Hard Cover

by Adrian Magson

  ‘Watchman you have approximately half a mile to go to the road.’

  ‘Copy that. I’m turning right. Keep me advised.’

  I put on speed. The track here was less of a roller coaster and solid, and I guessed the logging company had put in some extra work to the surface to make sure the trucks got out safely with their valuable loads. A sign flicked by, nailed to a tree. It showed a junction up ahead. I kept on going but got ready to slam on the brakes. Slowing now would just play into the pursuers’ hands.

  Suddenly I was there. I stamped hard as I saw a hoarding right in front of me painted with a large red ‘T’ to show the road going right and left. Part of the hoarding was missing, as if taken out by some large teeth, and a section of bushes and trees on the same side had been flattened. Somebody had been dozing and hadn’t see the turn coming.

  I had just enough time to turn off my lights to see if there were any other vehicle lights coming either way, then switched them back on again and hauled on the wheel, turning hard right and scattering mud and cinders off the tyres. I straightened up and hit the gas again, and found I had a clear if undulating road, a decent surface and the pickup was no longer shaking itself to pieces.

  I saw lights up ahead. A block of four, two low down and two higher up. A large truck. It gave me something to aim at. But now the weather had turned really nasty; hard, slanting rain bouncing off the screen and hood and turning the road surface into a glistening mirror. The wipers could barely cope and I could feel the tyres beginning to lose traction whenever we came to a bend. Still, if it made it tough for me, it was probably worse for the pilot behind me.

  Then Lindsay came on, proving everything was relative.

  ‘Watchman, they’re right on your tail!’

  FIFTY-ONE

  ‘Why are you slowing down? Keep going!’ Chesnokoy had grabbed the comms headset and was shouting at the pilot as he sensed the helicopter losing speed. He could see the signal on his monitor dead ahead and could almost taste the pleasure of consigning the targets to their fate and completing the job.

  ‘Two reasons,’ the pilot shouted back. ‘One, I can barely see anything in this shit! This is insane weather – we warned you about this!’

  ‘So you did – so report me to the aviation board or whatever they’re called. What’s the other excuse?’

  ‘A local military base ATC controller is demanding an identification code. In other words, who the hell are we and what are we doing flying through this section of airspace? He’s called three times now on a local frequency and I think he’s getting pissed at being ignored.’

  ‘Let him. We came this far with no questions asked, didn’t we?’

  ‘Actually, we didn’t. We had queries but nobody seemed too bothered when we didn’t respond. They just assumed we were a military flight on a mission. But this is a sensitive area with a number of training bases, and they like to know who’s around.’

  ‘So we’re another training flight on manoeuvres. What’s the problem?’

  ‘One of the bases is less than fifty kilometres away and is a special training wing with Ka-Five-Two Alligators. If they get suspicious and send one of those bastards up to take a close look at us, we’ll be in deep shit. They’re fast and nasty.’

  ‘Won’t they be as blind as we are in this weather?’

  ‘No. The Alligator’s an all-weather craft with missiles and automatic thirty-millimetre guns. If they don’t like the look of us they’ll come right in – and bad weather for them doesn’t exist. They’ll simply fly right through it and blow us away.’

  ‘So what do you suggest? Only don’t say we should stop – we do not stop, you understand?’

  ‘At least let me reduce speed and change height. If we continue like this our luck is going to run out. We’ll hit a hill with tall trees or a radio mast – or an Alligator will knock us out of the sky. Are you really so keen to die?’

  Chesnokoy looked around the cabin at the faces of the men. They couldn’t hear the exchange but the atmosphere told them that something was wrong. They looked nervous – even Gorin, who wasn’t frightened of anything, was shaking his head. The others were clinging onto anything they could and staring at him as if he’d gone mad.

  He swore loudly. Losing ground at this point in the chase went against everything he’d ever learned. If you had your target in your sights, you didn’t pull back and you didn’t veer off course. But the pilot was right: this weather was insane and if they encountered any obstacle, natural or military, they wouldn’t know about it until it was too late.

