Fractured: V Plague Book 15

by Dirk Patton

  “California. It is time for the coup. Convince the commanders to stop fighting the Americans or all of us will die.”

  “What has happened?”

  “No time,” Igor said, shaking his head. “If I bring Irina back, she will tell you. If not, Admiral Packard in Hawaii will help.”

  Shevchenko frowned but didn’t ask any further questions. Igor held his eyes for a beat, then looked at Strickland and rolled around the edge of the building. The SEAL followed, both men moving cautiously. The only sound was the soft crunch of frozen snow beneath their boots, but there was nothing that could be done to prevent it. Approaching the main building, they split apart and headed for their agreed areas.

  “Five minutes,” Strickland mumbled to Igor, tapping his watch as they separated.

  Igor glanced at his and nodded. That should be more than enough time for each of them to get into position and be ready to breach. They didn’t need to communicate any strategy. Both were seasoned warriors. When the clock expired, they would make simultaneous entry. Anyone they found, other than Irina, was an enemy.

  A heavy door, secured with a rusting lock, was in the middle of the back wall. Igor examined it closely, then pried it open with his knife. The ease with which the cheap metal tore free from the surrounding wood confirmed his suspicion of the building’s age. A generation of Siberian weather; short, wet summers and frigidly cold winters had deteriorated the structure to the point it was surprising it was still standing.

  Checking his watch, he saw one minute remaining and took a deep breath to prepare himself. Fear for Irina, which had been pushed aside since they were separated, threatened to consume him. Though he made a concerted effort to mask his emotions and only show the world the gruff exterior they expected from a Russian, Igor was actually a deeply compassionate man. He just didn’t like to show it, believing if anyone knew his heart they would think he was weak.

  Fifteen seconds. He gripped the rifle tighter and shut out thoughts of anything other than what the next few minutes would require. The men who were holding Irina were going to die. For them, he had no sympathy. They had chosen to take her, against her will. If only they’d realized they were signing their death warrant, perhaps they would have gone about their business and left her alone.

  At five seconds, he grasped the edge of the door and counted the remaining time in his head. Pulling it open, he cringed at the squeal of rusting hinges. The noise was probably not loud enough to wake someone, but would certainly alert the occupants if one of them was on watch.

  Yanking the door fully open, Igor rolled around the jamb, rifle up and scanning for a target. There were no electric lights, only dim oil lamps. They provided more than enough illumination as he entered a long hallway that ran toward the front of the building. There were five doors that opened off the corridor, three to the right and two on his left.

  Moving quickly to the first, he gently tested the knob. It turned easily in his hand and he glanced in at a cramped storage room that stank of spilled beer. Gently closing it, he moved on and was reaching to open the next one when there was a shout of surprise followed by three suppressed shots from somewhere ahead. There was a crash of furniture being knocked over and glass breaking. Strickland had encountered someone.

  The door he had been about to check was suddenly jerked open from inside. An unshaven man wearing pants with suspenders over a pair of long underwear started to step out, an aging Makarov pistol in his hand. Igor pressed the muzzle of his rifle to the man’s chest and pulled the trigger, shredding his heart and lungs.

  The body had absorbed much of the sound of the unsuppressed AK, but it was still louder than Igor liked. Stepping into the doorway, he shoved the falling corpse out of his way and scanned. This was the barracks, a pair of stacked beds against one wall, another by itself on the opposite side.

  A man lay in the upper bunk, frozen half way to a seated position. He was young and his eyes were wide with fear as he stared at the deadly apparition that had suddenly stepped into the room.

  “Where is the woman?” Igor asked, rifle trained on the man’s face.

  “Down the hall, in the cell,” he said, stammering in fright.

  “Spasiba,” Igor said, then shot him in the head.

  Spinning, he checked the hall and moved toward the front. No more firing from Strickland, which he hoped was a good sign. There had only been three beds and he’d just killed two men. If he was right about the meaning of the SEAL having fired, there should only be Irina remaining in the building.

