PRIMAL Unleashed (2) (36 page)

“The guards are in this building here”, he explained, using a long stick to point to a small square of wood representing the hut at the main entrance to the base. “They have already started drinking and are likely to be drunk by the time you arrive.”

“How do you know they’ll be drunk?”

“Because I bought them five bottles of vodka. I told them my son wanted to ride in a tank and that I’d be there tomorrow with him,” he stated, matter of fact. “Trust me. They’re soldiers, they’ll be drunk.” He focused attention back to the model. ”The vehicles are in these sheds here. You’ll need to cut the locks on the hatches and you can refuel them here at the diesel point. Once you’ve loaded the ammunition, you should be ready for action.”

“Sounds workable,” Bishop said. “Are there any other soldiers on the base?”

“No. The base doesn’t house troops, just the guard force. A team of civilian mechanics are employed to keep the vehicles serviceable, but they won’t be there at night,” Ivan added, pulling a small notebook from his pocket. He flicked through the pages to confirm his numbers. “There are five guards on duty tonight with two dogs in the compound.”

Bishop frowned. “Damn, I hate killing dogs.”

“You can probably stun them with tasers. Your choice, Mr Fischer.” Ivan pointed at another part of the model where he had used colored wool to create a map of the wider Odessa area. “We’re currently located here at the farm; the military depot is seventeen kilometers away.” He pointed with his stick. “Odessa airport is another fifteen kilometers down this highway. There are two GPS units in the GAZ with all the waypoints pre-programmed. I’ll lead you as far as the military base, but from there I’ll have to drive on to the airport to deal with the power supply.”

“We’ll have you on the satellite comms?” Bishop asked.

“Of course. I‘ll give you regular situation updates on the airport.”

“Sounds good. My people in the Bunker are also monitoring the aircraft’s approach, but it’ll be good to have eyes on. So once we have the vehicles, how long will it take us to reach the airport?”

“At sixty kilometers an hour, it takes twenty minutes to drive from the military base to the airport.”

“Sounds about right. Hmmm, timing’s going to be tricky here. Can’t get there early but we need to catch them on the ground before they can transfer the cargo. Who knows where they’ll take it,” Bishop thought out loud. “What about Dostiger, where’s he going to be when this is all going down?”

“At a guess, in whatever facility he bases his Odessa operations. Chua wanted me to focus on the weapon, not Dostiger.”

“Yes, of course.”

Ivan checked his watch, then looked back up at Bishop. “Alright, Mr Fischer, there's really not much time. You need to move in fifteen minutes.”

“OK, let me brief the lads and we’ll roll.”

The team gathered around the model of the military base and the rough map of Odessa. Bishop quickly briefed them on the overall plan, updating the orders he had already delivered on the aircraft. The team listened intently, their faces serious, ready for battle. They were back in their armored vests, MP7s in hand and combat helmets at their feet. Bishop smiled as he saw Saneh looking like any other member of the FIST, clad in a spare set of body armor, holding a submachine gun in one hand and a bug-eyed combat helmet in the other.

Everyone looked calm and prepared, ready to undertake one of the most daring assaults since the
Israelis at Entebbe airport in 1976
. Funnily enough, thought Bishop, this plan is similar; the odds are a little worse, but it’s the same basic concept. Get in hard, kill the bad guys, grab the loot and get the fuck out. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter 61

Odessa International Airport

Dostiger’s Chief of Security was quietly confident. The airport was crawling with close to a hundred men dedicated to protecting the incoming cargo. Over fifty were Dostiger’s henchmen, supported by ten airport security police and a platoon of the elite Alfa troops from the SBU, the Ukrainian Security Service. The highly trained Alfa troops were Yuri’s quick reaction force, a heavily armed SWAT team prepared to react to any contingency.

From his vantage point in the airport control tower, Yuri had a commanding view of the entire airfield. The 2.4 kilometer runway ran north-south, with the airport terminal and tower located a third of the way down its length on the eastern side. A three hundred meter grass emergency runoff separated the tarmac from the razor-wire fence and the meter wide anti-vehicle ditch surrounding the airfield. Brilliant white security lighting illuminated every square inch of the perimeter, casting long shadows behind the men patrolling the boundary.

Yuri had thoroughly assessed the security and was certain there was nowhere a small team of Mossad agents could infiltrate unobserved. He had positioned men in armored four-wheel drives at both ends of the runway with additional teams roving the perimeter fence with dogs. The security teams had been patrolling since midday and had reported no sign of surveillance or attempted entry.

Inside the terminal the regular airport police were supplemented by more of Dostiger’s men in plain clothes, carrying submachine guns under their bulky jackets and alert for any suspicious activity. The Alfa assault team was parked outside in black vans, on standby should anything unexpected occur.

The Alfa commander never left Yuri’s side, the loyalty of his team paid for in cash. The Chief of Security smiled as he looked across at the Alfa sniper team positioned on the walkway of the control tower. He could barely see them, their black jumpsuits and balaclavas blending into the night. Lying behind their Blazer sniper rifles, he knew the marksmen could put a bullet through a man anywhere on the airfield. He was confident no one would dare attack them with this many men.
He took a swig from his thermos of hot coffee.

The air traffic controller addressed him. “Excuse me, sir, the flight has entered Ukrainian airspace. We’ll have them on the ground in sixty minutes.”

“Excellent. Warn me when they’re beginning their approach.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yuri pulled his mobile from the pocket of his heavy, full-length jacket. He flipped it open, hitting the speed-dial button. Dostiger picked up after only two rings, anticipating the update.

“Yuri, what is happening?”

“It’s all going to plan; no sign of our Mossad friends,” the security chief replied.

