Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) (27 page)

Symmes nodded.

“I’ve arranged for a vehicle to take you guys over to the scene. Remember, no jackets, hats, or anything else that say FBI.”

Symmes shook his head. “So the geniuses can take credit for our work.”

“I don’t really care who gets credit. What I care about is finding out who did this.”

“I care about both. Because we want them to call us first the next time, and they’re more likely to do that when they know that we can help them, and that we will.”

“True enough, but you saw the same messages I did. Washington wants this done quietly. We don’t want whoever is behind this to know we’re even sniffing around.”

“Don’t you think it may be sort of obvious? I mean I’m not exactly five foot six and black like most of the men around here.”

“Nothing we can do about that.”

Symmes stood up. “I’ll be in touch.”

Colonel Zurab Beridze placed the detailed topographical map of the Pankisi gorge on the hood of the Russian-made diesel truck. It had six wheels, two rows of seats in the front—enough for six men—and a large bed with benches in it capable of carrying ten more men in the back. The truck, like the other behind it, was old and worn with visible rust on the sides. The taut canvas top over the bed was equally tired and had innumerable small holes, as if it had been splattered with acid. Beridze motioned for Rat, McSwain, and a Georgian Army captain to look at the map with him. “This is Captain Eldar Kolbaia,” he said, gesturing to a soldier. “He will be in charge of this mission.” Rat nodded at him and the man returned his nod. He was tall and in good shape. Very confident.

Beridze put his hand on the map. “Here it is,” he said in his heavily accented English, pointing to the dirt road that ran around a small mountain and entered the Pankisi gorge. “The only way in from here.”

Rat looked at the map then at the colonel. “How often do you have someone drive through the gorge?”

Beridze thought for a moment as he rubbed his face. “Perhaps once a month.”

“Any problems?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What kind?”

“People shoot at us from the hills; usually a long way off. Not very accurate. Also sometimes groups of people in the camps cross the road at the same time to block the road. Others approach to see who’s inside, probably trying to decide whether to kill us. Or kidnap us,” Beridze said with complete seriousness. “It is very, how do you say, um, tense? Difficult?”

The colonel continued. “So you go into the gorge . . . here. Based on the infrared images from the helicopter last night, most people are here, here, and here,” he said, pointing with his thick finger. “The road is very rough. To get to the last place, and to get out from there you have to climb up a steep hill. Then back here. It is about eight hours.” He looked at his captain. “You have a radio. Call if you need any help, and call from each enclave to report entering and leaving.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Rat asked, surprised.

Beridze shook his head vigorously. “I would not contribute. And a colonel is a much more interesting person to kidnap than a captain.”

“What about kidnapping Americans?”

“Yes. It is a risk. That is why we gave you Georgian uniforms. Don’t speak where anyone can hear you. Does your man have to get out of the vehicle for his machine to work?”

“No.”

“Good. Stay in, stay out of sight.”

The colonel said to the captain, “You had better get going. I don’t want you to be left trying to get out of the gorge at night.”

Rat nodded as he rested his hand on his MP5N, his favorite weapon. He felt for the extra clips in his belt, his grenades, and his .45 caliber handgun, a Para-Ordnance 14.45 LDA. He had even brought his night-vision goggles for good measure. He had heard the colonel’s speech before; he knew after dark the gorge would grow much more dangerous. But he liked to believe that he did too.

The reluctant Georgian soldiers split up and climbed into the trucks. Rat climbed into the middle seat in the front of the first truck, next to the captain and to the right of the Georgian driver. Mark James sat right behind Rat.

Rat glanced at the driver, who seemed extraordinarily young, thin, and small. He did everything tentatively, as if doing it for the first time even if he had just done it thirty seconds before.

The trucks started their noisy engines and rolled away from the colonel. They rumbled up the dirt road to the entrance to the gorge thirty kilometers away.

