The Hunt series Boxset 2

by Tim Heath

  Putin took a warm shower. He’d been on the run for a week, and his appearance was that of any refugee, which he was now himself, of sorts. If he could get back in power, however, that might all change. It gave him a new perspective on life, as well as a new drive to clean up his country.

  “I think this is where we leave things, sir,” the bodyguard said. He was safe now, Putin was out of Syria, and the money had stopped.

  “Thank you for staying,” Putin said. He would not forget the help his new friend had given him, nor the danger he’d put himself in by refusing to abandon Putin when all others had. “Your loyalty will not go unrewarded.” The other Russian did not say anything. Any reward that Putin could give was conditional on him being in a position of power to provide it. That still looked unlikely.

  They said their farewells but no further words were spoken. Putin watched him leave the room, addressing the unit commander of the Mossad forces once his fellow Russian had gone.

  “That man knows what loyalty means. I wish there were more like him.” Both men smiled. They’d known each other for many years, back to when they were young recruits in their respective countries’ Security Services. Both had seen their fair share of challenges ever since.

  “Our agents have it on good authority from the British that the recent near-catastrophic event at a German nuclear power plant was Russian sponsored.” Putin looked confused. He’d not been aware of the latest news as he’d been living one day at a time and had not seen any news in the homes in which he stayed. The Israeli man filled him in on the story.

  “And they claimed I was hell-bent on domination?” Putin commented, sounding astonished. “Are your power plants safe here?”

  “Yes, now that we know, we’ve shut that vulnerability off.”

  “And the rest of the world?” The Mossad agent shrugged his shoulders.

  “Who knows? I hope so, for all our sakes.” He passed Putin a glass of vodka he’d just poured from the bottle standing on the table. “Let’s drink to your health,” he added.

  They downed the liquid. The room was quiet for a moment.

  “Do you know what you will do now?” he asked Putin. The Russian pondered his answer for a moment.

  “I might need some help in brokering a deal. Do you think your agents will be able to dig out anyone I can speak to on the inside?”

  “The inside?”

  “At the Kremlin. Someone close to that scoundrel. Someone who might not be so enamoured with him now as he was when Filipov first won. Someone that once the dust has settled, sees who they are really working for.”

  “You want to make a move?” It wouldn’t be the first time Mossad had been involved in such a coup, nor the first covert operation they’d carried out in Russia, either.

  “I first need to find a weakness, some way in. If Filipov's support is anything but watertight, I need to know. Without that, as you'll be well aware, it’s complicated.” Putin had run a tight ship himself. Mossad had twice notified him of attempts to end his term as President prematurely, but all had ultimately failed. His team did not have leaks. They knew the cost of loyalty. They knew the terrible fate that awaited them if they betrayed him. It didn’t matter at what cost loyalty came, Putin made sure they all understood.

  “I will pass on your request to the Moscow office.” Putin had known of Mossad’s presence in his city but didn’t begrudge them being there. The two nations were friendly, the two leaders comrades. Putin would much rather have the Israelis known to be there than the Americans or the British. He was sure both the latter nations were working behind the scenes, as was the FSB on his behalf in the West. It was how they all worked.

  “Am I okay to stay here in the meantime?” Putin asked, but the Israeli knew he was really checking whether he would be safe there.

  “We have your back,” he confirmed, leaving Putin with the vodka bottle, as he walked from the room. He made the call to Moscow, getting the field leader there. He passed on the news about Putin, asking the question the Russian had put before him. The Moscow unit confirmed they would put feelers out. They were good at what they did. Russia would not know they were asking, and would certainly not know why. If they were to come across anyone, they would report directly back to Israel.

  The Machine’s Headquarters, Siberian Plain––Russia

  Kaminski replaced the handset. Sergej Volkov was next to him, studying the pained expression on his fellow oligarch's face. Ever since the disappearance of Mark Orlov––he’d flown to Moscow, but not been heard from since––they were on high alert. The extra security they were after had not materialised.

  “They’re here,” Kaminski said.

  “The airfield?”

  “Yes.” That gave them at most thirty minutes. There were two helicopters at the airfield, though by the sound of what Kaminski had just heard, those were now lost.

  Sergej put the call out to the men present. They had only ten on duty at that moment, a small force having gone with Mark on his apparently doomed trip to the capital. Kaminski cursed their luck again, and the failure of Orlov to have managed more security before it had got this bad. At least they had some warning. Volkov went to his own room, pulling open a case, a choice of weapons inside. He slipped one gun into the back of his jeans, taking a machine gun into his hands. Ever the gangster, the crime-boss for so many years in Moscow. He handed Kaminski a weapon, the other oligarch far less familiar with firearms. He usually got his men to handle that side of things, though he had killed before. His own brother, no less.

  Kaminski glanced out of the window nervously, but Volkov pushed him away, pulling the curtains firmly shut.

  “Don’t, we know he has Radomir working for him,” Volkov said. Kaminski had seen their security taking up positions in the grounds. A few men were moving further out, most staying close.

