Edward's smile disappeared and his voice turned cold. “All this money came from somewhere, Alex,” he said. “Just because we could never find the source, that doesn't mean-”
“My father was not a traitor!” Alex shouted, standing up from her chair. She loomed over Edward, her fists clenched and her eyes flashing. “Imply that again and you'll be leaving in more pieces than in which you arrived,” she added, her voice once again calm but underlined with a tremor of violence.
Edward glared up at her with what looked like anger, although Alex could see fear behind the expression. Then he smiled as if nothing untoward had happened and lent back into the chair. “My apologies,” he said, as if he were asking forgiveness for spilling a drink. “Nonetheless, if you want to work in mainstream intelligence again – even in the private sector – then I hold the key to making that happen.” He smiled. “Shall we continue?” he asked.
Alex wanted to punch him, but instead she took a deep breath and sat back down. “What's the job?” she asked.
“There is no job,” Edward replied, interlacing his fingers in his lap as he spoke. “Not unless you choose to accept it. If you refuse, then all we did here today is reminisce on old times.”
Alex sighed impatiently at the standard Ministry disclaimer. “I get it,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”
Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out an A4 envelope. He handed it to Alex, who opened it with the tip of an index finger. “We have a man missing in Belarus,” Edward said. “We need you to go get him.”
Alex pulled the contents from the envelope and studied them. There were several briefing documents, some photos and a map of north-central Belarus. She looked up at Edward with a raised eyebrow. “I'm presuming that your man is missing in the wrong part of the country,” she observed, tapping her finger on a red line that divided the map into two halves.
Edward nodded. “As far as we are aware, he was apprehended at a rebel checkpoint passing into the east of the country,” he explained. “Telephone conversations intercepted by our communications people down in Cheltenham appear to confirm that assumption.”
Alex studied one of the pictures, taking in the sullen face of a blond, middle-aged man with a hawkish nose and an angular jawline. His eyes were hard and distant, as if looking through the camera at something else. “Okay, so who is so important that you want to drop me into the middle of a civil war to rescue?” she asked.
Edward nodded to the papers in her hands. “A scanned copy of his passport is in there,” he replied.
“Give me some credit, ”Alex snorted, holding up the paper on which was printed the passport scan. “You expect me to believe that this is the guy's real name?” She shook her head. “If you want me on board, I need the details.”
Edward's eyes flickered with irritation and he pursed his thin lips. “His real name is James Peterson,” he said finally. “He's currently Personal Assistant to Patrick Keith, whom I presume I do not need to introduce?”
Alex reached for her water again, needing a moment to think. Patrick Keith was the current chairman of British Armaments Company, one the largest weapons manufacturers in the world. This was getting more complicated by the moment. “And what exactly is the chief lackey of a gun-runner doing in the middle of a conflict zone?” she asked.
Edward smiled. “That's classified above top secret,” he replied. “Even I don't know why he's there.”
“I'm sure I believe you,” Alex said, her tone suggesting otherwise. “So where is he now?”
“Our best intelligence says he's at a detainee camp not far from the front line,” Edward replied. “We'll be looking to insert your team within the next two days.”
“My team?” Alex asked, her face scrunching as if she had tasted raw lemon. “Since when do I need backup?”
“Since Russia got involved,” Edward replied, his tone brooking no argument. “The situation is far too tense on the ground to have you running around on your own. If you were captured operating alone, the fact that you are former British Intelligence would look far too suspicious. We're putting you in with a small, multi-national team; that way, it just looks like you're another team of mercenaries working for the western Belorussian government.”
Alex folded her arms, dropping the papers onto her lap. “I don't work well under direction,” she said.
“You'd be in command,” Edward replied, his voice impatient. “You get our man back and I get you back on the right side of the Ministry.” He cocked his head. “Do we have a deal?” he asked.
Alex thought for a moment, staring down at the documents. It was a complicated situation in which to dive headlong. Belarus was a country on the Russian border, just to the north of Poland. It's long-time, Russia-friendly President had been ousted by protesters earlier in the year after some obviously rigged elections. The protesters had installed a new government that had made strong gestures of friendship to the West, particularly Britain and the United States.
Not everyone had been happy. In the east of the country closest to Russia, army factions loyal to the old President declared the new government illegitimate. A daring night-time raid on the prison where the deposed leader was being held resulted in his escape to eastern Belarus and setting up a government-in-exile. He had requested support from his friends in the Kremlin, and a few days later Russian armor had rolled across the border. Belarus was now effectively two countries, each side struggling to gain ground against the other.
Alex sighed, looking up from the documents. “This is too hot for me,” she said. “I don't like getting involved in civil wars; they're always far too murky to tell who is on your side and who isn't.” She picked up the documents again and held them out to Edward. “I'll pass,” she said.
Edward's face twitched, his eyes flickering across her features. He was obviously debating saying something. Eventually, he said in a quiet voice, “Nikolai Kerenkov is commanding Russian forces in the area.”
Alex froze, her body suddenly tight with apprehension. “You're lying,” she whispered.
Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out another photo. He handed it to Alex, who stared down at the face with a growing, familiar hatred. A tall man with a thick mustache stared back at her, dressed smartly in a Russian military uniform. He was frozen in mid-movement, pointing at something in the distance. In the background were a number of tanks and armored cars. A date stamp at the bottom of the picture showed that the picture had been taken the previous day. “He's there, Alex,” Edward said. “The last man to see your parents alive.” He hesitated. “And likely, as you know-” he began to add.
“Shut up,” Alex said, and Edward wisely did so. She stared at the picture for a long moment, assessing every feature of the man. He looked so much older; she had not seen him last since she was a little girl. He had been all smiles and jokes back then.
Back before she knew who he really was.
“When do I leave?” she asked.
PART TWO
Forming & Storming
Chapter 3
The aircraft touched down with a screech of rubber meeting tarmac, jarring Alex in her seat. She held on tightly to the harness straps that kept her seated in the antique Russian transport plane, gritting her teeth in discomfort. Business Class seating from London to the Latvian capital Riga had been excellent, but being bundled from a modern jetliner onto an dilapidated old cargo transport for the final leg to the military air base had made her wish that she had driven the last part of the journey. She quashed the complaint with the practiced experience of someone used to combat operations discomfort, and by the time the plane juddered to a halt at the end of the runway she was the epitome of calm professionalism once more.
Unstrapping herself from the metal bench, Alex climbed over to the exit hatch and swung it open. The bright sunlight of the afternoon made her blink a couple of times, and she paused at the opening with her head held low, trying to keep herself as inconspi
cuous as possible. She was wearing drab, gray fatigues with no identifying markings, and a black cap pulled low on her forehead further concealed her features. She waited for a moment as two ground crew rolled a short set of stairs up to the hatch before she alighted to the tarmac. The two soldiers watched her warily as she stood by the aircraft, waiting in silence. They did not know who she was, but they could sense that she meant business.
From where Alex stood, she could see across the entire length of the airbase. A row of cargo aircraft stood on the opposite side of the runway, ground crew swarming over them like ants. Her eyes drifted to a set of hangers further down the complex. One hanger was heavily guarded, suggesting something within of immense secrecy.
Before she could observe any further, the sound of a car engine reached her ears and she turned. A camouflage green jeep was rumbling across the tarmac towards her with two people inside. She watched them as it pulled up beside her, the engine incredibly loud. The driver was a young soldier, clearly rather nervous. The other person was a tall man with gray eyes and tufts of equally gray hair poking out from under a peaked military cap. He climbed down from the jeep and spoke briefly to the driver before walking towards Alex. He gave her a brisk salute, which Alex returned half-heartedly. “Ms. Thorne,” he said, his English thick with the Latvian accent. “I am Major Petrov. Welcome to Latvia. Please, climb in.” He gestured to the jeep and offered a hand to help her climb on board. “We are most eager to begin.”
Alex snorted, climbing up into the jeep and ignoring the Major's proffered hand. “At least somebody is enjoying this,” she replied under her breath. She settled onto the bare metal chair as Petrov retook his own seat and the jeep lurched forward.
Chapter 4
Their destination was the heavily-guarded hanger that Alex had seen earlier. The guards made a fuss of checking their identification before allowing them access. The jeep pulled inside the hanger through the smallest of openings in the massive hanger door before coming to a halt before a mysterious, covered aircraft. Behind them, the hangar doors began to roll closed with a heavy grinding noise, shutting out the sun an inch at a time. Overhead floodlights came on as Alex and the two men climbed down from the jeep, and she surveyed the covered aircraft with curiosity.
It was a helicopter, black and sleek where it was not covered by the camouflage netting. Alex recognized it as a Black Hawk military transport, but the skin of the helicopter glinted unusually in the light, as if plated with some strange material. Her eyes lingered on it for a moment longer before Petrov's polite cough brought her back to reality. She followed the two soldiers across the hangar, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous structure, and then through a set of doors into an adjoining building. They took a flight of stairs down into the basement and along a dimly-lit corridor, before Petrov finally opened an unmarked door and led Alex inside.
The room was small and smelt damp. Paint peeled from the walls and the carpet was moist underfoot. A single light swung from a thin cable above their heads, casting strange shadows on a white board that adorned one wall. An array of papers and photographs were fixed to the board with magnets, and a small group of people sitting in chairs at the center of the room were studying them and talking in low voices. They turned as the door opened, and Petrov stood to one side. “Your team,” he said to Alex.
There were three people in the room, all male. One was a tall, shaven-head man with blue eyes and a scar across one cheek. He smirked when he saw Alex and she instantly got the feeling that she was going to have trouble with him. The second man was a medium-height, well-built man with short, brown hair and an old-style British camouflage jacket over one shoulder. He nodded at Alex, his eyes assessing her in the way that everyone starts to use on others once they have faced combat. She returned the nod with a minute movement of her head. The third man had a beard that looked as if it was made of iron wool. He was wearing a two-piece camouflage pattern of brown and green that Alex did not immediately recognize. He watched her with emotionless eyes.
