Fractured: V Plague Book 15

by Dirk Patton

  Despite the body bags being tightly zipped, there was still a noticeable stench of death inside the aircraft. Probably because I had opened them to search for a phone. It apparently didn’t bother Dog or Rachel as they were both already asleep, breathing deep and regular. Well, if the sawmill snores coming from Dog can be considered regular. I sat there for a few minutes, listening to them, then drifted off.

  Sometime later, my head snapped up when a roaring buzz sounded from just outside. We’d been overflown by a small aircraft. Dog was already on his feet and I leapt to mine, hurrying to the cockpit so I could see through the windscreen. I caught a glimpse of a small plane with brilliant landing lights as it climbed away from the ground and banked, then the lights went out and I lost all sight of it.

  “Russians?” Rachel asked from behind me.

  “Don’t think so,” I said. “Got an idea who it is. At least who I hope it is.”

  The droning of the light plane faded briefly, then grew louder as it approached the ground. The lights mounted in the leading edges of its wings snapped on and a few seconds later its landing gear came into contact with the smooth desert floor. Though I couldn’t see it in the darkness, I knew there would be a large plume of dust thrown up in its wake.

  “Let’s go,” I said, squeezing past Rachel.

  Lowering the night vision goggles over my face, I released the crew door and shoved it open. To my left, the plane was slowing. I looked around quickly for the dingoes, but didn’t see them. Hurrying to the ground, I led the way to the far side of the C-130 and huddled with Rachel and Dog behind the large landing gear. Though I was fairly certain we weren’t in any danger, I wasn’t going to take a chance.

  The small plane came to a stop, a dense plume of dust enveloping it as the pilot pivoted to taxi in our direction. For a moment, the cloud was lit from within by the landing lights, glowing ethereally, then the plane emerged and slowly approached. When it was near the tip of the Hercules’ wing, it came to a full stop and a second later the lights and engine shut off.

  I was watching through the rifle scope and was glad to see the pilot was the only occupant. I also recognized the plane and with a grin I stood and moved into view as Lucas popped the door open and stepped out into the night.

  “What took you so long?” I called.

  “Can always leave your ass out here for the dingoes, you unappreciative bastard,” he shouted back.

  “I’m very appreciative,” Rachel replied as we walked forward to meet him.

  “You can come with me, then. I’ll just leave him,” Lucas said.

  “How’d you know we were here?” I asked when we were standing near his plane.

  “Got a call from your friend in Hawaii. Was about to leave for Sydney. Figured I’d scoop you up on the way,” he said. “Seems she’s doing a good job of looking out for you. And she told me what happened. Everybody but Sherman?”

  I nodded and he looked away briefly, cursing under his breath.

  “We’d better get going,” he said after a long pause. “Flew over the scene on the way here. More cops than I’ve ever seen and the ADF is there, too. Couple of helos on the ground. Not going to take them long to start searching the area and they’ll spot this thing pretty fast.”

  17

  The eastern horizon was quickly lightening when we touched down at Wedderburn Airport, south of Sydney. There was only a single runway, carved out of the surrounding forest with a grouping of perhaps fifty small hangars at the southern end.

  “You just land wherever you like?” I asked as we slowed to taxi speed.

  “Private field. Have to belong to the New South Wales Sport Aircraft Club to use it,” he said. “This is where I learned to fly when we decided to move to the outback.”

  He taxied to the farthest row of hangars, making a sharp left. Three down on the right, a door in one of the small, sheet metal buildings was open, light spilling across the tarmac. Beyond the entrance sat a shiny black Range Rover, a compact man wearing a well-cut suit leaning on the fender.

  “That your friend?” I asked.

  Lucas nodded as he guided the small plane into the hangar. A moment later he shut off the engines and the sudden absence of noise and vibration was a relief. We climbed out, the air much cooler than it had been in South Australia. While Rachel followed Dog out of the hangar and to the tree line, I went with Lucas to meet his friend.

