by Dirk Patton
“How are you certain he is here?” Mikhail asked.
“We are certain,” Irina said, holding the man’s gaze until he smiled and looked away.
“Very well. I know men in each of the barracks. Tomorrow, I will begin asking if anyone knows him.”
“Do you trust them?” Igor asked.
“Yes,” Mikhail said, nodding. “As I’ve said, we are not criminals who prey on each other. Certainly, there are some that are like that, but not the men I know. These are artists, actors, writers. Dissidents who dared to speak out against Moscow. I’ve known many of them for more than a decade, and I trust them.”
Igor wasn’t completely convinced, but accepted the explanation.
“Will the guards return during the night?” he asked.
“Not likely,” Mikhail said. “But you should remain hidden. They would not normally notice you, but if they did decide to conduct another headcount…”
Igor nodded and, telling Irina to stay where she was, trotted off across the room. In a few minutes, he returned with two blankets. Jumping into the hole, he held Irina’s hand as she joined him. They made themselves as comfortable as possible while the prisoners put the flooring back in place, sealing them into what felt like a dark tomb.
“Do you trust him?” Irina whispered.
“I trust him as long as he believes there is something in it for him,” Igor said, shifting his arm for her to use as a pillow. “But we do not appear to have a choice at the moment. However, I am more concerned about whatever agitated the guards.”
“You have an idea?”
“Perhaps. Maybe one of the Americans.”
“They’re all dead,” Irina said.
“We only found seven of the eight,” Igor said. “One of them may have survived. If he came to the camp and was seen, or captured, it will make our task much more difficult.”
“You really think he made it?”
“I do not know. I am just mentioning a possibility. Now, we should sleep.”
Igor stopped talking and within a minute Irina heard his breathing change. She envied his ability to shut down and rest, seemingly on command. Her mind was racing, fear fueling her inability to close her eyes.
She startled awake some time later, surprised she had fallen asleep and unsure what time it was. Igor was alert, his body tense against hers as the first board was removed. Irina relaxed slightly when she saw Mikhail looking down at them, but could tell Igor was still prepared for a fight.
“Is it morning?” Irina asked.
“No, but I have news. I sent word with men I trust who worked the night shift at the factory,” Mikhail said in a somber voice.
Irina quickly got to her feet and scrambled out of the hole, followed a second later by Igor.
“Where is he?” she asked excitedly, reaching out and grasping the old man’s arm.
He didn’t answer immediately, looking at her face, then glancing up at Igor before lowering his eyes.
“He is dead.”
“What?” Irina blurted, never having considered the possibility.
“What happened?” Igor asked, shifting slightly so his back was against the wall.
“Pneumonia,” Mikhail said. “He was in barracks twelve. Was sick when he arrived, or so I’m told. If he was who you say he was, that is understandable as he would have been held in Lubyanka Prison in Moscow before being brought here. Very few survive the conditions there.”
“Are you sure?” Irina cried, squeezing Mikhail’s arm hard enough to make him wince in pain.
“I trust the man the information came from, and I slipped out and saw his grave for myself,” he said, gently prying her hands free. “I am sorry.”
Irina stared at him in shock, then turned to look at Igor.
“What do we do?” she asked.
Before Igor could respond, the door opened with a crash and several guards rushed into the barracks.
33
Anna drove for half an hour, keeping a constant watch on the Humvee’s mirrors. She pushed the vehicle as hard as she could, wanting to put distance between herself and William as quickly as possible. If he caught her again, she had no illusions about how she would be treated. If she even survived the encounter.
She still didn’t understand why he’d taken her back to the bunker, only to leave her strapped to a gurney. Nothing about his behavior made any sense. But she was confident the man was stark raving mad, and figuring out why someone with mental problems did or didn’t do something was an exercise in futility.
After an hour of driving, she pulled to a stop on the top of a low mesa that provided a commanding view of the surrounding desert. She glanced at the odometer, irritated with herself for not having noted the mileage when she fled the bunker. But she couldn’t have covered more than ten to fifteen miles. Not with the rugged terrain she had been driving across.
With a sigh, she shut off the engine and stepped out into the night. A strong wind was blowing from the north, the air cold enough to make her appreciate the extra layer of clothing she’d put on. Taking her time, she turned a slow circle, surveying the dark desert surrounding her.
There was nothing visible other than sand, rocks, cacti and the occasional low-growing bush shuddering in the breeze. No lights. No dust trails being thrown up by other vehicles. Just a cold vista, bathed in the pale light of a nearly full moon. Shivering slightly, she started to climb back into the vehicle, but changed her mind and walked around to its rear.
Two brackets held a total of four, five-gallon fuel cans, and with a muttered plea she tapped each of them. She sighed in relief after confirming they were full, giving her an extra twenty gallons of diesel. Finally, some good news!
Returning to the driver’s seat, she started the engine, comforted by the smooth idle and flow of warm air that came from the heater. Sitting there, she stared through the windshield and considered her options. After a few minutes, she realized that she didn’t have any. She’d been so focused on escaping that she hadn’t thought about where she would go.
