Hard Cover

by Adrian Magson

  I called Lindsay.

  ‘Go ahead, Watchman.’ Quick off the mark and economical as always. It was good to hear a friendly voice.

  ‘I need you to see if you can run a background check on a weapon,’ I said, and gave her the serial number and description. ‘I think it could be off the black market, in which case numbers close to this one might have been circulating on international police files of weapons stolen in batches from armouries or military depots.’

  ‘Got that. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. That helicopter you saw earlier is back in the air. If you can get a trace on where it’s going, it would help. I’d also like a heads up if it looks like heading back this way.’

  ‘Copy that. I’ll keep you posted.’

  ‘Another thing. I’m close to losing contact with Counselor. Can you get the Pathfinders to monitor and feed back his progress until I’m back on board?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. After that you should ask Vale to get them out of there.’

  ‘Is there a specific problem?’

  ‘Not yet, but there might be. I’m only guessing but I think the other team are contractors. Even so, if the people they work for have any juice they might use local military and intelligence assets to scan the area for unusual signals.’

  ‘One moment, Watchman. I have someone for you.’

  There was a click and Brian Callahan came on. ‘What happened?’

  I gave him a potted version of events and repeated my suggestion that the observers sent in by Tom Vale should be sent out of the area in case things hotted up. By accident or design, the situation could become compromised at any moment, and fewer bodies in the field would be a good idea.

  ‘Copy that; I’ll pass it on. I take it you had contact?’

  ‘Affirmative. Four men by air. They’re now down to two plus two walking wounded. But I don’t think that’s going to stop them. They’ll be back.’

  ‘I think you can count on it. It’s a setback but if the people behind them are who we think they are, they have too much to lose to give up easily. Be prepared for additional bodies.’

  ‘Copy that. Any word on movement from Impaler?’ If Putin did make tracks for this end of his empire, he could well be dragging a posse of observers behind him, not all of them friendly. Either way it might make the field a little crowded. And unlike being able to go to ground in a city, getting caught in the open out here would take some explaining away.

  ‘We’ve got nothing yet. We’re watching those close to him. If he moves, so will they.’

  I signed off and dragged my gear out to the car. More than anything now I had to keep a close tail on Tzorekov. Whether Putin moved or not, whether he agreed to a meeting with Tzorekov directly or via an intermediary, Tzorekov had placed himself in a tough position. The opposition would be out to stop him at all costs, and now they knew somebody else was out there and ready to fight, they’d come back with all guns blazing.

  Worse still, they had one big advantage in their favour: the other tracker was still on the Touareg, pinpointing precisely where Tzorekov was headed.

  A couple of hours of hard driving later, as I was beginning to think I’d never catch up, I got lucky. The signal from the Touareg became stronger. I slowed down. A large metal sign by the side of the road was showing a schematic of a power plant sitting on the banks of a river. It was old and rusted, the paint peeling badly, but in the headlights I caught a glimpse of the old Soviet-era graphic of a workers’ paradise, with muscular and smiling men and women in flat caps and scarves, all marching towards a new age that had long since gone.

  I checked the signal. Unless the tracker had become dislodged, they were no more than a couple of miles away and not moving. I hadn’t seen another vehicle for over an hour, the last one a logging truck that had nearly swept me into the trees on a sharp corner. But suddenly I was feeling beat and needed to get some sleep, if only for a few minutes. A deserted building might be an ideal place to stop for a while, especially if there was no risk of losing the Touareg. I could always call for the Pathfinders to give me a reading, but I preferred to stick a little closer to Tzorekov if I could. The one thing I couldn’t do was continue my assignment if I was so tired I got wrapped around a tree or the front end of a big truck.

  I dropped my speed to a crawl and came to a bridge spanning the river. Beyond it I saw the faint outline of chimneys and a huge blockhouse of a building outlined against the sky. I switched off my lights and stopped the car. I climbed out and did a quick tour of the car to drum some feeling back into my legs, which felt stiff and cold. Then I got out the scope and took a look at what lay ahead. It was a monstrosity in green, of concrete and metal with crumbling walls and trees growing through the sides of the structure. The once-substantial river that had serviced and powered it was now a long way down and little more than a hundred yards across.

  I focused on the approach to the main building. I was hoping there was no security in place. Many such facilities like this in Russia kept a caretaker on site to keep away scavengers and squatters. What I needed was somewhere quiet to put the pickup under cover and get my head down. But first I had to find the Touareg.

  Then I saw it. They’d had the same idea as me.

  I was looking into the dark interior of a huge bunker of some kind. It had double sliding doors that were wide open, with one door hanging on its rails and looking like it hadn’t moved in decades. Although deep in shadow, or perhaps because of it, I saw a flare of red light. It was no more than a second or two, but it was enough to show the outline of the Touareg, which had reversed in against the back wall. The flare had been from the brake lights. Then the shape of the vehicle changed as the front doors opened and Tzorekov and Gurov climbed out. They went to the rear and opened it, and took out something that looked like baggage. Moments later they walked out of sight.

