligence officer, that anger was directed at me. I was failing him too greatly. If I hadn’t delivered Ariff when I did then I would not need fear growing any older.’

  Clarke scoffed. ‘Don’t be so overly dramatic.’

  She stared at Clarke. ‘My dear Peter, you do not know Kasakov like I do. I have been at his side for many years and I have borne witness to his rage innumerable times. Never have I known a man so vindictive, so without conscience. But nothing I have ever seen compares to what he has become.’ Eltsina spoke in hushed tones. ‘You must trust me when I say that you do not want me to tell you of his capacity for brutality.’

  Clarke broke eye contact. ‘Then feel free to keep it to yourself.’

  ‘I am desperately sorry for acting unilaterally in this, but I had to make a decision under impossible circumstances. Is it cowardly for wanting to live? If so, then I am a coward. And don’t forget: with me dead, your plans would have been forfeit. This way we can still achieve our objectives.’

  ‘I’ve been put in a very difficult situation, Yuliya. The person whose help I enlisted to make our objectives achievable does not share our goal. It was for his sake that this war needed to continue for some time. You should have told me you were moving against Ariff so soon. You should have warned me.’

  ‘Life flows like a river, and we must adapt to its ever-changing course.’

  ‘What kind of bullshit is that? I don’t like changes being made to a very carefully constructed plan. My associate is a smart man. If he suspects what I’ve been doing …’

  Eltsina leaned closer and delicately rested a palm on Clarke’s chest. ‘You are a creative and intelligent man. Maybe the smartest man I’ve ever known. You will placate this associate of yours.’

  The angry tone had gone from Clarke’s voice when he asked, ‘Who did you use to snatch Ariff?’

  ‘An American team. They were outrageously expensive, but came with numerous recommendations and an impressive track record. All of which I believe, as they were flawless in apprehending both Ariff and his family.’

  Clarke said, ‘And there is no danger of Kasakov discovering the RDX from the batch stolen in Istanbul was not taken by Ariff?’

  ‘None whatsoever. Vladimir does not like me but he has absolute faith in my abilities. I have told him the BKA analysis of the bomb that killed Farkas matches that of the stolen RDX and he believes it. I am his chief intelligence and security officer. There is no one else in his organisation with my sources, and Kasakov has no reason to look into the matter further.’

  ‘And Kasakov will still vacation at his Black Sea dacha?’

  Eltsina nodded.

  ‘Good,’ Clarke said. ‘Then you need to be in a position to seize power very soon.’

  ‘As I told you, the network has been struck very hard. Morale among our people is the lowest it has ever been. They have lost money from this war and will continue to lose money from its repercussions. They know Kasakov has risked their lives for personal motivations. They resent him, and I have whispered enough poison to ensure that resentment is aimed at Burliuk too. They are ready for new leadership, and will accept anyone who can repair the damage done, even a woman. When Kasakov is dead, I will have enough support to resist Burliuk’s natural ascension.’

  ‘And this new leader had better not forget who helped give her the throne.’

  ‘I will not forget. You really need to have a little more faith in your friends. I shall be your puppet princess of arms, dealing only with factions that you have approved. And with Ariff out of the way, I will incorporate his business into mine so that the world’s supply of small arms and heavy munitions is controlled by me alone. Then America’s enemies will find their flow of weapons has run dry. We both win. And together we are about to turn over a new page in this world’s history.’

  Clarke left the book aisle and waited for Eltsina to join him outside the store.

  She appeared with a candy bar and took a bite. ‘Brits sure know how to make this stuff.’

  Clarke said, ‘What do I need to know about Kasakov’s vacation plans?’

  ‘Kasakov and his wife will be travelling with five of his top-security personnel. He usually only takes a couple, but expecting revenge attacks from Ariff’s people he is taking appropriate precautions. The dacha will be unoccupied prior to his arrival, but a local woman will clean it beforehand. I’ll pass on his exact schedule the moment I have access to it.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Clarke said. ‘I’ll also need some more funds.’

  ‘Of course. I shall make another donation to your account upon my return to Mos
cow.’ Eltsina checked her watch. ‘If that is all, Peter, I must be going.’

  Clarke glanced around before saying, ‘There is something else I need …’

  Eltsina’s perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. ‘Is this one of those changes to a careful plan you are not fond of?’

  ‘Touché.’

  Clarke stopped and took a slim file from his overnight bag. He handed it to Eltsina, who finished her chocolate before opening the file. She spent a minute examining the file’s contents.

