While Colin had hogtied the body of the dead man, tying the hands together behind the back before looping the rope down to tie the ankles together, faithfully replicating the photographs that we had seen of similarly trussed up victims of the Islamic Fundamentalists – I had waited with the young man’s head cradled in my hands. Trussing up done, I had then placed the dead man’s head between the shoulder blades of his decapitated body. After taking photographs for the SVR – we had left, waiting until dawn to be picked up by Karen.
The SVR had been right – all hell had broken loose. On the discovery of his brother’s decapitated body, the leader of one of the largest Grozny clans had instantly assumed that the Fundamentalists had carried out the ‘execution’. Retaliation and revenge had been instant and deadly. Over the next few weeks, it had been all out war between the two factions; the collective Grozny clans, taking common revenge for the murder of a teip member – and the Islamic Fundamentalists, although heavily outnumbered, fighting back with retaliatory raids and killings. If the fighting had been left unchecked, it would have quickly led to the total elimination of the Islamic Fundamentalists – something that would have been extremely advantageous for the Russians. However, a representative from a Saudi Arabian militant group had brokered a cease fire between the two warring factions – Al-Qaeda reputedly paying the Chechen clans five million US Dollars, in ‘blood money’, to appease them and bring an end to the bloody in-fighting.
Then it had been back to businesses, as usual for us.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
It had been towards the end of September, after all the in-fighting between the Chechen rebel factions had subsided, when Colin and I had returned to Chechnya to undertake some more ‘removals’, for Colonel Dmitri K….
As with our previous work assignments, Karen had been our sole contact, supplying us with local intelligence, and keeping us fully briefed on the targets and their locations. She had also become a close friend to us, as well…ensuring that we always had a safe roof over our heads – ensuring that we always had warm food and chilled vodka in our bellies. Despite her comparative youth, she had an endearing tendency to want to boss us around…chide us to do things – and chastise us when we didn’t. She had been our eyes and ears on the ground – and we had respected her cool analytical judgement and her clinical perception. So, it had come as a bit of a surprise when she had specked out the last of the ‘special action removals’ planned – this last one had been different from the others.
All the previous removals, which we had successfully undertaken, had been pretty much the same as before…same format – same modus operandi. Waiting in ambush along alleyways or passages, which had been the intended escape route from a safe house – waiting to kill those Chechen rebel commanders and senior officers, attempting to flee from the diversionary assault by Russian Special Forces. However, this target location had been somewhat different from all the others. Set up by a relatively new Islamic terrorist group, it had been situated on the eastern outskirts of Grozny – not in the centre of the war ravaged city, itself. And, unlike the previous target locations, of rundown apartment blocks and near derelict terraces, it had been a substantial house – set on a corner of a crossroads, with walled grounds to the rear. It had also differed significantly in terms of Karen’s firsthand knowledge of this new group – days, rather than weeks. In fact, it had been they who had directly approached Karen for medical supplies – from the onset, becoming one of her biggest ‘customers’. Nevertheless, despite not having the same level of personal contact with them as she had with the other rebel groups, Karen had been very enthusiastic about targeting this new terrorist cell. Her current information and intelligence had clearly indicated that there would be high value targets staying at the location. The indicated escape route from the house had also differed significantly from the others. Set out in its own substantial grounds, with open land to the rear, there had been no nearby alleyways or passages for the occupants to use for escape. Instead, the two storey house had been extended out to the side, partially blocking the road that had run alongside of it – conveniently constructed over an access cover to the main sewer system. With a big cheesy grin on her face, Karen had looked directly at me when she had informed us that the sewers had been the planned escape route from the safe house.
