Brannigan looked at Wallenger. I don't know a thing about it. Have a nice evening. He turned and walked back to his hootch.
.
LOGOVISHCHYEH
14 NOVEMBER
0200 HOURS
THE night was cold and raw as Andy Malachenko, Luka Yarkov, and Igor Tchaikurov rode from the stables out to the road that led down to Dolirod and Highway Panj. All three were fully armed with concealed pistols and AKS-74 assault rifles in their saddle scabbards.
The three men huddled down into their heavy coats, the earflaps of their fur caps pulled down and tied under their chins. Heavy mufflers covered their faces against the buffeting of the freezing wind. Andy was in the lead with his companions behind him as they left the Russian settlement and reached the bucolic route leading to their destination.
Z'dyehs stop, Andy said, raising his hand after they had gone a hundred or so meters.
Yarkov was ready to reach for his Tokarev pistol. What's the matter?
You are heading for a trap, Andy said. Marvesky and Surov want you both killed.
Tchaikurov looked first at Yarkov, then back to Andy. He didn't know whether to trust the Muscovite or not. The ex-Spetsnaz decided to sound him out. And how do you know of that? He was also ready to shoot the SEAL out of the saddle.
They want to get rid of you two so Surov can take over the gang, Andy explained. I am supposed to shoot you before we reach the highway, then join them in the car to drive up here. That was when they were going to announce Surov as the new leader.
Now Yarkov and Tchaikurov were looking at each other. Yarkov rode up close to Andy. And what has made you change your mind and decide not to kill us?
I want to get you both out of here and down into Afghanistan, Andy explained. I will take you to the Coalition Forces where you can give them information on the gang and the crime syndicate in Tajikistan.
Maybe we should shoot you, Tchaikurov growled. Then knock off the two bastards in the car, and take it for ourselves.
Andy shook his head. Why do that? You'll end up with no place to escape to. If you go with me you will be rewarded. He now noted both had pistols in their hands, and he grew nervous. Listen! You will have a chance to go to America.
Ha! Yarkov laughed. How are you going to get us to America, Mikhail Andreovich?
I am an American, Andy announced.
I speak English, Tchaikurov announced. I studied the language for three years in KGB school. He switched to the language, saying, Tell me about yourself.
I know a safe way out of the Kangal Mountains down to the Pranistay Steppes, Andy explained in English. From there I will take you to the Coalition Forces. I was born in Russia but grew up in Brighton Beach, New York. He paused. Hell! If I wanted to shoot you two guys, I could have done it before now.
Tchaikurov stared at him openmouthed, then turned to Yarkov. He is telling the truth. The fellow is an American alright!
Yarkov stuck his pistol back in its holster. So just what the hell are you doing out here? You must be CIA!
We do not have time for a lot of chitchat right now, Andy said. I will explain all later. Right now, we should make a run for it.
Yarkov chuckled. In that case, lead on, Amerikanets.
Andy pulled on the reins of his horse, heading for the route he had discovered during his covert reconnaissance some weeks earlier.
Chapter 17
THE PRANISTAY STEPPES
14 NOVEMBER
0500 HOURS
THE wind was freezing and vicious as it buffeted the trio of riders going down the icy slope toward the lowlands. Andy Malachenko was in the lead with Luka Yarkov and Igor Tchaikurov following. The group allowed their horses to pick the best route across the rocks. As they neared the steppes, particles of stinging dust were picked up by the swirling airstream to add to the discomfort.
Yarkov kicked his horse in the flanks and trotted up beside the SEAL. How far do we have to go?
I do not know, Andy replied. Do either one of you have a map?
Yarkov shook his head. They would do us no good. Map reading is not part of Russian military training unless one is a commissioned officer.
In that case, we shall continue riding due east, Andy said. Eventually I will spot a landmark I recognize. But we have to avoid the Pashtun villages. I do not know which tribes to trust, so it is best to stay away from all of them.
I agree, Yarkov said. At any rate, there are a few who would love my and Tchaikurov's heads.
Eventually the three instinctively formed into a wedge formation with Andy in the advanced center position. As the ride continued, the trio settled into the discomfort with soldierly stoicism, doing their best to ignore the stinging cold dealt them by the elements.
.
0800 HOURS
YARKOV left his spot and once again joined Andy. The Russian leaned close so he wouldn't have to shout over the loud whistling of the wind. We must rest our mounts. There is no forage for them, so we cannot ride them too hard.
Good idea, Andy said, not having enough experience with horses to consider their welfare.
They rode into a dip in the ground that offered some protection from the wind, and dismounted. The saddles were taken off the horses, and after securing the animals the humans turned to their own comforts. Andy reached into his saddlebags and pulled out some packages. I knew we would be going for a long ride, so I brought along some extra rations. I have chocolate, instant coffee, some cheese and sardines.
The Russians laughed hard, and Yarkov said, We bought food too. As we told you earlier, we knew there was something suspicious about going down to the highway, so we were prepared to knock you off along with whoever was in the car. Then we were going for a long drive.
We have extra money too, Tchaikurov added.
