The Kremlin Phoenix (27 page)

“Not just him,” Craig said
digging the 388
^th
TFW pin out of his pocket. “Whoever wore these flew
in Vietnam,” he said, certain no pilots had been lost in Iraq, and World War
Two was too long ago. “A lot of pilots went missing in that war.”

“It was the peak of the Cold War.
A lot of strange things happened back then.” She turned to the final page. Slowly
her cheeks flushed as she read a seemingly unimportant order transferring
custodial authority to an innocuously sounding organization guarding the
darkest secret of a dead empire. “He was transferred to something called the Supernumerary
Management Bureau.”

“He’s alive?” Craig asked incredulously.

Valentina read the deceptively
bland document with growing excitement. “I know where he is!” Valentina leaned
forward and spoke to the driver in Russian. “We want to go to Zamok Branka.”

“Never heard of it,” the poster
man replied. They now knew his name was Sergeant Siyansky, a stocky technician
from the air base outside Krasnoyarsk. He and his companion, Corporal Yashin,
had been ordered by the local air commander to put up posters at small towns
and cities north of the regional capital to foment resistance against the coup.

“I have,” Yashin said. He was
lanky compared to his tough little companion, and spoke with the slow drawl
typical of one from the far eastern parts of Russia. “It’s about fifty
kilometers east of here, on the Angara River.”

“Can you take us there?”

Yashin shook his head. “No, it’s
a restricted zone.”

“Why?” Valentina asked.

“I’m a corporal from Primorky
Krai,” Yashin said. “How would I know?”

They were cruising along in light
traffic, keeping mobile while the two air force mechanics considered what to do
with their three passengers.

“It’s important,” Valentina said.

“So is my dinner,” Yashin said,
thinking it was time to return to their base.

“This is for Prime Minister Gundarovsky.”

Siyansky snorted. “Gundarovsky?
In Moscow? As if he cares what happens out here in the middle of Siberia! We
only do this because the Base Commander ordered us to. We don’t care about
Gundarovsky. Argh! Politics is trouble.”

Craig couldn’t follow the
exchange in Russian, but he saw Valentina’s frustration was rising. “No luck?”

“No.”

“Is there someone higher up who
can order them to help us?”

Valentina turned back to Siyansky.
“If Marshal Vochenko knew we were here, he would order you to help us.”

Siyansky laughed. “Of course he
would, a Marshal of the Air Force!”

“Ask him!” Valentina said with a
tone that unnerved the pugnacious Siyansky.

“You want me, a sergeant, to ask
Marshal Vochenko for orders?” Siyansky asked incredulously. “He would not even
speak to me!”

“Vochenko is helping the Prime
Minister, so he will order you to help us. If you doubt me, call your Commander
and ask him to ask for instructions. I will tell you what to say!”

When Siyansky realized she was
serious, he pulled out his cell phone. “OK. I, the great and important Sergeant
Siyansky will call Marshall Vochenko of the Russian Air Force and we will have
a conversation.” Siyansky gave her an amused look as he dialed his base
commander. “What will I say?”

* * * *

Sergeant Siyansky stopped for food and
fuel while they waited for instructions from their commander. Fenenko ate
quickly, then excused himself to buy cigarettes. Once out of sight, he slid the
speaker into his ears and spoke into the microphone.

“Fenenko here” he whispered. “Are
you listening?”

Chernykh replied immediately.
“Yes. One moment.”

There was a brief pause, then Nogorev’s
voice sounded in Fenenko’s ear. “Where are you?”

“On the southern side of the
city.”

“Bring them in now!”

“I can’t. I don’t have my weapon
and there are now two air force men helping them. I’m outnumbered four to one.”

“Four to one? Where’s Tupitsyn?”

“Dead. He was going to kill
Balard. I had to shoot him to keep Balard alive. I had no choice.”

There was a pause then Nogorev
said, “You did right. Keep him alive at any cost – for now.”