  “You think they’ll be able to hold them?” Kaminski asked, nodding towards the men standing outside their immediate walls at that moment.

  “I doubt it,” Volkov said, ever the realist. “But hell if I’m going down without taking some of these sons of bitches with me.” He was smiling. Sergej had always been a fighter, he never shied away from conflict. Kaminski was cut from a different cloth. Ruthless in his own way, but not the same as men like Volkov. Sergej left the room, leaving Lev studying his weapon. He checked the chamber. There were six bullets already loaded there, and Sergej had left a box of ammunition on the bed. His heart started to race. This was really happening. This might be the end.

  24

  Mossad Compound––Israel

  It took three days, but the Moscow based Mossad unit had a credible connection into the Kremlin. The source was unknown, but leaked information embarrassing to Filipov was passed on securely to confirm their credibility. Given what was shared, it was believed to be a middle-ranking office member. Three men had been in the Kremlin before the election, all retained when the new man came into office. One was now in contact. Whoever it was, it excited the former President.

  It gave Putin a way in.

  A secure means of communication was made available from Israel and smuggled into Moscow so that Putin could speak to the insider. A Mossad unit had been following the three suspected Kremlin staff, though the Russians were all well trained. They all knew how to spot a tail, and had all lost those watching on the busy Russian metro system, either by luck or sound judgement. The collection of the device had taken place without the Mossad unit having confirmed their suspicions. It didn’t matter that they weren't sure which of the three it was.

  Putin now was able to directly communicate with the insider.

  “I’m alive,” Putin stated, once the text chain was open, and the Mossad unit had confirmed it was secure and impossible to crack. “It’s Putin speaking. Who is this?” he ended.

  “A friend. Good to hear you are alive, sir. Filipov tried blitzing half of Syria to kill you.”

  “I know. A few more people like you, and this all changes.” Putin tho
ught more about what to say next. “I need a way back in.”

  “To power?”

  “Yes.” Putin wanted to be explicit, no need for complexity or mystery here. They all needed to know he was coming back. Anyone loyal and onside who heard the news would be quick to support his return. It paid to be open at this stage, not that he’d ever thought he would have been in such a position. The fact he was, was telling.

  “That’s very encouraging to hear.”

  “I’m glad I’ve found a friend,” Putin said. “Do I have others like you?” Putin wanted to know how extensive his support was, especially inside the Kremlin. No comeback could be secured without numbers on the inside, men right at the core of government.

  “It’s hard to know,” the response came back, though Putin understood that too well. He’d probably personally trained most of them himself to never let on your deepest secrets even to those you trusted. “It’s possible. I’ll be on the lookout.”

  “Excellent,” Putin added, more to encourage him than anything else.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m safe.” Putin wasn’t going to let on his position, even with this insider. It wasn’t vital to know that at the moment.

  “Make sure you stay safe. This all hinges on you being able to get back here in one piece.”

  “I assume Filipov doesn’t want that to be the case?”

  “You assume correctly. Be careful.”

  “I will. Let’s stay in touch,” Putin ended, the confirmation coming back that the Kremlin insider would be online again that same time the following day. Filipov was out of the office that week, it was easier to communicate.

  Putin sat back in his chair. He felt a fresh purpose and hope arise in him for the first time in months.

  Rad pulled his truck to the top of one hill. He’d previously approached the house on his prior visit from that same direction on the motorbike, though he had stopped that time a long way further back for fear of letting on his presence. Now that didn’t seem to matter.

  Looking through the scope of his gun, which was detached from his weapon, Rad could tell those inside the building knew for sure of their approach. Every curtain was drawn, the windows all shut. Not a man was seen patrolling the grounds. Of course they weren't, they were already hiding in position.

  Rad studied each window for a moment, a few seconds on each, looking for movement, looking for the tell-tale signs of someone waiting behind the glass. He then scanned the wider area. Rad called through the locations he wanted the other teams to head to. He could cover the road from where he was now. If the oligarchs were stupid enough to make a run for it, Rad would not have trouble picking them off. He could take out the driveway and approach, and the men could finish the rest off if they weren’t already taken down.

  Moments later, Rad saw the first of the other trucks breaking over the hill. The men jumped down into the snow, the spades soon put to use, as they dug into position.

  Over the next twenty minutes, all six teams got into place. They had the house surrounded, the snipers in each group safely in position, their guns trained on the building in front of them, but with no targets to aim at. The standoff had started.

  “I want a couple of men in each unit to tunnel forwards. They need to get in RPG range from all positions. That’ll shake things up a bit.” The order was confirmed. Men began to dig tunnels, crawling on all fours, keeping low, keeping a constant cover above them. While they moved, there was always more danger of being spotted, despite the camouflage. It was only when still, and with snow added, that they all blended into the surroundings, making them almost invisible. But Rad didn’t need invisible. He needed to draw the enemy out, to make them engage. As soon as there was gunfire, the snipers would know where to look for enemy soldiers. Until that happened, they were left wondering where the threat was coming from.