Fear threatened to become desperation. She’d never once considered not being able to rely on the comfort and safety of the bunker. Hadn’t believed there would ever be a time when she didn’t have Nitro and his men by her side. Sure, he’d prepared her for an event that would force them to flee, but at no time in those conversations had there been a discussion about where they would go.
Thinking about her bugout bag, she mentally catalogued its contents. Her stomach rumbled loudly for several seconds when she remembered there was a supply of MREs. Putting her concerns aside for the moment, she focused on digging one of them out and preparing it.
The food tasted wonderful, perhaps because she was so hungry. Regardless the reason, it was better than she could remember an MRE ever tasting, and she quickly devoured every bite. She saved the empty pouch, which could be used for other purposes in a pinch, putting it on the rear floor.
It had only taken a few minutes to eat, and now she found herself back in the same situation. She didn’t know where she was, much beyond a general location of southern Nevada, and had no idea where to go. Fuel wasn’t an immediate problem, but even with the spare cans her supply was hardly unlimited. That thought prompted her to shut the engine off so it wasn’t wasted.
Closing her eyes, she tried to remember everything she’d heard from the militia about the surrounding area, as well as information she’d picked up from Major Chase and his group. She knew that Las Vegas wasn’t that far away, but didn’t want to approach a city with a population of infected in residence.
Briefly, she considered an aircraft, knowing there were helicopters sitting on the tarmac at Nellis Air Force Base. But what was the point? Flying versus driving was only an advantage if one had a destination, and that was the root of her problem. It wouldn’t be one bit different if she were sitting in a cockpit.
Groaning softly in frustration, she suddenly remembered one of the lessons Nitro had tried to teach her. Don’t sit
out in the open for too long, and if you have to, be sure you’re keeping watch for the enemy. Popping the door open, she stepped out into the cold night and looked back along the path she had followed from the bunker. Nothing. She began to turn to scan through a full circle, but something caught her eye, making her pause.
Taking a few steps away from the Hummer, she peered intently at a small smudge, not too far in the distance. She couldn’t make out what it was. It was lighter than the surrounding terrain, only visible because of the moonlight. As she watched, it reminded her of a small cloud, hugging the ground.
“Oh, shit,” she breathed a second later.
It was a cloud! A dust cloud, created by a vehicle’s tires on the desert floor. It had to be William, but how the hell did he know where she had gone? Heart pounding in fear, Anna dashed to the Hummer and leapt inside. Starting the engine, she began to shift the big vehicle into gear, but paused with her hand on the lever.
If she started driving away, she’d create a dust cloud exactly like the one she’d spotted. And being on a terrain feature that was elevated above the surrounding desert, it would be visible for miles if someone happened to be looking in this direction. She thought for a long moment, then pulled the lever and allowed the Humvee to idle forward.
At less than five miles an hour, it didn’t kick up enough dust to give away her position. Controlling the speed, she steered around a large outcropping and came to a stop. Her vehicle was now concealed by the pile of rocks instead of being outlined against the night sky.
Grabbing her pack, she jumped out and ran across the mesa and went into a prone position on the edge facing the approaching vehicle. It was perhaps a mile away, and she was going to be ready. Not in the mood to run when she had nowhere to go, she’d decided to fight. William might have found a way to track her, but he was in for a big surprise when he caught up.
34
I’d started to head out with Dog, but Wellington stopped me with a warning.
“Strict leash laws, mate. You won’t go a block without running into a cop that will be happy to write you a citation. Hold on a mo.”
He disappeared into a private office, returning a few seconds later with a long leather lead and stout chain collar.
“You just keep this lying around?” I asked in surprise when he handed it to me.
“We train K9s for some of our clients,” he said.
I nodded my thanks and, bending down, slipped the chain over Dog’s head and clipped the lead to it. When I straightened, he stared at me like I’d just betrayed him.
“Let’s go,” I said, tugging gently.
He didn’t budge. Just sat there with his ears folded back and gave me a look like he was considering taking a chunk out of me.
“Dog, get off your ass,” I said, returning his stare.
He looked back at me for a beat, then lay down and rolled onto his side in protest.
“How long since you had him on lead?” Wellington asked, grinning at Dog’s stubbornness.
“Never have,” I said, shrugging. “Found him after the attacks and never needed one. He’s too well behaved.”
Wellington looked at Dog for a moment, then knelt next to him, speaking gently and rubbing his neck. When he received a lick on his hand, he rubbed down Dog’s belly and gently raised his rear leg. Carefully, he brushed fur aside, searching for something as he talked in a soothing voice.
“See that?” he asked softly, pointing at a spot on this inside of Dog’s left rear leg.
Rachel and I both leaned in for a closer look. It was a faded, blue tattoo.
“What is that?” Rachel asked.
“Mark from the breeder,” Wellington said, gently lowering Dog’s leg and massaging his ears. “Big operation in Virginia that supplied K9s to the US military and police. Bought a few pups from them myself a few years ago.”
He was still rubbing Dog’s ears and leaned close for an examination.
“Ever look in his ear?” he asked, ruffling Dog’s mane and smiling at him. “He was US military.”
