Love Is for Tomorrow

by Michael Karner

  “Who do we have in the field?” she asked Bekkend.

  “Our ground team is still in Georgia,” he answered, after a quick glance onto his datapad. “Should I delay their flight back?”

  Rose’s shoulders sagged. They were just coming from a mission and had lost another truck. Rotation would be on order. But they were the only ones close enough to do anything. Rose looked around and considered her options.

  “I will talk to them,” she said. “We need a second team...and a third. Tell the pilot to make the jet ready. Mobilize every asset.”

  “Where to this time?” Bekkend asked.

  “Chechnya.”

  ***

  Tblisi, Georgia

  “Ground team, we have intel incoming,” Rose opened the channel to Antoine’s radio transmitter.

  “Good to hear from you, what’s on the menu?” he replied.

  They were just heading to the plane.

  “We will have to reroute you, team,” Rose said.

  Antoine stopped, biting back a comment about how he liked the sound of that.

  “We found the bomb.”

  The others stopped.

  “Where is it?”

  “Relaying it to your portable devices,” Rose said.

  Antoine looked at his display and saw a satellite image of a truck. “We lost contact with the truck, but this was the last known position,” Rose said.

  “How was satellite contact lost?” Antoine asked.

  “Well, the truck simply disappeared,” Rose answered. “This was the last image we got. Then… see for yourself.”

  Antoine kept his eyes glued on the screen. He saw the whole truck swallowed from an invisible field from one second to the next. The satellite view zoomed out, to take up pursuit frantically, trying to get the bead back on. The vehicle was simply gone.

  “Plastic wrapped buildings, to shield them against satellite surveillance,” Antoine said. “I’ve seen it used in nuclear facilities in Iran. Whatever they’re doing there, they don’t want us to know.”

  “Which is exactly why we need to get in there fast,” Rose said, “before they have a chance to relocate the bomb.”

  Antoine let out a sigh. “Going in fast without enough surveillance… not a good idea.”

  “We don’t have any other choice,” Rose told him. “The FSB got played. And an ex-FSB agent is behind this. The last net of security has broken down. “I’m sending you the coordinates,” Rose said. “It’s in Chechnya.”

  “Great. I heard it’s beautiful this time of the year.”

  “Alright,” Kovac said. “How shall we play it?”

  “This is the end-game,” Antoine said. “We can end this right here. We can deactivate the bomb, single out the assassins and neutralize them.”

  Kovac scratched his neck.

  “Time is not on our side,” he said. “But we don’t have the equipment or manpower to take on a fortified base.”

  “That’s why we have a single man infiltration ahead.”

  Kovac nodded, then suddenly had a look of dreaded surprise on his face.

  “Hey, why are you all looking at me?” he protested.

  “You are the most natural choice,” Priya stated the obvious.

  “Which is why he is not going,” Antoine said.

  “His Russian is unmatched and looks-wise he would blend in the most,” Priya said.

  “Tanya has his face,” Antoine said. “So does the CIA.”

  “Whoever goes in, if he gets captured, it’s game over.”

  “Then let’s keep that chance as small as possible, by not sending in a face they know,” Antoine replied.

  Kovac grabbed his shoulder.

  “You still have something to lose,” he said.

  “No chance.” Antoine shook his head and his friend’s hand off him. “Don’t worry, I’m not doing it for you.”

  “I never thought you would do it for me. I just have a problem that you plan to do it without me,” Kovac said.

  Antoine glared at him, knowing it was do or die. He knew he would take it personally. “For my wife and my son,” he said. “Sometimes you get thrown into a situation and you have to take responsibility. Otherwise no one else will.”

  “I lost the chance to be with my girl in this lifetime, Antoine. I want to prevent that happening from you. For me it’s too late. My girl is waiting for me in heaven.” He paced away from Antoine. He turned back, his eyes were red. “On top of that you have part Jamaican in you, it’s a bad idea you infiltrate Chechens.”

  “Kovac, there are nearly sixty different ethnic groups living in the Caucasus,” Antoine said. “I’m sure there will be some that look similar.”

  Kovac shrugged. “Yeah, but look at the percentages.”

  ***

  Tsentaroy, Russia

  Tanya was about to dismantle her phone before going into the Chechen compound. She had just opened the back lid when it vibrated. She swiped the screen to take the call. She said nothing, just listened.

  She heard sobbing, anger, desperation. It was Olga’s voice. “Tanya, how could you? If it gets out, my career is over. I trusted you.”

  Tanya waited. She could have told her she had been set up or fed with wrong information, but it would have been a lie. Or she could have just hung up. It was too late to stop it now.

  “I’m sorry,” Tanya replied. “But once it’s all over, you will understand.” She thought of a line she remembered from Olga’s dad when she was trained and told it to her. “Trust your first instinct. The heart is right, the mind jumps to conclusions based on what it sees as facts.”

  She hung up and removed the battery.

  The mansion on the hill was like a palace from Arabian Nights. Her Audi Q3 SUV drifted into the courtyard.

  She lifted Trahison des Images in one hand, as she was searched, before being welcomed in the inner premises. Of course, she was never allowed to move freely.

