Complying, Constantine slithered away.
Sokolov analyzed the situation. The driver was sitting patiently behind the wheel, engine running. Soon enough, the search party would either track Sokolov or return to the vehicle. Also, he believed that Bulgak had spoken the truth about an imminent attack by Imran. Capturing the Hummer was essential for survival.
Abruptly, the Hummer's door opened, and the driver hopped out, lighting a cigarette. If Sokolov waited for Constantine to return, the chance would be gone. He had to act decisively while he could confront the driver one-on-one.
Hunching low, he crept behind the Hummer. He could not tell if the driver's poncho concealed a weapon. He had to rely on stealth and force. Charging forward, Sokolov thrust the barrel of the AEK against the man's neck. Caught unawares, the driver raised his hands slowly. Sokolov hoped that the driver didn't call his bluff. Without live ammo, Sokolov only had psychological advantage. Before it evaporated, Sokolov knocked the man out cold with a well-placed strike of the rifle stock.
Sokolov got inside the car, hit reverse and floored the accelerator. The Hummer lurched backwards. But before he could get away, the vehicle came under relentless fire. He ducked as the windshield cracked from a spattering of bullet holes. A tire burst. Skidding over a patch of rock, the Hummer bounced off the steep hill and fell on its side. Three black-hooded silhouettes closed in, toting submachine guns. Sokolov knew he had lost the gamble.
AS HIS MEN RECAPTURED the Hummer, Booth ordered them to keep the enemy alive. They yanked him out of the car and gave him a good kicking. He wore the same camo suit as the suicide man and stank of fuel.
Booth hoped for no more surprises. He called Jones.
“Send Williams over here. The Hummer's out of commission. Hughes is down, the careless git. I need transportation, on the double. We have a prisoner.”
12
IMMOBILIZED WITH PLASTIC CUFFS and thrown into the rear bed of a GMC pickup truck, Sokolov was taken to the palace. The glittering edifice of stone, stucco and marble appeared in all its glory. The truck came to a halt and the security guards unceremoniously threw him onto the ground. Sokolov braced himself for the fall, and the ensuing kicks. Without bothering to unbind his hands and feet, the guards grabbed his arms and towed him up the grand marble staircase that led to the massive wooden entrance.
They dragged him down the parqueted floor of the hallway. Its walls soared several meters high to converge in a domed ceiling. Hanging from it was a row of colossal chandeliers, emitting light which dazzled from hundreds of crystals. The illumination shone on works of art placed on pedestals behind protective glass casing. Unlike any museum, however, the display in Dedura's palace showcased magnificent Scythian artifacts. Gem-encrusted gold vases and cups glowed in the light. Daggers, shields and swords of pure gold radiated reflections.
This was the mother lode of the Golden Fleece. Sokolov could hardly guess the sheer volume of treasures filling the palace.
Like any stronghold, the palace had a dungeon. His captors pushed him inside an elevator and rode it to a deep subterranean level. The elevator reached a narrow tunnel which led to an opening. The guards tossed Sokolov into the middle of a cavernous underground chamber. A mosaic of granite tiling covered the floor. Multicolored light fixtures cast odd violet and turquoise shadows onto the cavern's walls, formed by mountain rock. Sokolov realized he was inside a huge grotto. Water flooded its lower level, welling from underground streams into a tiny lagoon. Ripples dancing on the clear water surface threw shadows on the stone walls.
From the far recess of the grotto, a man's voice boomed.
“Sokolov!”
The sound reverberated around the cavern.
The man emerged from the dark passageway. His bare torso demonstrated a muscular, mesomorphic physique. He wore red hakama pants and wooden sandals. Glistening from copious amounts of gel, the slicked-back raven hair accentuated his sharp features. In his hand, the man carried a short golden sword.
“We finally meet, Major!” he said.
“Comrade Dedurian, I presume? An uncanny resemblance to Uncle Ruben.”
Dedura's face twisted in a snarl.
“The cheek! I should have your tongue ripped out. What do you say, Alik?”
Following his master, Alik Kugotov appeared in view.
“This rabid dog deserves to suffer,” Alik said. “He killed Rezler before my eyes.”
“He will die, but not before he has talked. Tell me, Sokolov, did you really think you could attack me from a puny helicopter? Indeed, you must be mad.”