But, it had all seemed a little bit too good to me. So I had arranged to put back the intended strike by twenty four hours, to enable Colin and myself time to personally reconnoitre the area in and around the target location – and also to fully inspect the sewers, as well. Karen had dropped us off close to the target location just before ten, that night – and although some twenty-eight hours ahead of the planned assault, we had taken all our equipment and provisions with us, with every intention of remaining on site until the assault. Colin and I had taken cover in a nearby barn that had commanding views over the safe house, the compound and the area surrounding it. At first light, from a distance of no more than a couple of hundred metres, we had checked out the exterior of the safe house and the compound that it had stood in. All had been pretty much as Karen had outlined to us. Next had been the sewers. Leaving our weapons and equipment safely hidden in the barn, we had made our way to the nearest access point to the sewer system, set in the middle of the road some hundred and fifty metres from the safe house. Although there had been no other dwellings near to us, and little chance of being detected, I had still left Colin on the surface to keep look out. I had been fortunate – at least the sewer had not been in use. Having climbed some three metres down the access shaft, I had been pleased to find that the sewer had been relatively dry, just a trickle of water in the bottom of the gulley. The shaft itself had probably been some two metres tall and about a metre and a half, at it’s widest. Situated between the access shaft that I had just descended, and the safe house, had been another access point some fifty metres along the sewer – about a hundred metres from the safe house. This had been the intended exit point for the fleeing terrorists – according to Karen. As I had moved along the dry crumbling concrete sewer towards this access shaft, I had constantly checked for triggering devices and booby traps, shining the broad beam of my flash light along the tunnel, alternating between floor and ceiling and wall to wall. On reaching the next access shaft, I had checked it thoroughly for explosive devices and the like – but it too had been clear. Continuing on down the sewer, I had eventually reached the access point that had led directly up to the extension of the safe house that had been built over it. It too had been clear of explosives, or any other type of device. Climbing the steel rungs, set into the concrete of the shaft, I had climbed up to the where the metal access cover had been placed firmly over it. Again, no sign of trip wires or devices – it had looked clear. In fact, everything had looked clear…we had been good to go – so why not!
On returning back to Colin, we had made our way back the short distance to the barn. From there, I had given instructions to move the assault forward by twelve hours – so, instead of attacking at 0200 hours, the next morning; the strike had been rescheduled for 1400 hours, that afternoon. As a precaution, the rescheduling and new timing of the assault had not been communicated back to Karen – just in case!
Remember – trust no one!
Leaving Colin in the barn, covering the area with a Dragunov SDV sniper’s rifle, at 1330 hours I had made my way back into the sewers armed with a Russian PKP light machinegun. I had taken up position about ten metres away from the next access shaft – the intended escape route of the rebels. And there I had patiently waited…listening to Bach and Mozart, in my mind – while revisiting and reliving fond memories of the past.
It had soon reached 1400 hours, and the crackling sound of Colin’s voice, in my earpiece, had quickly informed me that the Spetsnaz unit had been making its final approach to the safe house. Putting on pair of large ear protectors – in the tight confines of the sewer the noise would be have been truly deafening; literally – I had taken up a kneeli
ng firing position, my left hand supporting the machine gun, its wooden skeletonised buttstock pushed hard into my right shoulder. With my thumb, I had moved the rotating safety lever, set just above the trigger, to the fire position; and had pointed the barrel of the machine gun directly down the length of the sewer. From far down at the other end of the sewer, a trace of light had suddenly illuminated the access shaft by the safe house, as two figures had dropped down into the tunnel – but only two. I had waited, holding fire – the two figures scurrying along the floor of the sewer towards me. I had waited until they had reached the access shaft close in front of me, just metres away – the first figure reaching up to grab at a metal rung, his foot raised to stand on another. A one second burst, from the machine gun, had starkly illuminated the confines of the tunnel as I had sent ten rounds thudding into the figures in front of me. While the figures had writhed and danced under the impact of the heavy 7.62mm rounds, I had fired another ten round burst into them…then they had both fallen – then they had both become still. I had waited patiently for more to flee down the tunnel – but none had come.
