Black Ghosts

CHAPTER 32

“Are you sure this thing is working?” Edward asked the sergeant, pointing a finger at the half-smashed radio they had recovered from the command car. It was sitting on the hood of the truck, hot-wired to the truck’s battery.

“We tried it on other frequencies and we heard them right. So I have to say it’s working.”

“I wish Sparky was here,” said Edward.

A squawk came from the radio box. Then, amid the static, came a woman’s voice. Edward could feel the jolt inside him, like an electric shock. It was her. She was talking Russian and there was a strength to her voice, a strength that he now realized she had worked hard to suppress when they were together. It was that which made her voice seem so strange.

Sokolov grabbed the mike. He now knew the call name. He was hoping that Rogov was not standing anywhere near wherever she was talking from, because he might recognize the voice. This, however, was a chance they had to take.

“Intruder One, this is Intruder Two, over.”

“Did you reach the target?” came the question, without any formal communications procedure. She was clearly in a hurry and not willing to spend time on what she thought to be rubbish.

“Yes, Intruder One, have reached the target and met little resistance. We’re still mopping up.”

“What about the American?”

“I can’t be sure. Most of the locals are dead. I will interrogate the survivors.”

“Is there a plane there?”

“There was a plane, American made, very big. It is now burning very nicely, Intruder One.”

“If you find the American or any of his friends, you will notify me.”

“Yes, will do.”

Edward put his hand over the microphone. “Ask her where she is.”

Sokolov nodded silently. Then he put the microphone close to his mouth again. “If we find him, where do we bring him?”

“I’ll be at Domodedovo Airport in the morning. Bring him to the command center at the north end of the airport. Over and out.”

Sokolov translated all that was said. Edward was satisfied. It looked as though their luck was coming in one piece at a time, but then, he thought, it is said that good things come in small packages.

Lieutenant-Colonel Orlov had a problem. Someone he knew vaguely, a certain Colonel Sokolov from the Twenty-ninth Armored Division, had called him with a strange story about a potential takeover of the airport he was guarding. As if that weren’t enough, a general from Supreme Command had announced his intention of inspecting Orlov’s troops at 07:00 hours that morning. Orlov had never heard of General Lubinsky, but a call to Supreme Command confirmed that such a general did exist. Lubinsky’s aide, who had set up the inspection, had also given the correct codes, so Orlov had no reason to doubt his credentials, other than the mysterious call from this Sokolov.

The general was to arrive shortly by helicopter. Was this to be the takeover Sokolov had warned him about? On balance, Orlov doubted it.

At 6:45, he heard the percussive drone of the helicopters. He could see them approaching from where he sat in the command center, three of them, flying in formation. They landed on the tarmac, not fifty yards from where he was, raising a terrible cloud of dust and frigid morning air. Orlov watched as the hatches opened and armed men, which he took to be the general’s security entourage, poured out. There was a pause while the guards’ NCO called them to attention. Then the general emerged.

Yes, this was him. Looking through his binoculars, Orlov could see the stars and braids. The general and his men moved toward the command post.

But as he approached, Orlov observed that the man didn’t quite look like a general. He didn’t have that certain something. He was too small somehow, his neck too stiff, his eyes too red and unblinking, like a rat’s. Orlov dismissed the thought, attributing the man’s general lack of luster to the fact that he was probably a well-climbed bureaucrat who had never tasted war except via a phone line or a nasty letter.

Leaving all but two of his men outside, the general entered the command post. “Lieutenant-Colonel Orlov?” he said in an extremely decisive way. Not waiting for a response, he went on. “I am temporarily relieving you of your command while I inspect this unit.”

Orlov saluted. “Very good, sir.” The telephone rang. A junior officer informed Orlov that the call was for him.