Fenenko breathed a silent sigh of
relief. It had been a split second decision, and he’d hoped he’d guessed
correctly. He glanced through several stacks of shelves to where Valentina and
Craig were finishing their meals. “We’re going to a place called Zamok Branka.”
Fenenko knew Zamok meant castle, but he’d never heard of a castle by that name.
“Do you know it?”

“No, but I will find it.”

“Fenenko out,” he said, then
switched off the radio.

At the table, Siyansky’s phone
rang as he finished his meal. He listened briefly as his base commander told
him Marshal Vochenko had ordered him to provide all possible assistance to the
SK investigator. When the call ended, Siyansky looked genuinely impressed. “Hmph!
Twenty years in the service, and I have never been given a direct order from a
Marshal of the Air Force – until today!” He handed Valentina her gun. “Should
I call you sir, or ma’am?” he asked with a grin.

Corporal Yashin drove them along a
dirt road through dense forest to a small parking area below the crest of a
hill overlooking the Angara River. Several years ago, Yashin had driven a lorry
to the parking area, delivered satellite receiving equipment to plain clothed
men, who transported it over the hill to the facility beyond. Yashin had not
been allowed beyond the parking area, and never saw the facility down by the
river.

Beyond the small parking space was
a sign warning they were entering a restricted area, and proceeding beyond that
point would result in the most severe penalty. They drove past the sign, over
the crest of the ridge and parked by the side of the dirt road. On the flood
plain below, a small cluster of buildings lay far enough back in the forest
that they couldn’t be seen from the river. The facility had a drab alpine
appearance, with high roofed buildings and stone walls punctuated by large
picture windows. In front of the buildings were two tennis courts and a glass
walled structure housing a heated pool and a gymnasium, all encircled by
landscaped gardens.

“A gilded cage?” Craig said,
surprised by its pleasant appearance. It was clearly more comfortable than Camp
497.

Siyansky handed Craig his
binoculars without a word. On closer inspection, Craig discovered a single,
chain link fence completely enclosing the grounds near the tree line. Flood
lights were mounted at regular intervals along the inner perimeter fence,
illuminating the outer grounds at night. Outside the fence, several pairs of guards
patrolled the tree line casually, smoking and chatting. If not for their
weapons, they might have been gardeners, rather than guards.

Close to the main building, a handful
of old men sat reading newspapers and books or just dozing in the cool summer
sun. They were attended by a few white coated orderlies who appeared to be more
like nurses than guards. On one tennis court, two old men feebly stroked a
ball, while the pool’s glassy surfaced indicated it was unused.

Craig wondered which of the old
men was his father, then realized whoever those men were, they were someone’s
father, husband or brother. “Ask Siyansky how much help we can expect from the
air force.”

Valentina translated the question.

Siyansky looked puzzled. “Me and
Yashin are to help you. What else do you want?”

When Valentina relayed his
response, Craig shook his head. “No. How much help from the air force?”

Siyansky listened to her
translation then shrugged. “I do not understand, what kind of help?”

Craig peered through the
binoculars again, as his plan solidified. “Tell him I want a plane. A big
plane. And I want those guards gone!”

* * * *

“You can’t be serious! ” Corman
exploded, then caught himself, “Excuse me, Mr Prime Minister, but if word gets
out about that place, think what it’ll do to relations between our two countries.”

Prime Minister Maxim Gundarovsky
stood with his back to Corman, gazing out of the window of his makeshift
headquarters across the sea of people camped outside. “Think what will happen
to relations between our two countries, if the hardliners get control of Russia
– again.”

“You have to keep Craig Balard in
Siberia, sir,” Corman said. “You can’t let him out now, not with what he knows.”

“It’s hard to build a lasting
peace without trust,” Gundarovsky said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s time old
secrets were revealed.”

 “Not that particular secret. If
it’s the money, we can provide you with loans for whatever you need.”

“America is already deeply in
debt. Where will you find the money to lend to us? Besides, I don’t want more
loans. I want what rightfully belongs to my people.”

“Sometimes it’s better to let
sleeping dogs lie, sir. You run the risk of losing everything we’ve worked so
hard for.”

