Precipice: V Plague Book 9

by Dirk Patton

  He nodded to the troopers, and the ropes, secured to specially made stanchions inside the helicopter, were tossed out to uncoil to the ground. Checking his sidearm, Grushkin zipped his cold weather parka and accepted a pair of leather palmed gloves. Slipping them on, he grasped one of the ropes and nimbly stepped out of the aircraft and slid to the snowy ground.

  Moving out of the way he scrambled down the small hillock, idly noting the remaining troopers touching down behind him. Reaching the flat spot behind the mound, he stopped and surveyed the area with his hands on his hips. It was obvious there had been a fresh snowfall since there was activity here, but the signs of a fight were still easy to see.

  Careful not to disturb areas which he might wish to examine closer, Grushkin stepped to the corpse of a large wolf. As big as it was, he had both seen and hunted larger ones when he was just a child. Kneeling, he brushed snow off the body and didn’t need to look any further when he saw the damage from rifle bullets.

  Standing, he looked in each direction along the shoreline. The snow had been so churned up that even with a fresh fall the surface was not smooth, and he could see where several sets of tracks had arrived from and returned to the north. He signed to the Spetsnaz who had fanned out around him in a protective bubble and they began moving along the edge of the lake.

  It wasn’t a particularly difficult hike for Russians who were used to cold weather and soon they reached Rachel’s camp. Though the canopy that had functioned as a windbreak was gone, the snow that had piled up against it remained and had sheltered the area from the north wind. The remains of the fire were plain to see, as were the tracks heading directly up the ridgeline in front of them.

  Leading the way, Grushkin set off, climbing quickly while thoroughly examining the forest floor as he moved. Quickly he found a corpse that had been mostly consumed by animals and waved one of the troopers forward to collect a tissue sample. He had no idea if they had DNA on file for the Major, but he liked to cover all his bases.

  Odds were either the GRU or SVR would have obtained a sample at some point in the man’s military career. Both organizations had gotten quite good at it, and had instituted the procedure even before the general public knew what DNA was. Their most common method, once a target of interest was identified, was to send a female agent to make contact and seduce the man.

  American males seemed to despise condoms, perhaps thinking they were more indestructible than the rest of the world. Regardless, the agent would leave the target with a smile on his face and completely oblivious to the fact that she carried a sample of his DNA in her body to be collected, typed and catalogued.

  Grushkin continued up the slope, the Spetsnaz troopers fanned out in a wide line around him. As they reached the top of the ridge he heard a distinctively different rotor in the valley below and knew the crash investigators had arrived. Ignoring them for the moment, he paused to look at the compacted snow where something heavy had been dragged, following the path to a narrow road.

  Fresh snow filled in the deepest tracks that had been left by a vehicle, but he could make out where it had turned around and headed to the east.

  “Have the helicopter pick me up,” he barked at the Spetsnaz team leader.

  The man immediately got on the radio and in a few minutes the Hind appeared over the treetops. It was equipped with a winch and Grushkin was quickly lifted up, swinging through the troop compartment door.

  “Go. Follow the road,” he shouted at the pilot over the rotor noise.

  “But the other men, Comrade Colonel.” The pilot turned in his seat.

  “Have another helicopter pick them up,” Grushkin said, working his way into the cockpit. “Now get us moving.”

  The pilot nodded and said something to the co-pilot who was operating the winch. It whined as he retracted the braided steel cable and soon they were in a slow flight, following the Forest Service road.

  The Jeep tracks were faint from their altitude, but still visible enough to be followed. It didn’t take the Hind long to reach the larger road, the heavy aircraft banking and following as it began to descend.

  “What town is this?” Grushkin asked as they approached several homes that marked the boundary.

  “Ketchum, Comrade Colonel,” the pilot answered after consulting a map.

  From their altitude the vehicle tracks were still visible and they followed them to a small, brick building in the center of town. An abandoned ambulance was visible, marking the structure as a hospital.

