Tom Clancy Under Fire (36 page)

Jack saw water loom out the side window. The Opel tipped sideways and the tires slipped off the bank. The hood plunged into the river. Water crashed over the windshield and began gushing through Ysabel’s shattered window and onto her lap. She screamed, her eyes caked with blood, then she started climbing through the window.

“No!” Jack shouted. “Not that way!”

The river’s current would carry her away in seconds.

He clamped his hand on her forearm and pulled her against his body. Her window tilted downward, now fully immersed. Ysabel slipped back and slid beneath the surface. He lost his grip on her arm. Her hands reached for him. He grabbed her arm, pulled her back into the air, then brought her hand to his belt and shouted, “Grab on.”

Jack fumbled between his legs until his hand touched the ARX; he lifted it and pointed the barrel at his window. He closed his eyes and turned his face away, then pulled the trigger. The window shattered outward.

“Just keep ahold of me and climb!” he shouted.

“I can’t see!”

“Climb!”

Jack’s window was now pointing straight up; through it he saw blue sky. Brown water surged over the door and into the Opel’s interior. With his left hand Jack grabbed the door frame, pressed his right foot against the dashboard, then pushed and pulled at the same time. His head lifted clear of the window. Still gripping the ARX, he stuck his elbow out, braced it against the frame, then levered his torso free. Ysabel’s fingers dug into the skin of his waist.

On the road the Sorento had come to a stop diagonally across the road. The door swung open. Pechkin climbed out, a revolver in his right hand. He half stumbled in the mud and fell to his side. His left pant leg was black with blood; one of the Ruger’s bullets had struck home. Pechkin pushed himself to his knees. He spotted Jack. He raised the revolver.

In that moment Jack was struck by the absurdity of the situation: It was the first time he was seeing Oleg Pechkin in the flesh and the man was pointing a gun at his head.
Worst introduction in history,
he thought.

With the ARX still acting as a brace on the window frame, Jack swiveled the barrel toward Pechkin and pulled the trigger. His three-round burst went wide, peppering the Sorento’s quarter-panel. Pechkin’s gun bucked; the Opel’s side mirror exploded. Pechkin fired again; the bullet smacked into the Opel’s door frame. Jack rotated the ARX slightly left, thumbed the selector switch to full auto, and squeezed the trigger. The bullets walked sideways down the Sorento, shattering windows and punching holes in the side panels until the rounds reached Pechkin, stitching him diagonally from collarbone to ribs. Already dead, he tipped over backward into the mud with his legs bent beneath him.

Jack called into his headset, “Guys we need help! Where are—”

Over the Sorento’s roof, Jack saw Dom and Spellman skid to a halt at the top of the slope.

•   •   •

WHATEVER THE OPEL
lacked in amenities or aesthetics was made up by the quality of its tempered glass. Though Ysabel’s facial cuts were plentiful, they were all superficial, the safety glass having shattered into chunks no bigger than half-dollars. Once Jack had rinsed away the blood caked over her cheeks and eyebrows, he saw her eyes were undamaged.

Though she wasn’t crying, she stared vacantly at the ground. Jack knew the look; he’d worn it himself. He put an arm around her shoulders.

As he and Ysabel looked on, Dom and Spellman first placed Pechkin’s corpse inside the Sorento, then that of the sniper they’d killed on the hillside. Their guns went in next, and then they put the SUV in neutral and rolled it into the river, where it quickly disappeared beneath the roiling surface.

Whether Ysabel’s reaction was from relief, adrenaline overload, the shock of what had just happened, or a mix of all three, Jack didn’t blame her. His heart was still pounding and he was having trouble catching his breath. He tried to convince himself they would have gotten out of the Opel no matter what, but he knew it wasn’t true. They’d almost died. If Pechkin’s bullets hadn’t done the job, the river would have.

He shouldn’t have hurried the trap, he thought. Or better still, he shouldn’t have gone after Pechkin at all. What good would his capture have done them, really? Had he expected Pechkin would break down and give them some secret code word that would make Wellesley throw his hands up? If anything, losing his Russian partner would only make the SIS man cagier.

He’d been too clever by half and it had almost gotten Ysabel, Dom, and Spellman killed.
Arrogance, Jack.
He should have just lured Pechkin to a remote spot outside Makhachkala and double-tapped him. Seeing this image in his head, Jack felt a chill. It would have been so simple—too simple to do, should the need arise again.

Careful, Jack.
The world in which he worked was a gray one, where people often mistook the ability to do a thing with the righteousness of the thing itself.

Dom and Spellman walked up.

“Nothing in the guy’s Nissan,” Spellman said. “It’s a rental. There are no serial numbers on their weapons, either.” He handed Jack a pair of cell phones. “Maybe we can do something with those.”