  I went back to the car and considered my options. I couldn’t stay on this side of the river and hope to provide any kind of cover for Tzorekov if the helicopter came tracking in on their signal. The speed they had in the air would outweigh mine to react on the ground by a long way. But to drive across the bridge now was to risk putting myself under the spotlight, especially if I encountered another vehicle coming the other way and Gurov heard the engines. One might be acceptable but in his jumpy state, two might make him take a closer look.

  I drove across the bridge, foot light on the gas pedal. The feeling of exposure I got while passing the open latticework between the vast metal struts was like being a target on a high-wire. I was hoping Gurov was even more exhausted than I was and not watching me right now. The plant was far enough away to be out of normal earshot, but sitting down the river like it was, sound would travel more easily along the water.

  I drove past the gated entrance to the plant and found a pull-in three hundred yards beyond it, sandwiched between trees. It looked as if it was in occasional use by truckers, but right now I had it all to myself. I reversed into the trees and cut the engine, then set my internal alarm to sleep for thirty minutes.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Up close, even in the green light of the scope, the twin gates to the power plant looked big and intimidating. At some point there had been chains fitted and locked in place, but they had since been cut away and one of the gates forced back just enough to allow a vehicle through.

  I stepped through the gap. The surface of the road had crumpled and was full of potholes. It was impossible in this light to see whether any other vehicles apart from the Touareg had passed this way recently. A nice layer of mud to show up tyre tracks would have been ideal but I was out of luck.

  A crumbling cinder-block guardhouse stood fifty yards inside the gates, another reminder of times past. Grey and austere, it was as welcoming as a tank trap. I checked it over through the scope on the Val first to make sure it was clear, then moved in to make sure there were no surprises waiting – like Gurov with an itchy trigger finger. It would be too humiliating to be sho
t by one of the people I was supposed to be protecting.

  Closer inspection showed the structure was empty. It had long ago been gutted and stripped of anything useful, a case of individual free enterprise taking over from rigid state control. This included the sliding windows for checking vehicles, staff and visitors in and out, and the inner doors and other fitments. I left it and moved to the river side of the approach road where there was a grass verge, and began walking towards the power plant.

  It was easy going, with plenty of cover if I had to get out of sight fast. I came to a bend and saw the river side of the building where it jutted out over the water. The rest of the structure was out of sight behind a line of trees coming right down to the road. I used the scope and saw that whatever had once been built for drawing water off the river had now collapsed, and there was no way for anybody to bridge the gap. I crossed the road to where there was a backdrop of trees and continued moving round the bend until I could see the whole sweep of the building, including the bunker where I’d seen the Touareg.

  The space in front of the building was the size of two football fields, and had once been a truck and vehicle park. Getting across to the bunker meant having to skirt around the edge under cover of the trees surrounding the site. It was going to take time, but it was the only way of staying off Gurov’s radar and not being caught flat-footed on open ground.

  I took it slowly, checking for obstacles. The ground inside the treeline was rough underfoot and tangled with undergrowth, but thankfully free of fences or other barriers. I finally got close to the corner of the bunker, and stood studying every inch of it for signs of Gurov. I wasn’t going to underestimate him or the fact that, to him I would be an intruder – and a potentially dangerous one at that. He would be alert for any opposition to what he and his boss were doing, and whether he was old-school KGB or more recently their successor, FSB, his reaction would in all likelihood be instantaneous and deadly.

  And out here there would be nobody to witness what he was doing or how he would dispose of the evidence.

  Once I was satisfied I walked across to the building and slid round the edge of the nearest giant door into the interior. It was like stepping into an aircraft hangar, with the ceiling high above and that oddly conflicting feeling of enormous space somehow contained, the kind that made you instinctively want to shout simply for the comfort of hearing the echo.

  The Touareg was fifty feet away. Beyond it were two doors, one at each corner, leading into the main building, each with steps leading up to a small platform. Both doors were closed, but I couldn’t see any signs of locks or chains. In the centre of the wall between them was a large steel shutter affair which I guessed covered hoppers for loading coal into the plant. There were no viewpoints overlooking the bunker interior, so I crossed the open floor and looked through the Touareg windows. I couldn’t make out much detail inside, just a couple of boxes, probably supplies, some bottled water and wet-weather clothing spread over the rear seats.

  I considered for a moment seeing if I could locate the other tracking device. If I could destroy that the team pursuing them would be flying blind. But that was assuming they didn’t now have more up-to-date information about where Tzorekov and Gurov were heading. I decided I had to find them first. If the helicopter team did come calling, I couldn’t do much to protect the two men if I didn’t know where they were.

  I moved across to the left-hand stairs and up the steps. With no way of knowing what was on the other side of the door, I had to tread carefully.

  I tested the door. It was closed but not locked. I edged it open enough to put my ear close to the gap, and heard the soft echo of voices. I pulled the door further and slipped through. I was in a large passageway with two doors along the left-hand wall and a pair of double doors at the far end about forty feet away, where a flicker of light showed. Water lay on the bare concrete floor, pooled around a scattering of broken and mouldy plaster where damp had got into the structure. The smell was musty, the air chilled and unwelcoming.