  They shook hands and hugged briefly, then Lucas turned and introduced me.

  “James Wellington,” the man said, taking my hand in a firm grip. “What happened to your eye?”

  He spoke in a much flatter accent than Lucas, his Aussie strine nearly undetectable.

  “Nosy bugger, aren’t you?” I asked, earning a grin to which I smiled. “Bullet fragment in the head. Fucked up the optic nerve.”

  “Lucky bastard that’s all it did,” he said, peering at my eyepatch. “Well, gather up the lady and let’s be on the road. Traffic is about as bad here as any city in the world. We can just beat some of it if we aren’t mucking about.”

  Rachel joined us, smiling politely at Wellington’s overly solicitous greeting. Dog, seemingly aware the man was wearing a several thousand-dollar suit, immediately rubbed against his perfectly creased trousers. To my surprise, he knelt and rubbed Dog’s neck, apparently unconcerned with the forest of fur that had been deposited on his clothing.

  Lucas began unloading the gear he’d brought. Rachel watched with an odd expression on her face.

  “Something wrong?” I asked quietly.

  She shook her head, slowly looking around.

  “What?” I persisted.

  “Nothing,” she said after a long pause. “Just… I don’t know. A sense of déjà vu, maybe. It’s nothing.”

  I looked at her and she finally shrugged off whatever it was and smiled at me.

  A few minutes later we were on the B69, heading north toward Sydney. Traffic was heavy, despite the early hour, and growing worse as we approached the city. Wellington pushed a button on the dash, activating a small screen set above the radio. It displayed several graphs that were updating in real time and after a brief examination, he nodded to himself.

  “We can talk,” he said. “No electronics within the vehicle. Saw the news, by the way. Sounds like you had a little dust up on the Stuart.”

  I grunted, not feeling like reliving the incident. Lucas had learned the details while we were flying to Sydney and when it became apparent I wasn’t going to talk about it, he related the story. I stared out the window as he spoke, feeling the acute pain of having lost more friends and comrades.

  When he finished, Wellington was quiet for several miles, either out of respect for the dead or because he just didn’t know what to say. It didn’t really matter as I appreciated his silence.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I eventually asked.

  “We’re going to my office,” he said. “We’ve been preparing for this contingency, supporting the Regiment, and my people are ready to share the intel they’ve gathered.”

  I nodded, not surprised that the Australians were ready to kick the Russians out of their country.

  Traffic was every bit as bad as Wellington had made it sound and it took us a long time to reach his building in Sydney. Once there, we spent the day with his senior staff, going over the security situation at Barinov’s building. He was well protected, and there wasn’t a viable option on the table for several hours until we came up with the idea of creating a plumbing stoppage so I could go in disguised as a plumber.

  Several hours later, after the evening rush hour had let up, we moved to a large training compound located in a western suburb of Sydney. Wellington owned the facility and at the moment we, along with his senior staff, were the only occupants. We all had dinner, then worked on our plan some more, which evolved to disbursing some foul-smelling gas into the building’s pipes to reinforce our ruse. We had finally settled on all the details, especially after Rachel sprayed a burst of the stuff into th
e air of the conference room.

  “You didn’t need two cases of that shite,” Lucas gasped. “One can should send the Russians running!”

  Rachel started to say something, most likely sarcastic, but we were interrupted as Tanner burst out of another room.

  “We’ve got a problem!” he shouted, dashing past and down the hallway.

  No one hesitated, just charged after him. We caught up with the Chief Inspector in a cramped office. Several PCs sat on the floor, feeding monitors that were piled on a folding table amongst a bird’s nest of wiring.

  “Tanner?” Wellington asked as we all squeezed in.

  “There,” he said, pointing at a screen displaying an image of the compound’s main entrance.

  Two men in dark clothing stood outside the rolling gate, rifles in their hands. Tanner pointed to two other monitors, both showing more identically dressed and armed men standing outside the perimeter fence.