“Let’s go home.”

Makhachkala

I
SCREWED UP, JOHN,”
he said over the phone. “I forgot the first rule: Keep it simple, stupid.”

“It happens,” Clark said.

After making sure they’d policed the crime scene as well as possible, the four of them got into Dom’s Lada and drove back to Makhachkala. They found Seth sitting alone at the conference table. Medzhid and his bodyguards and assistants weren’t around. “Nothing new,” Seth had called, as Spellman joined him, and Ysabel and Jack walked back to their mini-suite. Ysabel went to sleep and Jack called home.

“John, I almost got them all killed—and I’m not talking about some kind of notional, ‘Whew, that was close’ bullshit. It’s just dumb luck Ysabel’s alive. What the hell was I thinking?”

“That’s for you to sort out.”

“How do I do that?”

“Learn the lesson. And give yourself a break. You made a choice, things went bad, and you’re accountable.”

“Isn’t that a nice way of saying I’m to blame?”

“Call it what you want, I don’t care, just don’t play semantics with yourself. Christ, Jack, did you think you were going to get through your career without having this kind of close call?”

Jack considered this. “Yeah, I think I did, actually.”

“Then you were lying to yourself. You gotta stop doing that—and right fucking now, before things get going there.”

“I’m going to send Ysabel back to Tehran.”

Clark chuckled. “Good luck with that. From what you’ve told me, you’d have better luck pissing up a rope. Don’t insult her, Jack. She’s an adult. If she wants to stay, don’t try to talk her out of it. Plus, it sounds like she’s not exactly a liability.”

They talked for a few more minutes and then Jack had Clark transfer him to Gavin, who asked, “How’d it go with Pechkin?”

“Not so well. He’s dead. We’ve got his cell phone.”

And now we see which of Medzhid’s bodyguards has turned,
he thought. The idea of it gave him pause that he probably wouldn’t have felt eight hours ago. Even catching Anton and Vasim by surprise wouldn’t be without its dangers. They’d have to choose the time and place carefully.

Jack said good-bye and hung up. Quietly he slipped into their bedroom and lay down beside Ysabel; she stirred and edged a bit closer, pressing her body against his.

“I want you to stop, Jack,” she whispered.

“Stop what?”

“You’re playing it in your head, over and over.”

“It was too close. I’m sorry, Ysabel.” Hearing himself say the words made them seem even more inadequate.

Ysabel reached across his body, gently grabbed his hand, and brought his fingertips to her face. “They’re just scratches, Jack. They’ll heal.”

“It could be a lot worse.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

“I got cocky,” he replied. “With guys like Pechkin and Wellesley, you don’t make things up as you go.”

“Then call it a lesson learned and forgive yourself.”

“Funny, I just got the same advice from someone else.”

“I heard you talking on the phone out there. Is that who you mean?”

Jack nodded. “John.”

“And what else did he tell you?” she asked.

“That I’m an idiot and you should go back to Tehran.”

She slapped him lightly on the chest. “Liar.”

“He said if I tried to send you home you wouldn’t go, so don’t bother. I think there was something about pissing up a rope in there, too.”

“A very smart man, this John. Sorry, Jack, I’m here with you until the end.”

•   •   •

THEY SLEPT
until Jack’s watch woke him at six-thirty; then they walked out to the main room. Medzhid had returned and was sitting at the conference table with Seth and Spellman. A variety of steaming dishes and bowls were arrayed before them.

“Jack, we were just going to wake you,” called Medzhid. “Come join us.”

They sat down. Ysabel filled a plate for Jack, and then for herself.

“My goodness, Ysabel, what happened to your face?” asked Medzhid.

“Just a little accident.”

“I’ll call my—”

“I’m fine, really. Jack’s not a half-bad nurse.”

“Jack’s a good man,” Seth said.

He meant it,
Jack decided.

“You could do a lot worse, Ysabel. He’s a keeper.”

Ysabel smiled at him. “Thank you for saying that, Seth.”

Medzhid chuckled. “Jack in a nurse’s uniform . . . That is something I would like to see.”

“Seconded,” Spellman replied.

“Never going to happen, guys. By the way, where are Anton and Vasim?”

“I gave them the evening off. They’ve had no time to themselves for several weeks now.”

Jack and Spellman exchanged glances. The CIA man nodded, then asked, “When are they back on duty?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Seth said, “This feels weird, enjoying a pleasant meal right before all hell is about to break loose.”

“Enjoy the eye while the eye watches you, Seth.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s an old Avar proverb. You see, right now we’re in the eye of the hurricane. Relish this time before the trailing edge arrives. We’ve defeated our enemies, if only temporarily, and an old friend of mine is alive and safe. Tonight is for contentment.”

