“Now is difficult, my friend,” the Ukrainian Air Force General replied.
“Ogi, do I need to remind you who pays for your children’s schooling in Paris?”
“I’m not ungrateful, Dostiger, but questions will be asked.”
“Listen to me, Ogi, questions will be asked if you do nothing. Terrorists have just attacked Odessa airport; the terminal has been destroyed!“
“What? Terrorists at the airport? I’ve not—”
Dostiger interrupted. “There is not time for questions. Just get me a fighter. I’m not going to ask twice!”
The Air Force General knew better than to ask any more questions. “I could scramble one of the online fighters. We have two on the Moldova border.”
“How long will it take to get to Odessa?”
“Fifteen minutes, no more.”
“Make it happen. Tell the pilot there are terrorists trying to escape. He is to interdict any traffic attempting to leave Odessa air space. He is to force down any suspect aircraft that fail to comply. Do you understand me?”
“I will do this for you, Dostiger, but then we are even. The debts are cleared: no more favors.”
“Watch yourself, Ogi, you grow too bold. Your debt is cleared when I say it is, and not before.” Dostiger slammed the phone down on his desk.
“Fucking Mossad,” he ranted. Every aspect of his operation had been compromised. “It must be the Israelis; no one else would be so daring to assault the airfield. Fischer and Saneh!” He fumed as he limped across to a tall steel locker in the far corner of his office, spun the lock on the front, counting out the turns as he entered the combination. “It has to be them. Like hell they are British and Iranian. Mossad with stolen identities!” The locker clicked and he pulled it open roughly. Inside were a number of antique guns, the rarest of his collection. He removed a sniper rifle from the rack and ran his hands over the well-oiled body of the weapon. The Soviet Dragunov was battered and worn; the butt marked with dozens of notches. “They will die here in Odessa. I promise them that.”
***
Yuri’s assumption was correct, Jumper was waiting on the tarmac at Dalmak airport, seven kilometers north of Odessa International. Aleks smashed the BTR through the locked gate, driving directly onto the narrow taxiway where the aircraft was idling in the darkness. A wizened old security guard waved his fist at them as they raced past his guard post with a roar.
Jumper’s co-pilot greeted them as they pulled up behind the lowered ramp of the AN-72 and disembarked from the battered personnel carrier. “We need to get airborne ASAP; all frequencies are going nuts.”
Bishop nodded. “Give us two minutes to transfer the package.”
“Roger,” the man replied, heading back into the cargo hold.
Aleks supervised the transfer of the canisters into the hold, strapping them to the floor of the aircraft.
As Saneh moved to board the craft, Bishop grasped her arm gently, pulling her aside.
“I’m sorry, Saneh, you’re not coming with us.”
The Iranian looked at him with complete surprise. “What?” She shook her head, a look of anger replacing the shock. “After everything, you’re going to abandon me here?”
“Ivan will pick you up in a few minutes. He’ll get you out of the country.” Bishop fished in his pocket for a piece of paper.
“No! I don’t want to go with Ivan. I want to finish this with the team.”
“You can’t come any further, Saneh. It’s for your own good.”
“For my own good? This was supposed to be a joint effort. What about the canisters?”
“I’ll make sure they’re destroyed,” he said, glancing at the plane. Aleks was standing on the ramp and gave him a nod. They were ready to go.
“So you won’t even let me fly out with you? Why? Because you don’t trust me? After everything I’ve done for you.”
“It’s for your own good, Saneh. You need to be able to go back Iran. If you stay with us any longer, they’re going to think you betrayed them. If you get out now, they still might believe MI6 used you.”
“MI6! Come on, Aden, we both know you’re as British I am.” Saneh’s voice was edged with rage. “For all I know, I’ve been helping Mossad!”
“I don’t work for political masters, Saneh, and I’m doing this for your own good.”
“That’s for me to decide, Aden, not you or your government.”
Bishop snorted. “I don’t work for any government, Saneh.”
The MOIS agent was a little taken back. “Then who the hell do you work for, Aden? The UN?”