  “Someone is injured,” Grushkin muttered to himself as the pilot reversed course when the tracks doubled back on themselves.

  Only minutes later they came into a stable hover over a large home set amongst thick trees on a several acre lot. Tracks that were mostly filled in as well as fresh tracks churned through virgin snow clearly marked the house.

  “Comrade Colonel, do I follow the tracks or set down to search the house?”

  “Down,” Grushkin said, already unstrapping and reaching behind him for an AKMS rifle.

  He jumped to the ground as the Hind’s landing gear settled, running for the side of the house. Checking the full perimeter first, he made entry and methodically cleared the large home. Satisfied he was alone, he spent several minutes walking around and looking at the signs of three people who had stayed here.

  Discarded American MRE wrappers. A bed that had been used. Empty IV bags in a trash can. Blankets left on two chairs and a couch. Fresh ashes in the fireplace.

  Squatting in front of the hearth he removed the cold weather glove from his right hand and extended it over the ash. Not hot, but not cold either. There was still some warmth emanating. Drawing a twelve-inch, World War II era bayonet that had belonged to his grandfather, Grushkin dug through the remains of the fire, feeling faint heat radiating on his face. He was only a few hours behind the Major.

  11

  Twin Falls was surrounded by a lot of agriculture and as we began heading west we drove past huge farms that were now sitting untended. Massive pieces of equipment could be seen resting where they had stopped. The road we were on was flat and even though it was only two lanes, it was wide with broad shoulders to accommodate all the trucks that would carry the produce to market.

  When we stopped in the city to top off the fuel tank I had needed a bathroom break, and was sure Dog and the girls did as well, but decided to get us out into open country so we weren’t having to fight at the same time we were trying to go. Less than a mile ahead I could see a large grove of trees near the edge of the road.

  As we drew closer a barn and several vehicles came into view. I pointed it out and alerted them that I was planning to stop for a few minutes. Both of them nodded and quickly checked over their weapons to make sure they were ready. I couldn’t help but grin at the sounds of magazines being dropped, checked and clicked back into place.

  “What’s amusing you?” Katie asked from the passenger seat.

  “Just thinking how surreal this is,” I said. “Driving down a road, telling you we’re going to make a stop and the first thing you do is check your rifle. A couple of months ago all you would have done is warned me to make sure it looked like the kind of place with clean bathrooms.”

  “Well, if they’re not, you’re going to be in trouble,” Katie said, looking out her window at a large tractor lying on its side in a field.

  I slowed the Jeep, coming to a stop on the pavement to survey the area before pulling off the road. More than a dozen old trees shaded the barn and surrounding area, their branches swaying slightly in the chilly breeze blowing down out of the mountains. Large, double doors were set in the end of the barn facing us, one of them swinging slightly with the wind, the other locked into place. It looked deserted.

  “Good as any,” I said, taking my foot off the brake and idling onto the short, dirt track that led from the road.

  I pulled to a stop thirty yards from the barn and we sat there for a minute, engine idling, waiting to see if there were any infected ins
ide that were going to come out and greet us. Finally, still seeing nothing, I shut the engine off and stepped out. Katie and Rachel got out the far side at the same time and all of us raised our rifles and scanned the area.

  “I’m going to check the barn,” I said quietly after none of us detected any threats.

  I moved forward and the girls fell in with me. I started to say something but Katie just stuck her tongue out at me and crossed her eyes. Trying not to laugh, I focused on the open door to my front. Katie and I went in, Rachel taking up station with her back to the open door, keeping an eye on the surrounding area.

  The barn was gloomy, but my eyes quickly adjusted. It held two tractors and several power attachments for them that I couldn’t identify. There was also a large truck with an open bed and mud caked tires. I suspected it had been used to transport harvested produce from the fields to a location where it could be transferred to a larger truck for the drive to town.