“Well said,” Jack replied. “In fact, do you mind if I invite a friend?” It didn’t seem right that Dom was sitting alone in his motel room eating not–Jimmy John’s.

“As long as it’s not the kind of friend you brought me from Bamlag, then by all means. I will call down to the garage and tell the guard to expect him.”

•   •   •

DOM ARRIVED
thirty minutes later. As he stepped into the suite, he looked around and let out a low whistle. “Well, Jack, seeing as you blew my cover for this, I’ll forgive you.”

Jack led him to the table and introduced him to Medzhid, who stood up, shook Dom’s hand, and gestured to a seat. “Join us. Let me see, now . . . You look Italian, perhaps Greek. So, Domenico or Domenikos?”

“Right the first time.”

“And how do you know—” Medzhid stopped and held up his hands, smiling. “Never mind. I don’t actually know who Jack is, so why spoil a good thing? Where has he been keeping you, Dom?”

“In a crappy motel with cockroaches the size of hamsters.”

“Not true,” Jack said.

“Shame on you. Dom, you will stay here. Jack and Ysabel will double up, won’t you?” Medzhid asked with a half-smile.

“Of course,” Ysabel replied.

Unexpectedly, Jack felt the tension draining from his body. It took a few moments to realize why. As bizarre as it was, this group had become not quite a family, but something similar to that, albeit a dysfunctional and temporary one that had been brought together for a deadly serious purpose. At least for right now, though, he could forget about that. The coup, Wellesley, Pechkin, and everything else would be there the next day.
Enjoy the eye while the eye watches you,
he thought.

They talked and ate and laughed, and Seth seemed almost like his old self, but still there was a sadness just beneath his smile. Jack wondered if Seth was even aware of it. He didn’t blame his friend. Paul Gregory had been branded a traitor, tossed out like garbage, then hounded by the very government he’d served so loyally until finally he’d put a gun to his head. And he’d kept it all hidden from his only son. All things considered, Seth was bearing up pretty well, especially given the difficulty of what he and Spellman were trying to accomplish here.

Jack only hoped his friend wasn’t secretly unraveling, as his father had done before him.

Medzhid said across the table, “Jack, Matt tells me Pechkin slipped out of our grasp again.”

Spellman caught Jack’s eye and gave a slight shake of his head.

“Something like that. Listen, I hate to ruin the mood—”

“My mood is unruinable, Jack. Go ahead.”

“Where are we with Captain Salko?”

“Nowhere. He is not talking, but I expected that. As for the ERF itself . . . I have confined them to barracks. They were told Salko was arrested for corruption and that his disgrace has unfortunately cast them in a bad light. I have people interviewing each and every one of them.”

“I doubt that’ll prove anything,” said Seth.

“My people are very good at what they do. They know the questions to ask. If Salko had cohorts, we will find them. The ones who are shown to be loyal will receive a personal visit from me and my thanks. Stick first, then carrot. I know my troops. By morning, we’ll have the bad ones culled.”

They ate and talked for another hour before Dom checked his watch, then excused himself and gestured Jack and Matt off to the side. “I’m heading downtown. Zoya Vetochkina is pulling an all-nighter. The Department of Culture is putting on some new exhibit tomorrow. Be ready to move if I call.”

“Will do,” said Jack.

“Ysabel, too. She and Zoya look a lot alike.”

•   •   •

DOM CALLED AT TEN.
“I had to use a coat hanger on her car door, but I got the key card and permit. I’m heading over to Chirpoy now.”

“We’ll meet you there,” Jack replied.

He, Ysabel, and Spellman took Seth’s Suburban to Dom’s stakeout spot. As they pulled to the curb he got out of the Lada and climbed into the backseat next to Spellman. He handed the key card and permit over the seat to Ysabel in the driver’s seat.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Just swipe and go through. There’s no camera or guard at the gate.”

“Does it matter that we’re not in Zoya’s car?”

“I don’t think so. We’ll find out.”

“That sounds easy enough,” said Ysabel. “Heads down, boys.”

Jack crouched on the floorboard as Ysabel circled the block, then turned into the driveway. She rolled down her window, swiped the card, then pulled through.

“There’s a door opening at the far end,” she said.

“Wave that permit at him,” Dom said. “If he doesn’t wave and go back inside, or he comes back out with a rocket launcher, say so.”

“What?”

“He’s kidding,” Jack said.

Ysabel stuck the permit out the window. “He’s waving. He’s going back inside. The door’s closed.”

Jack said, “Zoya’s is the sixth stall on the right.”

Ysabel turned into the spot, put the Suburban in park, and shut off the engine. “Now what?”

“Do what Zoya would do. Once you open the door, have a quick look around. If it’s clear, we’ll come in.”