Sokolov spat out the blood which had seeped from his split lip.
“It wasn't my idea. Frolov sent me to kill you.”
Dedura roared with laughter.
“That senile old fool. He's true to his style, though. Always manipulating others to do his dirty work. No matter. This time I'll bring him down for good without exposing myself or the Red List. I'll only need to leak his Cayman bank account details anonymously. There's a good reason he's afraid of blackmail. Then a few months after he's been forced into retirement, Mr. Booth can set up a minor traffic accident. So you see, Sokolov, I have everything covered. And here, in my fortress, I am invincible. In Europe I could have never built something like this, amid such splendor.”
“I'm impressed by the treasures that a small-time crook like you has managed to loot.”
“You dare to insult me?” Dedura held up his weapon. “This is Xiphos, an ancient Hellenic sword. Perhaps it's the very one owned by Jason himself. I will use it to cut your head off... But first—Alik, would you start by gouging his eyeballs?”
Alik leered, drawing a switchblade. He started towards Sokolov.
Dedura goaded him. “A blind, desperate beast is so much more thrilling to kill!”
With his hands tied in front of him, Sokolov reached down to unzip the cuffs from his ankles and sprang to his feet. As Alik stabbed, Sokolov locked his wrist between his arms, twisted it to tear ligaments, snatched the knife and kicked Alik away. Flumping to the ground, Alik yelped at Dedura's feet. Instantly, Sokolov cut through the cuffs to free his hands.
“Ah, how could I forget,” Dedura said in amusement. “A martial artist. Let's see how tough you really are. Williams!”
From behind, four mercenaries circled him. One stayed back, blocking the tunnel exit and keeping a submachine gun trained on him. After his pain could be prolonged no more, the gunman would finish him off.
The assailants stood off him, two on either side. Making his move, one of Dedura's guards lunged with a mis-timed kick at Sokolov's midsection. Sokolov grabbed his leg, sheared the hamstring with the blade, and pushed the screaming man at the guard next to him. As they clattered, Sokolov threw the knife, blood spraying from the second man's scalp.
The other two thugs pounced at once. Sokolov blocked a wild punch and slammed his knuckles into the man's trachea, making him topple as if scythed. Then, as his partner charged to deliver a skull-shattering blow, Sokolov slipped sideways, light on his feet. Elbow swinging, the guard stopped in his tracks, off-balance. Sokolov whipped his leg out in a roundhouse kick, planting the balls of his foot into the guard's temple. Hammered by Sokolov's boot with immense force, the eggshell-thin bone cracked and the guard collapsed, dead.
The last guard leveled his H&K at Sokolov.
Dedura gestured to hold fire. The time hadn't come yet.
“Very impressive,” he said. “I can't believe I was paying for such incompetence, but at least now I'll save on the wage bill. So, this brings us to the fun part.”
He brought his sword down, thrusting the tip at Alik's chest.
“You coward, if you don't kill him I'll have Williams shoot you. Do it.”
Alik swallowed, his eyes wide in mad disbelief, but he threw himself at Sokolov without hesitation. He fought like a man possessed, knowing that he was otherwise condemned to death. He kicked and jabbed, so Sokolov had to dodge his swipes at first. Then Sokolov connected with a li
ghtning-quick punch straight into Alik's face. Alik went down, and the strike was powerful enough for most men to stay down. Yet Alik scrambled back to his feet, blood dripping from his smashed mouth. He roared and came back at Sokolov. He stretched his arms out, trying to grab Sokolov's neck and choke him, but couldn't get anywhere near. Sokolov axed his chin in an elbow uppercut which lifted Alik off his feet as he fell. Swaying, Alik got on all fours as he attempted to pick himself up, but his limbs gave in and he sprawled on the ground, moaning. This time he was down and out.
“Williams!” Dedura barked. He motioned with a thumb across his throat and pointed at Alik.
Williams aimed and pulled the trigger. The shots boomed, echoing through the cavern as slugs drilled Alik's back. Crimson splotches burst along his spine and he lay motionless, stained by his own blood.
“Now, that's exciting,” Dedura grinned. “Nothing like a rush of adrenalin, is there, Sokolov? Relax, you'll end up like this in any case.”
He raised the golden sword and slashed down.
