Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  The ANSAT light, multi-role helicopter was fitted for corporate use. The difference from the military version was huge, with effective soundproofing and leather seats that were almost comfortable. They'd boarded the helo in a forest clearing twenty klicks outside Moscow and spent an hour practicing fast roping from the unfamiliar craft.

  He glanced back at Elena sitting in the rear of the cabin alongside Joe. She'd done well with the rappelling practice. Only once had Waite had to catch her before she hit the ground like a sack of grain, and she would have broken an ankle if he hadn't been waiting. After that, she hadn't made a mistake. Her face was still pale, and she looked uncomfortable with the weight of equipment they'd given her to carry. A backpack, with extra C4 for Waite to use to blow the strongroom, and a Colt .45 pistol in a holster fastened to her belt. The Colt .45 looked huge on a girl so small, but it was all they had. She was also burdened with a headset radio, a lightweight helmet with night vision goggles pushed up on the top, and a respirator slung under her chin ready for instant use. Spetsnaz had a reputation for carelessness when it came to using gas.

  She hadn't been willing, not at first. "How the hell do you expect me to slide down a rope carrying all of this weight?"

  "Simple," Waite smiled, tucking the last of the spare C4 into her pack, "When you hear the word go, it's downhill all the way, like falling off a log. And you won't need to climb back up."

  She'd raised her eyebrows in exasperation and mumbled something in Russian. It was probably best Waite didn't understand her words.

  Another helo flew past their nose, only two hundred meters away. Dragan, true to his word, had lain on an extravaganza. Two rented helos, both ferrying partygoers to the riverboat where a band played loud rock music. The booze would be flowing freely, and their helo would be anonymous, just bringing rich Muscovites to join in the fun on the nearby river.

  "There," the pilot's voice came into his headphones. The man was a Russian Air Force officer moonlighting for a few extra roubles, and he didn't care about breaking air traffic laws. Providing the pay was good enough, which Dragan would have made sure of.

  Dragan wasn't with them. The billionaire had called them at the exact moment they reached the helo to begin their familiarization. If it wasn't planned, it was one hell of a coincidence.

  "This is Dragan. I won't be with you on the helo."

  "You won't be with us?" he'd snapped back, "For Christ's sake, Dragan, what are you playing at this time?"

  "I'm playing at nothing. What it is, I've gone over the plan for the assault, and I feel I can best help by giving covering fire from outside the building. I've identified a good stand overlooking the rear entrance of the museum. You can reach me on the satphone if you hit trouble. I'll be well placed to take out any hostiles who try to stop you getting out."

  There’s nothing I can do to about it. Not right now. There'll be a reckoning later. He’s right about one thing. The trick will be getting out. Alive.

  "Make sure you're there, Dragan. Otherwise you'll be the next target we come gunning for."

  "I'll be there."

  He ended the call, and he explained the change of plan to the others.

  "Do you believe him?" Al asked, his face worried. Dragan had a history of being absent when the shit hit the fan.

  They waited for Joe to respond. He worked for Dragan, and if anyone knew his motives, it would be him. He shrugged. "I don't know."

  "If that bastard lets us down," Waite snarled. He left the rest of the sentence to the imagination, but it wouldn't have been pretty.

  After that, they'd boarded the helo to begin teaching Elena the fine art of dropping down a rope fully laden, from a hovering aircraft, and on a freezing winter night in the center of Moscow.

  He brought his mind back to the present and followed the direction of the pilot's pointing finger. The museum was a huge building, almost a city block, and he recalled their narrow escape. This time it would be different. This time, they wouldn't see them coming, but he still worried about that missile.

  Who was it? And why?

  He had no answers, and that also worried him.

  Al shouted across to him. His voice sounded grave after he'd carefully studied the roof through binoculars. "We have a slight problem. The roof, which we assumed was flat. It isn't. It's tiled and at a steep angle."

  He looked through the binoculars to assess the risk. Dropping onto a tiled roof would normally present no problems, but this one was so steep as to be almost sheer, and it gleamed bright by the lights of the Moscow night.

