Private Beijing

Chapter 96

I had no doubt the booming voice over the speaker was Valery Alekseyev’s. I glanced at Feo, who was badly injured. His face was ashen and he was bleeding heavily from the arm. He gave me a look of defiance and clasped his rifle in his good hand. Anna was in a bad way also. Dinara tightened the tourniquet and gave me a concerned look. We weren’t much of a fighting force anymore, and I knew if Alekseyev’s men got in here it would be a slaughter.

I glanced around the operations room. Eight workstations and comms gear had been placed on top of the old legacy computer terminals, which had been built into concrete consoles approximately three feet high and two wide. They were arranged in two rows down the center of the room.

“Move,” I told Feo. “Behind the terminals.”

I ran over to Anna and helped Dinara drag her behind the nearest concrete console. Dinara and I dropped behind the ones to either side as the first of Alekseyev’s men peered through the doorway.

There were two of them and they were clad in grey-and-black camo gear, ski masks, and each carried a ShAK-12 assault rifle. I glanced around to see Feo had made it behind the console furthest from me.

What I was about to do was foolhardy, and if the concrete didn’t hold, it would be suicidal. We each had a console in front of us and another behind. I prayed they’d hold as I took two grenades from my belt, released the spoons, and held them for two seconds to give our assailants minimum reaction time. The two seconds seemed like a decade.

I threw the grenades at the doorway and ducked as I heard Alekseyev’s men cry out in Russian. I covered my ears as a loud blast shook the building and a fireball engulfed the corridor and spilled into the room. The shockwave hit the consoles and chunks of concrete were blown off them. Parts of the ceiling started coming down as the fireball licked over the top of our shields.

I thought the fire would consume us, but the flames receded and I checked on Dinara, Feo, and Anna. They all looked dazed and were covered in dust and chunks of concrete, but they were alive and that’s what mattered.

“I’m going for West,” I told Dinara. “Look after these two. Get them out of here and to a hospital.”

She nodded. As I was about to leave she took hold of my arm. “Thank you for coming for us, Jack.”

I got to my feet and went to the doorway. The smell of scorched flesh, burnt hair, and smoke filled the air. I lowered my scope to my eye and the darkness immediately came alive in shades of green. I saw four bodies near the door, all badly disfigured by the blast, none showing any signs of life.

I hurried left along the corridor past the old bunk rooms where the children who had been part of the Bright Star program used to sleep.

I reached a dogleg and went left again until I came to one of the old classrooms where the children had been taught. I peered round the doorway and lifted my scope as I saw the room was lit by a field light connected to a mobile generator.

Part of the roof was missing, but the remains of the desk and the chair on which Maxim Yenen had sat as I’d interrogated him were still there.

At the far end of the room, seated in a leather armchair, was Valery Alekseyev. Marlon West had been hogtied and laid on the floor to Alekseyev’s right. Two masked men in night camo held West. One was crouching, holding the point of a large combat knife to the prisoner’s neck. The other was standing. He kept the muzzle of his ShAK-12 aimed at West’s head.

He had been badly beaten and his face was covered in blood. There was more blood around the wound in his shoulder, but his eyes blazed defiance.

“Kill them, Jack,” he yelled, before the man with the knife punched him.

“Mr. Morgan isn’t here to kill us,” Alekseyev said in flawless English. “He’s here to die.”