They drove without incident and started up the hill on the rutted dirt road that would take them down into the gorge. The truck climbed easily but slowly as it rocked back and forth in the ruts. Rat thought of how easy it would be for a sniper to hit the truck if so inclined. A good sniper could take out the engine with one shot from fifteen hundred yards away. The young driver seemed competent, but Rat had no confidence in his instincts if they came under fire. Rat studied the controls to ensure he could drive the truck if it came to that.

Rat had begun to doubt the need for this high-risk foray into the Pankisi gorge, one of the most dangerous places on earth. But he had to find the radioactive cores. It was really just a hunch that they were in the gorge. If the cores weren’t there it would mean they had yet another day’s head start to wherever they were headed.

The two trucks protested and creaked as they made their way over the mountain, finally cresting the top and heading down the steep narrowing road dense with trees and foliage on both sides. The road worsened as the descent grew steeper. The driver forced the manual transmission into its lowest gear, grinding the teeth of the gearing to slow their nearly vertical descent. As they approached the bottom of the hill the road improved and flattened into the valley. The road opened up on both sides and everyone in both trucks visibly relaxed.

Groomer, Robby, and Mark James were in the backseat behind Rat. McSwain sat in the middle of the front seat of the second truck, with a Georgian sergeant to his right and Banger behind him. Captain Kolbaia studied the map as they bounced along the now predictable dirt road and spoke to the driver in Georgian. They rounded a sharp curve, straightened out for a mile, and saw smoke from the settlement. The captain picked up the radio and transmitted to Beridze that they were approaching the first enclave.

Rat watched the trees on either side of them. He began to smell the distinctive scent of rotten food and burnt flesh, probably a goat being cooked over a campfire, or perhaps dog, something Rat hadn’t smelled in quite a while. He thought he saw several men in the woods with rifles pointed at them. His fingers curled around the trigger of his MP5N as they came around a bend and entered the settlement. He noticed the sad, thrown-together housing, mostly lean-tos and tents with an occasional tin shack. Open fires smoldered all around surrounded by general squalor and filth.

Their young driver slowed the truck as they approached numerous pedestrians who regarded them with suspicion and contempt. What Rat saw mostly was unhappiness. The men were surly and well armed. They looked Georgian, or Chechen for the most part, not that he could tell the difference. Rat looked in every direction for signs of Middle Eastern men, or Sudanese. He watched the people crossing the road and saw no one other than what appeared to be Chechen refugees.

The driver slowed as more people crossed the road and were joined by more still. “Here we go,” the captain said with disgust. “It is just to make us stop.”

The driver stopped as the road was completely blocked. Several large men with Russian assault rifles stood in front of the truck, while others moved around the truck. One came to the side where the captain was sitting and spoke to him in Georgian. “What are
you
doing here?” he asked with anger and an implied threat.

“Someone has found the core of a generator. They have taken it away. But it is still full of electricity. If someone opens it, or cracks it, or even drops it in the wrong way, it will electrocute them and anyone else within a fifty-meter radius. We have come to warn them, and get the device back.”

Rat couldn’t understand a word, and knew better than to ask in English what was being said.

“That
is
bad,” the man replied, concerned. “What does this thing look like?”

“It is silver, about this long, and round. It is fairly heavy, maybe ten kilos.”

“We have seen nothing like that. If we had, I would know about it. So you may go back.”

“No, we must warn all the villages. We must tell everyone.”

“Is that why you flew over our homes last night with your helicopters? Waking our children and trying to intimidate us?”

“I know nothing of this. What time did this occur? It might have been yet another incursion into our airspace by the Russians,” the captain replied, hitting the Chechen hot button. These rebel Chechens owed Georgia a debt of gratitude. They could avoid the endless war in Chechnya by hiding—staging, as the Russians asserted—in Georgia, and but for the sovereignty of Georgia, would certainly be pursued into the Pankisi gorge by the Russian Army. The Russians accused the Georgians of protecting the Chechens, of being effectively coconspirators with them. It was the only thing that kept the Chechens, and whoever else was in the gorge, from attacking the Georgians outright and trying to establish complete control over the gorge.