  Finding nothing of concern, I waved Katie out the door ahead of me and we rejoined Rachel. While they made use of the privacy afforded by a rusting harvester, I lifted Dog down out of the Jeep so he could get a break too. As soon as his feet touched the ground he shook, sneezed and limped over to the closest tree.

  I was just zipping up when the sound caught my attention. Rotor noise. Correction. Rotors making noise. It was on the threshold of hearing, but I was certain I was hearing multiple helicopters. They were too faint for me to recognize the signature and identify the aircraft, but what I could hear told me they were large. I had little doubt they were Russian.

  “Hear that?” Katie called from the far side of the Jeep.

  “Yes,” I said, shading my eyes with my hand and peering in the direction of Twin Falls.

  We were only perhaps ten or fifteen miles from the edge of town, but that was far enough that I didn’t stand a chance of seeing the helos. The wind had shifted until it was coming out of the east and that was probably the only reason I was even hearing them.

  “Shouldn’t we get moving? Get away from here?” Rachel asked, coming over to stand next to me.

  I turned and looked west, along the road. The terrain was flat and I could see to the horizon. It was wide open without a single tree or structure visible. Turning back, I continued to try and spot the helicopters.

  “If we do, and they come this way, we’ll be caught out in the open,” I said.

  “You think it’s the Russians?” Katie asked, joining us.

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” I answered, fishing in my pocket for the sat phone, then heading for the Jeep when I remembered it was on the charger.

  Lifting it out I noted there was no signal lock and looked up at the trees. They shouldn’t be blocking us but I moved out into the open just in case, keeping an eye on the signal meter in the display. It still didn’t lock onto the satellite. Getting a bad feeling I powered the phone down, then restarted it. No change. Shit!

  “What?” Katie asked as I walked back to the Jeep.

  “Sat phone’s not connecting,” I answered, tossing it inside and closing the door.

  “Any idea why not?”

  “Just a guess, but if that’s Russians I have an idea they’re jamming the signal. Don’t want us communicating with anyone.” I resumed my pose with a hand shading my eyes, staring to the east.

  “Why would the Russians be looking for us?” Rachel asked.

  I glanced at Katie and nodded for her to tell the story. We’d told Rachel about the events at Tinker and how we’d found her, but hadn’t gone into detail about some of the things that had happened on the drive to Idaho.

  While Katie filled her in I checked on Dog. He had stretched out in the dirt by the Jeep’s back bumper where he could keep an eye on us without having to stand. I gave him some water and a thorough head rub as I thought about our situation.

  My initial reaction was to get on the road and put as much distance as possible between the Russians and us. If I didn’t know how easy it is to spot a moving vehicle in open terrain from a helicopter flying at a couple of thousand feet, I would probably have given in to that impulse.

  But what really bothered me was how had they found me again? I was almost certain I’d shaken them in Dodge City, and it’s a hell of a long way from Kansas to Idaho. There was only one answer that made sense. There was another traitor. And this one had to be in Hawaii.

  Colonel Crawford and the people with him knew where I was going. Jessica knew where I was. Other than that we hadn’t had communication with anyone. Now the Colonel and the rest of his party were dead, at my hand. Had one of them betrayed me? Had I been completely fooled by either Irina or Igor and they were actually Russian agents?

  I didn’t think so. Too many things tipped the scales in their favor. That left Pearl Harbor. How many people were actually aware of who and where I was? I had no idea, and with the sat phone not working I couldn’t contact Jessica. Maybe that was good, though. Maybe she was the mole.

  I dismissed that thought as soon as I had it. She had us spotted precisely. If she was the mole, the Russians wouldn’t be having to search the area. They’d be crawling up my ass with a big, bright flashlight. That left someone she worked with. I needed to talk to her.

  Standing, I yanked the Jeep door open and grabbed the phone. Still no signal lock. I walked back into the open, making sure I was well away from any branches that could even possibly interfere with the device. Nothing. Just an icon of an antenna and the word “searching” rapidly blinking beneath it. As I stood there, staring at the offending device, I could still hear the faint sounds of helicopter rotors from over Twin Falls.