  "Yeah, ice," Al said, glancing at Elena, "It'll be slippery as hell. Bad enough for us, but for her..."

  "I get it. There's only one way to handle this. We'll rig a safety line between the man behind and the man in front. I'll take the front."

  "It may work, and it may not. I'll take the rear, and let's hope she doesn't take a bad fall that pulls us both off the roof. The sidewalk is a long way down."

  "What is it?" Elena asked, sensing they were talking about her.

  He smiled. "We're going to use a safety rope, just to make sure you're okay. Nothing you need to worry about."

  She tried to smile, but she only managed to look more terrified as the helo began to drop nearer the building.

  "We'll be over the target in one minute," the pilot intoned.

  "Copy that."

  They looked aside as firecrackers exploded, and rockets soared into the sky. In the distance, the riverboat was lit up like a Fourth of July celebration. Pulsating lights and rotating beams flashed in synchronization with the pounding rock music. It was as good cover as they could expect. Raider clipped a line to her harness, and Al clipped on another line. She eyed the ropes with an anxious expression.

  "Ten seconds."

  They watched the rooftop come closer. Joe had the door open, and he crouched in the gap with an assault rifle cradled in his arms.

  "No sign of a sentry. We're clear. I'll go down first."

  "Roger that."

  The helo slowed to a hover. He kicked the rope out the door, and then he was gone. They watched him slide down and touch the roof. There was a bad moment as a fierce crosswind rocked the helo. It also caught Joe unawares and almost tossed him off the slates, but he dropped to all fours and clung on until it died away. He waved he was okay, and Waite went down, landing nimbly on the treacherous tiles.

  Raider looked at Elena. "We're next, are you okay?"

  "I feel sick," she muttered, her voice hoarse with terror.

  "Just follow me. Al, you know what to do."

  "Sure."

  He slid down the rope. Just before he landed, another icy gust caught the helo, and this time it slid violently across the sky. The pilot automatically corrected by gaining altitude, and he was jerked up into the air. For several seconds he swung like a pendulum until the wind eased again, and the helo came under control. The pilot lowered him gently, and he touched the roof. The other two men grabbed him as he felt his boots begin to slip.

  Over the howl of wind and slipstream, he shouted, "How bad is it?"

  He looked up and could see Elena's pale and terrified face staring down at him from only three meters away. They were still linked by the safety line.

  "It'll be a miracle if she makes it," Joe said, "We'll have to grab her as she hits the roof before the wind takes her. It'll be touch and go."

  He nodded. "Let's do it before another gust hits."

  Al stood in the open door of the helo, with Elena clutching his arm. He could see her fighting with him, terrified to let go, and then Al almost hurled her out. She dropped through the air and dangled at the end of the rope still attached to Al's webbing. He climbed out onto the rappelling rope and started down. He had to struggle with the dead weight of the girl, who seemed to have passed out. Or she may have been too rigid with fear to control her limbs.

  Raider held onto the rope that snaked up into the sky, trying to hold her steady against the downdraft. The wind increased again,
swirling around them and trying to suck them off the roof. He had a hand to her webbing when another fierce gust took the helo, and once more the pilot rose vertically in the sky, taking the three of them with it. Al was clinging on to Elena's rope, and Raider fought to grab the rappelling rope that was streaming out in the wind. There was nothing he could do but hope Al could hold on.

  As the helo rose and fell, arcing up and down, he became aware of a new threat. A skylight opened, and a man's head and shoulders emerged. He was staring up at the helo, and when his eyes dropped, he saw the three figures dangling from the rope. His assault rifle was slung on his back, and he reached for it instinctively. Joe and Waite hadn't seen him, as the steep angle of the roof blocked their line of sight. The noise was too great for Raider to shout a warning, and he did the only thing possible.