But lately, there had grown a new assertiveness among some in the gorge. They had begun exploring the idea of staying in the gorge permanently, free from the Russian Army, free from the outside world; able to do whatever they wanted. There had been some sniper attacks, denial of access, but thus far, no direct confrontation.

“You find out and tell me. Yes?” the large man said.

“Yes.”

“But tell me this,” the Chechen man insisted. “Why do you think this missing electrical canister would be here?”

The captain tried to think quickly. He hadn’t anticipated the question. “Because we know you don’t have electricity. Maybe someone who knows a lot about generators knew what it was, and wanted to try to use it to set up an electrical generator here.”

“That’s a good idea,” the man said, nodding. “Maybe if we find this thing, that’s what we’ll do instead of telling you about it.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. You may have someone who thinks he’s smart enough to do that, but I promise you, he isn’t. It will kill him and several others. And then who will the people hold responsible? You?”

The Chechen had heard enough. “You need to leave us. We are busy people.”

“Whoever did this killed three Chechen guides. Including one named—he looked at a slip of paper—Nino Jorbenadze. One of the men who took them to the location of this generator.”

“What?” the man asked angrily. “Nino? They killed Nino? You are lying!” he screamed, lowering his rifle.

The captain handed him a photo of Nino lying in the shallow grave with maggots on his face.

The Georgian looked at the photo and threw it back into the truck. “It is fake. One of those digital photograph fakes.”

“No, it isn’t. I saw them myself. They were shot by the men they were guiding. Nino was shot in the chest, the others in the back.”

“It is impossible!”

“A farmer who heard the shooting came as soon as he could, and saw several men retreating. He said the shooters did not look Georgian.” He paused again. “Do you know who Nino was helping?”

The Chechen’s face was dark with fury. “We let certain people in because we share ideology. We have the same goals. But our means are different. And some of them treat their friends just like their enemies when it suits them. We have seen some men deep in the gorge, but they are in many different places. Near the border, elsewhere. I doubt you will see them though, unless you go on foot. They never go near the roads.”

The captain nodded. “Remember what I said.”

He nodded and began to move away, then hesitated. “Wait,” the man said. “This man sitting next to you.”

The captain tried not to show any concern.

“Why is he carrying a fancy machine gun? Why does he not get the Georgian AK-47 like everyone else?”

The captain looked at Rat’s machine pistol for the first time. He didn’t know what to say. “We bought some new equipment to go after the non-Georgians here, like the men who shot Nino. This sergeant is one of the first to get one.”

“And not you?”

“No. I like Russian equipment. I don’t need a fancy German gun.”

“Let me see it,” the man said as others gathered behind him.

“No,” the captain said. He glanced up to see if the road was clear. It wasn’t.

“Yes. You must give me that fancy German gun or you will not pass. It is the toll,” the man said, smiling maliciously.

“No toll. This road belongs to Georgia. The Georgian Army pays no toll to drive on our roads.”

“You do today,” the man said, holding out his hand.

Captain Kolbaia was furious. “Either you move now, get out of the way and stop making ridiculous demands, or I will order my men out of the trucks and force you, even if we have to shoot you to do it.”

“You would never get out of here alive,” the man said, returning his hard gaze.

“Maybe not, but I’d certainly kill you, which would make it worthwhile.”

The man laughed, stepped back, and yelled at the others to clear the path. “We will keep our eyes out for your electricity canister!”

The captain spoke to the driver who jammed the stick shift into first gear and began slowly releasing the clutch. Rat spoke quietly to Mark James in the backseat to turn on his detection instrument. It was the size of a briefcase and was leaning against the door right behind the captain. He would have preferred to use headphones, but was content now to just watch the dials for indication of cesium or strontium. They were detectable in minute amounts with the remarkably sensitive gear James had. If they came within several hundred feet of one of the cores, he would find it. They hadn’t found anything in the flyover the previous night, so James wasn’t optimistic.

The truck crept through the people surrounding it. They all looked toward the leader, the one who wanted Rat’s weapon, who had been talking to the Georgian captain. He was content to let them pass.