Bishop smiled at the irony and passed her a slip of paper. “Stay in touch, Saneh. Maybe our paths will cross again in the future.” He leant forward and kissed her on the cheek, turned and disappeared into the waiting aircraft.
Saneh stood and watched as the ramp closed and the jet accelerated down the rough airstrip before it catapulted from the end of the runway and climbed into the dark sky. She opened the slip of paper Bishop had given her and used the headlights of the battle-damaged BTR to read the scribbled note. It was an email address:
[email protected]
“Who are you, Aden?” she murmured as she looked up at the skyline, trying to follow the plane as it disappeared into the darkness.
Her emotions were in turmoil and she just stood there for a moment, watching the night sky, until she heard a deep rumbling from the west. She turned her head slowly, a look of curiosity turning into shock. She jumped as a dark shape screamed across the sky just above her, twin tongues of flame streaming out behind it.
Chapter 65
MiG-29
Ukrainian Airspace near Odessa
The PRIMAL jet had cleared the runway and begun a sweeping turn when the pilot’s voice came in over the intercom speakers.
“Bishop, we’ve got company. Ukrainian Air Force.”
“Shit!” Bishop cursed as he threw a headset on. “How far out?”
“We’re being hailed by call sign Raven; he’s two miles behind us and coming in fast.”
“Can you put him on my headset?”
“Roger, I’ll open up a channel.”
A burst of static announced the Ukrainian MiG-29. “Unidentified aircraft, this is Ukrainian Air Force call sign Raven. Identify yourself.”
Jumper’s pilot replied after a pause. “Raven, this is civilian transport Victor Victor 374.”
“Victor Victor, you are to return to Odessa airport immediately and await further direction.”
“Raven, we are a civilian aeromedical transport on track for Budapest. We cannot return to Odessa.”
Bishop listened intently.
“Victor Victor, you will comply or I will shoot you down,” said the fighter pilot.
That escalated fast, thought Bishop. No doubt about it. He’s working for Dostiger. “Keep leading him on. We need to get across the border into Moldova,” he instructed.
“I’ll try, but if he lights us up with his radar, we’re going to take evasive action.”
“Roger,” Bishop responded before switching off his mike. “Strap in, team. This could get rough.”
Aleks and Kurtz quickly checked the tie-downs on the team’s equipment and the canisters before returning to their seats and tightening their harnesses.
The Ukrainian pilot’s voice came through again. “Victor Victor, this is your final warning. Return to Odessa or I will open fire.”
“Bishop, we’re three minutes from the border,” Jumper’s pilot reported before replying to the Ukrainian. “Raven, we are an unarmed transport destined for Budapest with critically injured on board. Do not fire. I repeat, do not fire.”
Jumper continued on its track towards Budapest, only two minutes remaining before it would cross into Moldovan air space. The Ukrainian MiG was tailing it a kilometer away, the pilot matching speed with his prey.
“He just lit us up,” the pilot announced. ”Deploying counter measures.”
The pilot threw Jumper�
��s nose up and extended the airbrakes, causing it to shed airspeed like a brick. The Ukrianian MiG couldn’t slow fast enough and it was forced to peel off. At the same time it’s missile targeting radar was jammed by Jumper’s electronic countermeasures pod.
“Jam his communications as well,” Bishop ordered. “Keep him at bay and try to make the border. It’s our only chance.”
“Yep, I think our cover is well and truly blown,” Jumper’s pilot responded.
“Just jump on the brakes and let him fly on by,” laughed Bishop, quoting Top Gun.
“You can be my wing man anytime, Bishop,” responded the pilot making light of a dire situation.
As the MiG circled around, Jumper’s pilot made a dash for the border. He dropped all of the flaps and pushed the throttles up against their stops. The stubby transport shook as it reached its maximum speed, but it wasn’t enough to escape the fighter.
