Whether it was from the vibrations of the plane or exhaustion of being in constant terror, Brunner had finally fallen asleep.
How long this lasted, he wasn’t sure. He only knew his slumber abruptly ended when his stomach suddenly felt as if it wanted to rise out of his body at the speed of a rocket.
He sucked in a breath, then squeezed his eyes shut when his head reminded him it was still playing host to a migraine. It wasn’t until it settled back into a dull, throbbing pain that he realized the aircraft wasn’t experiencing turbulence again but was truly descending.
This was it. Somewhere ahead of them was where he would die.
He probed at the edges of his migraine. It seemed to have lessened a bit, and felt the way it usually did when his headaches began their meandering retreat to wherever they hid between attacks. This one would still be with him for a while, though, so there was no need to celebrate yet.
Down and down and down the plane went. He didn’t hear the landing gear extending, but did feel a new vibration that likely signaled its deployment, so he was prepared when the aircraft came in contact with the ground a few minutes later.
His heart rate increased as the plane braked, and he was close to hyperventilating when the aircraft finally began taxiing. The ride from the end of the runway to where the plane parked was much too short for Brunner’s liking.
“Please let this be just another short stop,” he mumbled as the engines whirled down. “Please let this be just another short stop. Please let this be just—”
His crate moved.
Oh, no.
Another shift, then he and the crate rose into the air.
No.
For a second, oxygen stopped freely flowing into his mask. The temporary disruption reminded him that when he’d been brought onto the plane, before the oxygen had begun pumping, the box had been hoisted upward in a near vertical position, with Brunner’s head at the low end as, he assumed, his small prison was hauled through the plane’s door.
He braced himself for a repeat, but while he did experience a dip, it wasn’t nearly as drastic as it had been the first time.
After this, the movements of the box became a rhythmic roll, created by the footsteps of those holding him aloft. At least four minutes passed before all forward motion stopped. For several seconds, nothing seemed to happen, then his stomach lurched again. He was moving down, and yet the box itself remained still.
Fighting through his migraine, he tried to figure out what was going on.
An elevator, he finally realized.
His stomach percolated until the ride stopped, and within moments, he started moving horizontally again.
This walk lasted a minute at most, before his box was seemingly lowered to the ground.
He tried to take a deep breath to calm his nerves, knowing the top was about to be opened again.
But the crate remained sealed.
A moment of panic pushed all of his other concerns away. He almost tried to kick the lid to get someone’s attention, but stopped himself.
Was he crazy? Better to stay in the safety of the crate for as long as possible. They wouldn’t kill him in here, right?
Right?
“Hey,” Orlando said, her voice coming from right beside his ear, her hand gently rocking his shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”
Quinn forced his eyes open, surprised he had actually drifted off. “What time is it?”
“Four-forty.”
It had been barely three a.m. when he lay down.
He returned his seat to the upright position. “Something happen?”
“They landed twenty minutes ago. We have some decisions to make.”
“Twenty minutes? Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Wouldn’t have made a difference. We still had some time.”
Time that was now up.
“Where did they land?” he asked.
“Nowhere.”
“Excuse me?”
“Come. I’ll show you.” She headed back to her seat at the table.
As he headed over to join her, he noted that Nate, Daeng, and Kincaid were all still asleep. Jar, of course, was working away opposite Orlando.
A map filled Orlando’s screen. The only place whose name he recognized was Volgograd, near the lower left corner. The dot representing his team’s plane was just to the northeast of it. The dot for the kidnappers sat middle right quadrant, on the other side of a solid white line that moved from the south-southwest to the north-northeast.
“How long have we been in Russia?”
“For almost an hour.”
“But they’re not anymore.”
“No.”
She zoomed in on the map. There were no towns within at least fifty kilometers of the kidnappers’ dot. In fact, at the current magnification, Quinn didn’t even see any roads. The only words displayed hugged the white line, which had now edged the left side of the screen. On the left side of the line was RUSSIA. And on the right—the side the kidnappers’ plane was on—KAZAKHSTAN.
Remote Kazakhstan, Quinn thought.
“Tell me something’s there,” he said.
Orlando glanced at Jar. “Can I get control of the satellite?”
“One moment.” Jar tapped a few keys, clicked on her track pad, and said, “Okay.”
A moment later, a satellite image filled Orlando’s screen. It was a live picture, the first rays of the coming sunrise licking across the land. A desert, not too unlike that of northern Arizona or southeastern Utah.
“I don’t see anything,” he said.
Orlando increased magnification until suddenly, out of the dirt and scrub, two runways appeared, faint and obviously designed to blend in with the desert. An untrained eye might not have seen them. Another zoom, combined with the rising sun, revealed a shadow that appeared to be cast by nothing.
“A building?”
Orlando nodded. “A hangar, I believe. The jet is inside it.”
Odder than the facility’s camouflage was the fact that not a single road led away from the airport.
“They’re still inside the building, too?” he said.
“Jar?” Orlando said.
