Scourge: V Plague Book 14

by Dirk Patton

  “That’s fine,” I said sarcastically. “But can you do Canadian?”

  “Eh?” he asked with a grin.

  Taking his advice, I kept working on it, but a couple of hours later Lucas threw his hands up in surrender.

  “I swear, you must have a tin ear,” he said. “Can’t you hear how you sound?”

  “I thought he was improving,” Rachel said, coming to my defense.

  “Not enough. You still sound like a bleedin’ Yank!”

  “Go fuck yourself, you bloody sod!” I said without even thinking about how I was speaking.

  Lucas looked at me in surprise, a big smile on his face.

  “That’s it!” he cried. “Why the hell haven’t you been doing that?”

  “Doing what?” I asked, looking between him and Rachel.

  “That was perfect,” she said. “Maybe you’ve been trying too hard. Don’t overthink it. It’s probably causing you to hesitate and form the sounds wrong. Just go with it.”

  I paused, thinking about what I wanted to say, then shook my head and reset. Without hesitation, I started talking about the weather and how nice the day had been. Lucas and Rachel sat there listening, smiles on both their faces.

  “That’s perfect, or close enough to not matter,” Lucas said. “Now, don’t say anything else in your normal accent until this is all over. Stay in character.”

  “What did the Australian do after raking the leaves? He fell out of the tree!”

  “Not that much in character,” Lucas said, shaking his head.

  We broke for a meal, Tanner walking in as we were preparing to eat. He had the airbags in his car, but sat down with us before unloading them.

  “G’day mate!” I said cheerily, trying out my new language skill.

  “Who are you, now?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “Fuckin’ Crocodile Dundee?”

  Everyone around the table thought that was hilarious and I decided it was better to eat before I made an even bigger fool of myself. After dinner was done, Lucas and I helped him carry the bags into one of the classrooms. Each was less than a foot long and compressed flat with a small gas cylinder attached to the side. They weren’t what I would call heavy, but they were definitely substantial. I didn’t envy whoever was going to carry ten of them through a sewer pipe.

  “Any way to deflate them remotely?” I asked.

  “No,” Tanner said. “Strictly mechanical. Have to open that valve there.”

  He pointed at a small lever mostly concealed by the inflation cylinder.

  “So, the team in the sewer is going to have to stay in place,” I said.

  By this time, Brillard, Schmidt and Wellington had joined us, looking over the equipment.

  “Why?” Rachel asked.

  “Because if this turns out to be nothing more than a recon, the plumber has to appear to have fixed the problem,” I said. “We can’t walk away and risk them calling another one.”

  “You’re not optimistic you’ll be able to get to Barinov,” Brillard said.

  “No, I’m not,” I answered. “I don’t expect security to allow me to access any part of the building that isn’t directly affected by the sewer backup. I could be wrong, but if I were them, and there didn’t seem to be a problem on the upper floors, there’s no way I’d allow it.”

  “Should we come up with a fresh idea?” Tanner asked.

  I shook my head.

  “This gets me in the door,” I said. “That’s the first step. Maybe I’m wrong and I’ll be given access to the other levels. But even if I’m not, I’ll have gotten a good look at the lay of the land. Maybe I’ll see something we don’t know about that we can use.”

  “Why not gas them?” Lucas asked, reaching out and touching one of the airbags.

  “Thought we talked about that,” I said with more patience than I felt.

  “No,” he said. “Not what I was thinking. We go ahead with the backup, but pump some gas into the system before we plug it. Nothing toxic, just something that will smell like shite and spread to the upper floors. Might pave the way for them being of a mind to let you go check.”

  “That’s not bad.”

  I looked at the faces of the men standing around us. Each of them were slowly nodding.

  “Why the hell not,” Wellington said after thinking about the suggestion. “Can’t bloody hurt. Got anything in mind?”

  Lucas shrugged his shoulders.

