Close Quarters

EIGHTEEN

I checked the interior of the barn, which was full of the rubbish and discards found on any smallholding or farm anywhere in the western world. Long-forgotten and rusted machinery, coils of wire, battered feed trays, folded cardboard vegetable boxes going mouldy with damp, dented buckets, plastic sacks and a tall stack of cut logs ready for winter. I picked up a length of metal tubing as thick as my arm, an idea forming in my head. I’d seen this done once before, but never tried it myself.

I had to work fast. I grabbed some of the cardboard and wrapped it in layers around the tubing, tying it in place with some string hanging from the wall. Next I slid the end of the submachine gun barrel into the tube. It was a loose fit so I used a fold of plastic sacking to wedge it securely in place and pack around the gun barrel.

I now had a very rough and ready suppressor, or silencer. It was cumbersome, and I’d only find out how silent it was when I pulled the trigger. But if it served to deflect some of the sound, it would be good enough.

I found a gap close to the ground where a piece of planking was missing, and slid the tube through, carefully pushing it along the ground as far as I could towards one of the heavy tyres, which were now almost touching the barn wall. Give it another few seconds and the truck would be past my position and beyond reach. The noise from the nearest tyre scraping on the stones was high-pitched, rising above the clatter of the exhaust and the metronomic blipping of the engine as the driver became impatient to go.

I moved the selector to single shot and waited, timing the revs. One. Two-three. One. Two-three. One. Two-three. One—

I squeezed the trigger.

Some of the report came back up the tube, but most of it was lost in the roar of the truck’s engine. The crude suppressor worked, but the sound of the tyre going was much louder, the released air pressure battering the planks close to my head. I yanked the tube back and cast it aside, then moved to the back of the barn and waited.

There was instant pandemonium from inside the truck. I heard the thump of boots hitting the ground and movement against the light as figures came to investigate the noise. Somebody swore about how a shit piece of rubber crap from Romania should have been replaced months ago and what the hell could they do now?

I gave it a few seconds until I heard a voice ordering the tyre to be changed and double-quick. I didn’t know how good these guys were at changing truck tyres, but at the very least the driver had to know what he was doing. Either way, I didn’t have time to waste.

I left them to it and moved out of the barn, jogging back to my earlier station behind the wooden fence.

My timing couldn’t have been closer. As I ducked behind cover, the jeep arrived, throwing up a plume of dust as it came blasting along the street. It shot past the truck and squealed to a stop at the front of the apartment block. Grey Suit was putting on a show for the troops, and I wondered how long it would take his second-in-command in the truck to admit that they were temporarily disabled.

Moments later, one of the soldiers from the jeep appeared at the corner and ran past me, heading for a rear door in the wall. He was wearing a comms headset and armed with a Bison submachine gun and moved like he knew what he was doing.

When I heard shouting from the front of the building and the first crash of a door going in hard on the inside, that was my signal to move.

I ran across the road and through the open door, and found a pitted concrete path leading to the rear of the building through a neglected patch of disordered flower beds and rough grass.

The soldier was right in front of me, kneeling on the path and waiting for orders, one hand clamped to his headset. I was on him before he could register the fact and hit him behind the ear with the butt of the Ero. He fell face down and didn’t move. I stepped over him and kicked the Bison out of his reach, and ran along the path and up two steps through a rear door into a darkened corridor.

More voices from upstairs and the sound of wood splintering. A dog began barking furiously and someone screamed. I ducked along the corridor towards the front door, hoping Grey Suit had taken at least one man with him. The more the odds were reduced the better I liked it.

I stepped outside the front door and saw Travis sitting disconsolately in the back of the jeep, with only one soldier keeping guard. It gave me an edge and I had the element of surprise in my favour, but I wasn’t keen on the idea of stepping out there and being spotted by the backup troops in the truck.

There was no option; I had to go for broke. I walked out to the road with the Ero under my jacket, the selector on single-shot. The soldier watched me approach, eyes flicking to the building behind me, assessing the situation. He was probably wondering why I was sticking my head out here when the building was clearly being raided and every other normal resident was staying indoors out of the way. When it finally hit him that I didn’t fit the picture of anything normal, it was too late. I yanked the door open and leaned in before he could move, and jacked my right elbow hard under his chin, clicking his teeth together. As he slumped backwards I lifted a pistol from a holster on his belt and threw it in the back of the jeep, then turned to Travis, who was looking stunned.

‘Travis, this is your only chance of getting out of here in one piece. So move. Follow me and don’t ask questions.’

Of course he couldn’t do both; that would have been too much to expect. ‘Who are you?’ he yelped, staring at the soldier rolling around in his seat. But at least he was moving while he said it, climbing out of the back seat like his pants were on fire.

I checked out the army truck. It was too far away to see any detail, but I got the impression the figure in the passenger seat was staring at me and mouthing something.

Oh-oh.

Commotion. Lots of it. I heard the tailgate of the truck slam down, and two men appeared, unslinging automatic rifles. Time to rock and roll. I stepped out into the road where they could see me, lifting the Ero towards them. Soldiers know the dangers in facing a fully automatic weapon, and that standing up against one fitted with an extended magazine is like being in a duck shoot. The men fell back out of sight and the front-seat passenger disappeared below the level of the dashboard. But I wasn’t about to squirt the full load. Instead I fired three careful shots at the truck’s radiator. Engine blocks will stop all but armour-piercing shells, but they will take some damage in doing so. One of the shots must have punched the release mechanism, because suddenly the hood flew up and they were flying blind.