Gundarovsky motioned to the
chaotic scene on the road outside. “See those people out there, Mr Corman. Thousands
of them. Unarmed factory workers, miners, office clerks, students, mothers,
children. If not for them, I’d be rotting in prison right now, or dead. They’re
all that stand between us and the abyss. I owe them.” He turned to Corman. “You
owe them and hundreds of thousands like them, in dozens of cities.” Gundarovsky
moved slowly around his desk. “I called them out of their homes. I asked them
to put their bodies in front of tanks, and you want me to reward their courage with
more lies?”

The CIA officer swallowed his
irritation. “I understand, Mr Prime Minister. But if you agree to Balard’s
demands, once the news of Zamok Branka gets out, no one in the West will help
you. Russia will become a pariah. You can’t risk that, not now. You’ll be
playing right into the hands of the hard liners.”

“If I hide Zamok Branka’s
existence, am I no better than the hard liners?” He sighed. “Your U2 planes,
your spy satellites, they watched Camp 497 for years, then Zamok Branka. We’re
both guilty of keeping a convenient secret from a darker time, a secret that
may have been justified once, but not now.”

Oh no! He’s a god damned
idealist!
Corman thought.

Gundarovsky paced slowly in front
of the desk, wrestling with his heart. “If leaders of good conscience can’t
take and hold the moral high ground in moments of supreme crisis, what future
will any of us have? And if we tell the truth, and ask for forgiveness in the
name of peace, might that not be a better foundation for the future than more lies?”

 “I appreciate the sentiment,
sir. It’s a noble sentiment – it is – but right now, we need to get control of
this situation. If you really want to solve the Zamok Branka problem, please,
do it after this crisis is resolved.”

Gundarovsky looked thoughtful. “Has
it occurred to you, Mr Corman, that solving one problem, might solve both
problems, especially when we’re fighting for the hearts and minds of an entire
people?” He gave Corman a crooked smile. “I never was much of a politician.” Before
Corman could argue, Prime Minister Gundarovsky hurried out of his office and
climbed the stairs to the roof, with Corman close on his heels.

“Connect me with Marshal Vochenko,”
he said to the police officer manning the satellite phone sitting on the table
where Rogers had set it up. The officer did as he was told then passed the
headset to the Prime Minister when the Chief of the Air Force answered “Hello
Nikolay. I’ve been thinking about this Zamok Branka affair. It’s time we
cleaned up that mess . . . Yes . . . Make the necessary arrangements.”

* * * *

A flight attendant wheeled Harriman through
the airport to where Hal Woods waited. Harriman was wheel chair bound for
lengthy journeys, but was growing proficient with his walking stick for short
distances. His leg was improving rapidly, and in a few more days, he wouldn’t
need the wheel chair at all.

Woods offered his good hand in
greeting as Harriman gave the sling hanging from his partner’s neck an
appraising look.

“We make quite a pair,” Harriman
joked as they shook hands.

“I’ll be out of this thing in a
week or two,” Woods said, as he relieved the flight attendant of wheel chair
duty and guided Harriman toward the carpark with his one good hand.

“Sorry about the short notice,”
Harriman said. “I called you as soon as I knew I was coming home.”

“Did Corman decide you were no
use to him on one leg?”

“I never saw him after I was
shot. Just got a note and a plane ticket. I guess I’d passed my use by date.”

When they reached the car, Woods
moved to help Harriman into the passenger seat, but the older detective waved
him away, reaching for his cane. Stiffly, Harriman limped the short distance
from the wheel chair to the car and lowered himself into the passenger seat. Woods
awkwardly folded the wheel chair one handed and shoved it in the trunk. When he
climbed in behind the wheel, Harriman made a show of looking worried.

“You were a bad enough driver
with two hands,” Harriman said, “are you sure you can handle this thing with
one?”

“What do you care? You’re already
in a wheel chair.”

Harriman chuckled as they drove
out of the airport and onto the freeway. “Any more attempts on Mrs Balard?”