  ‘Very well,’ he replied. ‘But whatever you do, stay on his tail.’

  The pilot’s reply was brief and sour, followed by a change of direction. ‘I’m pulling over water,’ he explained, ‘to avoid the trees. We can lose height safely here and maybe stay below the base radar. We’ll be flying on a parallel course to the target but a little way behind.’

  ‘Why? Why not keep up with him?’

  ‘Because he can change course in an instant. If he sees a way out he can slam on the brakes and turn within a few metres. We can’t. If we’re alongside him, we’d lose him and in this muck we might not find him again for some time, by which point the Alligator might be chomping on our tail.’

  Chesnokoy gave a grudging assent. He was right again. The pilot would have performed this kind of chase many times before and knew all the moves.

  ‘Do it.’

  FIFTY-TWO

  I felt the downbeat of the rotors before I heard the engines. There was a thudding sensation over my right shoulder and a rattle on the windows, which I at first took to be gusts of wind. But it was too regular for that and I realized my luck was running out.

  They were here.

  I used the gears to slow down. I had to keep my lights on or risk running head-on into a large tree, or worse, driving right off the road. But if I used the brakes, the super-bright flare of red would show up a long way off, even through the trees, and that would give the helicopter pilot a point to fix on. I wasn’t keen on slowing but there was no way I could outrun them. Instead I was looking for a turning where I could lose myself for long enough to plan a way out of this.

  I just hoped the pilot wasn’t carrying missiles and decided to let them do the work so he and his pals could go home to nice warm beds.

  The next thing I saw was the treetops flailing towards me against the sky, as if being pushed by a giant hand, then bending further as the downward pressure increased. Bits of foliage started hitting the car and landing all around me, adding to the general distraction, and I figured he couldn’t be very far off my right shoulder.

  ‘Watchman, come in.’

  ‘Still here.’

  ‘I have the helicopter right alongside you, but he’s being queried by an air traffic controller at a local base. Do you copy?’

  ‘Yes, I copy. What’s the likelihood of them sending someone along to check him out? I could do with some help right now – even from the Russian military.’

  ‘That’s a no, Watchman. They’ve given him repeated warnings about restricted airspace, but I think it’s a bluff; nothing in our data shows anything other than some over-fly restrictions at certain times – and tonight doesn’t seem to be one of those.’

  I hit a stretch of road that veered close to the large lake on my right. I couldn’t see the water through the trees straightaway, but I knew it must be down there somewhere. Then I had it, a glint of paleness that showed the trees here were spread thinly along the shores of the lake, their tops little more than twenty feet or so above me, where the road was taking an elevated position.

  ‘Lindsay, can you see any turnings off here? I need an escape route.’ As I finished speaking, I saw movement off to my side, and a large, dark shape drifted into view. It was pretty much at my eye level and out above the lake. The pilot must have been virtually skimming the water to keep it there, and I could just make out the soft glow of lights in the cockpit. It was great flying at any time, but i
n this weather and at night it was close to spectacular. Pity was, right now I wasn’t really up to appreciating his skill the way that I should have done.

  ‘You have one coming up in approximately one quarter mile, repeat one quarter mile. It shows up here as an access track to the water. But there’s no visible way out that I can see.’

  ‘Damn. Where’s a friendly missile-laden Sukhoi when you need one?’

  ‘I hear you. I’ll call one up, shall I?’ I heard the attempt at humour in her voice, but she also sounded strained. I wasn’t surprised; sitting in her comms bubble, which I knew would be a small, gloomy space surrounded by equipment and lights, she could see little of my outside world save in terms of maps, screens and digital read-outs. Trying to imagine the reality on the ground beyond those limitations would be like a child trying to visualize a monster under the bed. I’d been in the same situation myself a couple of times, and it wasn’t easy.

