December (14 page)

SATURDAY 13 DECEMBER.

By eight o’clock on the following morning, they were all packed and loaded up into the helicopter. Lara was going to fly with them to Halfpenny Green and meet a pilot of Sergey’s there. He would then fly her back to London in the helicopter whilst the others flew straight on to Siberia in the jet. When they landed at Krasnokamensk a contact of Sergey’s was supposed to meet them at the airport. However, Alex still had no idea how reliable that person would be or what sort of reception would await them.

He couldn’t help wondering if they would meet the same fate as the Equatorial Guinea coup attempt, when another former public school, British officer, Simon Mann, had been arrested at Harare airport on his way to war. A thirty-four-year sentence in an African hellhole prison had been his reward.

Alex went back into the medieval hall to check that everything was packed and no incriminating evidence had been left behind; operational security was still very much on his mind.

He stood at the far end of the huge stone-flagged room in his arctic warfare kit: white combat trousers and jacket,
and white webbing, with his bayonet strapped to his shoulder harness.

He took one last look around the room, glancing up at the portraits. The irony of another Devereux going off to war under the eyes of his ancestors did not escape him. He felt the pressure of them looking down on him.

‘Better do a good job, Devereux, or don’t bother coming back here.’

‘Death or glory, Devereux.’

He nodded to them and bent down to haul his rucksack onto his back.

‘Sashenka.’

He turned round. Lara stood at other end of the hall watching, and then walked towards him uncertainly through the streaks of December light coming down from the high windows.

She came up close to him and paused for a moment, looking nervous. ‘Please be careful. I don’t want you to die. I embrace you.’

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her head into his shoulder so that her hair caressed his cheek; she exhaled slowly and he felt her breath on his neck.

She stood back, looking pale and all the more beautiful for it, and holding his arm affectionately. ‘You are brave, going off there to fight: Sergey just talks about things but you are
doing
something. You are a soldier.’

Alex blanched and stood stock-still with his rucksack balanced awkwardly on his shoulder. His head had been full of last-minute checks and plans, with thoughts of the operation, of doing his duty to his ancestors and his country, when she had caught him off guard. He was staggered by such a gorgeous woman being so Russian, so emotionally direct, with him.

He was too flummoxed to think of anything to say so he just nodded gravely.

Lara took his silence as stoic indifference to danger, which prompted her to feel she had to make some gesture to match his bravery. She looked down, trying to think of something to say or do. Faced with the finality of their departure, their last chance of being alone and the fact that Alex might die, she desperately wanted to give him something as a keepsake. She gritted her teeth in frustration, unable to think of anything to give him; she had no jewellery on, nothing. She looked up at him and saw the bayonet on his webbing shoulder strap.

She pointed her finger at him and said sternly, ‘I’m going to give you something now and you’re going to bring it back to me.’

She reached out and yanked the bayonet out of its scabbard.

‘Hey!’ Alex dropped his rucksack in alarm and grabbed her wrist to stop her.

‘No!’ Her eyes flared up at him.

He looked at her and slowly released her hand.

She flicked her hair round over her shoulder and leaned her head over to one side so that it hung down in a cascade like a sheet of white gold. She then stuck the knife into it at the nape of her neck, pinched a thin lock with the other hand and cut it off with a sharp movement of the blade.

She held up the long strand of hair triumphantly; it shone in the winter sunshine. She stuck the bayonet back in his scabbard, then leaned towards him and twisted the hair onto a strap on his webbing over his heart.

Alex could only watch her as she stood back looking at her handiwork with satisfaction and smoothed it flat with one hand.

‘There.’ She tried to regain her composure by adopting a brusque tone. ‘Now that is mine and I want it back.’

She pointed a warning finger at him again and smiled her electric smile. Before he could respond she kissed him slowly on the lips, looked at him meaningfully and then turned and walked away down the long hall.

Alex sat in the front of the helicopter, as Arkady flew it, his head in a daze.