  12

  More than a thousand Russian troops had descended on Twin Falls. It was late in the day, the sun rapidly approaching the western horizon. After leaving the house where he was certain the Major had spent a couple of nights, Colonel Grushkin followed the tracks south until running out of snow to mark the passage of his quarry. But by that point there was no doubt the Americans were heading for Twin Falls.

  Ordering the helicopters out of the mountains, he had them form an aerial perimeter around the small city, hoping he had arrived in time to contain the Major. A radio call brought in a Beriev A-50, a Russian AWACS aircraft, which was specifically designed for airborne early warning and control. The jet not only took control of managing the airspace and ensuring the steadily growing number of helicopters and transport planes didn’t run into one another, it also began jamming every radio frequency that was not in use by the Russians.

  Throughout the afternoon, large Antonov An-12s, the Russian version of a C-130, landed at the Twin Falls airport and disgorged heavily armed ground troops and light infantry vehicles. Under the direction of the Spetsnaz troopers they began a house to house and building to building search.

  Twin Falls wasn’t large geographically, barely covering eighteen square miles, and between the patrolling helicopters and foot soldiers there was no way anyone was getting in or out without the Russians seeing them. But such close scrutiny of everything that was moving tested Grushkin’s patience. There were still a lot of infected in the city.

  There were no tall buildings in town so he settled for setting up his command post on the roof of a large Costco. Throughout the afternoon he stood at the southern parapet of the roof with a pair of powerful binoculars, constantly scanning. Several soldiers operated a variety of command and control gear to direct the ground operations and he had them turn the volume up so he could listen to the reports coming in.

  The sound of gunfire was nearly constant as the search parties put down infected who were drawn to them. A steady stream of reports came over the radio, documenting each engagement as well as identifying specific houses and buildings that had been searched.

  Frustration ate at Grushkin as he monitored the progress of his troops. The presence of the infected greatly hampered his efforts. Every time one of the men fired his weapon, more infected would be drawn to that location, necessitating more firing
when they arrived. And if the American Major was hiding somewhere he was getting regular feedback on exactly where the Russian searchers were. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to stay a step ahead.

  But there was no choice. His orders had no ambiguity. He was to deliver the Major, or indisputable evidence of his death, to Colonel General Kozlov. The only way to do that was to leave no stone unturned. But after several hours his men had only managed to search less than a quarter of the city. Too much time was being spent battling the infected.

  Glancing at his watch he noted the time and that a report to the General in Seattle was due. Turning his head, he snapped an order and a young Corporal snatched a satellite phone off its charger and dashed over to hand it to him. Taking the handset, he pressed a speed dial button before lifting it to his ear.

  The General’s aide answered and when Grushkin identified himself the phone was quickly passed to Kozlov.

  “Tell me you’re calling with good news, Colonel,” the General said by way of greeting.

  “Not yet, Comrade General,” Grushkin answered before going on to brief his superior on the current activities.

  “Do you believe he is hiding in this town?” Kozlov asked when Grushkin finished speaking.

  “I believe he may have slipped out before we sealed the perimeter, sir. But there is also a possibility that he is still here so we must complete our search. I have the Air Force conducting surveillance flights for a two hundred kilometer radius around the city. We will find him.”

  “Do not come back without him, Colonel.” Kozlov broke the connection without another word and Grushkin had to take a moment to martial his anger at the dismissive treatment.

  “Comrade Colonel. This just arrived, marked for your attention.” Grushkin turned to see the same Corporal who had brought the sat phone holding out a thin sheaf of papers.

  Handing the man the phone, he took the papers and looked at the header. It was a report on the DNA taken from the body in the mountains. Surprised at how fast it had been turned around he began reading, disappointed when the tissue sample was identified as belonging to an American Navy pilot named William Smith. It was noted that his DNA had been on file for eight years, having been obtained by a female agent in Cyprus.