The Hijack s-2

by Duncan Falconer

  Zhilev came to the end of the row and stopped in front of three ordinary-looking suitcases. His heart picked up the pace as adrenaline shot into his bloodstream. The silver-grey cases were unfamiliar, but that was only to be expected. There must have been advances and updates in the past fifteen years. For a moment he wondered if they were not what he was expecting to find and that there had been a policy change. But that did not make sense since the chemical and biological weapons were still here. No, he told himself. This is what he had come for.

  He took hold of the handle of one of the cases and pulled it towards him. It was heavy, a good sign. He had to take its weight with all his strength as it reached the end of the shelf and tipped forward. He had forgotten how deceivingly heavy the device was for its size as he carried it to the bunk and lowered it on to the mattress. His neck immediately complained after the effort and he took a few seconds to manipulate it.

  There were no markings on the case. He inspected the latches: two on either side of the handle with combination locks set to zeros. A gentle push of both lock levers and they sprang open; the combination locks were intended for use outside and anyone qualified to enter the cache was qualified to see the contents of the case. Zhilev took hold of the sides and opened it, his eyes eagerly looking inside. Set into a sponge mould designed to fit it perfectly was a log; a large lump of wood, sawn cleanly on both sides and covered in bark. Zhilev slipped his hands down each side, took a firm hold, lifted it out of its mould and placed it on the mattress beside the case. Inside the mould, beneath where the log had been, was a pamphlet. Zhilev took it and sat on the side of the bed to read it. He glanced over the first page looking for a piece of very important information and sighed with relief as he found it. It was the date. It was recent, which meant the device was ‘fresh’. The feeling of relief was accompanied by a creeping nervousness as the reality and enormity of his find sunk home.

  The device, disguised as an ordinary lump of wood, was an RA 115, the latest version of the ZAV or Special Nuclear Charge, better known as a suitcase bomb simply because it could fit into a suitcase. The date showed it had been replaced six months ago, which was the most important factor after actually finding the device. Pu 239, weapons-grade plutonium, and the intricate detonation system had a shelf life, which was partly built into it and not to be confused with its radioactive half life.That meant the cache maintenance programme was still fully operational. Someone regularly came and checked to keep it in working condition.

  The log effect meant the weapon could be left in the open immediately prior to use, without drawing undue attention. There were a variety of disguises and their design depended on the country, terrain and meteorological conditions. The log was suitable for the targets for this cache: Mildenhall and Lakenheath air bases.There were three nuclear devices here in the event another target was designated by central command during hostilities.

  Zhilev scanned the pages of the instruction booklet to make sure it covered everything he needed to know to detonate the device. When he was satisfied, he put it in his pocket. There would be plenty of time to read it in detail later.

  He lifted the log off the bed, placed it back inside the suitcase and carried it to the bottom of the ladder.

  He checked the hatch to plan how he was going to get the heavy suitcase out on his own since it was expected there would be more than one operative, and when he was satisfied he went back to the bunk bed, reached underneath and disconnected the cable from the battery.The chamber was plunged into darkness.

  Zhilev went to the ladder, climbed it and pushed open the hatch. His night vision having been ruined by the light in the chamber revealed little even by the light of the stars, but his ears told him all was clear. He thought about waiting twenty minutes for his night vision to return, which was standard operational procedure, but chose against it. His confidence was high and he wanted to be out of the area with his atomic bomb as soon as he could.

  He slid back down the ladder, grabbed the suitcase, raised it above his head and pushed it up the ladder ahead of him. A couple of steps was high enough to push it out and over the lip of the hatch and on to the forest floor. Within minutes Zhilev had climbed out, shut the hatch and was filling in the hole with the shovel. Once he had finished, he stamped the soil down with his feet, compressing it level, then covered it with the pile of pine needles he had scraped from the surface. As a final touch he replanted a couple of the small firs on top. He could not see his work perfectly well, but he felt he had done a more than adequate job. Within a week or so there would be no sign anyone had been here, and by then it would be too late.

  Stratton arrived at a large roundabout. One of the exits led to Mildenhall, another to Lakenheath. He chose the A1065 to Lakenheath as a start. The road would take them in a large circle to Mildenhall and past the forest. His slender hope was that something might fit one of the images Gabriel had recently seen in his head.

  Gabriel had remained silent in the back since they left the garage. Stratton kept checking his mirror to see if he had fallen asleep again but he had not and was looking out of the windows. Perhaps he was hoping this mysterious and frightening character might leap out in front of them.

  Stratton drummed his fingers on the steering wheel contemplating the immediate future of this assignment. He decided to give it once around the block, so to speak, then head back to London.There was nothing to keep his interest here and he was feeling tired and looking forward to his bed at the Victory Club. The next thing to consider was the structure of his conversation with Sumners. He wanted out of this job as soon as possible, but he wanted another one in its place. The big question was, did Sumners give him this assignment as the bottom of the pile, the only thing they could trust him with, or was the man telling the truth when he said it was considered a most important task? Stratton knew he could never really trust Sumners, and Sumners would not be keen to let him off this case.