13
THE SEVASTOPOL, A MISTRAL-CLASS amphibious assault ship procured by the Russian Navy from France, cruised along the Black Sea coast at her top speed of 18 knots. Designed for naval support of ground operations, she was able to transport up to 450 troops who could be deployed at any beach via the ship's landing catamaran together with tanks and APCs. However, the main function of the 199-meter-long vessel was as a landing helicopter dock. The Sevastopol LHD carried eight Kamov Ka-52 'Hokum B' attack helicopters.
One of the Hokum choppers lifted off the Sevastopol's deck, gained altitude and banked inland towards the mountains. The sleek Hokum resembled a dragonfly, not least because of its coaxial rotor system—a pair of three-blade rotors turning in opposite directions. The contra-rotation boosted safety and agility, thus the gunship lacked a needless tail rotor. Apart from its unique maneuverability, the Hokum boasted cutting-edge weaponry. The stubby wings extending from the fuselage were loaded with an array of bombs and missiles.
The pilot followed the coordinates sent to him by a beacon at the location of his stopover. He reached an open area which had a field tent with an off-road vehicle parked next to it, and landed. Clad in fatigues, a man approached the helicopter and following instructions, the pilot let him climb into the two-seat cockpit. The pilot knew nothing about the inconspicuous man apart from his callsign, Imran. Having served in a strike group against Chechen insurgents, the pilot wasn't too impressed with his contact's choice of alias, but he had his orders and debating the mission wasn't one of them.
At the deft touch of the stick, the Hokum zoomed up into the sky again. Effortlessly, the gunship sailed over the mountain peaks at an altitude far beyond the range of basic radar systems.
Even before he established direct visual contact, the pilot had the target locked by the firing computer at a ten-kilometer distance. Zeroing in on the large ground installation, the pilot launched a couple of air-to-surface missiles which hit the target. Swooping over the damaged structure, the pilot had his aim centered on it in the helmet HUD.
Passing over the palace, the Hokum dropped each of its four bombs.
The 500-hundred-kilogram shells demolished the building as they pierced the roof of the palace and detonated their massive payload.
14
THE ENTIRE CHAMBER SHOOK from the explosions raging above. The tunnel entrance caved in, burying Williams under crashing earth and rock. Dust rose. The elevator became inaccessible.
As Dedura swung his sword, Sokolov dove backwards and rolled away.
Getting back to his feet, he saw a crevice opening up in the ceiling of the grotto as it cracked. More dust and rock rained down.
“Don't fret,” Dedura bellowed. “The grotto will hold. It's sturdier than any bunker.”
Sokolov glanced at the imploding tunnel.
“But there's no way out. We'll both die.”
“I don't think so! You're the only one to die today—right now!”
Dedura spread his legs in a wide stance and held the sword in front of him. The ugly burn marks on his back became noticeable. He licked his lips in anticipation, eager to draw blood. His coal-black eyes shone viciously. He swayed back and forth on his toes, baiting Sokolov.
Sokolov tensed, ready to react. Attacking first could be lethal with Dedura's superior range. Standing still would invite the fatal blow. Sokolov shuffled his feet, sidestepping as he kept a close eye on Dedura's motions.
Finally, Dedura sprang forward, poking with the sword's blade. Sokolov evaded but Dedura slashed, catching his shoulder just as Sokolov crouched in a sweeping kick. Hot pain jolted him, spreading from his arm, but Sokolov still managed to slide into Dedura's ankle and trip him.
Both landed on the tiles. Lying on his back, Dedura swung the sword awkwardly. Sokolov parried the blow, striking with his arm to knock the sword out of Dedura's hand. The golden Xiphos clattered next to them.
Sokolov thrust down with his knee into Dedura's stomach. Dedura writhed and clawed at him. Sokolov pummeled his head with unstoppable punches, beating his face into a bloody pulp.
Dedura's hand found the sword and he unleashed a piercing blow.
Before it connected, Sokolov blocked, gripping his hand like a vise. As Dedura released the sword, Sokolov grabbed it and rammed the blade through his chest.
Dedura gasped and went limp.
Sokolov got up, reeling. He examined his bleeding right shoulder. He said a prayer of thanks as only a glancing blow had grazed him.
Far more serious were the chunks of mountain rock dropping from the cracked ceiling. Before long, an avalanche of boulders would bury him.
