Under Fire

33

Spellman froze. Jack stepped to the SUV and crouched beside the tire. Dom, who was standing beside the rear tire, showed Jack a closed fist, then a thumbs-up. With the ARX tucked into his shoulder, he poked his head around the Volvo’s corner post, fired once, then moved forward.

Jack heard the back door’s dead bolt slide back into place. Dom reappeared dragging a body. “We’ve got ourselves another ARX,” he whispered.

“Looks like Seth and these guys share the same armorer,” Jack replied.

“Doesn’t mean anything,” Spellman said from the Volvo’s driver’s seat. “Some of the city garrison troops are getting them from Moscow.”

“Does that mean these are regular Russian Army?” asked Dom.

“Possibly. If so, Volodin might be more committed to keeping Nabiyev in power than we thought.”

“Better find that out,” said Jack. “If the garrison decides to march on your protesters it could be a bloodbath.”

He and Dom frisked the bodies but found nothing.

Spellman hopped down. “Good news, bad news. The bad is there are no keys in the ignition and the hood lock is on remote.”

“Fuckin’ tank,” Dom muttered.

“The good news is I’ve got a VIN. Any bets on who it belongs to?”

“I’m going with President Nabiyev himself,” Jack replied with a smile.

“Always the optimist,” Dom said.

“Let’s get these guys in the back of the Volvo and keep moving. Somebody’s going to notice they’re short four men.”

After Dom jerry-rigged a bar for the garage’s back door, they went out the front and crossed to Building One, cleared its outer walls, then stacked up outside the door. Dom pressed his ear to it for a few moments, then pulled back. He made a quacking-duck gesture with his hand, then held up two fingers and shrugged.

At least two men inside, Jack thought.

Dom gestured again: Bypass and keep moving.

Jack nodded.

Spellman, with his Dragunov slung over his back and his Ruger held at the ready-low position, took point. Jack was in the middle with their spare ARX slung over his shoulder. Dom brought up the rear, turning slow circles and scanning for movement as he walked.

In turn, they cleared the remaining admin buildings. All were empty and appeared to have been unoccupied for years. There was no sign of Pavel Koikov. They paused in the last building to down some water.

“He’s either in that first building or in one of the barracks,” Jack said.

“Unless they’re empty of furniture, clearing them is going to be a nightmare.”

From somewhere outside there came the hiss of radio static.

It stopped.

Dom crept to the tarnished window next to the door and looked out.

“Four more men coming from the direction of the barracks. All have SBRs. Okay, looks like they’re bypassing the garage and heading for Building One. They look relaxed.”

“That won’t last,” said Spellman. “Once they’re inside, somebody’ll do a head count.”

“How many bad guys does that make?” Jack asked. “Four we’ve downed plus at least two in Building One, then these four.”

“Sounds about right,” Dom replied. “That makes eleven, including Koikov. No way they all fit in that Volvo.”

“There’s another vehicle somewhere,” said Spellman.

And as many as six more men, Jack thought.

While they covered him, Spellman climbed the tower.

“In place,” he radioed. “I’ve got decent sight lines except for the alleys between the barracks and behind the last row.”

“Roger,” said Dom.

“Just for clarity’s sake, what say we name them? From right to left, Bravo One, Two, and so on. Objections?”

“None,” Jack replied.

“The guy up here had another ARX. You want it?”

“Keep it,” said Jack. “In case you get rushed.”

“There’s a cheery thought,” Spellman replied. “Okay, I’m set. Move when you want.”

By mutual agreement, Jack and Dom had decided to simply spread apart and walk the remaining hundred yards to the barracks — bodies moving at speed were easier to spot in the darkness.

They had crossed a third of the distance when Spellman called, “Hold.”

In unison, Dom and Jack froze, then slowly crouched.

“Side door opening on Bravo One.”

The man trotted down the barracks’ short steps, then started walking toward the tower.

“Hold…” Spellman whispered to them. “I want to put some distance between him and the barracks.”

“Hold… Firing.”

In mid-stride the man collapsed to his knees, then rolled onto his side, dead.

“You’re clear,” Spellman called.

“I’m going to check him,” Dom said. He trotted over to the man, frisked him, then returned to where Jack was crouching.

“He had Volvo keys,” Dom said.

“We’re moving again, Matt.”