  I checked the two doors first. They opened into what I guessed had been offices. They were now bare and open to the elements where the windows had been stripped out, letting in years of rain and snow to assist in the gradual deterioration of the building’s fabric.

  That left the double doors at the far end. As I started forward, I felt a hint of a crackling sensation under my foot, and stopped. This was too risky. The floor was layered in grit, and I could see where the two men had already passed by, leaving crushed fragments in their wake. It was like a natural intruder alert, and I really didn’t need to be here right now. I stepped back and retreated through the door. Now I knew where the two men were, I could check out the rest of the site in case I needed to find a quick way out.

  But first I had to look for the second tracker. I slid underneath the Touareg and felt around the underneath, digging my fingers into all the nooks and crannies. I ghosted over the tracker I’d left there, and working on the basis that whoever had bugged the vehicle would have had little time to do it, focussed on the areas close to each side.

  Nothing.

  That meant it had to be under the hood or inside the vehicle itself. And that could be a problem. I’ve never yet come across a hood that lifted without a sound; they’re noisy because they’re made of thin metal and in a space like this the sound would be magnified several times over. To add to it, modern vehicles come fitted with anti-theft alarms and this one had a telltale red indicator glowing in the front. But I was guessing that whoever had placed the tracker would have had the same thoughts as me and avoided the hood. Maybe I was being too clever but that left the inside.

  I looked around. Several lengths of heavy-duty rubber tubing were tacked against the wall nearby, with a couple of others lying on the floor where they had fallen. I judged the distance from the car and decided they would do nicely. All it would need was a flick and they would fall right where I wanted them.

  It was hammy but it would have to do. You have to work with what you’ve got.

  I tried the tail door, ready to reach up and pull the wiring loose and make tracks for the open if I had to. Silence. Just the click of the lock and the interior light came on.

  Two seconds later, so did the alarm.

  Damn, it was loud. I closed the door again, reached across to the stack of rubber tubing and pulled a couple away from the wall. By the time they hit the roof of the Touareg with a dull thump, I was sprinting for the great outdoors. Hopefully, the picture would explain everything.

  I hit the corner just as I heard a shout coming from inside the building. Gurov, I figured, with fast reflexes and probably armed.

  I ran for the trees and kept going.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  I must have dozed off when I got back to the car, because I came awake to the faintest glow of dawn in the sky and the buzz of the cell phone in my ear. It was Lindsay. I checked my surroundings through the windows before picking up the call but I was still alone.

  ‘Watchman, I have Tom Vale for you.’

  Vale came on without preamble, his voice brisk. ‘I’ve found someone with local knowledge. I called him last night and he’s ready to go as soon as it’s daylight.’

  ‘Good work – thanks. Who is he?’

  ‘His name is Sedgwick – Robert Sedgwick; he’s a commercial attaché out of the embassy in Moscow currently working on a trade project alongside the Consulate-General in Saint Petersburg. He knows the region well and is pretty sure he knows the location they’re most likely to use for a meeting.’ He read out the number of a cell phone. ‘He’ll be waiting for your call when he lands.’

  ‘Is this place approachable?’

  ‘He described it as a lakeside dacha. It’s been used by Impaler before, a couple of years ago. It was closed down by the government not long afterwards, but Sedgwick says it’s still kept running, although nobody has been seen there apart from a skeleton staff. He’ll brief you face-to-face, maybe take you to within sight of it
. He can meet up with you within a couple of hours as long as it’s near water and in daylight.’

  ‘He has a plane?’ It had to be one of the small floatplanes that served the area around here and used the lakes as landing areas. I was surprised a British diplomat had one, but maybe things were a lot more relaxed up here than I thought.

  ‘He has access to one with a pilot. He conducts cross-border trade visits and conferences in the region for British and Russian chambers of commerce, so he has a fair degree of leeway.’

  ‘I take it he’s not one of yours, then?’ I meant his employers, MI6, Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service. I trusted Vale without question, but it’s nice to know who I might get to meet with, especially in the field.

  Vale wasn’t offended; he would have asked the same question himself in my shoes. ‘Not at all. We’ve used his local knowledge from time to time, but he is what it says on his badge.’

  I thought about how to get together with Sedgwick in a way that was safe for him. If he wasn’t an MI6 regular, he’d be operating outside his usual comfort zone. I didn’t want to put him in danger, and if we relied on cell phone contact, we could easily miss the other’s call and waste the day. I had an idea.

  ‘If he knows the area, it’s best if he chooses a location where he can land safely and I’ll meet him there.’ Although the region was peppered with lakes, I wasn’t sure they were all accessible by floatplane.

  ‘Good point. We can use the Pathfinders to keep an eye on Counselor for you while you’re gone. I have the data on your location and will send you coordinates for the rendezvous as soon as I get word from Sedgwick.’

  I turned off the cell phone and drank some water and ate some fruit, then checked on the tracker signal. The Touareg was still here, but I decided to check on Tzorekov anyway, just to be sure. I made my way through the trees to a point where I could see the Touareg. It was still parked where I’d seen it before and the strips of rubber I’d knocked over had been moved. I watched for a while to see if there was any sign that the two men were going to make a move, but the place was quiet.