  Despite feeling good that all the men in the building were down, he still cautiously checked each door as he went. A stinking restroom, an office with a desk and a cramped kitchen. All empty. Hurrying forward, he paused at an intersection with another hall, listening closely but hearing nothing.

  At the end of the new corridor he could see it opened into a larger space which had to be the front. Pale, flickering light cast dancing shadows on the wall, but he didn’t see or hear any movement. Sliding down the hall with his back pressed to the wall, he paused when he saw a set of iron bars. They were a door into a cell and he had to resist the impulse to hurry forward and make sure Irina was really there.

  Edging along a foot at a time, he paused when he could see through the bars. Dirty straw covered the floor, but he couldn’t tell if there was an occupant. To do that, he would have to step into view of the larger room. Taking a breath and hoping for the best, he called out in English.

  “Clear!”

  “Clear,” Strickland’s voice answered almost immediately.

  “Coming,” Igor said, warning the SEAL he was about to step into view.

  Hurrying forward, he glanced to his left, seeing the American standing over the bodies of a pair of men wearing expensive clothing. Strickland lowered his rifle when he saw Igor, nodding at the cell. Whirling, Igor smiled when Irina rushed forward to the bars to greet him. He was so happy to see her, it took a few moments before he realized there were two other women hanging back near the rear.

  Strickland made a quiet sound to get his attention, then tossed a large, brass key. Igor snagged it out of the air and hurriedly unlocked the barred door. Letting his rifle swing down, he gathered Irina into his arms and crushed her against him.

  “Later,” the SEAL hissed. “Let’s get out of here while the gettin’s good!”

  Igor grunted, releasing Irina and stepping back. She turned and motioned at the two women who tentatively came forward.

  “Who are they?” Igor asked in Russian.

  “Being taken to Irkutsk,” she said. “We can’t leave them here.”

  Igor nodded, glancing at what he realized now weren’t women, but girls that weren’t even out of their teens. Turning, he hurried to a chair where the two men Strickland killed had thrown their heavy coats. Snatching them up, he handed one to each girl. A sound caught his attention and he reached into one of the second coat’s pocket and pulled out the satchel of gold coins he’d given to Irina.

  “My uncle?” Irina asked.

  “Safe. Waiting outside for us,” Igor said, pocketing the bag.

  Irina smiled, squeezed Igor’s hand then took each of the girls by the arm and followed him through the door into the night.

  51

  I had explained my idea quickly and though there were a lot of doubtful expressions, no one had a better suggestion. So, we’d jumped into action, preparing for our assault. It had only taken fifteen minutes, but every second was critical. The kill team could decide to leave at any moment. They could spread out within the building, which would almost completely negate the effectiveness of the attack I had planned. A dozen other things could go wrong, but I didn’t allow myself to dwell on them.

  “Why are we doing this?” Rachel had asked.

  “You got a better idea?” I’d responded, focused on filling a bottle.

  “No. That’s not what I’m asking. Why are we taking these guys out? Doesn’t the ADF have the armory locked down? Without bei
ng able to break in, the team won’t have what they need to attempt the raid.”

  “Do you know that?” I’d asked without stopping what I was doing.

  “Isn’t that the idea of having alerted the ADF?”

  “Yes and no,” I’d said. “There are other armories. We have no way of knowing if these guys have a plan B and will simply just go to another location. I’m sure they picked this one because of its proximity to Barinov’s building, but that doesn’t mean they’re not prepared with an alternative location.”

  “He’s right,” Lucas interjected. “That’s what I’d do. Can’t put all your eggs in one basket. The only way to be sure they’re stopped is to stop them permanently.”

  Rachel thought about that for a moment before nodding and continuing to help with the preparations. Now, we were spread out and communicating over small, encrypted radios that had come from Bering’s safe house.