  An hour later they were within range. The optimum range for a Rocket Propelled Grenade was two hundred metres, but that was too far to dig through the snow and also potentially overexposed. The teams were between four and five hundred metres from the house, all within range of the weapon’s outer limits.

  “On my mark, we’ll prepare to fire,” Rad said, before giving the teams a chance to plan. “I want each unit, in turn, to tell their sniper where they are aiming the RPG.” He let the teams speak to each other, having numbered the units beforehand, their number being their position on the clock face relative to the house. Rad was at two o’clock. He was notified by his own team leader, down with the men who’d dug the channel, that they were aiming for the upper front window on the house itself. Rad zoomed in with his scope, himself about eight hundred metres back. Easy pickings.

  The other units––at four, six, eight, ten and twelve o’clock––confirmed their spots, each sniper training in on the house for any sight of the enemy the resultant explosion might give them. The soldier standing with the man firing the RPG had his machine gun raised and ready, in case their presence there brought a fiery response from the enemy. The team leaders, down with the men as well, had weapons ready. The final two men in each team were covering the snipers from a rear attack, though they had searched the area on the way in, and it was clear nobody was there. Everyone was no doubt hiding in the building or the grounds in front of them, though it all seemed quiet.

  Rad doubted it would remain that way for long.

  “On my mark then, everyone,” Rad spoke into his mouthpiece, his eye pressed against the scope of his weapon, on the room that was about to have its wall obliterated. “Fire!” he said, the sound of half a dozen grenades being fired sucking the silence and stillness from the air, their actual flight almost soundless, the sight of their flaming tails lighting up the gloom until each hit its mark, noise, fire and explosion erupting into the barren wilderness. Gunfire immediately started firing in response and a few of the snipers took a shot but no one yet reported a hit.

  Rad looked through his scope at the flapping curtains. A pair of legs could be seen, someone clearly knocked to the floor by the explosion.

  “Hit the room again!” Rad demanded. “Everyone, reload and fire at will.” A barrage of missiles raced through the air. Explosions further damaged the integrity of the house. Those who were inside knew they were helpless unless they did something. Whoever had been injured in the first wave was undoubtedly taken out in the second. Rad scanned the scene. Ground forces from the house were starting to move, apparently concerned about the massive firepower against them, their own weapons useless at such range. Three men began advancing towards them, but Rad easily took out the first two. Another sniper got the third. That seemed to hold any other men in position, frozen between the rockets that were coming in, and the sniper bullets that were picking them off if they dared to move.

  Mossad Compound––Israel

  Putin was at the control system again, at the agreed time the following day after his first communication with the insider at the Kremlin. Based on his first chat with the person, he felt he had a good idea of who the guy was. A man in his forties who’d been employed for well over ten years. A loyal supporter caught up in the current regime change but, and something Putin was happy to oblige with, looking for a restoration of the previous order. Evolution didn’t always suit everyone. In this case, Putin totally agreed.

  “I’ve created backdoor access into Svetlana Volkov’s calendar. She runs his entire diary. You view Filipov’s schedule, and you know where he is and when he is. But you can’t access it from here. Take the code, dump it into something secure that you have access to and make your attempt from there. It can’t be traced back to here. Okay?” The insider seemed particularly cagey today, though he was now supplying the goods. Putin would do as requested.

  “Of course,” he said. He too would have spotted it if some of his own people were giving access to an outsider. If any outsider was found with links to the Kremlin, he would have been marched so quickly out of the building their feet would not have touched the ground.
So Putin understood the paranoia. “Thank you for the code.”

  “As I say, it’s the President’s calendar. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m not sure yet. One opening is all I need. One insider, like you.”

  “I’m not killing anybody for you.” No point beating around the bush.

  “Then why are you doing this for me?” Putin asked.

  “You were looking for a way in. I’m that. That’s all.”

  “I see.” A coward as well as a traitor to the President. Putin would take what he could get, he didn’t have a lot of options from where he was sitting. Mossad had told him twice already they wouldn’t carry out a State-sponsored attack. “That’s okay. I’ll find a way. But I need something more.”

  “What do you need?” Putin smiled. The guy wasn’t about to kill for him but was keen to help Putin to do it some other way.

  “I don’t know what security is like.”

  “It’s much the same as before.” So it did prove the person had been around during his time in charge as well. Putin was closing the circle.

  “I won’t be able to tell when security is weakest based on a diary, though.” Putin had a point. “I’ll need your input on that one.”

  “How?”

  “Look at the meetings for me.”

  “I said I'm not accessing the diary myself from here.”

  “Then find a way to do it. Look at the security rotations. When is there a crossover? See what visits Filipov is doing, or who is due into the Kremlin. These last types of events are key. There will be meetings he wants to have when there aren’t to be many others around to witness it.” Putin should know, he’d had a fair few of these types of meetings himself.

  “I know the sort of discussions you mean, sir,” came the response. I bet you do.

  “Anyone fitting that bill, let me know. I’ll take care of the rest.”