“With your permission, sir.” Orlov took the call. It was from the office of General Lubinsky, in Supreme Command. Wanting to verify the information, Orlov had also placed a second call through army command, asking to speak to the general. By doing that he was circumventing Supreme Command and dealing directly with the general, who for some reason was stationed in Vladivostok. The duty officer in the general’s headquarters wanted to inform him that the general was in conference at the moment and was not to be disturbed. He would, however, be willing to deal with whatever it was Orlov wanted later on that day.

“Yes, thank you,” said Orlov, replacing the phone carefully. Turning to the small man in the general’s uniform who stood looking out the window, quietly waiting for him to finish his telephone conversation, he said, “One thing.”

“Yes?” The man turned his whole body to look Orlov in the face.

“You are under arrest,” Orlov said, his voice as calm as if he were offering the man a cup of tea, “on a charge of impersonating an officer of the Russian army.”

Yazarinsky’s expression did not change. “I’m sorry, you are mistaken.”

“I have just received confirmation that General Lubinsky is still in Vladivostok,” said Orlov.

“But I did not say I was General Lubinsky. I am under his command, that is all.”

Orlov hesitated. The whole thing was very suspicious, especially in view of Sokolov’s mysterious warning. “Arrest this man!” he said to his men.

But his hesitation cost him dearly. Yazarinsky’s men in the hall had seen Orlov’s guards reach for their weapons. They were not the kind to hesitate. Yazarinsky’s answer to Orlov, which made no sense and was not meant to, had given his team the time they needed to get through the open door.

A single shot was fired by one of Yazarinsky’s men. A young officer had managed to raise his gun and was about to shoot when a 762 metal jacket scrambled his thoughts, sending a sizable portion of the back of his head crashing against the wall: Yazarinsky’s men had their guns pointed at anything that might move.

Not that anything did, except Yazarinsky’s lips. “Lieutenant-Colonel Orlov,” he hissed, “I arrest you on charges of insubordination and treason.”

Orlov and his junior officers were marched under heavy guard to the airport terminal building, where they were locked into an airport security holding cell. Yazarinsky was now in charge.

Edward was awakened by a gentle tap on his shoulder. Colonel Sokolov, immaculately groomed and dressed in full uniform, was bending over him. Edward sat up. It was cold and every bone in his body hurt. It had been some time since he had slept outside on hard, cold, uneven ground in a thin, smelly sleeping bag. This sort of thing was not meant for human beings beyond a certain age, or even before that. Unless you have company, a sleeping bag is not really meant for sleeping, he thought. “I’ll have a coffee, two eggs over easy,” he said to the surprised Sokolov.

Ignoring him completely, Sokolov said, “I will be leaving in a few minutes.”

Edward got up and rubbed his face. Then he bent down by the creek that passed several feet below where he had slept and washed his face. The icy water shocked him into full awakening. Sokolov, who had followed him, smiled at Edward’s gasps and spluttering and handed him a towel to dry his face.

“I wonder if General Rogov’s face will look like that when he arrives at the Kremlin and finds that his elite troops are elsewhere?”

“Don’t bet on it,” Edward said grimly. “He’ll be heavily armed. He won’t give up without a fight.”

“Good luck,” said Sokolov. “Don’t forget you’re not fighting against the Russians, you’re fighting for them.” They shook hands and said goodbye.

Pulling on his jacket, Edward started getting the men up. Mario, the sergeant, was looking after them like a mother hen. He had already started the coffee. Its aroma cruelly reminded Edward of home. After Natalie, his little place over the bistro seemed awfully lonely.

No one jumped out of his sack ready and eager to go. Edward attributed this to the fact that they were still on New York time. They were being told by their bodies that it was one in the morning, just the hour that most of them were used to hitting the sack.

Grumbling and complaining, they assembled around the small portable gas range, holding the tin cups in both hands to beat the Russian chill. The sergeant broke out some of the food rations they had brought over on the plane. Not much, but enough to get them going.

After breakfast they climbed into the trucks. Now not a word of complaint was heard. They knew that today they had a job to do, and it was a job they took very seriously.