  He was on the roof of the warehouse that overlooked the defunct auto repair shop with Rachel at his side. Lucas was in the storage lot of a towing company that abutted the fence surrounding our target’s rear parking lot, lying across the top of a tall RV that was tagged with an impound sticker. I was prone on the roof of a commercial tire shop. My position gave me an unobstructed view of the front of the target and had the advantage of being low enough that I could drop down to the top of the Rover and be on the ground in seconds. An unhappy Dog was locked inside our vehicle. This wasn’t a battle he could help with.

  Bering had insisted he was the one for the job when I’d explained what we were going to do. He said he’d been a pitcher on his high school baseball team and knew he still had a great arm. I’d looked at him for a moment before glancing at Lucas who had only shrugged and turned away. Accepting Bering’s assurances, we’d split up, moving to our current locations.

  I performed a quick scan of the area. This was going to be noisy and, even though there weren’t any residential buildings nearby, I didn’t think the fight would go unnoticed very long. The police would be called and, already on edge from the firefights that had been popping up around the city, they would flood the area in force. We had to hit hard and fast, then get the hell out of there. Unmuting the phone, I spoke softly even though I was too far away from the target to be heard.

  “Have they moved?”

  “No, sir,” Jessica replied instantly. “Still sixteen at the western end with two on watch.”

  Lucas and I had identified the two doors where the sentries had set up. One opened into the rear, the other the front. They were heavy steel, as expected in a commercial building, the upper thirds a window with steel mesh reinforced glass. This gave them a great view of the exterior, but kept them out of sight in the dark interior. I thanked Jessica, leaving the call connected and activating my radio.

  “No change to target,” I transmitted. “Confirm status.”

  Lucas, then Bering, responded that each was ready. I didn’t hear Rachel’s voice, but hadn’t expected to. She was listening, but was focused on her task.

  “GO! GO! GO!” I said sharply, eye focused on the door where the sentry was watching the lot.

  I faintly heard four sound suppressed shots in rapid sequence, but couldn’t see the hand thrown objects that arced between the warehouse and the target building’s roof. Rachel’s fire had blasted out the skylight that was nearly directly over the heads of the sixteen assembled men. Now it was up to Bering to put his money where his mouth was.

  “They’re reacting!” Jessica’s voice came over the speaker.

  An instant later, there was a brief flash of light visible through the skylights and window where the sentry stood, then the muted thump of a fragmentation grenade detonating within the building. One second pause, a second flash and blast, then a third.

  Almost immediately, a flaming object arced up from Bering’s position, but this one was off target and struck the roof adjacent to the broken skylight. With a whump, the bottle shattered, releasing the gasoline inside to be ignited by the burning rag that had plugged its neck. With a bloom of bright orange flame, the burning fuel began running toward the hole in the roof and dripping through.

  “Thermal is masked!” Jessica reported over the phone, letting me know the heat of the fire had blocked her view of the building’s occupants.

  Another object came flying from Bering’s location, a flickering flame marking its passage. This one sailed through the opening and a second later I could see the undamaged skylights and window flare and stay lit as it erupted.

  “Lucas, sitrep,” I called in a calm voice.

  “I’ve got flames visible through the window at the sentry’s position. Don’t think anyone’s coming out that way.”

  As he was speaking, Bering launched three more Molotov cocktails. One of them shattered on the roof, but the other two were on target and added to the conflagration inside.

  I could see the light of the flames through the door facing the front lot, but it didn’t seem as if they were close. Pulling my rifle tight, I held aim on that point, waiting for someone to emerge. Black smoke was billowing through the hole in the roof and it wouldn’t be long.

  The door suddenly burst open and a man with a rifle to his shoulder ran through, turning and heading for the corner of the building. Right on his heels were three more. I pulled the trigger and the first guy tumbled lifeless to the asphalt. Shifting aim, I managed to not flinch when the other three cut loose with their weapons on full auto. They didn’t have a target. Couldn’t see me as I watched them run for cover and adjusted my aim. They were simply hoping to spray enough lead to distract their attackers so they could reach safety.

