Rebel Blast

by Don Pendleton

  The flap at the rear of the lead truck moved slightly and, with a grace and speed that belied his height and bulk, a man alighted and moved around so that he was facing the hesitant police chief.

  Freeman, watching from the window, wanted to yell at the law officer to turn and run. He had the chance. The giant of a man turned and grunted, assenting gently to some unspoken order from his commander.

  The police chief fell into the incredibly stupid camp. There was no doubt about this in the American’s mind as he watched him stand, rigid in fear, while the man called Viktor approached him. He was calm, moving in measured strides that ate up the ground and spoke of his height. He was bareheaded, with cropped hair and a small goatee beard to match. Whereas the other men in the convoy were dressed in Islamic hill dress, Viktor looked like the soldier he either was, or had been at some time. He was tall—maybe six two or three—but there was something about his bearing that made him look taller still.

  Freeman had a really bad feeling about this as the soldier stopped in front of the police chief and stared him down. The chief quailed visibly, and Freeman noted with a chill feeling that the other man seemed to smile as he watched this unfold.

  “This is our town now,” he said simply. “Your men will surrender their arms to us. I want all town officials to meet with me at the municipal building in thirty minutes. I will give you that long to round them up. It will be useless for them to try and run. You will also find that their will be no communication with either Grozny or Moscow. We have temporarily disabled the telephone and cell phone relays, and they will be reinstituted only when I am satisfied that we are in agreement. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  The police chief looked at him as though he were insane. Freeman figured that he probably was, as there was something chilling in his matter-of-fact tone.

  “No. If I do that, then I will be stripped of my post. If that happens, I lose everything I have worked for.” The police chief started to turn to walk away. “You are the fools. You think the president will like this when he hears about it, any more than he liked the theater?”

  The words had an immediate effect on the giant called Viktor. The other man grinned happily. The police chief had no idea of the anger that his comment—designed to strike fear or apprehension—had generated in the man. At the very least, it could be described as the reverse of his intent.

  At most, it was his death warrant.

  Freeman had no more words to translate for his companions. The sight that unfolded below was conducted without speech and needed no explanation. As the police chief turned back to face the way he was walking, he did not see the giant take one last step so that he was on his prey.

  That was the only word fitting enough. The older, smaller man was like a rodent swooped on by a bird of prey. Viktor’s hands closed around the police chief’s neck, pulling him backward and choking the breath from him so that he could not cry out. As he fell backward, the giant switched his grip with expert ease, so that the police chief pivoted as he fell, going down onto his knees and landing between the spread legs of the giant solider.

  With a cold efficiency that was as chilling to watch, he calmly took the man’s head in his hands, pinioned the police chief’s body between his own knees and twisted once, with a violent jerk.

  There was no scream, as Freeman would have expected, only the sickening crack of bone breaking. Viktor stepped back and let the body fall, turning away to face the remaining police before the corpse hit the road.

  The police of Argun-Martan dropped their weapons, terrified. The man standing beside his jeep nodded with satisfaction.

  In the hotel room, Slaughter turned away to vomit while Freeman felt cold sweat trickle down his spine. Acquero spoke for them all when she said, “Guys, I don’t think the company will be able to negotiate or bribe us out of this.”

  Chapter Three

  “Who the hell is Billings? Why does he have my number? And what the hell does he—or you—expect me to do about what’s going on? It would, for instance, help if I actually knew what was happening. Which I don’t,” Brognola added as an afterthought.

  “Those are good questions, Hal, and they deserve an answer. But first I need an answer from you—why did you contact me?”

  Brognola smiled, though it was almost entirely without humor. He was seated in a coffee shop on the edge of the Mall, a short distance from his office and from the office of the congressman who sat in front of him.

  Declan MacManus was older than Brognola and heavier set. Whereas the big Fed still packed muscle, despite his years away from active service, the congressman was running to fat. The apple Danish with his latte wouldn’t help. Brognola had espresso. He had hoped it would send some subliminal message to get the hell on with business. So far, it hadn’t worked.

  “Dec, you have a long history of lobbying with the mining industry, particularly those companies with strong overseas presence. You’re an advocate of fossil and mineral fuels, and the finding of untapped reserves. You’ve also known me for a long time, and it would be kind of obvious for you to mention my name if there was a shitstorm on the horizon.”

  The congressman shrugged. “It doesn’t mean I would actually do that, Hal.”

  “The hell it doesn’t. Billings tossed your name around like it was supposed to make me roll over and beg.”

  “Ah...you have me dead to rights, then.”

  Brognola sighed. “You know, Dec, if there wasn’t anything slightly off-kilter about what’s going on with you and the industry, you wouldn’t have wanted to meet me out of office, with no ears or eyes, although there could always be questions if we were seen together.”

  “Easily dismissed,” the congressman said, shrugging. “We’ve known each other long enough for it to be a personal catch-up.”

  “Sure... Now how about we cut the crap?”

  MacManus laughed shortly. “I knew Billings was some kind of lily-livered ass-wipe who would panic before he ascertained the full facts.”