It was all the advantage I was going to get. I turned and put a bullet into the engine of the jeep and shouted, ‘Come on,’ grabbing Travis by the arm and hustling him back through the front door into the building.

I could hear the sound of boots pounding down the stairs and a voice yelling instructions in the background. Grey Suit was pissed at finding nobody home and was now wondering what the hell was happening outside. We had seconds to get away from here. I pushed Travis towards the back door and waited for the telltale clatter of boots on the stairs, then stepped out and fired two shots into the wall. Chunks of plaster rained down and the soldier coming down swore and scrambled back the way he’d come.

As we ran down the path to the door at the rear, we passed the man I’d hit coming in. He was rolling around in a daze but still out of it. I ignored him and led the way out into the back run and across to the car. Things were in danger of hotting up; I could hear Grey Suit screaming for the troops in the truck and calling for the area to be sealed off.

I headed west. I had a rough idea of how to get to Vokzal’na Square, and hoped the troops weren’t organized enough to be able to close down the entire area west of the city before we got out of here.

‘Where are we going?’ Travis said at last. He kept looking at me as though I’d landed from a spacecraft, which, considering he’d just been pulled out of a threatening situation, was no surprise. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Doesn’t matter who I am,’ I told him, and handed him my cell phone. ‘Call up Vokzal’na Square on the map; we need to get there double quick if you want to get home in one piece.’

He finally figured out that his options were limited and clamped his mouth shut. He fed in the name and gave me directions, and we drove without speaking other than to confirm our route.

Eventually I had to ask him the big question. ‘Did you tell them the address?’

‘What?’ He seemed surprised, even stunned, that I’d asked. Then he homed in on my accent. ‘You’re American. Are there more of you?’

‘The address of the cut-out,’ I repeated. I prodded him on the arm to focus his mind, narrowly missing being sideswiped by a small truck careering out of a side street without looking. ‘Did you give the man in the grey suit that address? This is serious.’

‘Wha— No! I didn’t. Christ, why would I do that?’

He sounded sincere and I believed him. But I wished I didn’t. Because it left me wondering whether the SMS from Travis’s bosses had been picked up and read by the authorities, or if there was another leak along the line. I believe in things occurring at random, but some events are simply too remote to fall into that category. People die randomly, but not always. Buildings catch fire for no reason, but some get a bit of help along the way. Secrets sometimes fall into the open air by chance. But not always.

‘Did you keep the address on your cell phone?’ His cell had been confiscated; another source of leakage.

‘No. I committed it to memory and wiped it. I was with Military Intelligence — I know the rules.’ He sounded offended at the implication that he’d been careless and I figured that with his kind of military background he would know more about being in a sensitive zone than most ordinary grunts.

Vokzal’na Square was a travel hub for the people of Donetsk, with trains, trams and buses all arriving in and leaving from there. The square itself, with the station at the far end, was wide open and spacious, with the road looping in and out like the eye of a needle and stops for trams and buses dotted around the outside perimeter. It boasted a handful of simple shops and eating places, and a brilliant white church with golden domes. It also had a lot of people standing around like refugees, waiting for their transport. But I spotted 24d immediately, a frail figure with a bucket-load of courage huddled under an advertising hoarding. He seemed to be alone and clear but I drove round twice before I was satisfied the area was secure.

‘This is where you get out,’ I told Travis, pulling into the side. I pointed at 24d, who had already spotted us. ‘Go with that man. He’ll hand you over to the next in line. You were briefed on the use of cut-outs. You know what their job is, right?’

He nodded. He seemed calm enough, if a little pale. But the fact was, in spite of any past military service, he was now a desk man and what he’d been through must have seemed like the beginnings of a nightmare. He hadn’t said much since I’d grilled him about the address, and I was hoping it was his training keeping his questions and emotions in check. If he was about to freak out, it was better if he did it now while I had him under my control. I wasn’t sure 24d, who had massive problems of his own ahead of him, would be able to handle that, nor could I expect him to do so.

‘Where will I be going?’ was all he said.

‘Down the line. I’ll be monitoring your progress, so just do what you’re instructed to by the cut-outs, stay off the phone, even if you think it’s safe to call, and you’ll be home in time for tea.’ It wasn’t quite as simple as that, which he would have known by now, but it seemed something nice to aim for.

‘Why can’t you take me? You’re here; we could simply head out of the country. It’s safer heading west, isn’t it? We could just drive out.’

He was right. We could do that. But if we ran into trouble we’d be sunk. Two Americans being caught up in this kind of volatile situation wasn’t something Callahan or his bosses would be able to explain away. Travis at least had the veneer of being a State Department envoy, which might give him some small measure of protection after all the arguing and political point-scoring over why he had come in was done. But my role wasn’t so easily brushed off. Worse, it would reflect badly on him.

‘We have to do it this way,’ I told him. ‘I’ll be watching your back, don’t worry.’

He didn’t look convinced, but he thanked me and got out of the car. I watched him approach 24d and shake hands. Then the two of them turned and walked over to a black battle-scarred VW Polo with a bumble-bee sticker on the rear window and climbed in.

I followed the Polo out of the square and called Langley. 24d was probably heading for the M04 road leading west to Pavlohrad, which was where Travis would be handed over to his next in line. If they didn’t run into trouble from the various separatists or Ukrainian military they should be fine, but there were never any guarantees in this game.

‘Travis is out, clear and on his way,’ I said, when the woman answered. ‘I’ll call again later.’

‘Understood, Watchman.’ She clicked off without further comment and I realized I didn’t yet know her name. Maybe now I never would.

Because I suddenly realized I was being followed.