  “Russians?” I asked rhetorically, assuming the worst. “Wellington, you have an armory?”

  “Follow me!”

  He pushed through the crush of bodies and took off at a dead run. We did as instructed, running close on his heels. After a couple of turns, he stopped at a door labeled as Custodian, a large wad of keys already in hand. It hid a slate grey vault door and he tugged it open after entering a long series of digits into the keypad.

  Lights popped on as he stepped in and immediately reached for a rack of American M4 rifles. They were quickly passed down the line until everyone was armed, then he grabbed a large ammo can off a shelf.

  “Loaded mags, and there’s a radio in each can,” he said. “Everyone take one!”

  Brillard arrived, slightly winded from sprinting to the armory. I tossed him the rifle I was holding and grabbed another.

  “Going to the roof,” Wellington said, picking up a very long sniper rifle with a high-powered scope. “The Senior Sergeant knows the terrain and will direct you to defensive positions.”

  He slipped out of the vault and disappeared at a run.

  “Fuck that,” I said before Brillard could open his mouth. “I’m going outside. We need a little offense.”

  I’d spotted a shelf that held night vision goggles and grabbed a set. Brillard started to protest, but Lucas cut him off and snatched another pair of NVGs for himself.

  “He’s right, and I’m going with him,” he said.

  “Stay here and keep Dog close,” I said to Rachel.

  She slapped a loaded mag into her rifle and nodded as I stepped into the hall.

  “This way,” Lucas said, taking off to our right.

  We passed the classroom and turned down a narrow hall that led to the rear of the building. At the end was a steel fire door and I knew where we were. Just outside, there was a small smoking area that had been set up for the trainees, and I’d ducked out there for a cigarette a couple of times.

  Lucas paused before opening the exterior door, glancing up at the light over our heads. I reversed the rifle in my grip and used the butt to smash the bulb, plunging the hallway into darkness. Dog’s nose bumped my leg and I spun around in surprise. Rachel was right behind him.

  “He wanted to come with you,” she whispered, shrugging.

  I shook my head, but didn’t have time to argue. Slipping the night vision goggles into place, I activated them and followed Lucas out into the dark. We were on a concrete pad that extended from the rear of the structure, surrounded by a grassy field with occasional clumps of bushes.

  Lucas scanned quickly before leading the way to the closest shrub. We took up positions on opposite sides and I hand directed Rachel to the third area. Dog settled in at my side and I could feel the tension in his body.

  “Clear,” I said after a full thirty seconds of scanning.

  “Clear,” Lucas and Rachel both echoed a moment later.

  Lucas raised the radio to check what Tanner could see on the security monitors, but paused when the sound of a heavy helicopter rotor reached us. It quickly grew in volume, approaching fast.

  “That’s a Black Hawk,” I said when I recognized the unique sound signature.

  “Has to be ADF,” Lucas said, meaning the Australian Defence Force. “Russians brought their own.”

  “What the fuck?” I muttered.

  “Don’t know,” he said.

  By now we could see the helicopter’s navigation lights approaching from the south. It was coming fast, but wasn’t low or blacked out. At least it wasn’t on an attack run. Not trusting it wasn’t a decoy, I carefully scanned the night sky in the opposite direction. Nothing was airborne.

  The Black Hawk lost altitude and slowed until it was in a stable hover above the large parking lot for the classroom building. Lucas had already pulled around close to me so we were all concealed by the thick bushes. We watched as the helo descended and came to rest on the asphalt.

  Side door sliding open, half a dozen men in body armor with rifles jumped to the ground and spread out in a defensive perimeter. When they were in place, an older man with a star on his uniform collar stepped out into the night. He was ramrod straight with a profile straight out of central casting when they wanted a hard as nails military commander. He stayed by the helo for a moment, surveying the area, iron grey, brush cut hair not even twitching in the fierce downdraft from the rotor.

  “Fuck,” Lucas breathed.

  “Know him?”