He was aware that he should be fully switched on and anticipating any events that might occur when they arrived at the airport, but he couldn’t get his brain to work. It was like a screw not threaded properly; it just kept turning round and round aimlessly, so he just stared at the white fields and roads coursing past underneath them.

Lara sat with the others in the back of the helicopter. They had both returned to quietly ignoring each other in front of the others.

After half an hour they flew over Halfpenny Green airport: a flat field with the snow-shrouded outlines of a few Cessnas and helicopters parked along the edge of the single runway, a small control tower next to it. It was not a busy place at the best of times on a Saturday morning; with the state of the economy and the weather, it was utterly deserted.

Once they landed, Alex came out of his dream; he had to start responding to events. Two large hangars had recently been built at the end of the runway and Arkady landed next to one. Sergey’s pilot stepped out of it and walked over to the helicopter. The team pulled their ruck
sacks, skis, tents and other gear out of the luggage compartment and then stood around as Lara said a muted goodbye.

‘See you in Moscow.’ She grinned at them all, uncertain if she would.

‘Oh, and, Alexander, one last instruction I remembered on the way here.’ She handed him a folded piece of notepaper that she had scribbled on during their flight. Alex nodded and her eyes met his for the briefest moment before she hurried away and got back into the helicopter. He stuffed the note into the top pocket of his snow smock and then turned to help the others lug the gear through the side door of the hangar.

The gleaming white Gulfstream G550 was parked inside. It was the intercontinental version with twin Rolls-Royce engines mounted either side of the tail plane and a wider wingspan than normal, giving it a range of 7,800 miles. With a normal seating configuration it could take up to nineteen passengers, but Sergey’s version had been modified to include a front kitchen and then a large six-seat cabin with a shower and bedroom in the tail.

Once the gear was stowed onboard, Arkady spoke to the tower, the hangar door motors whirred and the doors rolled back. He powered up and they taxied forward along to the end of the runway. The rest of them settled back into the luxurious white leather chairs.

‘Bit plusher than what we usually go to war in, eh?’ commented Colin, looking round at the oak and gold-trimmed cabin. In Africa they usually travelled strapped into the draughty, noisy cargo bay of an old Antonov AN-12.

Alex grinned and settled back for the flight. He pulled out a wallet full of the maps and plans of the attack that he wanted to look over and consider further. As he sorted
through the papers, he surreptitiously pulled Lara’s note out of his top pocket and flicked it open as discreetly as he could.

The Cyrillic handwriting was bold but flowing:

Alexander, one more thing, as it says in
Dr Zhivago
I hope we can find peace in our lives through ‘human understanding rendered speechless by emotion.’

He folded the note and slipped it back in his pocket.

‘Human understanding rendered speechless by emotion.’ What did she mean by that?

SUNDAY 14 DECEMBER

A thin dawn light shone over the deserted airfield at Krasnokamensk as the Gulfstream broke through the clouds and began its final approach.

Arkady was tired from flying, haggling over weapons, loading them and then flying again for the last twenty-four hours.

‘Krasnokamensk Tower, this is Flight GX 3974, come in,’ he said wearily into his headset.

Alex watched him anxiously from the co-pilot seat. He established contact and identified the purpose of the flight: ‘GeoScan geological research team inbound on orders of Governor Shaposhnikov.’

The name carried weight and had worked so far with the various air-traffic control centres in the six time zones they had travelled across. Sergey and Fyodor Mostovskoy had obviously done their homework: their flight plan and purpose were registered and they were waved through.

A sleepy voice from the tower came back: ‘Krasnokamensk Tower to Flight GX 3974, you are cleared for landing. Winds are light northerly with some snow drifting on runway, so watch it.’

‘Acknowledged.’

Arkady shook his head to clear it and settled down to take them in.

Alex quickly ducked back into the rear cabin.

‘OK, everyone, we’re going in. Weapons ready but keep them out of sight and stay away from the windows until we’ve touched base with our contact.’