  ‘And who might this be?’

  ‘A problem. He’s the assassin my associate has used to get us to this point. He’s been very useful, to all of us. However, that usefulness has expired, and while he continues to breathe he is an extreme liability to everything we’ve worked for.’

  ‘And you want me to get rid of this problem?’

  Clarke nodded.

  ‘And just how am I supposed to have it done?’

  ‘Use your new American friends,’ Clarke said. ‘They’ve proved themselves perfectly capable.’

  ‘Why don’t you take care of him yourself? We are old friends, but this seems like you are burdening me with your own trash when you should be the one disposing of it.’

  ‘I can’t be connected to it,’ Clarke said. ‘And I just don’t have anyone who can take care of something like this. Remember, he’s not just a liability to me but a threat to you also.’ Clarke put a hand on Eltsina’s arm. ‘And don’t forget my understanding in your need to alter our arrangement in regard to Ariff’s premature demise. Getting rid of this problem for me is the price of that understanding.’

  Eltsina frowned but nodded. ‘You’re a hard negotiator, Peter. But you have my agreement. How do you want it done?’

  ‘Let’s keep it simple, shall we? As soon as Kasakov is dead, have your American friends kill his killer.’

  CHAPTER 47

  Winnfield, Louisiana, USA

  The American was forty years old – average height, average weight, brown-haired, brown-eyed, skin tanned. He wore sneakers, jeans, a white T-shirt. A ball cap covered his quarter-inch-long hair. Sunglasses hid his eyes. He had shaved that morning but already he could use another. His watch was a Casio G-Shock. His arms were hairy and hard with lean muscle. A faded tattoo was visible on his outer left bicep, half-covered by the sleeve of his T-shirt. A hilt of a dagger sat between the fletches of two crossed arrows. Across a banner beneath ran De oppresso liber.

  He was in the garden of his Winnfield ranch, enjoying Johnny Cash on the radio and the smell of the twenty-ounce steak sizzling over a charcoal grill. The sun was hot and his white T-shirt was damp beneath his arms. In his kitchen, he mixed up a jug of Kool-Aid and added some to a waiting glass of Jim Bean on the rocks. Back in the garden, he sipped his concoction and turned the steak. Juices hissed.

  The cell phone in his back pocket beeped. He had a new email. He read it, then read it again.

  At his study computer, he opened up an internet browser to check the balance of an offshore bank account. He was pleased to see a very large donation had recently been made. The American loaded up another web page and entered an alphanumeric password into a dialogue box. He waited for a few seconds before the details of a shipment appeared. He entered a destination and was glad to see the shipment would arrive at the new location in adequate time. On a third website, he booked the flights.

  By the time he returned to his steak he found it was overcooked. He liked it rare, but he ate it well done regardless. He wasn’t a wasteful man.

  In his garage, he pushed aside the refrigerator and entered the nine-digit code into the digital lock face of the safe sunk into the concrete floor. He reached inside and removed two pre-packed sports bags and threw them into the passenger side of his pickup. He climbed behind the wheel and took out a charged cell phone that had never been used before and never would be again.

  The American composed a message and sent it to two numbers.

  CHAPTER 48

  Sochi, Russia

  Fine rain fell from a sky the colour of ash. Aside from the patter of raindrops, the forest was quiet. Victor knelt in the undergrowth. The ground was soft beneath his knee. He was on a highpoint that protruded from the slope of the hill, enabling him to see over the canopy that blanketed the hillside below. Mist enshrouded the trees. The rain was fine but relentless. Victor preferred the weather from an operational standpoint, even with the cold water trickling down his back. Better to be wet and unseen in the mist and rain than dry and visible. Binoculars provided him with a clear, albeit limited view of Kasakov’s vacation dacha some seven hundred yards away to the west, at the base of the hill.

  The mansion was located about three hundred yards inland from the eastern shore of the Black Sea. Woods surrounded the walled twenty-two-acre grounds, which included a guesthouse, swimming pool and the grand dacha itself, according to the plans Victor had been supplied with. From his vantage point, Victor could see only the rear side’s roof and some of the building’s second storey, but most of the house, as well as the swimming pool and guesthouse that stood beside it, were hidden by the trees that dotted its grounds. They formed a useful privacy screen and a highly effective security measure. A narrow road led from the house, twisting north-west through the forest until it joined the highway running parallel to the coastline. The dacha was isolated, with no other buildings for at least half a mile in any direction. Again for privacy, but this feature made Victor’s job far simpler.