“Roger.”

They reached the first building and went around to the side steps. Dom signaled for Jack to wait, then headed to the barracks’ rear corner. He returned a moment later and whispered, “No sign of a second vehicle. It’s gotta be behind the last row.”

“How’s your Russian?” Jack whispered.

“Nonexistent.”

Jack opened the door a few inches. Aside from the strip of light Jack had just created, the interior was black. A few feet away he saw the outline of a triple-tiered bunk and the corner of a rotting mattress. The air was so pungent it stung his eyes.

Jack put a rasp in his voice and called softly, “Ey, drug!” Hey, friend.

He got no response.

“Matt, we’re entering Bravo Three.”

“Roger. Nothing moving out. There’s music coming from Building One. Sounds like they’re having a party.”

“With vodka, hopefully,” Dom added.

Guided by their penlights, they moved down the barracks’ center aisle, checking bunks as they went until they reached the next door.

“On our way out, moving to Bravo Two,” Jack radioed.

“Hold position,” Spellman replied.

There was thirty seconds of silence.

“Okay, you’re clear to move. I heard a car door open and shut. Sounds like it came from behind Bravo Eight.”

The middle barracks in the back row, Jack thought. “Moving.”

Inside the next building they found a battery-powered lantern glowing beside the last bunk. On the mattress was a sleeping bag, still slightly warm from where Spellman’s last kill had been sleeping.

“Heading to Bravo Four,” Jack radioed.

In turn, they cleared the next three buildings. They had just walked up to the steps outside Bravo Nine when Jack heard a series of rapid clicks over his headset. It was their prearranged warning signal.

Jack whispered, “Movement?”

Spellman replied with a single click: Yes.

“Our end?”

Double click: No.

“Yours?”

There was a pause and then Spellman said, his voice barely a whisper, “Coming up the ladder.”

Jack heard the double pop of a handgun, followed by one more.

“Shit!” Dom growled.

“Go put eyes on the other car,” Jack ordered.

Dom hopped off the steps, sprinted to the corner of the building. After a moment he said, “Nothing.”

“Hold there and keep me posted.”

Jack went left and crossed the entrance of the alley to the front barracks, where he crouched down. He aimed his binoculars at the tower and zoomed in. There was no sign of Spellman.

“Matt,” he called.

No response.

“Give me a click… something if you’re alive.”

Spellman came on the line, breathing heavily. “I’m alive. I got another dead one up here with me. Had to bash the fucker’s head in. You guys okay?”

Before Jack could answer, Dom replied, “Nope. I got movement back here. Three guys coming out of Bravo Six and heading for an SUV, looks like another Volvo. They’re pushing a fourth guy ahead of them. His head’s covered by a blanket. Gotta be Koikov.”

“Do you have a shot on the others?” Jack asked.

He heard the muffled crack of Dom’s ARX. “Got one,” he replied. “The rest are in the vehicle. It’s moving away, coming around the other side of the building.”

Jack radioed Spellman: “Matt, get ready to put some rounds in the engine block.”

“Roger.”

“Dom, come to me.”

“Roger.”

On the other side of the tower, Jack saw a rectangle of light slant across the ground. “Matt, someone’s coming out of Building One,” he called.

“Try to keep ’em off me.”

Jack raised his ARX, looking for a target. He heard the roar of the Volvo’s engine. He glanced right. The SUV came around the corner of the first barracks, its tail end skidding, throwing up an impenetrable cloud of dust.

“I got no shot!” Spellman shouted.

A few seconds later, the Volvo charged from the cloud and accelerated toward the tower. The muzzle of Spellman’s Dragunov flashed once, then again. A pair of holes appeared in the Volvo’s hood and the vehicle began slaloming.

“Adjusting,” said Spellman.

Dom came up behind Jack and together they sprinted after the Volvo.

The Dragunov flashed again. “Hit.”

Steam gushed from the Volvo’s grille, but it kept going, rapidly closing the gap to the tower and leaving Jack and Dom behind, enveloped in swirling dust.

Spellman called again, “Hit.”

Jack heard overlapping gunfire erupt somewhere to their front and knew the men from Building One had opened up.

Spellman shouted, “Shit, shit, I’m taking fire!”

“Drop flat!”

“Fuck that!”