  “Recognize him,” he said. “Brigadier Stonebridge. Right bloody prick. He’s a political puppet and whenever the PM farts it clears out his sinuses.”

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Rachel asked.

  “Nothing good. That’s for sure,” Lucas said. “This means the PM has gotten wind of our plans, or at least that we’re making some, and the Brigadier is here to shut us down.”

  “We need to get the hell out of here,” I said, turning and surveying the distant fence line.

  “Aye, we do,” Lucas said, then turned to face me. “But if the Brigadier is here, that means it’s not Russians surrounding the perimeter. We aren’t here to start killing soldiers who are simply doing their job. If we get caught, we get caught.”

  “Fuck that,” I growled. “Where were these bastards when Barinov was executing a squad of American SEALs? They made their choice and they’ve got to live, or die, with the consequences!”

  Lucas glared at me, then shook his head.

  “You know better than that,” he said, not breaking eye contact.

  “Look, Lucas. You know the score. Know what’s coming if we don’t remove Barinov. I understand your concern for your fellow soldiers, but do you think they’d hesitate to fire on us? I promise I’ll do everything I can not to kill one of them, but I will not let them stop me!”

  “Look!” Rachel said.

  She was staring at the idling Black Hawk and Lucas and I turned to see what had caught her attention. Another man in uniform had stepped out and was standing next to the Brigadier, only this one wasn’t a member of the Australian military. I raised the rifle to use the scope for a better view and gritted my teeth.

  “Goddamn Russian Colonel General,” I said, lowering the rifle and looking at Lucas. “Don’t know about Australia, mate, but I know what we do to traitors in my country.”

  “Fuck ‘em,” Lucas growled, lowering his weapon. “Let’s get out of here.”

  18

  Fyodor Shevchenko struggled with his footing in the deep snow, despite running in the tracks created by Igor’s much larger and heavier feet. They had only been out of the prison camp for a short time when the first sounds of pursuit reached them. Initially, it was the faint, distant barking of dogs. That had gotten Igor’s attention and he hadn’t waited to see if they were being pursued.

  Hissing at Irina and her uncle to stay close, he set off toward the south. His pace was fast, his thick legs pumping in and out of the snow as if it were nothing, but Shevchenko didn’t possess his strength or stamina and soon began to lag. Then the dogs bayed again, clo
ser than before, and he was spurred to push harder. Slowly the older man closed what had been a widening gap, running as hard as he ever had.

  The air was bitterly cold, burning Irina’s lungs with every breath. A strong wind had picked up, blowing from the east and chilling her even more. The scarf she had wrapped around her lower face provided a small degree of protection and comfort, but not enough. She was almost certain the tip of her nose and her cheeks were going to freeze.

  A woman who had always prided herself on her beauty, Irina wondered what life would be like with permanent frostbite scars on her face. She had inherited the flawless, pale skin of her mother and pictured herself as a monster as she struggled through the night. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Igor and her uncle had stopped until she crashed into Shevchenko’s back.

  Knocking the older man down, she lost her balance and tumbled to the ground. Igor turned and grabbed both of their arms, easily lifting each out of the snow and onto their feet. Shevchenko panted, coughing softly as Irina looked at Igor in embarrassment, but his attention was focused to the north. The direction they had come from. And the same location where at least three dogs were baying frequently.

  “We cannot outrun them,” Igor said after a moment. “Even if we could, our trail in the snow could be followed by a child.”

  “What do we do?” Irina asked, a fresh thrill of fear prickling her frigid skin.

  “Fight,” he said.

  “With what?” Irina cried. “We have a pistol and a knife. The guards will have rifles and they have dogs.”

  Igor looked at her, his eyes in shadow. A pale moon reflected faintly off the snow, but not enough for her to read his expression. After a long moment, he nodded and raised his head to look north again.

  “You must continue,” he said resolutely. “I will face them.”

  “You are crazy! You cannot face a squad of guards and a pack of dogs. Not with only a pistol!”