The Iranian Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  As we reached the center of the span, Valentina laughed and said, "This—" The crackle of a gunshot echoed off the canyon walls. She didn't finish her words.

  I gaped back in amazement. Valentina's eyes opened wide in shock and a trickle of blood oozed at the corner of her mouth. More shots rang out, spraying the bridge, striking the yak's rear flank. The beast leap into the air and landed against the steel cable of the suspension bridge. Valentina slumped off to the side and fell over towards the boiling waters below. The now unburdened yak bound past, pressed me to the cable, and fled up the trail away from the bridge.

  Valentina had landed on a rock. She hung there for a few moments, staring back up as if she was pleading for help. Her body relaxed and revealed a bloody gunshot wound behind her right ear. Then she slipped off the rock, the roaring waters caught her body, and washed her downstream.

  I froze in place, my brain numbed by the turn of events. Another loud pop crackled through the gorge, followed by a flurry of shots from an automatic weapon. Bullets ricocheted off the wooden boards and steel cables.

  A bullet zinged off the steel suspension cable, not two feet from me. I charged after the yak to the opposite side of the river. The stone bridge pillars offered the first protective shelter. I ducked behind the left column and hunkered down.

  Dust clouds sprang from bullet impacts on the trail beside me. Chips flew off the stone pillars. One grazed my sleeve. I pulled my arm in closer.

  The firing died down, only an occasional shot. I was stuck, with nowhere to go. Taking off up the trail would expose me to a clear shot and certain death. The stream bank was too rugged for quick movement. Waiting would only postpone the inevitable.

  Ang Dorjie, he’s over there. Is he trapped? Then a chilling thought occurred: Is he part of the ambush? … Doesn’t matter, gotta do something. I glanced up at the ridgeline. Be dark in a quarter hour. My breathing increased as the adrenaline flow maxed out. Need to buy time. But how? They don’t know if I’m armed or not. Move around, give ‘em something to shoot at.

  I rolled across to the opposite stone pillar. More shots from an automatic weapon, bullets careened off the rocks and showered the dirt beside me. A bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock with a screaming whistle, penetrated my parka and down jacket. A stinging sensation jolted my senses.

  I waited a minute and repeated the dash back to the other side. A loud report from the weapon that shot Valentina echoed off the rocks. I pulled my shoulders in tight. The stinging sensation in my side began to burn.

  That was close … can’t risk it again … they’ll be expecting it next time. My options had run out.

  Shots reverberated from my side of the stream. Familiar sounds, I heard them before in Vietnam, the distinctive chatter from an AK-47: chat-chat-chat-chat. Popping sounds from lighter weapons, most likely pistols, responded from the other side. I sat trapped between two teams of assailants with only a kukri and a switchblade, useless in a gunfight.

  After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, but in fact less than a minute, gunfire from the far bank ceased. A few more shots boomed out from above on my side of the bridge. I waited frozen and immobile as I listened with a sense of foreboding to footsteps pounding down the trail in my direction.

  A voice called out, "Hey Ross, you okay?" — Amadeo.

  "I'm hit." I started to move.

  Amadeo shouted as he shot past me and out onto the bridge, "Stay put."

  Shouts from across the bridge, "Do not shoot. Do not shoot." Ang Dorjie scurried towards the bridge. "They are leaving. Do not shoot."

  "Stop right there. Hands up," ordered Amadeo on the run.

  "He's my guide," I yelled.

  Amadeo kneeled on the other side of the bridge next to Ang Dorjie and ordered, "Go check on Ross."

  "Ross?" questioned the surprised Sherpa.

  "Yeah, him. Says he's hit." Amadeo looked back across the bridge and pumped his fist in the air.

  Jack Richards came barreling down the path, carrying a short weapon aimed in front of him, and halted beside me. "You all right?"

  "I'm okay."

  Jack sped across the swaying bridge, passed Ang Dorjie, and disappeared up the far trail.

  I struggled to my feet and scanned back down the stream for Valentina. There was no sign of her. Ang Dorjie arrived at my side. "She's gone." I shouted, "She's gone."