  The Chechen leader, a man in his late-thirties with red hair and a reddened beard welcomed her with a genuine smile. He stretched his arms out and shook her hand, then embraced her and placed an implied kiss on her right and left cheek.

  “Tanya,” he said, his eyes shining like the surface of a frozen lake. “What a long journey.”

  Tanya nodded.

  “I’m glad to be at its end.”

  The leader shrugged and offered her a seat. The years were like tree rings on his young face. Of a rebel became a warlord, of a warlord became a leader.

  He waved a servant over and whispered something in his ear. The man returned with a suitcase.

  The Chechen leader put the suitcase on his lap and entered the multiple number key code, without letting Tanya see it. He took a peek into the inside then clapped the suitcase shut and shoved it towards Tanya.

  “That’s all,” he said, “the second half of your payment.”

  The atmosphere was tense.

  Tanya looked down at the key combination. The smell of sweat and Shisha smoke hung in the air.

  He held out a demanding hand.

  “The painting. Please.”

  Tanya laid her fingers on the frame and hesitated to give it to him fully.

  “Forgive my curiosity,” she began. “I just have to ask. Why this painting?”

  “A present to my wife. As a sign how much I love her. I could buy anything, but this here, there’s only one like it. Like my wife.”

  “But you don’t want to be found with stolen artwork worth millions, if something goes wrong,” she told him.

  The leader shrugged.

  "We live in a fragile world. Everything is there for you to take, if you have the strength to do it. You are much like me.”

  Tanya shuddered and wondered if it was true.

  The Chechen took the painting and looked at it. Then he put it away, like an unwrapped Christmas present, already eager for the next.

  “A nice painting,” he said. “I could take back my money, if you never made it out of here.”


  Two laser sights circled in on Tanya’s body, stopping over her breasts, becoming one.

  Tanya was surprised. She thought the Chechen leader was smart. He was widely known to covet a high post in Moscow. The idea made many in Russia’s elite nervous, not least of all the FSB brass.

  Why throw all that opportunity away, when she presented it to him on a silver platter?

  She remembered the chessboard back in the banker’s office.

  “I don’t want that we both lose,” she said plainly.

  She made a sign with her hand, as if flipping away a cigarette butt.

  “I knew who I was dealing with.”

  Another laser beam zeroed in from the yard. It hovered over the Chechen leader’s heart. Behind the Audi’s tinted glass, Khabib held an AK-12 assault rifle.

  “Let us just hope our greater mission is more unified,” Tanya added.

  The Chechen nodded.

  “Yes it is,” he said. “Excuse my manners.” He ordered his men to withdraw. He stood up and walked Tanya to the door. “I just wanted to see what you are made of. Now I know.”

  “And what am I made of?” Tanya asked.

  “Fearless. There are only two types of people,” he said. “The ones who conquer their fear and the ones who let their fear conquer them."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MEN WHO BECOME WOLVES

  “Any Mission, Any Time, Any Place.” - Spetsnaz Motto

  Southeast of Grozny, Russia

  Antoine entered a lake of yellow water. It smelled diseased and rotten. Everything around it was despoiled, the grasses scrawny. The few trees that had branches stood like abandoned telephone poles.

  Between them, two men in outdated Russian military camo vests patrolled. They shunned the lake like every other living thing. Antoine stood in the lake, his trousers soaked just above the ankles. He crouched down until his bottom was just above the water. He hoped the patrol movements didn’t force him down further.

  Everything Priya had told him about the location was true. There were no communities or authorities but plenty of paramilitaries starting about five kilometers from the compound. They were men of the infamous and disbanded Vostok battalion. There would be more of them the closer he got to his target. The two guards stayed on the east shore with their backs to him. He could hear them talking, laughing. They were relaxed. Too relaxed. Antoine knew the signs of having done patrol duty for months without incident. Why would anybody come here? Most people didn’t even know it existed. It was a perfect hideout for an ex-Spetsnaz unit gone renegade that dealt with a radioactive weapon.

  Antoine shook off the urge to kill them, dump their bodies in the lake, and take a uniform. They’d never be found, but he was in for the long haul. Their absence would raise questions, ruining his chance to slip in.

  One of them waved to someone just over the embankment. It was another patrol.

  Antoine approached along the west shore to circumvent them.

  Fog settled over the lake as evening approached. The sun was red when it sank over a barren ridge.

  After several hours, Antoine’s eyes burned and his throat itched. It would be a major problem if it turned into a cough. He pulled his bandana up over his mouth and nose like the patrolmen. Silence was of the essence. The mist over the water helped conceal him. He embraced the coming of darkness. He felt the chill of the night coming, first in his fingers, then on the spots on his legs that refused to dry in the cold wind. The mud on the ground clawed on his soles like soft tissue.

  At the end of the lake was a small river with a bridge overhead. A blockhouse and road barrier surveyed the crossing. It would be manned by another patrol. Light burned in the window of the house above him. They had established checkpoints to seal off the area. Whoever had the most power ruled.