Andy grinned. Well, let's eat then. Did you bring any bread?
Yes, Yarkov said. And strawberry jam.
We will have a pir, Tchaikurov said. A feast, eh?
They broke out their goodies and made some comparisons about who had what and how much, then divvied everything up. Within a few minutes, the one camp stove that Andy had bought was lit up to boil water in the pot that Tchaikurov contributed. Yarkov took a bite of a Nestle chocolate bar and glanced over at the SEAL. Where are we headed, Mikhail Andreovich? And what is going to happen to us there?
I should tell you something now, Andy said. I serve in the American Navy SEALs. My real name is Andrei Malachenko. You will first visit my commanding officer at our bivouac for a brief introduction. From there you will be flown from Afghanistan to an American base. That is where you will be given a thorough debriefing.
What about that reward you talked about? Tchaikurov asked.
Andy wasn't certain about any rewards or special treatment, but he knew enough to put a positive spin on his remarks. That will be taken care of when you get to America. That's far above my station. You will eventually meet the people who will bring you through that phase. The U. S. government has a special protection program that provides new identities, jobs, and money.
The two Russians grinned at each other and turned their attention to the snacks. Andy settled back, satisfied that he was bringing two valuable assets into the system.
.
1000 HOURS
THE three evaders were back into the humdrum riding through the cold that dominated the monotonous terrain of the steppes. Andy Malachenko referred to his compass now and then to make sure they stayed on an easterly course. The sun, high and distant, did little to raise the temperature; even its illumination was weak and wintry.
The crack of a bullet broke the air around them and was quickly followed by the sound of a gunshot. The riders twisted in their saddles and looked to the rear. A dozen or so riders galloped toward them, firing erratically and inaccurately in their direction. A quick look around showed the only cover available was some distant boulders near the northern foothills. No orders were necessary as they galloped toward the protection with Tchai
kurov in the lead.
After going a hundred meters, Yarkov's horse went down and the Russian hit the dirt hard, rolling violently over the unyielding terrain. The ever loyal Tchaikurov wheeled around and galloped back to his chief. Andy reined in and pulled his AKS-74 from the scabbard, providing covering fire while Yarkov jumped up behind Tchaikurov. Then they renewed their race for the rocky area.
It took ten minutes to reach the site, and all three jumped from their horses and took up firing positions. Yarkov had only his pistol since his rifle was back with his horse, and he held his fire to wait for their pursuers to draw closer before taking any shots at them. Andy and Tchaikurov squeezed off a couple of rounds each to discourage the attackers, but they continued closing the distance.
Then the bad guys quickly dismounted too, turning their mounts over to a couple of horse handlers. With that done, they scampered from boulder to boulder to close in. A few more shots were exchanged with no casualties on either side. Within a couple of minutes they were within the range of Yarkov's pistol. He took careful aim, then stopped as he suddenly yelled out, Hey! Mo budem Rusho!
The firing ceased as Tchaikurov took a close look. Those bastards are Tajiks.
Correct, Yarkov said. And one of them is that idiot Akali. He yelled out again, this time in Russian. Akali! I am Luka Yarkov!
Now all the Tajik bandits stood up and looked at each other in confusion. Akali, with no knowledge of the language, recognized the Russian. He waved and began walking toward the three men in the cover of the larger boulders. Andy relaxed now as the bandits approached. He counted ten of them, with the two in the distance holding the horses. Both Russians stood up and the bandits grinned at them as they drew closer.
Now! Yarkov said in a low whisper.
He and Tchaikurov opened fire on the Tajiks, the latter's selector on full automatic. The victims had only a couple of brief seconds of surprise before the bullets ripped into their bodies. One man, lagging behind the others, tried to run, but he too was toppled by quick bursts of 5.45-millimeter slugs.
Yarkov turned to Andy as the echoes of the volleys died off into the distance. If they discovered we were fugitives and alone, they would have shot us down like mad dogs. But we fired first.
Right, Tchaikurov said. The Tajiks are very brave when they outnumber you.
Andy frowned. It would seem you are very unpopular with the natives.
Yarkov chuckled. We have treated them badly in the past. They undoubtedly feel they had some old scores to settle with us.
Andy looked off in the distance. Those guys minding the horses have ridden off. It looks like they've turned the animals loose.
Tchaikurov pulled himself back into the saddle. I will go get you one, Luka Ivanovich. Then we can ride back to your horse and get your rifle and gear.
Andy decided to wait with Yarkov.
.
LOGOVISHCHYEH
16 NOVEMBER
0815 HOURS
CLOSE to a hundred of the Russian ex-military convicts had gathered in a group, pressed close together because of the cold. To their direct front stood three men: Aleksander Akloschenko, Pavel Marvesky, and Valentin Surov, who leaned against the Mercedes. Andrei Rogorov, bodyguard and chauffeur, stood off to the side. He was ready for a confrontation. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for signs of trouble.