“Stay alert, Yuri. I’m sure they are watching.” Dostiger was paranoid since the assault on his nightclub. “Do you have enough men?”

“Yes, I have nearly a hundred. The Alfa team has been fully briefed on their security and escort duties. Once the chemical is delivered, they’ll assist in moving it to the facility.”

“Good, good, but stay alert. I know those Jews will make an attempt to steal the package. Mossad will do anything to stop us.”

“We’re ready for them. Let them come.”

“Call me when the cargo is on the ground.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dostiger ended the call and Yuri placed the phone back in his pocket. He pulled a black radio from his belt. “All call signs, this is Command: radio check, over.”

Each of the team commanders radioed in with nothing to report. Everything was running smoothly and within an hour the cargo would be secure at the facility. There Yuri had camouflaged bunkers, motion sensors and a small army of veteran Chechen mercenaries, not to mention a company of Ukrainian mechanized infantry on two hours notice to respond. Yes, Dostiger’s money and influence had ensured the best security available and the Chief of Security was confident that not even Mossad could threaten them.

Chapter 62

BTR-94 Armored Personnel Carrier

17th Mechanized Brigade Motor Pool

The vehicle compound was a basic two hundred by three hundred meter block, surrounded by a high metal fence topped with razor wire. The only way in and out was through a checkpoint complete with boom gate and guard box. A small security detail was stationed in the adjacent guard hut, the soldiers taking turns to rotate through the mundane gate duty.

Less than a hundred feet from the compound entrance, down an embankment by the side of the road, the PRIMAL team crouched in a mud-filled drain. Bishop lay at the road’s edge, watching the guard box. Through the night vision goggles built into his helmet, the soldier on gate duty appeared in glowing red and yellow, standing out clearly against the green and black background.

The guard paced back and forth, smoking a cigarette, unaware he was being watched. He stubbed out the butt with his boot and walked back into the warmth of the guardhouse to join his comrades. Occasionally Bishop would catch a glimpse of the men as they passed by the windows inside the small hut. It appeared as if there was some sort of party going on; he could hear men singing at the top of their lungs. Typical bloody soldiers, he thought.

“He’s right, you know. They’re all drunk. Every one of them,” Bishop whispered over the radio to his team.

“Do you see the dogs?” asked Kurtz.

“Negative, we’ll tackle them if they appear. Saneh, are you ready?”

“Ready,” she replied from behind the wheel of the utility van.

“OK, no change to the plan. On my mark.”

The team moved in behind him, crouched ready for action.

“Go, go, go!”

The team moved swiftly, weapons up as they silently approached the guard shack. They lined up beside the front door, opened it with a gentle push and rushed in.

The singing died off immediately as the team fanned out into the room, submachine guns at the ready. All five guards were there, sitting around a large wooden table strewn with bottles of vodka, empty glasses and standard-issue AK-74 rifles. The wide-eyed Ukrainian soldiers were young, inexperienced and unprepared for the sight that faced them.

The bug-eyed reflective lenses of their full-faced helmets made the PRIMAL team look like aliens from a Hollywood movie. They made no sound except for the faint hissing coming through the respirators as they breathed through the vents built into either side of the helmets. The drunken soldiers all froze in terror.

One of the guards lurched forward in his seat, reaching for his AK-74. Before he could touch the weapon, Kurtz shot him in the chest with the taser attached to his MP7. The convulsing body slid off the table and on to the floor, twitching in a spreading pool of urine. It was enough to dissuade any further attempts at resistance.

Bishop identified the senior rank amongst the men, grabbed him by the throat and dragged the terrified soldier into the corner. Aleks and Kurtz bound the rest of the guards as Bishop questioned their leader, pinning him up against the wall. The presence of the faceless assailants was proving to be a very sobering experience for the young man.

“Where are the dogs?” Bishop’s voice was harsh and metallic through the helmet’s vents.

The man began babbling in Ukrainian.

“Where are the dogs? The woof woofs.” The PRIMAL operative used his gloved hand to make a shape like a dog barking.

The man looked at him blankly.

“Fuck it!” he said, throwing the Ukrainian to the side, sending him sprawling across the floor. “Put him with the rest.”

Aleks grabbed the man by his collar, cuffed his hands behind his back and pushed him into the next room with the other guards. Pavel and Miklos were clearing the remaining rooms and the outside of the building.

“We found the dogs, boss. They’re in cages out back,” one of them transmitted.

“Good work. Keep clear of them. I don’t want to shoot them,” Bishop ordered. He keyed another button on his radio, transmitting to Saneh in the van. “Entry point secure.”

Saneh answered his call. “I’m moving now.”

The old Russian van drove out of the darkness, straight through the entrance as Kurtz activated the boom gate. The team piled in and Saneh sped through the camp towards the vehicle bays.

Near the rear fence of the compound, lined up under security lighting, were twelve
BTR-94s
; enough armored vehicles to move a hundred men. The BTR-94 was a Ukrainian modification of a Russian armored personnel carrier. A little longer than a mini-bus, the eight-wheeled BTR had a crew of three and could carry up to eight fully equipped soldiers inside it’s armored hull. Its armament included a remote weapons turret that housed twin 23mm auto-cannons and a 7.62mm machine gun.

Aleks was first out of the van as it pulled alongside the line of BTRs. He had always thought the big vehicles looked like bugs. Riding on their fat off-road tires, bristling with weapons and antennae, they resembled giant, death-wielding cockroaches.

The former Eastern Bloc members of the FIST took charge in preparing two of the vehicles, with both Aleks and Miklos using their prior military experience. They would drive the armored personnel carriers during the assault.