  The road was quiet. A handful of cars had passed them, mostly from the opposite direction, and a glance in his rear-view mirror now showed no headlights behind.

  ‘Stop!’ Gabriel shouted suddenly, sitting forward in his seat and gripping the back of Stratton’s.

  Stratton slowed the car while scanning around to see what Gabriel had seen. He pulled the car into the side of the road, his nearside wheels mounting the grass verge, and stopped, leaving the engine running.

  ‘What is it?’ Stratton asked, unable to see anything unusual let alone threatening.

  Gabriel opened his door, climbed out and stood on the road looking at the skyline where the trees met the heavens. Stratton climbed out too, more interested in Gabriel than anything else.

  Gabriel kept his head craned skyward and turned slowly all the way around until he was back facing the direction he began, and then he started to turn again.

  There was a sound in the bushes a few yards away and a fat little muntjak trotted out into the open, studied the strangers for a moment, then decided it wasn’t safe company and bolted away into the wood.

  Stratton’s initial fascination with the sudden excitement evaporated and he put his hands into his pockets wondering if this was all one big pantomime.

  ‘Gabriel?’ Stratton said.

  Gabriel raised a hand to silence Stratton who was breaking his concentration.

  Stratton played along. A sign on the road indicated a picnic area back the way they had and come and Gabriel was now staring at it.

  Stratton could feel his night vision slowly kicking in, the cones in his retinas taking over from the rods, but it had a way to go before he would be able to make out anything inside the blackness of the wood. The headlights of a car appeared in the distance.

  Stratton looked over at Gabriel who was still in the road.

  ‘Gabriel? Car.’

  Gabriel snapped out of his thoughts and looked over at the oncoming lights. He walked across the road then stepped a few yards off it towards the edge of the wood.

  Stratton turned
his back to the car and closed his eyes as it approached to preserve his night vision. He waited for a few seconds after it had passed before opening his eyes and looked over at Gabriel, but he had gone.

  Stratton took his hands out of his pockets as he scanned around.

  ‘Gabriel,’ he called out, but there was no reply. Then came movement from the wood and Stratton crossed the road towards it.

  ‘Gabriel!’ he shouted again.

  Gabriel was pushing his way through the slender, brittle pine branches that stuck out almost horizontally from the trunks, snatching glances up at the sky. He paused, looked around, then moved ahead in a different direction. He heard Stratton call his name but he was on the scent of something he did not want to lose and pressed on. Without a doubt, there was a familiarity about this place, a smell, the temperature, the light, the feel underfoot, as if Gabriel had been here before and quite recently, all the sensual memories still fresh.

  Stratton entered the wood and paused to listen before readjusting his direction towards the movement. He was straining to look into the blackness as he walked forward, when his foot banged into something solid and he stopped to look down. He crouched to see it more clearly and found what appeared to be an old milestone. Then he heard a metallic clang some distance ahead followed by a crashing sound. As he moved quickly toward the sound, his senses began to tingle, a warning.

  ‘Gabriel,’ he called out against his better judgement. It was instinctive for him not to make more noise than he had to, especially when alone in the bush. Years of experience had ingrained in him the subconscious practice of reducing one’s target profile, by movement, shape, silhouette, or sound. But they were not in a battlefield right now.This was Thetford Forest, England.

  There was no reply to his call and Stratton moved carefully forward.

  Another few yards and he paused to listen. The sound of movement he had been following through the trees had ceased. Then suddenly he thought he could hear it again, but it was a distance away, fifty or eighty metres. He moved forward once more, his senses tuned to the maximum.

  A few paces further on Stratton stopped again, this time holding his breath so that he could hear more clearly. He picked up one particular sound, unnatural to the wood, rhythmic, like strained breathing, and very close by, then the sound of movement, metres away, low on the ground. Stratton moved forward until he saw what looked like a log until one of the limbs moved. He inched closer and realised it was Gabriel.

  Stratton dropped to his side. Gabriel let out a moan. Stratton flashed a look in all directions, tensing for any attack. He heard movement again, this time further away. There was rhythm to it: walking, and fast, which was why it was louder. Gabriel’s assailant was hurrying away. But the priority was Gabriel and Stratton crouched by his side and felt his head and face and then something wet which he assumed was blood.

  ‘Gabriel,’ Stratton said in a loud whisper. ‘It’s Stratton. You’re okay. You’re safe now . . . Can you hear me?’

  Gabriel let out a moan and moved a shaking hand towards his head.

  ‘Everything’s okay,’ Stratton reassured him. ‘Keep still.’

  Stratton felt along the back of Gabriel’s neck to see if there was any damage to the vertebrae, then his face and jaw, his nose and forehead. It all seemed intact and dry, except for the back of his skull, which appeared to be intact although starting to swell.

  ‘Gabriel? Give me some sign you can hear me.’

  Stratton put a couple of fingers into Gabriel’s hand. ‘Squeeze my fingers if you can hear me,’ he said.

  ‘I can hear you,’ Gabriel said, weakly.

  ‘I’m going to sit you up,’ Stratton said as he turned Gabriel carefully over, then, supporting his back, raised him up.

  ‘Do you have pain anywhere else other than your head?’ Stratton asked.