Within thirty seconds the MiG had banked around tightly and was coming in for an attack with its cannons. Jumper’s pilot watched his radar closely, and as the MiG came out of his turn, he flared hard again, dropping the throttles. The sleek fighter’s stalling speed was over twice that of the PRIMAL aircraft, giving it only a split second to fire. The stream of tracer went wide as the MiG shot over Jumper and disappeared into the night.
“Shit, that was close,” the pilot swore as he threw the aircraft into another dive and accelerated for the border. “How you all doing back there?”
Bishop looked around at the team. Aleks was looking a little green but despite the violent maneuvers, everyone was OK.
“We’re good, mate. How far from the border are we?”
“Still a couple of minutes; that last move took us off course. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to fall for that again.”
“You’re doing great. You can shake him.”
The MiG pilot had learnt from his first attempt. After overshooting his target, he circled around in a broader arc, letting his prey gain distance, giving him more room to maneuver. As he came out of the turn, he lined up the Antonov and raised his air brakes, rapidly dropping speed. The pilot smiled as he pulled the trigger and the MiG’s 30mm cannon fired, spitting a stream of high explosive rounds at the fleeing target.
The PRIMAL operatives felt their aircraft shudder as the pilot yelled over the intercom, “Christ, we’re hit, port side engine and hydraulics are gone.”
The pilot kept up his commentary. “I’ve lost all engine power and hydraulics are failing fast.” The aircraft started to vibrate violently.
“Can we still make the border?” asked Bishop as he checked his harness for the fourth time.
“Yeah, if this arsehole doesn’t blow us out of the sky.”
“Open up a channel with the MiG,” ordered Bishop.
“Roger, you’re up.”
Bishop took a deep breath. “Raven, this is Victor. My name is Doctor Andrew Thompson. You have violated international law in shooting an unarmed medical transport. Cease fire immediately.”
“Dr Thompson, your jet has been damaged. You are to crash land within Ukrainian territory or I will shoot you down.”
With only one engine and failing hydraulics, Jumper was helpless. Sensing an easy kill, the Ukrainian pilot kept the transport in his sights as he steadily closed the gap.
Jumper’s pilot was sweating profusely as he fought with his controls to hold the aircraft steady. “Bishop, we’re fucked either way. What do you want me to do?”
Bishop paused for a moment. “How many arrestor chutes do we have?”
“Two. I’ll need them both to crash land.”
“How about make do with one and we give the other to our new friend.”
“I’m picking up what you’re putting down. He’s four hundred meters out and holding.”
“Do it,” said Bishop.
The pilot checked his radar; the MiG was directly behind them and holding steady. He took a deep breath and looked across at the co-pilot, who nodded. “You heard the man!”
The pilot slammed the throttles back, deploying the landing gear and flaps. The co-pilot held his finger over the arrestor chute release, his eyes on the radar.
“Eat silk, dickhead!” he said as his finger pressed the button.
The MiG pilot responded with lightning reflexes as the transport aircraft slowed suddenly. He pulled up hard on the stick to avoid a collision, firing his cannon at the same time, sending rounds smashing into Jumper’s tail. He didn’t see the parachute as it was jettisoned directly into the MiG’s powerful turbofans, ripping it from the stricken PRIMAL transport.
The MiG’s engines immediately jammed, and with a complete loss of power, the fighter stalled. The pilot instinctively reached down and yanked the ejection handle, launching himself into the cold night sky.
Back on Jumper, the PRIMAL pilot’s voice announced over the intercom, “Brace for impact. We’re going in!”
“BRACE FOR IMPACT!” screamed Bishop.
The pilot had moments to identify a potential landing site as he fought for control of the doomed aircraft. He aimed the nose at the first open area he could find.
The jet slammed into the ground, crushing its landing gear as it skipped across the field. The pilot deployed the remaining parachute, but it tore free and the aircraft continued to slide on its belly until it crashed into a low stone wall.
Chapter 66
The Crash Site, 50 Kilometers West of Odessa
“BOSS... BOSS!”
Bishop shook his head and tried to focus his vision.
Aleks shook him again. “Boss, snap out of it.”