  “Okay,” Rachel said timidly. “No one gets to ask how I know this, but you can buy spray cans of imitation farts at joke stores. I don’t know what they put in them, but it smells far worse than you can even imagine.”

  “Don’t know about that,” I said. “You haven’t been trapped in a plane with Lucas.”

  That earned me a solid punch on my shoulder, but it was worth it.

  “If you two are through acting like children,” Rachel said. “I’m serious. This stuff smells like death warmed over, and I guarantee you it can clear a room in two seconds flat. It comes in pressurized aerosol cans and is already gaseous. That means it will bubble up through the plumbing. Or it should. Right?”

  Wellington pulled his phone out and worked on it for a minute.

  “Gag gift store a few K’s down the road. Closes in less than an hour. Come with me and show me what you want,” he said to Rachel.

  She nodded and they hurried out of the room.

  “How do you release the contents of the canisters?” Schmidt asked, frowning. “I do not think you can just spray it at the bottom of the pipe. There should be a large release so it can travel upwards properly.”

  “Small dab of C-4,” Lucas said. “About the size of a pinhead will have plenty of force to burst it open.”

  He looked at me and I nodded, but couldn’t keep myself from grinning.

  “What?” he asked.

  “We’re grown men and we’re standing around figuring out how to fart bomb the Russians,” I said.

  “American humor,” Schmidt grumbled and looked away. As he was turning, I was pretty sure I saw a hint of a smile on his normally scowling face.

  36

  Igor went into motion the instant the barracks door crashed open. He swept Irina behind him with his left arm as he drew the pistol concealed beneath his coat. There were several prisoners and a few bunks between him and the guards, and they didn’t see the weapon. The inmates did, and they quickly scrambled out of the way, fearful of being caught in the line of fire.

  Six guards were in the building, shouting at the prisoners to get into their bunks as their leader stood back, blowing into a shrill whistle so hard his face was turning red. Truncheons were swung, randomly striking the cowering men for no reason other than they weren’t moving fast enough.

  “Stay behind me and don’t get separated,” Igor said to Irina.

  He headed to their left, closer to the door. The guards were steadily working their way deeper into the barracks, except for the leader. He had remained near the exit, working the whistle with his feet spread far apart and a long, cruel looking baton in his hand.

  Igor moved steadily, head swiveling as he kept track of all the guards. The prisoners saw him, pistol held tightly along his right leg. They frantically cleared the way, drawing the attention of the chief guard. He paused blowing the whistle and stepped forward, screaming at the men to get into their beds as he raised the club in the air.

  Before he could deliver the first blow, he caught sight of Igor but failed to notice the weapon in the big Spetsnaz’ hand. With the other prisoners trying to obey his orders, he zeroed in on the tall man who was still slowly approaching. Anger at being disobeyed was clear on his face as he pointed at Igor with the baton and shouted.

  The other guards were still yelling and clubbing the helpless men, whose cries of pain and fear added to the din. None of them heard him, nor did they see Igor raise the pistol and fire a single shot that punched through the guard’s face and blew out the back of his skull. He dropped to the dirty floor and a silence
descended over the immediate area that quickly spread throughout the barracks.

  Noticing something wasn’t right, the five remaining guards stopped beating the prisoners and looked around. They couldn’t see their dead leader’s body, and began shouting his name. After a few seconds with no response, they exchanged worried glances and drew close together as they began to head for the door. Clubs were no longer being swung, but the frightened inmates cleared a path.

  The guards were tightly clustered as they moved down a row of bunks, and the one leading the way stopped with his mouth open in shock when Igor stepped into their path, pistol already up and aimed at his face. The suppressed weapon coughed several times in quick succession, killing four of the men. The one at the rear of the group dove beneath a bunk, tearing at his coat.

