Under Fire

43

At dusk, dark swollen clouds had begun to roll over the city, and now, as Jack and the others pulled out of the Interior Ministry parking lot, the rain was starting to fall.

Following Ysabel’s directions Jack took the coast road south, then followed the Yargog-M29 highway as it looped out of the city and into a narrow valley tucked against the reverse slope of the Tarki-Tau hills. After two river crossings they pulled into Agachaul. Save a few lighted windows off the main road, the village was dark.

“Seems like an unlikely place for a logistics center,” Ysabel said.

“According to Seth, the Parsabad — Artezian project ran on a shoestring budget for a while. I’m sure land was cheaper outside Makhachkala.”

Behind them, the headlights of Seth’s Suburban blinked. Jack pulled onto the shoulder, then rolled down his window as Seth pulled alongside.

“I’ll take us in from here,” Seth called through his window. “The warehouse is on the northern edge of the town on the left side. Let’s switch to headsets.”

Seth pulled away and Jack fell in behind him.

A few minutes later they passed the warehouse. There was no mistaking it, two aircraft hangar — sized structures fronted by rolling garage doors and separated by a smaller, tin-roofed breezeway. Like Agachaul itself, the complex was dark.

“Is this place still in use?” Jack asked Ysabel. “I don’t see any vehicles in the parking lot.”

“The website didn’t say. It sure doesn’t look active, does it?”

Seth called over the headset, “We’re going to pull in, Jack. Drive past me, then pull over up ahead and wait.”

“Roger.”

Seth slowed the Suburban, doused the headlights, then turned off the road and pulled up to the gate. He leaned from his window and punched the keypad box. The gate started rolling open.

“Still gainfully employed, I guess,” Seth called. “Sit tight. We’ll take a spin around the lot and see if we draw any attention.”

Jack and Ysabel watched as the Suburban disappeared around the side of the southernmost warehouse. When it emerged around the opposite end, Seth said, “We’re good, Jack. Nothing’s moving. The keypad code is 77426.”

Jack did a U-turn, pulled up to the gate, typed in the code, then drove to where Seth was parked before the breezeway entrance, a double-doored glass alcove.

Jack and Ysabel got out and joined the others at the back of Seth’s Suburban. Dom handed out the Ruger pistols, then the ARXs. Jack gave Ysabel a quick run through the assault rifle’s operation. He hoped none of them had cause to use the weapons. If the Krasukhas were inside, their security teams probably wouldn’t be far away. Fifty against five was impossible odds.

“What’s the plan, Seth?” asked Dom.

“Jack’s call,” replied Seth. “The only thing I know about the place is the entry code.”

Jack mentally flipped a coin and decided on the simple approach. He walked to the front door and waited while Seth punched his code into the keypad. With a soft buzz the lock disengaged. With Jack and Dom in the lead, the group stepped through and into a wide concrete corridor lit only by the light coming through the doors and from a humming soda machine standing beside a potted fake palm.

Four office doors, two on each side, lined the corridor. At the halfway point a pair of hallways branched off, one leading to the south warehouse, the other to the north warehouse.

Jack pointed left. Dom led them down the hallway to a steel door. He tried the knob, then gave them a thumbs-up. He opened the door a crack; through it Jack saw darkness. Jack nodded and Dom went through, followed by the others with Jack bringing up the rear.

Sitting in the middle of the hangar in a staggered line abreast were four Krasukhas painted in a dark green forest camouflage pattern. Clark hadn’t been kidding. These were beasts, impossible to mistake for anything but high-tech military vehicles. The flanks were lined with square and rectangular pods Jack assumed were part of the onboard EW suite. Folded snugly against the top was a ten-foot-wide parabolic energy director. At the back of each vehicle was what looked like a drawbridge-style ramp. Folded lengthwise along the length of each Krasukha was a heavy green canvas tarpaulin with fixed ratchet straps; while these wouldn’t disguise the Krasukha under close scrutiny, in passing they might be mistaken for standard semi-trailer trucks.

Spellman said, “Nicely done, Ysabel. You found the needle in the haystack.”

“Thank you.”

Jack gestured to the others and made a twirling motion with his index finger. They split up, made a circuit of the interior, then regrouped. “All clear,” Dom whispered.

Jack stared at the Krasukhas. Part of him hadn’t expected to find them here. Now that they had, he wasn’t sure of their next move. They had no way of destroying the Krasukhas, or even disabling them; the exteriors were armored, as were the tires and probably any vital system. They were built for the battlefield.

Jack felt powerless.

“What now?” Seth asked. “Pop the tires, put sugar in the gas tanks, call Daddy Volodin and tell him the kids are off joyriding again?”

Dom laughed softly. “Fuckin’ hell, Seth.”

Jack walked to the nearest Krasukha, stepped onto the running board, and tried the door. It was open. He leaned in, then hopped back down. “No keys.”

“Something like that you’d expect to at least have push-button ignition,” muttered Seth.

“You’re on fire tonight, man. Jack, what’re you thinking?”

Behind them came the clicking of boots on concrete. A male voice started humming.

“Cover,” Jack whispered.

They moved to the wall and stacked up on the hinge side of the door. Jack drew his Ruger. The footsteps stopped. They heard the tinkling of coins followed by the thunk of a soda can tumbling down the machine’s chute. A few seconds later a door banged shut.

“One road,” Ysabel whispered. “There’s only one way up to the ridge.”

“She’s right,” Spellman said. “We shut that down, we shut them down.”

Nothing short of cratering the road would do that, Jack knew, but every minute they could delay the Krasukhas was another minute Seth’s hubs could be broadcasting.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jack said.

He led them back through the main corridor and out the main doors to the Suburbans. A half-mile down the highway, he pulled over. He and Ysabel walked back to the other Suburban.

“Seth, when do things kick off?”

He checked his watch. “Six hours. Our first e-mail/text blast goes out at eight. The first wave of protesters should be at their rally points by nine.”

If Seth’s previous estimates were correct or even close, Makhachkala’s streets would go from crowded to standing room only, especially outside the government buildings and President Nabiyev’s private residence. Nabiyev would immediately order the ISPs shut down. And in response, Seth would order their satellite Internet hubs powered up. None of this would come as a surprise to Wellesley; he and Pechkin had had a year or more to hone their counter-coup plan.

These Krasukhas would need to be in place on the ridge and operational before dawn.

“Dom, you’re with me. Grab everything. Seth: You, Matt, and Ysabel go back to the city. Convince Medzhid to send us some of his ERF troops — threaten him, bribe him, whatever it takes.”

Ysabel said, “Jack, I thought we agreed we were never having this conversation again.”

“It’s not a conversation, Ysabel.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He’d half hoped she would go along with his request. He didn’t know how to answer her question. Why was he doing this? It certainly wasn’t because he couldn’t count on her, or that she hadn’t earned her place on their thrown-together team. He could, and she had. That one obvious reason for his decision: He didn’t want her to get hurt; the thought left a hollow feeling in his belly. He didn’t want Dom to get hurt, either, or Matt, or Seth, but that was different, wasn’t it? He knew why that was, of course, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. He couldn’t think about that right now.

“Matt, drag her if you have to.”

“You got it.”

“Jack, please, don’t—”

Jack turned around and walked back to his Suburban.