Spellman’s ARX started chittering from the tower.

Jack heard a crash of steel against wood, then a grating shriek.

Spellman shouted over the gunfire, “Bastards just sideswiped my tower. I think they rammed the side of the garage, too.”

Jack and Dom kept running. The dust cloud thinned. Looming before Jack’s face were the tower’s crisscrossed support beams. He dodged left. His shoulder slammed into a stanchion, knocking him sideways. From the corner of his eye he saw three muzzles flashing near Building One. The shots were directed at the tower.

“I’m running out of ammo,” Spellman called.

Dom appeared at Jack’s side and lifted him to his feet.

“Come on, Jack, let’s light these fuckers up.”

Jogging abreast of each other, they opened fire on the group. Jack’s ARX ran dry. He ejected the magazine, inserted a new one, and kept firing until they reached the safety of the next building’s wall.

A man lunged around the corner, his rifle coming up. Jack stepped forward, butt-stroked him across the jaw. As he fell, Jack shot him in the chest.

“Clear!” Dom called from somewhere up ahead. “All down. You good, Jack… Matt?”

Spellman replied, “The Volvo just went through the fence. It’s limping, slowing down.”

Jack and Dom took off running.

The Volvo had covered a couple hundred yards, having nearly reached the boulder pile where Jack and the others had scouted the compound.

“Matt, you have us covered?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, but just with the Dragunov. My ARX is dry.”

Its tires bumping over rocks, the Volvo coasted to a stop. The engine revved, then sputtered and went silent.

Jack and Dom kept running, ARXs tucked into their shoulders.

“We’re wide open out here, Jack. No cover.”

“I know.”

Simultaneously, the Volvo’s front doors burst open. A man hopped out of the passenger side and, hunched over, rounded the door and knelt by the tire. He opened fire.

“Shot,” Spellman called, and the top of the man’s head disintegrated.

Now the driver emerged, but instead of taking cover he charged down the side of the Volvo, firing from the hip. As he passed the rear door it opened. Two men piled out, one in camouflage, the second in civilian clothes.

Koikov.

Spellman shot the man charging Jack and Dom.

At the Volvo, Koikov stumbled, almost pitched forward to the ground, but the second man grabbed him by the collar and jerked him back. He wrapped his arm around Koikov’s neck and jammed the barrel of his pistol behind Koikov’s earlobe.

Shocked, Jack realized he recognized the man holding Koikov. Black hair, long sideburns… This was Captain Salko, Medzhid’s ERF commander.

With his face pressed tight against Koikov’s, Salko began backing toward the front of the SUV.

Spellman called over the headset, “Jack, I’m losing any shot I’ve got…”

“Percentage?”

“Fifty-fifty and dropping fast.”

Salko stepped left, and he and Koikov disappeared around the Volvo’s bumper.

“Shot’s gone, Jack,” Spellman radioed.

“Stay on him. I’ll see if I can get you an angle.”

Jack released his grip on the ARX and let it dangle across his chest. He called, “Salko! Captain Salko, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you.”

Jack started walking forward.

Dom warned over the headset, “Jack…”

“Find a spot. If Matt doesn’t have a clear line, take your best shot.”

A wounded Pavel Koikov is better than no Koikov at all, he thought.

“Salko, I’m coming around the right side of the vehicle,” Jack called. “My weapon’s down.”

Jack didn’t wait for a response, but kept walking. Hands raised, he passed down the Volvo’s right side. When Salko and Koikov came into view, Jack stopped so that the SUV’s hood was between himself and Salko.

Pavel Koikov’s lip trembled and his eyes darted back and forth from Salko’s gun hand to Jack’s face. Jack ignored him and focused on Salko, whose own face was bathed in sweat, the muscles of his jaw pulsing.

“This is going to break Medzhid’s heart,” Jack said with a chuckle he hoped didn’t sound as forced as it felt. “You’re the best politsiya he has.”

“What he’s planning is treason,” said Salko.

Jack had myriad questions he wanted to ask the man, the foremost of which was: Who ordered you to do this? But Salko wouldn’t answer, and the longer this standoff went on, the greater the chance that he’d simply kill Koikov.

“Maybe so,” Jack replied, “but what you’re doing won’t make any difference.”

“What do you mean?”