Yamba, Colin, Magnus and Pete were all wearing full arctic combat gear, complete now with white body armour under their webbing; they all sat and looked back at him with tense faces. Assault rifles and grenade launchers were checked, put on safety and tucked under seats.

Alex picked up his standard-issue Russian army AN-94, cocked it and propped it next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. He nodded at Arkady and they sped in towards the runway.

Touchdown was nervy because of the light dusting of snow on the tarmac since the gritters had cleared it. Arkady slammed the engines hard into reverse thrust and Alex flinched at the extra noise and vibration.

It died away and they taxied over to the end of the runway, where three large black hangars were. Arkady kept the engines turning over. They were low on fuel but the plan was that if something didn’t look right they would go for a quick take-off and just make it over the border into China, whilst sending out a mayday call saying they had had a navigation failure. They would then have to take their chances with whatever regional airfield they could make it to.

It was far from perfect and Alex just hoped it didn’t come to that. With the amount of weapons and ammunition they now had onboard it would be patently obvious to whoever stopped them that they were up to no good, and with the region’s most famous resident only fifty miles away it would not be hard to work out what they were doing there.

As they taxied past the control tower, Alex glanced carefully out of the window. An MVD border guard officer was surveying them through binoculars as they passed, but Sergey’s Gulfstream was a regular sight at the airport and the flight plan was in order so they didn’t get a closer inspection.

Alex and Arkady breathed out once they passed the tower.

Alex unbuckled and ducked back into the cabin. ‘OK, everyone, spread out around the aircraft. I want a full three-sixty lookout, report any movement. We should have a single person contact—he’s called Bogdan Goncharov.’

The team spread out around the portholes; this was the first concrete test of Sergey’s reliability. Arkady taxied forward and swung the aircraft round at the far end of the runway, positioning them for the quick getaway if needed. Everyone waited, eyes flicking around the limited view from their portholes, fingers on the triggers of their weapons.

After five minutes, Alex called back from the cockpit, ‘Anybody seen anything?’

A series of, ‘No,’ and, ‘No movement,’ came back.

Alex began to get twitchy. Should he call Sergey?

No. There was to be no direct contact. Everything was to be handled through intermediaries until the last possible moment.

Should he get out and have a look around?

He wouldn’t be able to see anything that he couldn’t already, and the sight of a man in combat gear really
would
prompt a delegation from the control tower. As much as he hated inactivity he would just have to sit and wait this one out until something definite happened.

As usual it was Colin who voiced everyone’s thoughts. ‘You don’t think our Russian friend has fooked us over, do you?’

Alex wished he could reply with certainty but the best he could do was, ‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’

The team sat silent and impotent next to the windows, fingers on triggers. No one said anything but they were all thinking the same thing: Have we just walked into a trap?

Pete shouted: ‘Truck approaching from rear, seven o’clock!’

Alex was back there in a flash and they all crowded round the portholes. A large GAZ, six-wheeled truck with huge metal-studded snow tyres was parking up next to the chain-link gate on the airfield perimeter. A man in a heavy blue parka and padded trousers got out of the cab, unlocked the gate, swung it open, drove the truck through and headed towards them.

They watched carefully as the exhausts over the cab belched diesel and the truck picked up speed, swinging across the runway and approaching. Alex couldn’t see what was inside the dark green tarpaulin over the high rear section.

The truck swung round and parked alongside them. The high cab door opened and the man jumped down and ran over, his head covered by his hood. He didn’t look threatening.

‘OK, everyone, stand down. Doesn’t look like the border police. I think this might be Bogdan. I’ll go and see what he wants. Pete and Magnus, stay inside the door and cover me. Slot him if he tries anything funny.’

The other two nodded and followed Alex with their assault rifles ready; he yanked the large door lever open and swung the steps out and down.

After the long, air-conditioned flight, a warm fug had developed inside the aircraft that was very different from conditions outside. As soon as Alex broke the seal on the door, a freezing blast of air at minus thirty-five degrees C rushed into the cabin.