  Then I saw the turning up ahead, marked by a white pole and an arrow. It seemed to disappear into a black hole among the trees and I figured the track dipped sharply towards the water, allowing access for fishing and boats.

  I slowed some more, making the engine howl in protest, and hauled the wheel round as I came level with the sign. The hood dipped alarmingly as we left the road and the headlights showed a steep track marked by ruts, descending into a dark hollow formed by trees and bushes, with passing-places. I braked hard before I got too far down and turned off the lights.

  Seconds later the dark shape of the helicopter glided past not a hundred yards away, smooth as a killer shark on the hunt. I could feel the vibration of the rotors beating against the windscreen and setting up a gentle rocking motion of the car. Bits of foliage dropped around me and I could see the treetops bending.

  I took the alien tracker out of my pocket. It had done its duty; it was now time to lose it. I threw it out of the window, then reversed back up the track and out onto the road. I drove for a good half mile without lights, then pulled into the side of the road and waited.

  The pitch of the engine changed from a distant flutter to something heavier and charged. It was turning round and coming back. I watched as it went past my position, homing in on the signal I’d left behind.

  I gave it a couple of minutes, then eased onto the road and headed north, continuing back the way I’d come.

  Now I had to find Tzorekov again and take up where I’d left off.

  FIFTY-THREE

  ‘Why have you slowed down?’ Chesnokoy lifted his head as the engine note dropped and the helicopter slewed round.

  The pilot didn’t answer at first, then said, ‘The target stopped, just like I said he might. He must have seen a turning off the road. Don’t worry – we still have the signal.’ He got a nod of assent from the navigator.

  ‘Where? I don’t have it.’ Chesnokoy shook the tracking monitor. It had stopped working, the signal gone. A malfunction? He tossed it to Gorin to keep checking and moved across to the window as if he might see the target standing down there in the dark waiting for him. But all he could see was blackness stretching away to infinity, and a pale glow of reflected light from the flight controls.

  The helicopter tilted sharply as the pilot brought it round on a tight, 180-degree turn and began to go back over the course they had just taken. ‘Have your men check through the starboard windows,’ the pilot called. ‘Look for lights among the trees. He’s in there somewhere about five-hundred metres ahead.’

  The throb of the engines took over and each man watched in the hope of seeing something, anything that might give them a target on which to fasten and vent their frustration.

  ‘I’ve got a signal.’ Gorin held up the monitor and pointed towards the shore. ‘He’s right out there in front of us. But he’s not moving.’

  ‘He’s hoping we’ve missed him,’ Chesnokoy shouted. ‘Let’s prove him wrong!’ He pointed at the ropes. ‘Stand by! Two of you, go down and report. Take the monitor with you.’

  The two Chechens, Kasbek and Kelim, were the first to move, Kasbek clipping a radio to his combat jacket and slipping the tracker monitor in his pocket. They picked up a rope each while Gorin attached himself to a safety line to help them out. As he opened the door a burst of wind and rain flowed inside, a welcome blast of freshness after the overheated atmosphere of the cabin so far.

  ‘What do you want us to do if the target’s down there?’ Kasbek queried.

  ‘There should be two men – one old, the other younger. Watch out for the younger one – he’s a fighter. Hold them and call me.’

  ‘And if they don’t want to be held?’

  ‘Simple. Kill them and drop them in the lake.’

  ‘What’s the plan?’ the pilot asked, butting in while keeping the helicopter level.

  ‘Take us in over the trees at the shoreline,’ Chesnokoy replied. ‘Two men will rappel down.’

  The pilot nodded. ‘Moving in. We’ll look for a clear spot. Have them call in their descent. I don’t want to get too close to those treetops.’

  The helicopter drifted sideways across the water, gradually gaining height over the trees until the navigator called out that they were over a small clearing. He looked back and gave the thumbs up for the two men to go.

  Gorin clapped Kasbek on the shoulder and the Chechen was gone, dropping into the dark and followed quickly by Kelim. Each man carried an assault rifle slung across his chest and wore a balaclava to cut down any chance of being seen in the dark. The speed and skill with which they dropped showed they had done this many times before.