The ear piece, nestled in my right ear, had suddenly come into life as Colin had informed me that he had been about to open the access hatch above me. The light had flooded down into the shaft and on to the pathetic tangle of figures at its base. Getting up from my kneeling position, I had walked slowly over to them, my finger still on the trigger of the light machine gun – my camera in my other hand. But there had been no need for me to take photographs for the SVR, this time. The bloodied figures at my feet had been no more than children…no more than fourteen, sixteen at the most – both unarmed; hardly the Mujahideen commanders that we had been expecting!
Something was very wrong! – But what?
We had joined the commanding officer of the Spetsnaz assault group in front of the safe house. He too had been slightly puzzled at what he had found – or what he had not found, to be more precise. There had been surprisingly little opposition to their assault and he had feared a trap. So much so, that he was having the house carefully ‘swept’ room by room, using electronic sniffing equipment to sniff out and locate any explosive devices that may have been hidden inside. While the house had been ‘swept’, Colin and I had sat out in the afternoon sunshine – waiting. After about thirty minutes, or so, a very agitated and annoyed Spetsnaz Captain had emerged from the house. He had taken us straight through the deserted, empty ground floor of the safe house to a washroom, at the rear of the building. Against the far wall of the room, propped up tidily against it, had been a ceramic china squat pan. Directly in front of it had been a large rectangular hole, where the squat pan had once been fitted flush to the floor. Leading from it had been a tunnel! It had been an escape tunnel. A tunnel that Karen had not told us about – but why not? She had told us about the other escape route, through the sewer – so why not this one?
She hadn’t told us about this tunnel because she hadn’t known about it! And she hadn’t known about it because she hadn’t been told about it!
The Spetsnaz Captain had been right, it had indeed been a trap – but not for us. It had been a trap for Karen. The Islamic Fundamentalists had been looking for the informant who had been betraying them.
And now they had found her!
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
Karen’s mother had been sitting in her old rocking chair, on the rear porch of the farm, her severed head placed neatly on her lap – her sightless eyes gazing out over the naked violated body of her daughter.
Fearing the possibility of Improvised Explosive Devices, IED’s, the Spetsnaz Capitan had led our convoy out of Grozny along country roads and tracks to the poultry farm, completely avoiding main roads. Again, because of the real fear of possible ambush or IED’s, we had approached the farm through the small wood at the rear. Breaking through the cover of the trees, we had been greeted by that awful sight. While the rest of the Spetsnaz unit had covered our approach from concealed defensive positions in the wood, Colin and I had cautiously made our way across the farmyard to the house – and the bodies.
No matter how many times that I see it, I always find that there is something surreally bizarre about a decapitated body, the head detached from where it should naturally be – and Karen’s mother had been no exception.
It had not been quick! Judging by the jagged torn edges of flesh and tissue around her neck and shoulders, it had not been a clean kill – a crude amateurish combination of cutting, hacking, sawing and tearing.
It was a shame – I had quite liked Karen’s mother.
Karen had lain facedown, spread-eagled naked in front of the porch and her mother. They had probably forced Karen to watch the cruel barbaric decapitation of her mother first; before making her suffer – and suffer, she had! Her body had been covered in a mass of abrasions and cuts. Her body had not only been covered in her own blood, but also in the bodily secretions of others: the creamy white splatters of semen, the yellow glisten of urine and the pungent smears of human excreta! With her legs forced wide open, the yard broom had been clear to see – its shaft embedded firmly into her anus. Karen’s head had been turned to the left; the right hand side of her face in the mud of the yard, her left pale and bloody to view. Her once blonde hair had been turned a vibrant blood red. Crouching down beside her, I had looked directly into her pale stained face – her left eye fixed in a permanent unblinking stare. The bullet had entered just behind Karen’s left ear – judging by the contact wound and powder burns. It had travelled directly upwards, exiting from the top of her head just left of centre – a tiny flap of scalp and hair securing a small piece of skull blown out by the bullet. I had gazed down into her ashen face, again…and had sighed – and then she had sighed! No more than a slight tremor – a spasm, at the most. But it had been a sigh. There had been a pulse, too. Faint, and very weak – but still a pulse. Colin had seen it too, and had dropped down on to his knees opposite me.