  The impact of what happened hit like a ton of bricks. She was dead, finished off when she fell into the river. Only moments ago, she had been happy and had a future, now it was over. I stared downstream, barely able to fathom what had happened.

  The sound of an AK-47 echoing through the canyon startled me back to reality. I became aware of my own wound, opened the parka, down jacket, and wool shirt. I reached in, felt warm sticky blood and the ragged copper-sheathed remains of a spent bullet. It had torn through clothing layers and caused a bloody, but not serious gash. My mind reeled in a murky world of confusion.

  Moments later, Jack returned, charging back down the trail, and stopped beside Amadeo. "Caught sight of three guys up the trail and gave ‘em a burst. They're gone but may be regrouping." Amadeo dashed across the bridge, halted beside us, and took a defensive stance. Jack followed right away.

  Jack spoke with a quiet confident tone, as if this were an everyday occurrence, "We need to get back up the hill. The high ground will give us the advantage. We got 'em outgunned. Made out three of them, all they had was a pair of pistols." It was then that I noticed, both carried folding stock versions of the AK-47.

  "Where? … Where'd you guys come from?"

  Amadeo canted his head up-slope, "We stopped at that spring back up the trail to rest and fill our canteens. Scanned across the canyon with the field glasses, saw some people coming across that open area, and decided to wait and ask if they had seen you. I had just told Jack it was you on the bridge when the shooting started."

  "They killed her…"

  Jack glanced back across the stream. "From what I can tell, either they got off a lucky shot or it was first-rate marksmanship on their part. In any case, looks like we’re dealing with pros."

  Amadeo nodded to Ang Dorjie and tugged at my sleeve. "No time to waste, can't afford to wait for them to recover. Let’s go."

  I peered over the cable at the rushing waters, desperate for a sign of Valentina. Prayer wheels spun, prayer flags fluttered, she was gone.

  "She fell into the river." I grabbed Jack's arm. "We need to look for her."

  Jack responded with a tone of finality. "She's dead. We gotta get out of here."

  "We can't just leave her."

  Amadeo broke in, "Yes we can. Remember we had to leave Rasta Man back in the Sudan. Those guys aren't going to wait for us to find her body." He looked back across the river. "Jack's right we need to get out of here. If they made that shot once, they can do it again. We're sitting ducks here."

  I took a deep breath. "Okay, you're right, let's go." I had only known her for little more than a day, but somehow, I had assumed a sense of responsibility for her safety. I failed.

  "Get on up the road, I'll cover," ordered Jack.

  "How 'bout our brass?" asked Amadeo.

  "Nah, its Russian, let them take the blame."

  Ang Dorjie led the way, searching for the yak. I followed at a slower pace. Jack and Amadeo moved as a team, silent and without orders, leapfrogging as we forged on. They were seasoned pros and it showed.

  * * *

  After collecting the frightened and slightly wounded yak, we halted in Teshinga, a small village halfway up the slope. The sun had set along with the adrenalin rush that kept me going. Amadeo remained back down the track to make sure we weren’t surprised.

  Jack told me Harris' inquiry about Suslov reached CIA headquarters and an alert colleague of John Smith's forwarded the message to him. Smith put two-and-two together and persuaded Colonel Wilson to dispatch them to Nepal, ASAP.

  "We arrived in Kathmandu last night and flew up here early this
morning. Harris told us you left a few days ago and confirmed the Russian was up here also. We halted by that spring for a break — Man, this altitude really is something — and, well you know the rest."

  I was still incredulous. "How did you get here so fast?" I thought—"

  "John and the colonel pulled out all the stops — Air Force flight to London, Air India to Delhi, and then some Indian guy with a King Air to Kathmandu. Up all night getting ready, lucky we slept on the way over."

  Jack patched up my wound, which wasn’t serious. He replaced his first aid gear and pulled two cartridge casings out of his pocket.

  "Steel cased 9-mil Makarov and an odd-ball brass cased 7.62 Tokarev with no markings. Found a bunch of Makarov, must have been the auto fire weapon. Found a trace of blood on the rocks, may have winged the big guy."

  "That’s the Ukrainian, Kuban. You saw three of them?"