  He snatched out his big Colt .45, took rapid aim, and squeezed off every round until the firing pin clicked on empty. The Russian didn't notice the first two shots; the noise was carried away in the wind and roar of the downdraught from the helo. The third shot clipped woodwork, throwing splinters at his face, and his mouth opened as he realized he was under fire. He'd been aiming at Al, the nearest target, but the barrel of his assault rifle arced up, and Raider was staring at the round, black hole at the end of the barrel. He fired a fourth shot. This one sliced into the top of the man's uniform jacket and tore off an epaulette. His head jerked round, and the three-shot burst he'd been aiming at Raider went wide.

  The big Colt boomed again and again, to empty the seven-shot clip. The fifth shot tore into the breech of the rifle, the sixth drilled into his chest, and the seventh ripped a huge hole in his neck. If he wasn't dead from the two bullet strikes, he certainly was with the third. He flopped forward and hung half in and half out of the skylight.

  Raider tried to control his breathing. It had been close. By now, the pilot had regained control, and he eased the helo down so Al could touch the roof. Waite and Joe grabbed him, and they helped pull Elena and then Raider to safety. The aircraft flew away, and they took stock of their situation.

  He indicated the skylight to them. "That's our way in. When we're inside, we'll head for the rear of the building and make our way down to the lower levels. The first job is to make sure the guy I shot doesn't fall. His friends are likely to be pissed if they see their friend splattered on the sidewalk and drilled full of holes."

  They began crawling across the steep, slippery roof until they'd made the opening. Waite went first. Despite his bulk, he moved like a ballet dancer, skipping across the treacherous tiles until he grabbed the sill of the window and pulled himself inside. He was careful to pull the dead guard in with him. The rest of them followed at a slower pace. Twice Elena slipped, and they had to restrain her on the safety lines. When they got her inside, she was shaking violently.

  He put his face close to hers and whispered, "You've done well so far. Can you make it the rest of the way?"

  He could hear her teeth chattering, and he pulled her close, trying to control her shivering and warm her body with his. She was bitterly cold, but unlike the rest of them, she wasn't used to the extreme conditions. Her education had not prepared her to land and perch on freezing, steep roofs in the middle of a Russian winter. Made worse by a howling gale from the downdraught of a helicopter, and dressed only in ordinary winter clothes. She wore thick leggings tucked into high boots, and a short duffle coat buttoned to the throat. She also had leather gloves on her hands and a woolen hat on her head. Enough for a casual stroll on the Moscow streets, but inadequate for what they faced on the ice-covered roof.

  After a couple of minutes, her teeth ceased chattering, and the shivering eased. She put her mouth close to his ear.

  "I'll be okay. It's just this is all so different. Do you do this kind of thing often?"

  "On occasion," he admitted, "Since we left the Service, only the once."

  "I would have thought once was enough."

  "Once is more than enough," he grinned. He was ready to move on, but she gripped him fiercely.

  "Give me just one more minute," she gasped, "Then I'll be ready."

  To his astonishment, her lips met his, and she gave him a long, passionate kiss. He could feel the others’ eyes boring into him. At last, she pulled away.

  "What was that for?"

  "That was for me. Just in case, well, you know."

  "Right. Now it's time to move on."

  He helped her to her feet and ignored the grins of the others as he took out the satphone.

  "First, I need to check that Dragan is in position. Then we'll head for the basement and locate that safe."

  He keyed the number, and it connected and started to ring, and ring and ring. Nothing.

  "The bastard's let us down," Waite snarled, "I knew we shouldn't have trusted him."

  He nodded. "There's still time for him to come through. Don't forget, we need him on the way out, not on the way in. Right now, it's important we remain invisible. If Dragan started piling up bodies on the street, it wouldn't help us."

  "If he doesn't turn up, his body will be piled up on the street," Waite murmured.

  "I'm with you there, buddy," Al nodded, "I remember last time he wasn't always there for us. He does it this time, it's his last."

  Raider looked at Joe, who worked for Alexander Dragan. "What do you think, can we trust him? He's your boss."

  "Fuck him."