Before Jack could answer, Dom’s whispered voice came over Jack’s headset: “I’m almost in place. Ten more seconds.”

Jack said, “They didn’t tell you? Medzhid found another witness to Almak, a private named Shimko. He’s probably in the capital by now.”

“There was no one else at Almak. Just this one.”

“No, they missed Shimko. He’s alive. The man you’ve got here is useless now. You might as well let him go.”

In his ear, Jack heard Dom whisper, “Say when.”

Salko said, “I want to call—”

“Go,” Jack said.

Lying on his belly beneath the Volvo’s rear bumper, Dom took the only shot he had. The ARX’s bullet slammed into Salko’s right ankle, propelling the leg backward as though it had been jerked hard by a rope. As Salko pitched forward his weight shifted onto Koikov, who crumpled, his neck still clenched in the crook of Salko’s forearm.

Salko’s face slammed into the ground. Jack, his ARX already up and tucked into his shoulder, ran around the Volvo’s bumper. Salko lifted his head, his eyes glassy, and saw Jack approaching. He tried to raise his pistol. Jack kicked it away.

Dom jogged up. He stared down at Salko, then said, “Well, what do you know? We got a live one.”

Medzhid was waiting by the Tortoreto’s private elevators when Seth steered the Suburban into the parking spot and shut off the engine. As Matt Spellman climbed out, Medzhid walked up with Anton a few paces behind. “Where is he?”

Which one? Jack thought. He hadn’t told Medzhid about Captain Salko.

Jack reached back into the rear passenger seat and helped Pavel Koikov down. When he saw Medzhid, the old sergeant stiffened as though trying to come to attention. “Mr. Minister.”

Medzhid cupped Koikov’s face in his hands. “Stop with that, Pavel.” He wrapped Koikov in a hug. “I am sorry this happened to you. Are you injured?”

“No, just tired. And hungry.”

“I can remedy both those things. Here, go with Anton and Seth. They’ll get you settled upstairs.” When the elevator doors closed behind the trio, Medzhid turned to Jack and Spellman and shook their hands. “Well done.”

“You need to see something,” Jack said.

He led Medzhid to the back of the Suburban and opened the gate. Captain Salko lay on his side in the SUV’s cramped cargo well, his wrists and ankles bound and his mouth covered with a strip of silver duct tape.

When he saw Medzhid he started mumbling through the tape, his eyes angry.

“What is this?” Medzhid asked. “Why is he—”

“He was holding Koikov — with a gun to his head.”

“That cannot be.”

“It is,” Spellman replied. “He thinks you’re a traitor.”

Medzhid stared at Salko for a few seconds, then leaned down and spat in his face. “I’m done looking at him.”

Spellman shut the tailgate.

“I’ll send Vasim down to take him away,” said Medzhid.

“We’ve got a better idea,” Jack said. “Aside from the five of us, nobody knows we have him. Let’s keep it that way. For now, stash him someplace nobody will look.”

If they didn’t already, the opposition would soon know what had happened at Bamlag. Their lever was gone, along with their mole inside the ERF, a man Jack feared might have been a cancer. According to Seth, the ERF fielded four platoons of twenty-eight men each, along with armored personnel carriers and heavy weapons. It was the closest thing the MOI had to Special Forces. Medzhid needed to know if he could count on them.

“I’d start taking a hard look at your people, Rebaz. Did Salko know about the coup?”

“Not from me.”

“Whoever told him to take Koikov does, and we should assume Salko told others in the ERF,” said Spellman.

Jack said, “We’ve got some pictures for you to look at later — the other men at Bamlag — and a couple VINs for you to check.”

Before they’d left the camp they’d jotted down the VIN of the second Volvo, then searched Building One and the remaining barracks, but came up with nothing save the cell phone in Salko’s pocket and a collection of Beretta ARXs.

“Let’s hope Captain Salko was an aberration. In the meantime, I have a safe house that will suit him.”

“Call ahead and tell them we’re coming,” said Jack. “And, Rebaz, resist the impulse to pay Salko a personal visit, okay?”

Medzhid’s expression turned hard. “Jack, since we don’t know one another very well, I’ll forgive you that comment. But only once. The last four men who held this job had no qualms about torture. I am not them. Captain Salko will be tried, and if he is found guilty he will be imprisoned. Do we understand one another?”

“We do.”