  "Yeah, they were in shadows but only two of 'em were firing. The big guy had an auto pistol, couldn't tell about the others." He glanced at me. "At that range, they probably used the Tokarev to nail her." He shook his head. "One hell of a shot at that range." He fingered the brass Tokarev casing. "Must have been a special load. He made the shot from more than 100 meters. These babies are high speed with good penetration. Somebody knew what they were doing."

  I held up the spent bullet taken from inside my shirt. "What did this come from?"

  "I'll bet it was a Stechkin APS, uses 9 mil Makarov and issued to Spetsnaz troops and KGB. They have an auto fire mode, but it's just spray-and-pray from that distance."

  "You think the KGB prays?"

  Jack grinned. "You're lucky though, the round was just about spent. The ricochet absorbed most of the energy and your clothing did the rest."

  I pocketed the mangled bullet. "I'll add this to my collection."

  "Don't be too obsessive. With that type of collection its quality not quantity that counts."

  "Don't worry about it. — Say, where'd you get the AK's?"

  "Harris."

  A burst of anger spiked, reviving me from the haze of exhaustion. "How come Harris gave you guys weapons? He told me to buy a kukri."

  "You're not company, didn't want to take any chances. It helps to know the secret handshake." He patted the stamped metal receiver, "They're Yugoslav Zastava M70's, not bad."

  "What about the course at Fort Gordon?"

  "Christmas break. You got lucky. We have two weeks off." I guess I appeared unconvinced. "We’d have come anyway. Did you find out anything from the lady you can use?"

  "Yeah, she was sure Marsden was going to end back up in Russia and it looks like they have a new system ready for tests next month."

  "By the way, that's another thing. Smith got word right after you left. Marsden was sighted in Cuba."

  Everything Valentina revealed rushed through my mind. This was almost certain confirmation of what she had told me. In addition, the fact Suslov killed her first, sealed the deal. Something big was in the works and I had to get back and make sense of it. Owed her that much, she died trying to help us. I was determined not to let her death be an exercise in futility. Besides, Marsden was involved, another thing we had in common.

  Monday, 25 December: Khumjung

  "Thank you for breakfast." We had just finished eating a filling meal of Sherpa pancakes and tea, prepared for us by Ang Dorjie's wife. She beamed with pride and seemed genuinely pleased we ate everything and asked for more. Ang Dorjie told her Christmas was an important American Holy Day and she went out of her way to please us.

  After leaving Teshinga, Ang Dorjie insisted we stay at his place in the Sherpa village of Khumjung, over the ridge from the airport and hotel. Somehow, I managed to drag myself along and crashed as soon as we arrived. Jack climbed to the top of a rise and contacted Harris using a portable radio with a special frequency for the mountains. Harris promised a flight first thing in the morning.

  The previous day's journey had been demanding. We did a day and a half trip in one day. My legs sore, headache still there, and the wound in my side stung when I moved. The pain secondary in my thoughts — my first Christmas with Lisette was not to be.

  Just as we prepared to leave, a young Sherpa man rushed up to Ang Dorjie, spoke, and pointed back down the mountain. Ang Dorjie furrowed his brow. "They are coming up the trail to the hotel. Two of them passed through Teshinga not long ago."

  "Is it them?" I asked.

  "He does not know. What do you want to do?"

  Jack said, "He hasn't seen us up close, Amadeo and I'll go and check him out." He spoke to Ang Dorjie, "Get someone to guide us to the hotel." Turning back to me, he continued, "We'll meet you at the airstrip. If we're not there go without us, we'll catch up later."

  "Got it, let's go," replied Amadeo as they shouldered their small packs containing their Zastava M70's.

  I watched them disappear up the trail feeling alone and isolated again. Ang Dorjie brought me back to reality, "You ready?"

  "Okay, let's make sure we get there before he lands."

  "No problem, it is only over the hill."

  We crossed over a spur to the valley. A precipitous trail, narrow and tortuous, on which only a single person could pass, led us through a stand of trees and low brush. The airstrip was less than a kilometer away.

  Ang Dorjie paused to scan down the valley with my binoculars, straining to find a sign of the incoming plane. I kept going, and as I made a sharp turn around a large rock, a person on the trail not three yards away — Suslov.