  “Which are?” Brognola prompted.

  “The simple fact is that we don’t know yet. It’s too early to make anything other than a guess.”

  “That doesn’t answer why he had my number in the first place. You know Justice doesn’t deal with diplomatic paths. That’s State.”

  “You’re right, of course,” the congressman conceded. “There was always a chance that something could go wrong, and if it did then the usual paths may have been long-winded and ultimately useless. Which is why Billings had your number. I know you have the President’s ear and can get things done. But I must stress that your number was only to be used as a last resort. It isn’t that far down the line yet, which is why I’m pissed at him.”

  “I can’t say I’m happy at either of you,” Brognola stated. “You should tell me about it. If it comes to the point where the President needs to be informed...”

  The congressman blew out his cheeks, then frowned. “Look, it might be something and nothing, Hal. About eighteen months ago, a consortium of some of the largest mining and engineering corporations in the U.S.A. got wind of a report that came from an ex-Soviet mining engineer who had left the Ukraine and now worked here. He’s nearing retirement, and happened to mention that one of the last things we worked on before the wall came down was an expedition in the North Caucasus, where the Chechen Republic now lies.

  “This report revealed the potential for vast, untapped mineral fields. Back then, the Soviets didn’t have the technology to mine in what was basically unstable ground, and so even though the area is known for its mineral reserves, this little baby got left. And, once the wall was down and all the ex-Soviet states were busy squabbling among themselves, it got forgotten...filed... Something...”

  “Until your man mentioned it.” Brognola nodded. “Did he have details?”

  “Aft
er twenty or so years he couldn’t remember too much, but the basics were enough to excite a lot of important people. He was given a stipend to reconstruct as much as possible, and then hand it over to his employers for a nice little bonus on retirement, which he did.”

  “The good company man. I guess that was instilled in him before Glasnost,” Brognola stated. “So let me guess. A consortium was formed that could maneuver an expedition to Chechnya on some kind of pretext that wouldn’t make the supposedly hands-off Russians suspicious—”

  “Russia’s president is hardly the world’s most hands-off guy,” the congressman interjected.

  “There’s understatement and absurdity,” Brognola said. “Anyway, your—sorry—this consortium’s expedition had just turned up something of interest and were telling Billings all about it when they were cut off almost midsentence, like he was telling me.”

  “That’s about the size of it. We don’t know what’s happened out there. It might just have been communications coming down, I mean, it’s not an easy area to keep in the loop.”

  “But it might be more?”

  “How can I honestly say? Yes, the Russians might have found out about the minerals. They’d have to be several shades of stupid to be so heavy-handed.”

  “Or just impetuous,” Brognola mused. “There is one other thing that you haven’t mentioned, or seem to have forgotten...” He watched the congressman’s puzzled frown, then continued. “It doesn’t have to be the Russians. They might control the State, but it’s at a distance. Only five percent of the population is Russian. Ninety percent are Chechen. Sunni Muslims for the most part, and not enamored of the Russian way of living, or the Russian way of doing things. If it was the Russians, then there would have to be deployments. We would probably know about that. I’ve heard nothing, but I could double-check with a contact.”

  “That would set our—Billings’s—mind at rest,” the congressman commented. “You’ve been looking things up, Hal. Those are impressive statistics.”

  “Not if you just check Wikipedia.” The big Fed smiled. “Something you should have done. Definitely something Billings should have done. Then you might have found out something else that should have set alarm bells ringing.”

  “Just because it’s on Wiki doesn’t mean it’s true,” the congressman said with a shrug.

  Brognola shook his head. “No, this one I had personal experience of back in the day. You’ll have to take my word on that. There was a time when the major economic force in Chechnya was the generation of ransom money. Kidnapping wasn’t just a national sport, it was the core industry. There was nothing else, and they were desperate times. The first and second Chechen wars changed that. But maybe not entirely...old habits can die hard, and if there was the suspicion that your party and what they found was worth serious money...”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Wait to see if there’s a ransom demand. Meantime, let me see what I can turn up. The way I see it, whatever’s going on out there, the possibility of using regular diplomatic channels is a slim chance to begin with. With what I know about the region and its history, I’d say that your man Billings may have panicked, but his gut reaction may actually have been leading him in the right direction.”

  * * *

  THE MINING AND engineering groups gathered in Slaughter’s suite—if the largish room with en suite facilities could be termed such—after Freeman suggested to the still-shocked Acquero that they gather everyone together. She looked at him and asked why. For the life of him he had no real answer. What could they do under the circumstances? But somehow it seemed that having everyone together would give them some kind of strength in unity, whether it is for morale or simply because they would be harder to separate without each knowing what was happening to the other.

  This was the largest hotel in town. It had been picked for that reason, so that the groups could be under the same roof and thus continue working at any hour of the day and night. The fact that it was also the most luxurious accommodation available was incidental.