  Igor rushed forward, leaping over the men he’d just shot, and grabbed the man’s ankle. Savagely, he yanked him backwards, dragging the guard into the open. He was rolled onto his back, staring at the muzzle of the suppressor that was pointed at his face. His truncheon, held to his right wrist by a leather strap, clanked against the floor, loud in the silence. In his left hand was a small radio, the item he’d been trying to retrieve from his coat. Igor pulled the trigger, the bullet drilling a neat, nearly bloodless hole in his forehead.

  Stepping away, he moved backwards, pushing Irina to keep her behind him as he faced the prisoners. He paused near the door when Mikhail stepped forward, the pistol steady on the old man’s heart.

  “Was it you?” Igor asked. “Did you betray us?”

  “It wasn’t me,” Mikhail said, then looked around the room and raised his voice. “It was someone else, but they will be found and made to pay!”

  Igor’s eyes bored into him as he considered putting a bullet into his heart.

  “Kill me if you don’t believe me,” he said, stepping to within six feet of the weapon being aimed at him.

  “We are leaving,” Igor finally said, but he didn’t lower the pistol. “Try to follow and I will kill you.”

  “Getting in was easier than it will be to leave,” Mikhail said, holding up a hand to stop them. “Especially since the guards are alerted. You need my help. I can show you how to get out.”

  Igor stared at him, pistol never wavering, as he considered what the old man had said. Before he had reached a decision, Irina rose on her toes and mumbled into his ear.

  “I think we should trust him.”

  “And if he leads us into a trap?” Igor asked without shifting his attention.

  Irina paused, not having considered that possibility. Looking at Mikhail, she noticed a younger man standing near him. He had stayed close by the older man’s side since they’d met him, and she suspected the two cared for each other.

  “See the one to his left?” she mumbled to Igor. “Bring him, too, as a guarantee. I think Mikhail cares about him.”

  Igor glanced at the man Irina had pointed out, then nodded.

  “Let’s go,” he said to Mikhail a moment later. “But he’s coming, too. If you betray us, my first bullet will go into his heart.”

  Mikhail looked back at them with a surprised expression on his face before turning and looking at the other man. Something passed between them, then both nodded in agreement.

  “Follow me,” Mikhail said.

  He hurried forward, the younger man staying close behind. Peering into the darkness through the open door, they moved outside. Igor walked backwards, Irina still behind him, the pistol aimed at the prisoners who were watching intently. When they stepped out of the barracks he gently pulled the door shut and looked around. Mikhail and the other man waited for them, standing in knee deep snow.

  “Lead on,” Igor said, gesturing at the distant, dark forest. “Just don’t forget my warning.”

  The two prisoners had a brief conversation, then the younger man set out, blazing a trail through the deep snow. Mikhail struggled behind him, his labored breathing loud in the stillness of the night. Irina stayed close behind Igor, doing her best to walk in his tracks and not battle the footing.

  Igor had expected that they would head directly for the eastern perimeter of the camp, where he and Irina had entered, but the man rounded a barracks and turned to the north. Towards the guard barracks and administrative buildings.

  “Where are you taking us?” he asked, suspicion hardening his voice to a dangerous growl.

  “We are following the route the guards would have taken,” Mikhail wheezed. “Our tracks will not draw attention.”

  The old man had to stop as a deep, wet cough racked his frail body. He pressed his arm tightly to his face to muffle the sounds with his coat sleeve. Security lights dimly reflected off the snow, and when he raised his face, Igor could see the stain of bright red blood on the fabric. Mikhail saw but ignored it, waving for the younger man to continue.

  They passed more barracks, sticking close to the walls. When they crossed open spaces, even Mikhail managed to put on a burst of speed. Igor’s head was on a swivel, but he was yet to see any patrolling guards. He was growing more suspicious when the man in the lead suddenly flopped into the snow and waved for them to get down.

  Igor dropped instantly, glanced over his shoulder to make sure Irina was out of sight, then scanned to the front. Four guards were crossing their path, no more than fifty meters away. Two of them had batons swinging from their wrists, but the other two carried AK rifles high across their chests.