  Chesnokoy watched them go with professional appreciation, and almost wished he could have gone down there with them. This was the element he’d most enjoyed as a soldier: the physical demands, the excitement and the part of being a team. All the rest was incidental.

  But something told him this wasn’t going to be quite as simple or as exciting as it seemed.

  It wasn’t long before his instincts were proven correct. After calling in their descent to the ground and landing safely, Kasbek eventually reported back after searching the area. He sounded short of breath.

  ‘There’s nothing here; just a track leading up to the road with fresh tyre marks at the top. They must have come part of the way down, then reversed out. We’re just checking the road.’ Minutes later he was back. ‘Nothing. They’ve gone.’

  Chesnokoy shook his head in frustration. He was beyond swearing. Gurov had fooled them. But how the hell had he known what to do? They hadn’t announced their plans to anybody, yet somehow Gurov must have sensed they were coming and had taken steps to evade them.

  ‘What about the signal? The device must be down there somewhere.’

  ‘It is,’ Kasbek replied. ‘I have it here. It was dumped by the side of the track.’

  This time Chesnokoy did swear, long and loud. How the hell were they going to find the target now? ‘Check for mud on the road,’ he said. ‘They’ll have left tyre tracks when they turned out. Then wait there – we’ll land and pick you up.’

  FIFTY-FOUR

  In an apartment block on the outskirts of Moscow, former government chauffeur Valentin Roykovski checked his phone calls and emails. He had just returned late to the city after a couple of days’ absence in a government health spa, courtesy of his past service as a driver and aide for the president, who had also just flown in to Moscow, from Kurtz in the south.

  There was one missed call from his sister, one from a garage reminding him about a due service on his car … and two from an unlisted number, one leaving a voice message.

  He pressed the PLAY button and heard the familiar voice.

  ‘Valentin, my old friend. We haven’t spoken in so long, for which I apologize. We must get together and talk about the old days. Please call me as soon as you can.’

  He played it through again. To outside ears it was merely a message from a friend, playing catch-up after a long absence. The voice was that of an old man, cajoling and intimate as old friends c
an be, but with a subtle hint of reproof. To Roykovski he sounded desperate.

  Leonid Tzorekov.

  He stood for a moment, wondering how to play this. He caught sight of himself in the mirror over the shelf holding the recording machine. He adjusted his silk tie and smoothed down his hair, which was silver grey; paused to look at the backs of his hands, where liver spots showed in the skin. The curse of old age, he decided, like so many other ailments.

  Like old friends calling in favours out of sentiment; favours they no longer deserved.

  His former boss was busy, he knew that, tied up with issues of state. And his last message to Roykovski earlier that day had been unambiguous.

  There would be no meetings other than those on government matters.

  None.

  It was, Roykovski reflected, the right decision. The timing and circumstances were all wrong. There could be no deviation from the current course. To do otherwise would be to attract criticism from the president’s enemies waiting in the wings, both inside Russia and beyond its borders. It was a tough decision but that was part of the burden of leadership.

  Time for a drink, he thought. It was late but to hell with the spa’s advice – he hadn’t had one in forty-eight hours. There was plenty of time to sleep later. And what the doctors didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.

  Before walking away, he reached out and deleted the voice message.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  ‘Watchman, come in.’

  ‘I’m here. What’s happening in the big wide world?’ Morning had come with a chill breeze and the promise of more rain. I’d unpicked myself from the passenger seat of the pickup and opened the door a couple of minutes earlier, stepping outside and doing some quick stretching exercises to loosen up. Three hours of poor sleep wasn’t exactly a new experience for me, but it was never exactly welcome. Now I was ready to move on.

  ‘The Pathfinders have reported tracking Counselor’s signal, currently north-west of your location and static. The co-ordinates are on their way to you now. They report that they’re close to the edge of their operating range and can’t guarantee to hold it much longer.’