“Huh... it’s OK, I’m with it.” Bishop reached down and released his safety harness. Something had struck his head during the crash, but apart from a nasty bruise, he was uninjured. “Is everyone alright, Aleks?”
“Da, the team is OK but... ”
Bishop forced himself to focus. He looked up at the Russian’s concerned expression. “But what, Aleks?”
“The pilots are dead, boss. The plane hit something, crushed the cockpit.”
The door to the cockpit was closed and Bishop didn’t want to know what it looked like on the other side. He glanced around the cargo hold, relieved that the rest of the team was mobile, gathering their equipment and checking it for damage.
“Aleks, get the team ready to move. Take all the ammo you can.”
“Da.”
“And prep the canisters; we’ll have to carry them. I’m going to take a look outside,” Bishop said, grabbing his submachine gun and clipping his helmet to his equipment vest.
As Bishop made his way to the back of the aircraft, everything seemed intact. The emergency lighting was active and the hydraulic ramp lowered easily. As he left the aircraft, he checked his phone. It was searching for a signal.
In the grey shades of early dawn he could see that the Antonov had crash-landed in an open field surrounded on all four sides by low stone fences and trees. Ignoring the biting cold, he made his way around from the tail of the aircraft, under the one remaining wing and up to the front of the jet. The damage was devastating. The nose and cockpit were a crumpled mess of twisted metal. The pilots had brought them down intact but paid the price with their own lives when the fragile craft ploughed into the stone wall.
Bishop checked his phone again. It had finally acquired a satellite link and he dialed into PRIMAL HQ.
“Bunker, this is Bishop.”
Vance came through immediately. “Holy fuck, buddy, Jumper’s signal dropped off the scope and we thought you’d cashed your chips.”
“The team’s fine. We've got the package but the pilots are dead. We need Ivan to pick us up ASAP.”
“That’s a problem. We’ve lost comms with Ivan. Right now you’re on your own and you’re about to have half the Ukrainian Army crawling up your ass. Military radio chatter’s gone off the scale.”
“Ack, we’ll be on the move in five.”
“We’ll keep trying to raise Ivan. In the meantim
e try and find somewhere to lay low.”
“We’ll try. Bishop out.” He checked the phone’s mapping function. “Fuck!” he cursed. They were still well within Ukrainian territory and there was no chance of a quick dash across the border. He zoomed in to the immediate area, quickly identifying a structure of some kind a few hundred meters away at the corner of the field. In the distance he could just see what looked like a squat stone building and a number of sheds. That would be their first move.
As Bishop pocketed the phone, he thought he could hear something on the icy morning breeze. He turned his head and the noise increased. It sounded almost like the dull thud of a tractor, maybe even a helicopter. He sprinted back into the aircraft where Aleks was organizing the team.
“Grab your gear! Chopper inbound. Dostiger’s onto us.”
The four men had already donned their battle-rig, full-face helmets, body armor with pouches, and heavy weapons. They’d packed the extra ammunition stored onboard the aircraft into their backpacks.
“Aleks, how are the canisters?”
“Bagged up and ready to go, boss.” The Russian pointed at two black duffle bags.
Bishop slung one of the heavy bags over his shoulder. “Big man, you grab the other one.”
He noticed Miklos was struggling with his machine gun. “Miklos, you hurt?”
“Dislocated my shoulder, Aden. Should be OK.”
“Give me the MG, mate.” Bishop swapped his compact submachine gun with the heavy caliber machine gun. Kurtz had the other MK48 and Pavel was carrying the grenade launcher.
“Aleks, I want you to take the team and set up a defensive perimeter in one of the buildings to the north.”
“Da, boss, right away.” The big Russian started off down the ramp and out into the faint glow of early dawn with the rest of the team in tow.
Bishop waited for them to leave before he slid back a panel on the wall of the aircraft, revealing a digital touch pad. He punched in a code and held up his phone, activating a custom program. The screen displayed:
-INTRUDER ACTIVATION ARMED-
PRIMAL Unleashed (2) Page 30