Woods shook his head. “Not by
their side.”

“By ours?”

“All the three letter agencies
are convinced she knows something, otherwise why else would those goons hit her
house. My guess is her house is so full of bugs by now, it needs fumigating
twice over.”

Harriman looked thoughtful. “They
have a point.”

“No arguments from me.”

“So you think she’s hiding
something?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,”
Woods said. When Harriman gave him a curious look, he added, “I’d be keeping
company with a pine box if it wasn’t for her, so I don’t care what the hell she
knows. I’m going to keep an eye on her until this is over.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You’re my partner. I don’t want
to go to jail without you.” Woods grinned.

“So what did you have in mind?”
Harriman asked.

“Considering we’re both,” he
glanced at their injuries, “incapacitated, I think we should convalesce
together. In the country.”

“I see . . . in the Catskills?”

“Exactly.”

“Anything else?”

Woods nodded. “Bring a shotgun.”

* * * *

Craig and his companions spent the
night in a small guest house while they waited for a response to the request
for a plane. When Craig was fast asleep, Fenenko, whom he shared a room with, dressed
quietly and crept into the hallway.

He eased the door shut, placed the
radio ear piece in his ear and whispered into the mike, “This is Fenenko, are
you reading me?”

There was a crackle of static as Nogorev
answered. “Yes. Where are you?”

“At the Zimoy Snega Guest House, south
of the Angara River,” Fenenko replied in a hushed tone.

“We’ll find it. Have you been
able to recover your weapon?” Nogorev’s voice sounded hollowly in his ear.

“Yes I have. Where are you?”

“East of Zamok Branka. What are
their plans?”

“They’ve asked the air force for
a plane. Balard wants to–” Fenenko stopped as a floor board creaked behind him.
He turned, attempting to hide the wire mike as Sergeant Siyansky struck him on
the forehead with the butt of his gun. Fenenko crumpled to the floor
unconscious, then Siyansky retrieved the earpiece and listened without speaking.

“… Fenenko? What happened?”
Nogorev asked. “What does Balard want to do?”

Siyansky switched the radio off, took
Fenenko’s gun and woke Yashin. “Get dressed, quickly!” He said, then hurried to
Valentina’s room and rapped loudly on the door.

Presently, Valentina inched the
door open, still half asleep. “What is it?”

“Your friend is a double agent,” Siyansky
said.

Valentina blinked, confused. “Who
is?”

“Fenenko. We have to leave immediately.”

Siyansky held out his hand,
showing her the radio transmitter. “Good thing I’m a light sleeper.”

Valentina glanced at Fenenko’s
body at the end of the hall with a sinking heart. “Is he alive?”

“Yes. He reported our location. Internal
security forces are on the way.”

“What about him?” she asked,
nodding towards Fenenko.

“We can’t leave him here. He
knows too much about tomorrow’s operation.”

Valentina went back into her room
and dressed as Siyansky roused Craig. A few minutes later, Siyansky and Craig put
Fenenko, gagged and bound, in the car’s trunk. Yashin then drove them away from
the guest house while Valentina tried to piece together clues she’d missed,
where investigations had been betrayed because Fenenko had leaked confidential
information.

Siyansky read the look on her face.
“It’s painful to discover a friend is a traitor.”

She nodded, wishing she could
talk to Karmanov, but knowing she dare not ring him. He would be furious when
he found out, but also relieved to know who the mole was. While she wrestled
with her thoughts, a large white refrigeration truck approached from the other
direction. Craig recognized it first.

“That’s them!” He said, turning
his face away from the window.

Valentina covered her face with
her hand, as the truck passed them at high speed. The driver didn’t pay any
particular attention to their car. He’d never seen it or the two air force non
commissioned officers before. In the back seat, Craig and Valentina turned to
watch the truck speed towards the guest house.

“That proves it,” Craig said,
Fenenko had indeed betrayed them.

Yashin drove on for another ten
minutes, then turned off onto a dirt track, drove a short distance until they
were out of sight from the main road and parked. It was two AM.