  "But not until he gives me the deeds to my surgery in Vyborg," Elena warned them, "After that, I don't give a shit either. He's as trustworthy as a rattlesnake."

  "Copy that," Waite smiled.

  They adjusted their NV goggles, and Raider led them across the vast attic that occupied the entire roof space of the building. It wasn't empty; there were wooden crates, cardboard cartons, and leaning against one wall, a long row of statues. As they walked past, Elena stopped.

  "My God, these are part of a valuable collection everyone thought had been lost. They date back to the pre-Rus period."

  "Save it for later," he told her, "You never know, if we hit Pamyat hard enough, they may leave town. It could even become a museum again."

  "You think it could?" Her eyes were shining with the possibility.

  "Anything is possible. We're here, aren't we?"

  He noticed she had a new determination as they went forward into the museum. The operation had taken on a new dimension for her. Not just a job to secure a bunch of documents that may condemn a corrupt politician, but a way to restore a cultural icon to her country.

  She doesn't understand the most likely outcome, and I won't remind her of it; we'll never make it out of here alive. But we must. I have to find my Abigail.

  They reached the rear of the building, and he halted, listening for any sign of the enemy. There was nothing, and he started down the staircase. It wound around the huge, open well of the elevator shaft, which was protected by a steel grille. It meant anyone using the elevator would be in full view of the stairs, and vise versa.

  They reached the fourth floor, the highest part of the museum proper. There was still no noise. Waite crept along the corridor to look into the side rooms. When he came back, he was smiling.

  "Soldiers, paramilitaries. Sleeping like babies."

  "Let's hope they stay that way."

  They went silently down to the third floor and then the second. At first, it looked as if they'd come into a building that was asleep and unguarded. Until they crept down to the first floor, which commanded the vast open space between the museum's front and rear entrances. He held up his hand to stop, and they retraced their steps back to the second floor.

  "It was too good to last, two machine gun emplacements, covering both the front and the back. If anyone tries to come through the doors, they'll blast them into little pieces." He looked at Elena. "How do we reach the basement without using the first floor?"

  "There's no way. The only way down is the staircase or the elevator."

  He nodded. "The moment we rou
nd the corner from the stairwell, they're sure to see us, but not if we use the elevator shaft. We'll return to the second floor and fast rope straight down the shaft." He saw Elena's stricken expression and grinned, "It's okay; nothing like it was up on the roof. We'll lower you down gently. Don't worry. It'll be no more than a fairground ride."

  "You're sure? I hate fairgrounds."

  "You'll be fine."

  He saw Al's dubious expression, but he ignored it. Al started working on the gate mechanism. It was held fast by an electromagnetic lock to prevent anyone opening the door when the elevator was on a different floor. He used his combat knife to prize the switch apart, and the door slid open enough to allow them to enter the shaft. He dropped a rope down, reconnected the safety line to Elena, and clipped the other end to his webbing.

  "Waite, you go first, and I'll send Elena next. Make sure she doesn't fall."

  The big former SEAL disappeared into the dark shaft. Raider eased Elena over the edge, and as she began to descend, he followed her down. She did well for the first few meters, and then lost her grip on the rope. He took up the strain as her weight tugged at him, easing her to the bottom of the shaft where Waite put her on the ground.

  Seconds later, the other men arrived, and Al started work on opening the next gate. They slipped through the partially opened grille, and they were in the basement. There was no sign of any opposition, and no sign of any safe.

  "Where is it?" Raider glanced at her, "You said it was here."

  "Over there."

  She pointed toward the far wall. There was a huge, stone fireplace, probably part of a kitchen when the building was a castle. She put her hand at the side of the stone and touched a hidden lever. Although the massive fireplace looked as if it was concreted into the wall, it swung outward. Behind it was the steel door of a strongroom.

  "The safe was constructed during the time of tremendous upheaval in Moscow. There were attempted revolutions, violence on the streets, and Cossacks galloping through the crowds with their swords drawn and cutting them down in their hundreds. So they built the strongroom, in case the building was overrun."