  It did occur to Freeman—though he kept his own counsel for the present—that it also made it the first place the occupying force would look for any foreign nationals or money. He had started to call them “the occupying force” as he had no real idea what they were: rebels of some description? But against who, or what? They weren’t Russian, although not all of them had the Caucasus genes of the Chechens they had encountered so far. Terrorists, perhaps. Again, who was the opposition as far as they were concerned? This was hardly an oppressive state, unless you were a woman. The locals had a hardline Muslim attitude to females, which had made Acquero’s job as team leader hard. In passing, Freeman wondered what idiot had put a woman in charge of operations for this region. One who hadn’t done much in the way of research, for sure.

  Two hours after the three Americans had witnessed from the hotel window the arrival of the occupying force and the death of the police chief, they sat with their nine colleagues in the suite. They had gathered in a silence that had been long, enabling Freeman to lose himself in his thoughts.

  On their initial gathering, there had been confusion and disbelief from their colleagues who had been in their rooms sleeping, working, reading, listening to their MP3 players or otherwise trying to escape their surroundings and count off the days until they could fly back to what they called real civilization. Something that now seemed to recede into infinite distance.

  Once Acquero had managed to quiet them and stop their protestations at being interrupted in whatever they were doing, she had outlined the situation. And then repeated herself, angered that she had not been believed. Slaughter and Freeman had backed her up, although even they had found it hard to convey to their fellows the possible impact of events. Partly because it was all possibility. They had no absolutes to offer, and scientists and engineers dealt only in absolutes.

  As they went over and over the situation, discussing what might be happening, and what could then follow from each scenario, the arguing grew less and less, until they were reduced to their current state of resigned and fearful torpor.

  Freeman scanned them. Brad Simmons and Terry Callaghan were analysts and lab men who were geeks by any other name. Happier with the two-dimensional battles of superheroes than with the real-life threat of flesh and blood, they looked ashen and drawn. Con Steffans and Dieter Dierks were engineers, and looked exactly what they were: miners with a hands-on approach to problems who found no threat in the physical after facing down the elements and the soil for many years. For them, it would not be the fear of physical danger, but the oppressive weight of seemingly insurmountable logistics that bore down on them.

  Isaac Obeyo and Tam Winters were engineers and geologists who worked in the spaces between the pure engineers and the pure analysts. Physical opposites, the squat, muscular Obeyo and the willowy, wiry Winters looked an odd couple, but had been chosen as they had worked well in the field together in other locations. That left three men: Evan Leonard, Mike Avallone and Peter Rattenbury. The last two were also analysts and geologists who doubled as IT techs. It was Leonard who was the enigma. A lean, graying man in his forties, he looked fitter than any of them. And although he was supposed to be a data analyst, as far as Freeman could see, he knew jackshit about data, let alone having the ability to analyze it.

  He had to be there for some kind of a reason, and from the look of him he had no right to have been as damned quiet as he had been throughout the past few hours, Freeman thought. Maybe it was time that he opened his mouth.

  “Hey, Leonard,” Freeman said, momentarily taken aback at how loud and harsh his voice sounded in the quiet room...and how scared.

  “Uh-huh?” Leonard looked at him, his amused gaze leveled at the younger man.

  “You—you’re a brother like me, yeah?” Freeman waited for the older man to agree, hoping that he would make the task e
asier. No such luck. He pressed on. “This is a serious situation we’ve got here, and I’m thinking that you’re not that great a data analyst. Now either you made a late and very poor career change, or you haven’t exactly been on the level with the guys.”

  “Or with me,” Acquero added. “We’ve been carrying you, and I don’t get any response from Billings when I bring it up. Like none at all.”

  “That’s because I’ve been assigned to run shotgun to you idiots, and Billings, who is an even bigger fool than all of you put together, has been told by his superiors to keep his mouth shut.” In contrast to the contempt of his words, Leonard’s tone was even and calm.

  “Then shouldn’t you be doing something?” Slaughter asked.

  “Like what?” Steffans interjected with contempt for the young analyst. “He’s one man.”

  “Dude has got it in one,” Leonard said. “You think I’m Superman or something? It doesn’t work like that. You want me to be blunt? Most of you would be as much use as a fart in a thunderstorm. There are twelve of us. Five would be carrying seven. That’s a big task under any circumstance. Right now, all I have to go on is what I’ve heard. It sounds like there are a lot of soldiers out there, at least some of whom know what they’re doing. The best thing we can do is sit tight and play dumb until we find out just what is going down here. They might want nothing from us, in which case we can negotiate a way out. We have nothing valuable—”

  “Unless they have a notion of what we’ve found, or even that we work for a company with a hell of a lot of cash,” Slaughter stated.

  “We’re Americans. In some places that’s enough,” Simmons said miserably.

  “Maybe, but not here,” Leonard said with confidence. “Russia has too big a hold on this part of the world, still. A couple of decades back you might have had a worry. But not now. Now, we just sit tight and wait for the cards to fall.”

  * * *

  BROGNOLA WASTED LITTLE time leave-taking the congressman. Arriving at his office, he contacted Billings and this time approached the conversation in a completely different manner.