  Now deep in enemy territory, Antoine jumped at every sound. As much as he hated the surges of adrenaline, they would keep him alive. He listened to his heart pounding as he waited for a convoy of vehicles to pass overhead. From the sounds of it, there was one motorcycle, a jeep and a truck. They were coming from the west. He was certain that the Spetsnaz encampment lay to the north east. The convoy was probably heading there and would leave the main road somewhere along the way. Antoine had now studied the patrol movements long enough to know their pattern. It was always teams of two, with overlapping view ranges but wide enough to stay out of each other’s way. One man per team usually carried a radio set. Considering their spread and the ground they had to cover, he guessed they’d need at least three platoons for the tours, with a fourth on call inside the base.

  Having broken through the outer perimeter, Antoine knew he would meet less resistance now. He crossed the open field strewn with hills. They would conceal his heat signature. He turned all electronic devices off to avoid detection.

  Antoine kept low in the ditch by the bridge. Every time he entered new terrain, he made sure to take his time, slow his pulse and survey the area. The convoy headlights left the road and disappeared into a forest. The sound of their engines faded. He followed until he lost sight of them.

  He had to enter the forest.

  The wood rose above the grass field, like a wall. The wild trees shifted in the wind. They were untouched for centuries. Countless trees felled by storm or lightning lay covered with moss. Even more remained standing, allowing no light to shine through from the other side. If someone were hidden in the trees, he would never see them until it was too late.

  He dashed into the trees. His eyes adjusted as soon as he entered. Forms in the darkness became visible and the blackness became grey. Twigs cracked underneath his feet and forced him to slow his pace. He was not alone. Twigs broke a couple of meters ahead of him. He bent low. There was a rustle in the leaves and the thumping of legs. Something bolted away from him. His heart raced, but he knew it was a small animal. It could be anything from a deer to a rabbit or even wolves. Bears roamed the region too. Wild animals took back the places that men tried to avoid. Wild animals like the men he hunted.

  Antoine remembered a Russian folktale about men who chose to become wolves: The Bodark.

  That myth had special resonance with anyone who chose the hardship of Special Forces, especially the Spetsnaz ranks. To transform into a wolf, so the story went, one had to run into the forest and stab a copper blade into a tree while reciting an old chant.

  If you are afraid of wolves, don’t go into the woods, Antoine thought.

  There were scores of cut marks on the trees. At first he thought they were from deer. Closer examination showed them to be from knives.

  The Vostok elite members must have nurtured the Bodark cult. It was a symbol that would bind them closer together, like a rite of passage. Anything that made their ranks feel stronger would heighten morale. That was a good thing.

  The ritualistic marks told Antoine that he was close to the compound. This forest was frequented in great numbers, as an exercise or assembly point.

  ***

  Southwest of Tsentaroy, Russia

  He came into a clearing. An electricity pylon loomed into the night sky. He could follow the high-voltage power line to the Vostok compound.

  Engine sound came from behind him on the road. He turned to see light cones drawing closer. He threw himself flat on the ground and rolled behind the trunk of a tree as the jeep passed. They hadn’t seen him. He rested against the tree for some time. The natural sounds of the wood returned and he moved on.

  Trenches wound through the ground, nothing but leftovers from the war.

  He jumped over one and followed it along. They were full of foliage and puddles, like dried out riverbeds. Most trenches would lead to pillboxes. They would offer shelter if the weather turned bad. Antoine marked the position and kept it in mind for later use.

  Rusty, moss-covered tank traps flanked the trench system. He used one to climb out of the trench.

  The Vostok compound had also been built in haste, out of the same flawed material. It loomed in t
he distance.

  He had found their base.

  He was exhausted but there was no time to rest. With every passing hour, this mission would turn more hopeless. He had to use the night while he had it.

  Antoine scurried from tree to tree. The lights of the base were scarce like the moon hidden behind clouds. The courtyard was opaque from fog and dew. He sprinted from the tree line to the foot of the wall. It was grey and slick with no purchase to climb but it was crumbling in places. Repairs weren’t the militants concern. Bricks were broken in one section as if a wrecking ball had crashed into it. Antoine put his hand on the rim of the breach, and swung his legs over the gap. His boots hit the ground on the other side.

  The buildings were concrete giants with all the finesse of Eastern bloc structures. It was as if anvils had been dropped from the sky and left there for generations. Not much would move or shake them. They were stripped barracks, workshops and motor pools. Their facings were full with mosaic-like window fronts of burst glass, resembling broken teeth. They lay scattered on the ground below Antoine’s feet. A murmuring wind blew through the houses’ empty steel bars.

  The complex was huge. Antoine knew the barracks held one platoon right now sleeping in their beds, with space enough to house three more. Even then, the compound’s garrison would be wide-spread. The facility was made for six times that size, for a battalion’s strength. But the distances between the different areas were far, made to drill, hold parade grounds and maneuver tanks. He wouldn’t be able to close the gaps during the day. He had to do it now. He also needed food and shelter. But most importantly, he had to find the bomb. He needed to blend in and become one of them before the sun came up.

  Antoine thought about Khabib’s tattoo as he walked towards the canteen. The dining hall was empty but unlocked. He cast a long, weak shadow into the dark room.