I squatted down next to Wellington and looked at the tattoo that was all but invisible beneath Dog’s fur. If you didn’t know what you were looking for, you wouldn’t spot it. Dog, enjoying the attention, rolled fully onto his back and hooked my arm with a front leg.
“Well, that certainly explains a lot,” I said. “Kind of figured he was a police K9. Found him in a gun store in Atlanta.”
“Probably got adopted after his tour of duty,” Wellington said, giving Dog a final rub before standing.
I stood and looked down at Dog, wondering what he’d been through before our paths had crossed.
“May I?” Wellington asked, holding his hand out.
I handed him the lead and he moved until it was stretched to its full length. Dog stayed on his back, ignoring all of us.
“Komm!” Wellington barked.
Dog immediately leapt to his feet and stood in front of the Aussie, looking up at him.
“What the hell was that?” I asked.
“It’s fairly standard for dogs to be trained to respond to commands spoken in German,” Wellington explained. “It eliminates confusion when the animals are around normal conversations. At least conversations in English. Setzen!”
Dog immediately sat. I stood there looking at him, shaking my head and taking the lead back.
“I’ll write you a short list of commands,” Wellington said, chuckling as he walked away.
“Really?” I asked Dog, bending close and looking into his eyes. “You’re making me look bad.”
His tongue snaked out and licked me on the cheek. Grinning, I stood and barked the command for him to come with me. He stood and walked at my side as I headed for the door. Lucas and Rachel followed, and once outside we walked a block down the street to a small, grassy park. Dog looked up at me and I could tell he wanted to be let off the lead.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said, rubbing his head. “Don’t need any attention from the cops. You’re just gonna have to deal with it.”
He snorted as if he understood me, then began leading me towards a thick stand of tropical looking bushes.
“Think we got a chance in hell of pulling this off?” I asked Lucas as Dog sniffed for a spot to raise his leg.
“Lot’s going to depend on how they react when the plumbing goes haywire,” he said. “And you’re acting ability.”
“What?” I asked.
“Always were a little slow, weren’t you?” he asked, grinning. “You’re going in, posing as a plumber from Sydney. You sound like a roughneck from a Texas oil field. They may be Russians, but you aren’t going to sound like what they’ll be expecting.”
“So, I should sound like you?” I asked, trying to mimic an Aussie strine.
Lucas and Rachel burst out laughing.
“If that’s the best you can do, we might as well just pin an American flag on your shirt,” Lucas said.
I gave him a dirty look, then had to move to follow Dog.
“Look,” he said, still chuckling. “We’ve got time to work on it before all the pieces are in place. I’ll help. Something else, too. No way is Nitro going to pass if you were thinking about having him go in with you. They’ll take one look at him and know something’s wrong.”
I thought about that for a second, nodding my agreement even though I wasn’t happy about it. Nitro would be an invaluable asset, not just because of his size and strength, but we’d worked together before. I’d just have to make do.
“What else?” I asked.
The three of us were following Dog and must have looked a little ridiculous to a passerby.
“You need a crack,” Rachel said giggling. “Can’t be a plumber if your crack isn’t showing!”
Lucas turned away to hide a smile and I just shook my head as I rolled my eyes.
“What are you gonna do once you get in there?” Lucas asked. “All we’ve discussed is how to get someone inside.”
“Play it by ear,” I sa
id. “If all I can do is some recon, that’s fine. But if I get an opening, I’m going to take it.”
“Hold on,” Rachel said, serious again. “What are saying? You’ll go after Barinov if…”
Lucas and I both immediately shushed her and looked around to make sure there wasn’t anyone within hearing distance. Rachel glared at us for a second, then realized what she’d done.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Let’s talk about this when we’re back inside,” I said, reaching out and taking her hand.
35
It was late evening and we had moved to Wellington’s training facility. The large compound was in a western suburb of Sydney, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember the Aboriginal sounding name that Lucas had rattled off.
There was a main building with classrooms, an indoor shooting range and an expansive kill house. Scattered around the perimeter were half a dozen barracks and a large administrative building. Built along the backside of one of the housing units was a kennel and training area, but there were no dogs at the moment.
Dog, running free, frantically dashed around the area to sniff every blade of grass and pee on every tree, bush and post. He seemed thrilled to no longer be restricted by the collar and lead.
Rachel and I had picked up our conversation when we went back into the offices. I’d expected to be subjected to more anger over my intention to be the one going into the Russian building, but she had surprised me. She was worried, but had apparently concluded that there was no way she could convince me to change my mind.
Lucas had been working with me on my accent, the Australian one, and Rachel provided an American ear to critique my progress. I was getting better, and had gained a new appreciation for actors who came from the UK or Australia to the US and played the role of an American. It’s damn difficult when you have to think about how each word should sound before you speak.
That was the approach I’d taken and wasn’t making much progress. Not until Wellington had walked by and heard what we were doing. He’d stopped to listen for a minute, then interrupted with a suggestion that I only focus on the sound of the vowels. He demonstrated, seamlessly switching between sounding exactly like an American and a Brit. Continuing, he dropped into several regional accents from the US, one minute a proper southern gentleman, the next a cabby from New York.