  “I didn’t think the guards carried firearms,” Irina said in his ear after crawling forward to lie next to him.

  “Not in any of the surveillance we saw in Hawaii,” Igor mumbled. “And that makes sense. Too easy for the prisoners to overpower them and take their guns.”

  The guards apparently had a destination and weren’t simply on a routine patrol. They were moving with a purpose and quickly passed out of sight. Mikhail and his friend waited a few minutes to make sure they didn’t return before climbing to their feet. The old man required assistance, but shrugged off Irina’s offer of a shoulder to lean on as they continued.

  They passed three more prisoner barracks, then paused before hurrying across the widest open space they’d encountered so far. This area was better lit and they angled to the east to reach the far side of a large building that flew the Russian flag.

  It was darker here, the forest a couple of hundred meters away. Nothing lay between it and them other than a field of snow. The surface was churned, heavily disturbed by the passage of feet wearing heavy, winter boots. Looking across the open ground, Igor recognized what Mikhail had done for them.

  If they had headed directly to the forest from the prisoner barracks, they would have left a very visible trail in the snow. A trail that even the dimmest of the guards would have understood the meaning of, and one that could easily be followed. But by following a path that wouldn’t be out of the norm for patrols, they were not leaving any evidence behind. Apparently, the guards ranged all the way to the forest from the building where they huddled.

  Mikhail had slumped onto his side, wheezing worse. He tried to speak, but couldn’t force enough air out of his ravaged lungs to produce anything more than a sibilant whisper.

  “Go.” He had to pause to gather his strength after that one word. “Do… not forget… the men… in… this camp.”

  “Thank you,” Irina said, moving close and looking in the dying man’s eyes. “You have my word. They will not be forgotten.”

  Mikhail smiled painfully, the younger man scooting close and cradling him in his arms. There were two more rattling breaths out of the old man, then he went quiet and his eyes stared vacantly at the freedom of the dark forest.

  “Go!” the younger man hissed. “Do not let his death be a waste.”

  Igor scanned the area, then got to his feet and pulled Irina up from the snow. Without a backward glance, he took off at a slow run for the dark forest, Irina’s hand grasped firmly in his.

  37

  Wellington and Rachel returned forty-five m
inutes later, each carrying a large cardboard box.

  “Got lucky,” Rachel said, depositing her box on the table. “They just got a shipment and we bought all they had.”

  Wellington placed his case on top of the one she’d just put down. Dog gave the two boxes a perfunctory sniff, then wandered over to the corner of the room and stretched out with a grunt.

  “Can’t be that bad,” I said, looking at him as he yawned.

  Rachel tore one of the flaps open on the top box and pulled out a tall, thin spray can. She shook it for a few seconds before popping off the plastic lid. Holding it at arm’s length, she pressed and held the nozzle for five seconds, a fine mist spraying into the air. She quickly backed up, an expectant smile on her face.

  Dog, three times as far away as Lucas and I, reacted first. Jumping to his feet, he lifted his nose and sampled the air before sneezing violently. A few seconds later, the smell wafted across me. That was all it took to send me backpedaling, Lucas pushing against my back as he retreated.

  The smell was… well, a fart. If you were enclosed in a sauna with an elephant that had eaten about twenty pounds of chili cheese fries and washed it down with beer. Oh, and I think there were some rotten eggs thrown in for good measure, and I know I’m not doing it justice. Gagging, I pulled my shirt collar over my face and wiped away the tears that had sprung up in response.

  Wellington dashed out the door and a moment later Schmidt poked his head in. For a second he looked around curiously, then his eyes flew wide.

  “Mein Gott im Himmel!” he said, then quickly disappeared.

  Lucas and I were huddled in the far corner and Dog was still sneezing. The only way to escape the room, and the horrid odor, was to pass through the area where Rachel had sprayed it. There was no way in hell I was that brave.