  We both froze in a momentary state of shock, he recovered first, tried to draw something from inside of his parka. All I had was a kukri knife stuck useless in my pack. A primeval survival instinct kicked in. I surged forward and lunged at him as he awkwardly pulled out a black pistol. He didn't have time to aim. I was on him in less than a second and wrapped both hands around the wrist holding the weapon.

  He tried to pull away and was about to break free when I twisted and pushed off on the upward slope with my right foot. The swift move broke his balance. He fell backwards, fired into the air, narrowly missing my ear. I hung on as we tumbled off the narrow trail down the rocky incline, rolled twice, and ended up against a boulder. He went limp as he hit the rock. The pack cushioned my impact. The pistol clattered as it fell over a precipice to the rocks below.

  I regained my footing and scrambled back up towards the trail, clinging to rocks on the steep rock face. Suslov recovered seconds later and was right behind me when my eyes came level with the trail. A pair of mountaineering boots stood on the edge. They belonged to Ang Dorjie. He brandished a large menacing kukri.

  I pulled myself up to a position beside the Sherpa. Suslov halted ten feet below. I drew my switchblade and felt a reassuring click as the blade extended.

  We held the high ground. He was outnumbered two to one. We had weapons he had none. The KGB man was a trained killer, but we held the advantage.

  Suslov glanced back down the ravine. Outnumbered, and without a weapon, he gave us one last glare. Then he made his way down towards a rocky gulley, an escape route to the valley below.

  Ang Dorjie started to move after him.

  Caution was the best choice. He was still dangerous, and I had a mission to complete. "Let him go. We gotta get to the airstrip. Don't risk your life, he's finished."

  However, I had one last card to play. Picked up a rock, about the size of a softball, and chunked it down-slope. The rock bounced off a boulder less than two feet away from Suslov and careened away.

  Suslov halted in his tracks, looked back up to us, and spoke with arrogant certainty, "I am not finished." He pointed directly at me. "You will see me again — I promise you that."

  The hairs on my neck stood up as I felt a familiar chill run down my spine. Suslov continued his decent down the narrow gulley and disappeared into a clump of trees.

  A familiar whine echoed off the mountain across the valley, the Pilatus Porter. Ang Dorjie motioned to me. "Come, we just have time to me
et him as he lands."

  11 ~ The Mission

  Saturday, 30 December: Bolling Air Force Base

  An uneasy mood filled the conference room. Around the long grey metal table: Colonels Wilson and Hansen, Mack Gibson, John Smith, Bill Michaels, Jack, Amadeo, and me. I had just finished my report, complete with a withering assessment of the mission planning, and awaited Wilson's comments.

  Hansen beat him to the punch. "Brannan — don't give us another load of half-baked excuses — you screwed up again. How in hell's name could you let that woman get killed. Don't you have any concept of security? Didn't you learn anything?" I sat biting my lip while Hansen's rant continued. "If we hadn't sent these boys," he gestured towards Jack and Amadeo, "you would have got your ass shot off for sure." He pounded the table. "And to top it all off — you let that Russki bastard escape when you had the drop on him…" Hansen paused to catch his breath.

  "That will be enough Colonel, thank you for your input." Wilson reared out of his chair and motioned for Hansen to leave. "Now if you will excuse us we will proceed with our debriefing."

  A red-faced Hansen shoved his chair back and glared at me as he stormed out without a word. The door slammed with a thunderous pop.

  Wilson expelled a breath and sat back down. Everyone tried to avoid eye contact with me.

  I wondered if I was in hot water again and awaited Wilson's words, expecting positive feedback.

  Wilson, without looking in my direction, intoned, "Don't worry about Colonel Hansen's opinion. You did an adequate job with the resources available."

  Adequate — the word sent an electric shock through my body. I gripped the table edge to calm myself. They're the ones that sent me off half-cocked on a mission based on unverified information. When was the last time they took the blame for anything? I guess membership in the officer's club is a get-out-of-jail-card for anything to do with personal responsibility. Held back on telling Wilson what I really thought. I still needed the job.

  I took a deep breath and asked, "Is there gonna be any follow up on Valentina's revelations? From what Hansen said, it sounds like they don't believe her."