With such a differential, the first breath Alex took felt like a cold razor slash down his throat. Involuntarily he put his hand over his mouth to try to stop the pain and had to struggle to control his breathing.

A thick-set Russian face peered up at him with ice around the rim of his parka hood.

‘You Grekov?’ he asked, with an aggressive upwards flick of the chin. He frowned unsympathetically at Alex’s reaction to the cold.

‘Yes.’ Alex forced the words out: ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Bogdan. You’d better follow me,’ he replied gracelessly. ‘We’re going over there.’ He grunted and jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the hangar. With that he turned round and climbed back into his cab.

Alex nodded his assent, unimpressed by the reception but with no choice but to co-operate. Bogdan seemed to be on their side—why would the MVD border police go through this façade? If they knew about the plot and wanted to get them now they could just have shot the plane full of holes there and then.

He retracted the steps and Arkady wound up the engines and taxied over to the large hangar with Sergey’s mining company logo across the huge sliding doors.

Bogdan stopped alongside it, got out and unlocked a small side entrance. A minute later the doors began to creak open; when the gap was big enough Arkady increased power and eased them through. Once they were inside he shut down the engines and the doors rolled shut behind them.

Bogdan drove over to them on a small, yellow airport tractor and, with Arkady’s help, hooked it up to the front wheel and manoeuvred the plane round to face the doors.

He came back over to Alex and grunted, ‘When we come back here, we might be leaving in a hurry, yes?’

Alex nodded. They certainly would be.

Arkady switched on the fuel pumps, dragged the heavy hose over and with Yamba’s help connected it up to the wing fuel tanks. The huge long-range pods took a long time to fill and again they wanted them to be ready to go straight away when they blasted off on their return leg to Moscow.

As Arkady refuelled, everyone else busied themselves unloading the cargo from the luggage bay under the aircraft. Arkady’s arms dealer had surpassed himself—they had enough munitions to fight a small war. Alex hoped it wouldn’t come to that but he wanted to be prepared if it did.

The heavy weapons were in large crates: four B8V20 rocket pods with 80mm S-8 rockets and an AGS-30 30mm automatic grenade launcher for the helicopter. Others contained 9M133 Kornet anti-tank guided missiles and RPO Shmel launchers and missiles for taking out the watchtowers. There were also boxes of fragmentation, smoke and phosphorous grenades.

The team’s individual AN-94 assault rifles were all fitted with GP-30 underslung grenade launchers. They already had their individual rifles on their backs and magazine bandoliers under their snow smocks, but smaller metal boxes contained thousands of rounds of 5.45mm ammunition as well. Three Kord, 12.7mm heavy machine guns, three PKM 7.62mm general-purpose machine guns with 250 round ammunition boxes and NSPU night sights had also been included, along with command—and squad-level radios.

Pete’s special requests for FIBUA equipment had not been ignored. These included two Benelli M4 Super 90, 12 gauge, semi-automatic combat shotguns for blowing the hinges off doors and general close-quarters fighting. A variety of scopes, laser illuminators, night-vision sights, and flashlights had
been included for fitting onto these and the other individual weapons.

His prize request were mouseholing charges: MTP-2 delayed-action mines used for blowing holes in walls.

‘Doorways—fucking hate ’em,’ he had explained. ‘When you go through you’re on your own, unsupported, silhouetted, enemy knows where you’re gonna come in, easy target—bang. Fucking death funnels. Much better to make your own door and take the bastards by surprise.’

The dinner-plate-sized devices had two kilos of plastic explosive each, and sticky pads that allowed them to adhere to any surface. They were detonated by a simple, red tear-off chemical fuse that could be crimped up to a three-minute delay. Radio detonated versions were also included.

Most of this specialist urban warfare equipment was left onboard the aircraft for use once they got to Moscow.

When the truck was fully loaded, they mounted up and Bogdan got back into the cab. They swung out of the hangar, waited for Arkady to close the doors behind them, and then drove off the airfield to their forward operating base and the next stage of the preparations for the big assault.