Her eyes still on Quinn’s laptop, Jar said, “No one has exited.”
“Do we have any idea what this place is?” Quinn asked.
“I’ve been looking into that, but no luck yet,” Orlando replied.
“Perhaps our new…friend might be able to help.”
Orlando frowned. “She’s had plenty of time to pipe up but hasn’t said anything. So, either she doesn’t know or is unwilling to share.”
Quinn hesitated, expecting Danara to say something, but their uninvited guest remained silent. “All right. How do we get there?”
No way they could just pop on down to the secret airport and land unnoticed. Hell, a place like that probably had an air defense system, and the team’s plane would be in pieces by the time it reached the ground.
Orlando decreased the magnification by two taps. “The nearest other airport is here,” she said, touching the screen where a single-landing-strip airport sat next to a small town. “After that, it’s another hundred kilometers or more.”
“How far away is that?”
“Seventy-five kilometers.”
“Seventy-three and three-quarters,” Jar corrected her.
“Seventy-three and three-quarters, Orlando said.
“Anyone there going to cause us problems?”
“It’s an oil town, occupied by oilfield workers and those who support them. I’m guessing they’re used to seeing planes fly in every now and then. There are a few companies that have offices there. We come up with a good story, go in as one of them, we shouldn’t have any problems.”
“All right. Let’s do it.”
The town was called Ketovo, and its airport consisted of a small building for passengers to wait in, and little else. There was no control tower, only a windsock on a tall pole, and an automated weather update broadcast.
As for the town itself, from what Nate glimpsed as they descended, it was made up of a handful of parallel streets lined with nearly identical structures. Most of the buildings appeared to be divided into multi-family residences.
As they taxied toward the tiny terminal, he spotted dust rising from the road that ran from the airport to town.
“Looks like someone’s coming.”
By the time the vehicle arrived, the jet was already at the terminal, with Nate, Orlando, and Quinn standing outside.
One of the two men who piled out of the car wore a military uniform that looked like it had been thrown on in a hurry. The other was dressed in brown slacks and a white shirt. The military man was the older of the two, fiftyish, while his companion couldn’t have been more than thirty-five. Both looked flustered.
No one on the team spoke Kazakh but hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem.
Several years earlier, Nate, Orlando, and Quinn had become involved with a group of Russians seeking a countryman who’d tortured and killed many of their friends and relatives. Since then, all three team members had worked at improving their Russian language skills. Quinn and Orlando were passible now, but Nate had achieved near fluency. Since Russian was Kazakhstan’s second official language, he took lead as the men approached.
“Hello, gentlemen,” Nate said. “How are you this morning?”
“We were not told anyone was coming today,” the military man said, all business. “Who are you?”
Nate held out a hand. “Bryce Kenny, Wysocki Petroleum.” He let some of his American accent seep into his otherwise near-perfect Russian pronunciations, but he needn’t have bothered. At the mention of Wysocki, both men stood a little straighter.
Since choosing Ketovo as the landing site, the team had researched the area and learned Wysocki was the fastest growing company in town. A Texas-Saudi partnership, the corporation had deep pockets and was in an expansive phase.
“Mr. Kenny,” the younger Kazakh said. “We welcome you to Ketovo. I am Arman Temirov, mayor of Ketovo, and this is Major Ospan, in charge of security.”
“Pleasure to meet both of you.” Nate gestured back at Orlando and Quinn. “These are my colleagues, Kim Bong-Cha and Wes Stephenson.”
Handshakes all around.
“I’m sorry no one was here to meet you. I’m sure your company will send a representative soon.”
“That’s all right, Arman,” Nate said, purposely using the man’s first name. “No one knew we were coming.”
The man tried to hide his confusion by saying, “In that case, we would be happy to transport you wherever you like. Perhaps the Wysocki office?”
Nate winced and sucked in a breath. “Actually, we would prefer if they remained unaware of our visit.”
“I’m sorry?” Arman said, his bewilderment now on full display.
Nate hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure he could. “Hold on a second.”
He walked over to Quinn and Orlando. They whispered in English without really saying anything.
After about half a minute, Quinn said. “That should be enough.”
Nate nodded and returned to the men. “Major Ospan, Arman, can I trust you?”
“Of course,” Arman said.
Ospan’s response was only a few degrees less enthusiastic, both men clearly eager to please who they thought were oil company representatives.
Nate studied them like he was assessing whether they were telling the truth or not, then said, “It’s very important you tell no one. No exceptions. If my colleagues at Wysocki find out you haven’t kept your word, it is likely Ketovo will not receive the benefits of what our visit today might represent. On the other hand, if you do keep it to yourselves, we are always grateful to those who have earned our trust.”
While Arman looked receptive, a frown had appeared on Ospan’s face.
“What does that mean?” the major asked.
“That if you’re a friend to us, we will always be a friend to you. That’s the way things should be, don’t you agree?”
Arman whispered something to Ospan, but that didn’t seem to help the major’s mood much.