  ‘I don’t think so . . . Someone hit me. Did you see who?’ Gabriel asked, his hand coming up to feel the back of his head.

  ‘No,’ Stratton said, pulling his hand away. ‘Don’t touch your head. Can you get to your feet?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gabriel said, but then took a moment to respond as he gathered himself, and Stratton pulled him up. Gabriel almost lost his balance but Stratton held on to him.

  ‘Take a step. I’ve got you.’

  Gabriel took a wobbly step forward.

  Stratton steered him through the wood and into the open.

  They crossed the road and Stratton led him around to the front passenger side, opened the door and helped him in. Stratton climbed into the driver’s side and within a few seconds had started the car and was pulling a U-turn in the road.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Gabriel.

  ‘Mildenhall air base. They have a hospital there.’

  ‘No. Go back. We need to find him.’

  ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘We still need to go back.’

  ‘I’m getting you to a hospital.You’re in no condition to do anything.’

  Gabriel leaned forward holding his head. Stratton glanced at him, wondering how badly he was hurt. RAF Barnham was nearby but Mildenhall was a US base and Gabriel was US government property on loan to the Brits.

  Sumners was going to be pissed off about this. Stratton had been looking after Gabriel for just a few hours and he already had a dent in him.

  This was really quite bizarre, Stratton thought.Was it possible the mysterious man Gabriel had been talking about had hit him, and had he really recognised a place at night just by looking through his assailant’s eyes? It was a lot to believe but there were no other explanations at the moment. The fact remained that Gabriel had talked about a dangerous, angry man in a wood near a US air base in England, and he found one.That could not be ignored, no matter how sceptical a mood Stratton was in.

  ‘Don’t lose consciousness,’ Stratton urged Gabriel. ‘Stay awake.’

  Several rows of bright lights in the distance looked like airfield landing lights. He applied the brakes gently and took the next corner tightly where a sign indicated the air base entrance.

  Up ahead was the main gate and several armed US soldiers wearing helmets. Stratton reached inside his pocket for his identification. With luck, it would be enough until he could find Gabriel’s ID.

  Stratton decided to wait until Gabriel was in safe hands before calling Sumners. He had the feeling this was going to be a long and sleepless night.

  Chapter 6

  Zhilev’s Volvo was parked on the side of a quiet road at the highest point of the tallest hill for miles, the side of the car up against some thorny scrub growing out of the grey-and-white rocky landscape. Behind it the road twisted downhill for miles through the Ciceklibeli Pass to the ancient town of Mugla. Ahead, just about visible between a range of small hills, was a slither of blue water, the Gulf of Ceramus.

  The day had begun chilly but the sun had broken through by mid-afternoon and Zhilev was enjoying its warm rays as he sat on a rock in front of his car dipping bread into a jar of local pine honey and eating it. In front of him, on a rock, was a picture of him and his brother, both wearing brightly coloured windproof jackets, arms over each other’s shoulders, their straggly hair wet and matted, both clutching a bottle of beer and grinning broadly.

  The picture was not there to remind Zhilev of his purpose, for that was now as much a part of his existence as was breathing. It was one of several photographs of Vladimir he carried in his pocket, inside a plastic bag to protect them, each from a different year and occasion going back to their youth. Zhilev was playing a kind of game with himself whereby each day he chose a new photo and tried to remember as many moments from that period as possible using the background, objects or clothing in the picture to help with the association. He was surprised just how effective the process was for conjuring up forgotten times. That particular day they had spent boating on the Dvina, the river that divided the city in two on its way to the Gulf of Riga. It was a major task for Zhilev to get his brother on the water simply because Vl
adimir spent all his working days at sea and insisted he preferred to spend his time off on dry land. Despite his complaining,Vladimir always ended up having fun and that day was no exception.

  Zhilev looked up from the photo to find the glimpse of blue water in the distance. The journey from Ostende to Istanbul had taken him six days, which he would have enjoyed more if not for his neck although the vertebrae had been less painful than expected. He had started this day early, an hour before first light, just outside the town of Bursa, south of old Constantinople across the Denizi Sea, having spent the night on the back seat of the Volvo. It was the last day of driving and he wanted plenty of time at his destination to organise the next leg of the journey.

  He had chosen to spend every second night sleeping in the car or on the ground immediately outside of it, not because he was short of funds, but as part of a self-imposed hardening process. He did not feel operationally fit yet and was determined to take advantage of the driving phase to toughen up as much as possible. He still considered himself too soft by Spetsnaz standards and felt the exposure to the damp and cold nights and rugged ground would help prepare him. Sleeping outside would also hone his senses and help him back into half-sleep, a resting mode where he remained constantly aware of every sound and movement around, a condition all Special Forces operatives had to achieve, ideally before an operation since the first night would be too late to begin developing it. But it was not always possible to create the right atmosphere in training and it usually took several days in a live operational environment with the threat of death or capture to unlock that particular sense. Judging by the way he had slept the night before, Zhilev felt he was close to getting the old form back, but he was also aware that too much exposure to the elements might weaken his immune system, which was why every second night was spent in a warm bed following a hot bath and a hearty meal.