Marvesky and Surov helped Akloschenko up on the bumper, then gave him a boost as he stepped onto the hood of the car. The corpulent man looked down over the sullen faces gazing at him with suspicion in their demeanors. The crime boss crossed his hands across his chest and stood defiantly with his feet apart. Alright, brothers! I have some startling news for you. Through my system of informers, I recently discovered that the man Molotosky who came here was not who he said he was. In fact, Molotosky was a gunman for the Moscow Mafia who want to move in here and take over the opium harvest for themselves, see? I am sure you all remember he showed up with a lot of cash. Well, he had even more than any of us thought, and he had bought off both Luka Yarkov and Igor Tchaikurov to join his gang in their scheme. They were going to knock off me and all my boys over in Khorugh.
The little underboss Fedor Grabvosky was in the front. He looked up into Akloschenko's face. How could three men arrange a takeover of so many others?
Akloschenko had expected challenging questions, and gave an immediate, confident answer. The Moscow syndicate was going to send down enough men to handle the operation here after most of us had been eliminated. He paused to check the men's reactions to the news. He liked what he saw. After I learned about the plot, I decided to trap those three bastards, but they somehow got wind of it and escaped. I do not know where they went, except that Yarkov and Tchaikurov could not go back to Russia. But Molotosky would have no trouble, and I am sure he is hiding from his pals who will want to settle with him about fucking up their plans.
What are we going to do now? a voice asked from the crowd.
I have placed Surov in charge, Akloschenko announced. You will obey every command he gives, because he now represents me. In other words, he has taken Yarkov's place.
The diminutive Grabvosky spoke again. But is not the Moscow Mafia powerful and well financed? Surely they can send enough men down here to get what they want.
I have taken that into consideration, Akloschenko said, elaborating on his falsehoods, and turned to my contacts in the Tajik government. These politicians and bureaucrats are going to use official funds to invest in the opium harvest. And they will add some two hundred soldiers to the mix. That is more than enough to handle a few city boys from Moscow. I will tell you something surprising that has been kept a secret until this very minute. We will all become rich, because the entire harvest will be sold to the Taliban. They will take care of all smuggling, transport, and distribution. All we must do is let them know where and when to pick up the powder and gum.
Aleksei Barkyev, another of the underbosses under Yarkov, stepped forward. I thought the Taliban were on their last legs.
They have grown stronger, brother, Akloschenko said. They have financing from Saudi Arabian oil princes. They will use the money they earn from the sales of the opium to finance arms dealing, training camps, and provide aid to several of the former Muslim countries of the old USSR. Such as Chechnya.
One of the ex-soldiers was confused. Excuse me. But are not those Muslims fighting against our own people?
Brother, said Akloschenko, we no longer have our 'own people.' Every person you owe allegiance and loyalty to is gathered here and now.
The truth of the statement was instantly recognized by the former convicts, who expressed their acceptance of the changes with silent looks of acquiescence.
.
YARKOV'S FORMER HOUSE
17 NOVEMBER
1000 HOURS
THE rusted-out Toyota pickup without doors rolled up to the front of what had once been the home of Luka Yarkov. The rear was filled with the household belongings of Valentin Surov and his sixteen-year-old Pashtun woman, Aghala. They hadn't needed to bring a lot since Yarkov's property was still in place and that included his two women, Zainba and Gabina. The pair had stayed with the house because no one had told them what to do after their master's disappearance, and they had no other place to go anyway.
Surov and Aghala got out of the truck cab and walked to the front door. Surov led the way into the house with the girl following him. Zainba and Gabina stood nervously in the kitchen waiting for them. At this point Aghala stepped around the Russian and walked up to the other two Pashtun girls. She gave them a look of haughty contempt, showing what was more of a sneer than a smile on her young face.
You are to stay here, she announced to them in Pashto. You now belong to Surov and that makes me the wrumbanay shedza the first wife.
Zainba spoke up angrily and loudly. I am older than you. That makes me the first wife.
Aghala showed a furious scowl. Surov has already told me I am the chief woman! And if you do not obey me, I will have
you taken down to the barracks and thrown in for the men's enjoyment. You would not survive past the third night of their rough treatment.
Zainba and Gabina looked at each other, realizing that they were completely at the other Pashtun girl's mercy. They both bowed their heads to indicate they accepted the conditions imposed on them.
That is much better! Aghala said. Now there are some things in the back of the truck outside. Fetch them in here and I will show you where to put them. I will also organize the sleeping arrangements. Tadi kawa hurry up!
A moment after the two girls scurried through the front door, Akloschenko and Marvesky entered with Surov. The three men went to the kitchen and settled down at the table. With the others fetching and toting, Aghala took care of serving the men vodka, then quickly withdrew to further instill her authority over the house.
Akloschenko took a full swallow of the liquor, looking at Surov. Everything went fine with the men. They will obey you with the same willingness they did Yarkov.
Yes, Surov agreed. As long as they are able to earn money and live safely and comfortably here, everything will be satisfactory.
Marvesky finished off his vodka and refilled the glass. Now that we have solved the problem of acceptance, we can begin laying down our plans for the winter.
Combat Alley (2007) Page 17