He spun around, searching for a way out. He found none. He was trapped. But Dedura had spoken with confidence about getting away from the grotto unscathed. There had to be an escape route.
He stopped before the lagoon. Riffles broke the water surface. The water was circulating, filling the pond from somewhere and ebbing out.
He jumped into the water. Reaching the farthest wall, he submerged, probing with his hands. He discovered an opening. In the gloom, he saw another tunnel beneath the water surface. He dived again.
Hidden below was a shaft just wide enough for him to squeeze through. He kicked and stroked, swimming down the tunnel. The water-filled well stretched on and on. Sokolov was running out of oxygen in his lungs. Reflexively, he surged upwards but hit the shaft ceiling. His vision dimmed. He stroked forward and kicked harder. He had to find air soon. But the tunnel stretched into infinity.
15
CONSTANTINE'S HEART SANK AS he and Klimov returned to the Hummer only to find it lying battered and overturned. There was no sign of Gene, and Constantine knew that he had been captured. They had left Zubov at the waterfall as he had also suffered a swollen ankle and possibly a few cracked ribs apart from the laceration, making him a liability in battle. And a battle did await them, with Constantine determined to rescue his brother.
Together with Klimov they marched toward the palace for several hundred meters. Thunderous booms grew in intensity. As soon as they crested a hill, Constantine caught sight of the palace walls. Fire rose from the structure. Little remained of the façade. Another detonation flashed, scattering debris as a gigantic hole blew in the masonry.
Hovering over the palace was an attack helicopter. The Red Army's blood-crimson pentagram was painted vividly on its tail. It was destroying Dedura's palace methodically, as merciless as a tornado.
Constantine gripped the shotgun tightly. Underneath that rubble, he had lost his brother. He wanted to scream. He stood there, staring in a trance-like state until Klimov pulled his shoulder.
“Let's go. We need to get back before we're spotted from the chopper. He's gone now. Eugene is gone.”
Klimov's words amplified his horror, but Constantine refused to accept what he had just seen.
AS THE INITIAL EXPLOSIONS rocked the palace, Booth rushed out into the open courtyard, carrying his missile launcher. He had
no idea where the attack was coming from.
“Jones, can you gimme a sitrep?”
“Negative, sir! I can't detect—” His voice cut off with the last words Jones uttered. An aerial bomb crashed through each floor of the palace and detonated in the middle of the comms center. The blast knocked Booth from his feet. A marble balustrade crashed next to him from a balcony.
Immediately, Booth saw the aircraft wreaking all that havoc. Hanging ominously over the palace was a lethal Hokum chopper, dishing out utter demolition.
Its armored cockpit still had a weak spot against missiles.
Ready to fire, Booth brought the Gimlet to his shoulder. At this range, his aim didn't have to be precise. The heat-seeking warhead had nowhere else to go.
Before he could pull the trigger, a salvo from the Hokum's cannon cut Booth in half.
BUZZING LIKE A VULTURE, the Hokum spewed high-explosive rounds from its 30-mm automatic 2A42 cannon. Spending almost the entire 450-cartridge supply had ensured total annihilation of enemy personnel. The palace lay in smoldering ruin. Dedura's private Bell JetRanger had been converted into scrap.
In the two-seat side-by-side cockpit, Imran signaled his satisfaction to the pilot with a thumbs-up. The Kamov flew back where it had come from.
SOKOLOV COULD BEAR THE agony no more. His lungs starving for air, he forced himself not to suck in a lungful of water. He knew that he would drown soon, and fighting against the water in the constricting tunnel expended more oxygen. He saw spots before his eyes.
Abruptly, his head broke the surface and he gasped as he reached a pocket of air. Panting, he drank the air greedily. Although stale, it felt like the freshest he had ever tasted. As his mind cleared from near-asphyxiation, he looked around, finding himself in another cave. Just a fraction of the grotto's size, it had tight walls and a low-hanging ceiling, but Sokolov saw light spilling at the other end. With renewed strength, he swam towards it. Soon he felt the drag of the current. In the darkness of the chamber, he squinted as light neared. Then, as he made it to the mouth of the cave, he realized that he had reached the end of the line. He was swimming right into a yawing chasm. He splashed in the water, trying to resist the pull but finally he felt nothing underneath him. He plummeted.
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