“I don’t want you getting the wrong idea,” Nate said. “This is all above-the-board stuff. Just information we’d rather others didn’t know quite yet.”
“If that is true, then no one will hear a word from us,” Ospan said.
Arman nodded in agreement.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Nate said. “Naturally, I cannot reveal all of our plans to you, but I can say that chances are good you will be seeing a lot more of Wysocki around this part of the country in the near future.”
Arman couldn’t help but grin. Even Ospan cracked a smile.
“That’s welcome news,” Arman said. “Is there anything we can do to assist you?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.”
“You see that ridge?” Orlando said. “The one with the rock sticking up at the north end.”
“I see it,” Quinn said. The ridge was about two kilometers away, running off into the desert.
“We’re going to want to turn right just before we get there and then follow it.”
“Got it.”
He checked the rearview mirror. The old Range Rover Nate was driving was about a hundred meters back, just outside the bulk of the dust cloud kicked up by Quinn’s Land Cruiser. Jar and Daeng were riding with Nate, while Kincaid was sitting behind Quinn and Orlando.
The SUVs were courtesy of Major Ospan, who had told the “Wysocki” team they could use the vehicles as long as they needed, and of course there would be no charge. Nate had insisted on paying each man a thousand euros for their assistance. Ospan made no sign of resistance this time.
Their plane had left the airport when they did and flown south to Georgia, where the pilots would wait for the signal to return. For the next ninety minutes the team traveled on a series of dirt roads. The first few had been well groomed, but after that the quality steadily degraded, which was why it took so long to go only fifty-five kilometers.
The remaining twenty kilometers to the secret airfield would be traveled entirely off road. The reduced speed would not solely be to prevent the vehicles from breaking an axle in a rut, but also to cut the amount of dust stirred up and reduce the chances of telegraphing their arrival.
“Right about…here,” Orlando said as they neared the ridge.
Quinn turned into the open desert and Nate followed.
After heading north, paralleling the base of the ridge, they entered a wide plain with an upward tilt. At the far end, about ten kilometers away, stood a raggedy line of boulders that looked like an ancient, deteriorating wall.
“How’s the airfield looking?” Quinn asked.
“Nice and quiet,” Orlando said.
Since the kidnappers’ jet had disappeared inside the camouflaged hangar, neither it nor anything else had come back outside.
When the team was approximately half a kilometer from the rocks, Orlando pointed toward them, a little to the left. “Those over there—the ones that look like they’ve been cut in half.”
Quinn got as close as he could before he killed the engine and climbed out. Kincaid followed him, and together they approached the nearest boulder. Behind them, Quinn heard the Range Rover stop and the doors open. He and Kincaid eased up to the rock, and Quinn peered around it.
On the other side, the land dipped away into a shallow valley. In the center, almost as hard to see as it had been on the satellite image, was the hidden airport.
So, this was Lonely Rock.
While Major Ospan had been arranging for their SUVs, Arman had graciously offered the use of a computer inside the terminal when Orlando had asked if there was one nearby. Leaving her phone with Quinn and Nate, she had used the computer to access the information Misty had left for them and had printed everything out, old-school style.
Not long after World War II, Lonely Rock had been built by the Soviets as
a top-secret research facility. It had apparently been instrumental in the development of several weapon systems and even played a part in the Soviet space program, by manufacturing several spy satellites launched in the late ’60s and early ’70s. By 1980, however, it had already been well on its way to being obsolete. And in early 1986, five and a half years before the Soviet Union collapsed, it had been decommissioned. American inspectors had toured the base in 1996 and confirmed it was no longer being used.
US intelligence assumed that was still the case, as there was no indication it had been reoccupied. Whoever was using the base now had obviously been very careful about maintaining that impression. That they’d been successful would reflect badly on whoever’s job it had been to keep tabs on the location.
Misty’s information might not have indicated who was using the facility, but it did confirm a base was there. And a big one at that. A report from the 1996 inspection noted the underground base stretched out over a large percentage of the valley.
Quinn pulled out his binoculars, set them on maximum, and scanned the facility.
The hangar had a single large opening, currently covered by a pair of giant sliding doors. He could see no other ways into the structure, but there had to be a pedestrian door somewhere. It seemed ludicrous to think a person would have to open the big doors simply to step outside. It must be on one of the sides Quinn couldn’t see.
Unless the only time anyone was allowed outside was when an aircraft was coming or going.
He scanned the roof, looking for an alternate entrance, but there didn’t appear to be any hatchways or even vents large enough for anyone to sneak into.
Sneaking in, though, was the least of their problems at the moment. Getting to the building unseen would be damn near impossible in daylight. And depending on the base’s security systems, it might be just as impossible to do so at night.
Footsteps approached from behind. “What do we got?” Nate asked.
“A whole lot of open ground.” Quinn glanced over. Daeng had arrived with Nate, and both men were now looking through their binoculars. Behind them, Orlando and Jar were approaching.
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