“I need a miracle!” I had yelled out. “I need a helicopter medevac – and I need it NOW!”
Colin had looked over to me – his eyes narrowed in anger. “You are a major in the fucking F S Bee! You can order any miracle you want, Major.”
So – I did.
While we had waited, we had tried to tend for Karen, as best we could. The Spetsnaz unit’s medic had come over to lend assistance. The medic had been a scrawny individual with a drawn haggard face and gapped teeth that had looked like grave stones. I had seen this man stamp on the head of a wounded Chechen rebel – and I had seen him slowly sink his combat knife into the gut of another. But now he had been gentle and caring. Carefully, moving Karen’s head as little as possible, he had taped a sterile field dressing over the exit wound, in the top of her head; and another over the entrance wound, behind her left ear. Then he had started to clean her body, tenderly – almost reverently. He had shouted for unopened bottles of drinking water to be brought over. With the water, he had washed the bulk of the human filth from off Karen’s naked, vulnerable body. He had then tended to her open wounds and abrasions with iodine swabs. Finally, having cleaned up and cared for her, as best he could, he had then covered her with a green medical thermal blanket. While Colin and I had turned our attention to the broom handle, the Spetsnaz medic had continued to talk to Karen, almost singing to her in a soft melodic tone.
We hadn’t dare risk pulling the broom handle out. If it had caused internal injury when it had been pushed in; then pulling it out would have risked aggravating those injuries even further. The wooden shaft may also have effectively been sealing off any severed arteries or blood vessels – preventing a ‘bleed out’. Instead, using a small saw from the wood shed, with Colin firmly holding the shaft between those large hands of his, I had slowly, and oh so carefully, sawn through the broom handle as close to Karen’s buttocks as possible. I had just finished sawing through the wooden shaft when a pair of Mil Mi-24 Hind helicopters had suddenly appeared overhead, sending dust and debris flying about the yard from
the powerful downdraft of their rotor blades. The scrawny Spetsnaz medic had done his best to keep Karen’s body wrapped with the thermal blanket, covering her body with his own, in an attempt to keep the blanket from being blown away. Both Mil Mi-24’s had been fully fitted out as gunships and, while one had slowly descended into the farmyard; the other had remained on station, hovering above our heads, ready to give covering fire, if needed.
Landing squarely in the yard, from out of the opening cabin door of the Hind had jumped four crew men, three carrying large packs, the forth a folded stretcher. Crouching low, the four helicopter paramedics had sprinted over to where we had been standing next to Karen. Quickly, in a raised voice, our Spetsnaz medic had informed the senior of the paramedics, a Junior Sergeant, as to Karen’s condition and the treatment that he had already administered to her. The paramedic with the stretcher had unfolded it, opening out the aluminium alloy and nylon mesh litter, placing it down alongside Karen’s inert body. From out of his bag, one of the other paramedics had carefully fitted a cervical collar. Made up of shaped foam styrene blocks fitted with a ribbed adjustable frame, he had carefully adjusted and fastened it in place around Karen’s head and neck; ensuring that her skull and spine had been maintained in neutral alignment. Leaving her on her front, the five of them – the four paramedics from the Hind and our Spetsnaz medic; had gently lifted Karen on to the stretcher. And, while one had secured her to it with straps positioned over the blanket, another had fitted a peripheral cannula into the back of her hand, hooking it up to a saline bag. Our Spetsnaz medic had wanted to come along with us. But, with the stretcher, the four helicopter paramedics, and Colin and I, there had not been sufficient room in the main cabin of the Hind to take him. Before dusting off, I had given the Captain of the Spetsnaz assault group orders to completely destroy the farm.
Autobiography of an Assassin:: The Family Page 42