  One of them was moving slow, dragging a leg most likely injured by one of the grenades. I bypassed him and took out another a moment before he would have rounded the edge of the building and been lost to sight. The next guy threw himself to the ground, eating dirt behind a low row of blocks that created what had once been a landscaping feature.

  I checked on the wounded man, who had taken cover in the shadow of a large cement pot that held a dead palm tree. Ignoring him for the time being, I shifted back to the one behind the blocks. They appeared to be standard cinder blocks and were only stacked two high. He was crawling forward on his belly, his head and vital organs protected, but that didn’t mean everything was.

  Taking a deep breath, I let it out and pulled the trigger as my lungs emptied. The man spasmed in pain when my round punched through the meat of his ass, but he was savvy enough to keep the truly important parts in cover. Sighing, I fired again, earning a scream as he lost a chunk of his right hamstring where it connected to his butt. Shifting, I started pumping rounds into the blocks where his head and upper body would be.

  I didn’t expect a 5.56 round to go completely through, but the bullets did a good job of chewing up the man’s protection. He might not be taking hits, but he sure as hell knew he was under attack. After several more shots, he stopped moving and held up an arm in surrender.

  “Lucas, you clear in back?” I asked over the radio.

  “Clear. No one came out.”

  “Move to the front corner, but stay in cover and let me know when you get there. Got two of ‘em pinned down and wounded. One is surrendering. I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Copy,” he said, then Bering spoke in my ear. “We done?”

  “Affirmative. Get your asses down and to the vehicle.”

  “Sir!” Jessica’s voice from the phone.

  “Go.”

  “I’m monitoring radio traffic in your area and the police just put out an alert. You’d better get out of there!”

  “Copy,” I said, then went back to the radio. “Step it up, Lucas. We’re about to have company.”

  “In position,” he said.

  “You’ve got two of them when you come around the corner. One will be on the ground in a planting bed, five yards to your front. The other is behind a large planter with a dead tree, ten yards beyond the first.”

 
“Got it,” he said.

  I didn’t take my eye off either of the men I’d pinned down, but knew Lucas would have poked his head around the corner to get a view of what I was describing. A couple of seconds later I saw movement as he came into the open. Could tell he was shouting commands.

  “I’m at the vehicle!”

  Rachel letting me know they’d made it.

  The man behind the blocks was cooperating, tossing his rifle out into the lot and holding his arms straight in front of his prone body. Lucas approached carefully, swinging wide with his weapon trained as he cast a quick glance at the second man.

  “One behind the pot looks unconscious or dead,” he reported.

  “I’ve got the one you’re at, go check him,” I said. “Clock’s ticking.”

  Lucas didn’t hesitate to turn away and hurry toward the other man. He shuffled sideways, rifle on target. I kept my focus on the prone man I’d already shot a couple of times. He might be hurt, but he was far from being out of action. I heard a short burst of suppressed fire from Lucas, but didn’t shift my attention.

  “Fucker was playing,” Lucas reported, then stepped back into the field of view of my scope and leaned over the man.

  “Sir, you’ve got police one mile out, coming fast!” Jessica’s voice over the phone.

  “Lucas, hold him. We’re coming to get you!”

  He acknowledged as I snatched up the phone and slithered to the edge of the roof. Swinging my legs over, I dropped onto the top of the Rover then climbed down to the ground. Rachel was behind the wheel and I yanked the door open and jumped in, shouting for her to go before the door was shut behind me.

  The vehicle surged forward and she kept us in a straight line. We bounced over a curb, a sidewalk and some small bushes, then roared across the parking lot and screeched to a stop near Lucas. Jumping out, I ran to the back and opened the hatch before grabbing the injured man and dragging him across the pavement while Lucas covered our retreat with his rifle.

  Grunting with exertion, I shoved our prisoner into the cargo area, told Dog to keep an eye on him and slammed the hatch. Lucas piled into the back seat, swiveling around to watch the man and I jumped back in front. Rachel floored the throttle, spinning us around and heading for the street.