Behind her, Alex heard a familiar, unpleasant voice. “Well, it's hardly Ladies Day at Ascot in here, is it?” the voice said with a reedy chuckle.
Alex turned and glared as Edward entered the room. He had swapped his immaculate suit for a set of camouflage fatigues. He glanced at Alex only briefly before striding over to the white board and turning to the room. “Good afternoon, lady and gentlemen,” he began. “My name is Edward, and I was never here.”
Alex snorted; the man was clearly loving every minute of this. She could see him regaling his secretary with exaggerated tales on his return. Edward glanced over at the noise and his eyes narrowed a little. “Gentleman, this charming lady is your commander for the mission,” he added.
“Yeah, I don't think so,” the shaven-head man spoke up, his voice drawling in a thick Texan accent. He swung himself around on the chair and eyed Alex. “No disrespect, little lady,” he declared. “But I don't exactly follow the fairer sex into combat.”
The corner of Alex's mouth twisted up into a half-smile. “That's okay, little man,” she replied. “I don't follow insecure boneheads.”
The man's face dropped with astonishment, before clouding with anger. “Why, you little-”
“Enough!” Edward barked. The room went silent; Alex and the man were still staring at each-other. Edward fixed his eyes on the man. “Sergeant Maxwell,” he said. “You will keep your opinions to yourself or I will put you back in the military prison from which I pulled you; understood?”
Maxwell did not take his eyes of Alex, but he nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, emphasizing the second word.
“Good,” Edward said, taking a deep breath. “Let's get down to business.” He turned to the white board and began to go through the documents and photos stuck to its surface, pointing at each in turn. “You're all aware that this is a recovery mission,” he said. “We have intelligence that indicates our man is being held at a farm that has been converted into a prison camp, about five miles from the rebel front line.” He gestured to an aerial picture that comprised several buildings in a field. “The camp is mostly guarded by local rebels,” Edward continued. “However, we have photographs of Russian armor in the area, so it is likely that Russian soldiers are stationed there also.”
“What's the insertion and evacuation plan?” Alex asked, folding her arms as she studied the board.
Edward glanced at her before returning his attention to the board. “I've pulled some strings with our friends at the CIA to borrow one of their stealth-enhanced helicopters,” he said. “The same type they used in Pakistan to drop in on Osama.”
Alex nodded, thinking of the shrouded helicopter outside. “So we're getting in pretty close,” she remarked.
“Within a couple of miles,” Edward replied, pointing to a map on the board. “You'll be flying in low under Belorussian radar and hitting the ground on the other side of these hills to mask engine noise.” He traced a line with his finger towards the farm-turned-prison. “You will then proceed on foot to the camp, rescue our man with a minimum of contact, and retreat to be picked up at the same landing zone from where you arrived.”
“Where's he being kept?” the brown-haired man spoke up for the first time. He had an English accent, heavy with London overtones.
“According to our information, in one of the outbuildings here,” Edward said, pointing at one of the buildings. “Dmitri will be guiding you through the best approach routes to avoid the patrols.”
Alex frowned. “Whose Dmitri?” she asked.
“I am,” the bearded man spoke up. His English had a thicker accent than Major Petrov, and when he locked eyes with Alex it seemed as if he was staring straight through her.
“Dmitri is formerly of Belorussian special forces,” Edward explained. “He defected when the last President was overthrown. He knows Belorussian patrol patterns better than anyone.”
“Couldn't stand the heat?” Maxwell drawled, rolling his head
to stare at the Belorussian.
Dmitri stared through the American. “I am not stupid,” he said bluntly. “The Special Forces were the main supporters of the old President. I would rather keep my head working for the West then lose it to a revolutionary trial.”
“How long do we have to complete the mission?” the Englishman asked again. Alex glanced a little closer at him and saw the name 'Gavel' printed on his breast pocket.
“Three hours,” Edward said. “We're arranging a little distraction on the Polish border that should keep the Russians looking south for long enough to give you half a chance at success.”
“And if we miss the rendezvous?” Alex asked.
Edward looked at her and smiled. “Then I hope you like vodka,” he replied. “I hear it's served ice cold in Siberian prisons.”
Chapter 5
The briefing wrapped up after a few further minutes and Petrov stepped forward to escort the team to a set of sleeping quarters which they had been allocated. The mission would be launching in the early hours of the following morning, so sleep was a definite must.
As they filed out of the room, Alex lingered to take a further look at the details on the white board. There were still a number of things bugging her about this mission, including the fundamental reason of why it even had to exist. She could hazard a few ideas as to why the closest adviser of a major arms dealer would be in rebel-held Belarus, and none of them made her feel any better.
“Looks like one hell of an outing, doesn't it?” a voice said from behind her. Alex turned and saw the Englishman standing behind her, looking over her shoulder at the details on the board. He looked at her and smiled, reaching out a hand. “Pete Gavel,” he said. “Nice to see another Brit...aside from that insufferable creep,” he added, glancing towards the doorway. Edward was visible standing in the corridor, talking in a low voice to Petrov.
Eastern Shadows: Alex Thorne Book One (Alex Thorne Action Spy Adventures 1) Page 2