  The Black Sea coast was Russia’s own Riviera with the region enjoying a sub-tropical climate. Warm and humid. Not today, Victor thought, as cold rain dripped from his nose. The closest town was Sochi, three miles south-east and famous for being home to one of Stalin’s dachas. Victor had arrived on a cargo ship, travelling from Istanbul. The trip was uneventful and he had spent countless hours studying all the information he’d been given on Kasakov, his grand vacation home and Sochi. By the time the ship reached port, he knew everything he was going to about the strike point, terrain, weather, local population, transport links, police capabilities and his Ukrainian target.

  A modest hotel near the port provided his accommodation. The room was small but came with a pleasant sea view. Adler Airport was located twelve miles due south along the coast from Sochi. Just as with the Bucharest contract, there had been an unremarkable sedan waiting for him in the long-stay parking lot of the airport with a trunk full of weapons.

  Victor’s employer had supplied everything requested. The dossier was the most detailed one yet. He had all the lead time he required. It was all as it should be. But the best way for the voice on the other side of the world to protect himself from Mossad was if Victor wasn’t alive to tell them anything. And even if his employer wasn’t planning on betraying him, the Kidon unit was still out there looking for him. Victor knew how to stay hidden as well as anyone, but no one was invisible.

  Despite the two potential enemies, he had to concentrate on the job at hand. This could prove to be one of his most challenging and dangerous assignments. It was also one of the most unpalatable, despite the long list of heinous acts Vladimir Kasakov had committed during his long career and the numerous atrocities his weapons had been responsible for. Victor reminded himself he couldn’t afford to be distracted by emotions he shouldn’t be experiencing in the first place.

  He carefully set his metal water bottle on the ground so it was standing up at the highest point of the outcrop and clear of vegetation, and descended the hillside. He moved slowly, carefully, gaze sweeping from left to right and back again. Every thirty yards he stopped and listened before moving on. He wore a green Gore-Tex jacket, Gore-Tex trousers and hiking boots. The woods were gloomy. The mist was thick in the air. Visibility was no more than twenty yards through the trees and thick underbrush. He approached the dacha’s grounds from the east.

  Raindrops pattered and splashed on leaves. He breathed in the cool air. It smelled of wet earth and decaying vegetation. Between the trees, he saw a wall u
p ahead. Made of stone and ten feet high, the wall formed a rough square around the property, with each section approximately one thousand feet in length. There was a single gate in the centre of the north wall, but covered by a security camera and therefore not worth tangling with when there were easier options. The plans made no mention of other electronic security measures along the wall, but Victor carefully checked anyway and wasn’t surprised to find none. The boundary to the property was far too long to be effectively covered by cameras, and motion sensors would be frequently set off by wildlife or falling branches. Metal spikes topped the wall to create a barrier more than enough to stop a typical intruder.

  Victor backed off to give himself a short run-up and sprinted at the wall. He jumped from a distance of four feet, hitting the wall with the ball of his right foot and using the momentum to propel himself vertical, doing the same with his left a split-second later to push himself even further before reaching upwards to grab the top edge. He pulled himself on to the top of the wall. Staying in a crouch, he stepped over the spikes, turned and lowered himself down the other side. He dropped the last few feet.

  The house sat at the centre of the grounds, some two hundred and fifty yards away. The woods had been left as nature intended on the other side of the wall. It was quiet. The rain had stopped. Victor heard the rustle of leaves in the breeze and nothing else. He set off through the undergrowth, taking his time to reduce the noise he made, stopping regularly, always listening. The sodden ground squished underfoot. Leaves glistened.

  As he was on reconnaissance the only weapon he carried was an MK23 handgun in the right side exterior pocket of his jacket. A suppressor in his left. He didn’t anticipate using it, as Kasakov wasn’t due to arrive for another two days, but there was always the chance some of his people had travelled ahead of him. Even then, Victor would only use the gun as a last resort. Dead bodies left at the strike point tended to keep targets away.

  The trees gave way to cultivated grounds after Victor had gone about two hundred yards. A six thousand square foot lawn led up to the rear of the dacha. The grass was very green and recently cut. A small wooden shed stood to the west of the lawn. The guesthouse lay to the east. A few trees were scattered across the grass. Their foliage had blocked Victor’s view of the dacha from the highpoint.