by Kari Nichols
One second to secure a better grip with his right fingertips and then Cisco dead-lifted himself into the horizontal shaft. Standing over the opening, Cisco dropped a short rope down for Druid to climb up with. Cisco led the way down the south vent, counting off the distance in his head. Once he’d determined that they were above the correct room, he scouted out the next vent shaft. It lay five feet ahead of him and dropped straight down into the room. He passed the rope that was still attached to his chest back to Druid. Druid secured his grip. Cisco leaned over the shaft face first and descended the six feet down to the mesh grate.
Unable to see through the grate, Cisco removed his M4 from his back and set it to single shots. Punching his fist into the grate, he dropped into the room, upside down. Swinging around in a circle, he spotted two men near the door. Cisco opened fire. The two Russian soldiers in the room fired back. Cisco was accurate, dropping both men where they stood. The Russians weren’t as accurate, but the second soldier got a lucky shot off.
“Fuck,” Cisco said.
“You hit?” Druid demanded.
“Yeah, outer right thigh. Just a flesh wound,” he replied. A flesh wound that hurt like a motherfucker, he thought. Druid lowered Cisco until he could clear his feet from the shaft. Dropping to the ground, Cisco waited for Druid to join him. Turning a full circle, Cisco whistled at the room’s contents.
“The mother lode,” he whispered.
***
Rising thirty feet above the waterline, the Akula was tied to a steel-framed dock. The structure had been bolted to the end of the paved road at one end and into the rock face at the other. Stairs led from the road up to a narrow walkway that spanned the width of the submarine. A set of stairs lead down to the conning tower, while another set lead down to a ledge built into the rock face. Fargo had climbed the stairs and scanned the surface of the submarine. There had been no posted watch. He had crossed the walkway and positioned himself facing the port. The sub sat below him; the conning tower loomed just off to his left. He’d been in position for less than ten minutes when two men exited the hatch. Climbing down to the main surface of the sub, the men lit cigarettes.
“Movement on the sub,” Fargo warned his team. “Two men out for a smoke.” He watched as they gestured and smoked, but he couldn’t hear their words. When one man stopped still and focused his attention on the wharf, Fargo keyed in his mike. “You’re blown,” he whispered to Worthington even as he adjusted his aim and took the shots.
Alexei Nikanov heard the shots ring out. As head of security for the complex, he had to be on hand when a ship was in port. The ship’s crew were forbidden to enter the complex. Typically, they chose to remain onboard until their ship departed. Nikanov searched the submarine’s surface until he spotted the two bodies. Gesturing to two of his men, he barked out an order. “Check it out.” He returned his attention to his crew offloading the trucks.
The two soldiers jogged in between the line of trucks being loaded, pausing as a forklift swung out in front of them. Working their way closer to the wharf, they were within two hundred feet of the wharf before they spotted the man on the dock. Ducking down behind a line of barrels, one soldier remained in place with a visual on the unknown man while the other soldier crept closer. After a brief scan of the remainder of the dock, he reported in. “Sir, confirmed one hostile on the wharf.”
“Eliminate him,” Nikanov ordered.
The second soldier maintained his position while the first crept closer to the wharf. The hostile was facing away from him. Crouching down next to a barrel, he leveled his AK, staring down the length toward his target. His finger started to pull the trigger just as his head exploded. A reflexive convulsion pulled the trigger, but the shot that killed the soldier had already knocked his aim off, sending the shot wide.
Fargo adjusted his aim on the second soldier and took the shot. The soldier toppled out from behind the last barrel, a large hole punched through his chest. “Clear,” Fargo whispered and Worthington sprinted up from the wharf to the road.
Each shot had created a single reverberation that echoed throughout the cavern. Nikanov knew that his men had failed to execute his orders. “Find the intruder and eliminate him!” He gestured to a group of soldiers standing nearby and they jumped to do his bidding.
“Braddock, it’s going to get messy out here!” Worthington yelled into the radio as he sprinted in front of the first set of trucks. As he passed the divider between the two roads, one of the trailer trucks started to back up, cutting him off. Worthington scrambled up onto the bed of the truck. The driver whipped out a pistol, and swung his door open, but Worthington was ready for him. One shot to the head and the driver toppled to the road, the truck slowing to a stop.
Braddock wrenched open the office door and watched as Worthington jumped from the back of one truck to the next. He continued over the side of the flatbed and then hit the ground running. He angled in toward the cargo area with his M4 spitting bullets at anyone foolish enough to get in the way.
Braddock ran back to the empty truck he’d passed earlier. Whipping the door open, he found the keys dangling from the ignition. Hopping in, he fired up the truck. Throwing it into gear, Braddock barreled down the road toward the cargo area.
“What’s our game plan?” Worthington asked no one in particular.
“Plant our charges then stall until the other teams get their jobs done.” Braddock ran over two soldiers. His M4 aimed out his window, he steered with one hand and fired with the other. Heading into the cargo area, he rammed into a forklift, head on. The tines of the forklift pierced the trucks engine. Jumping from the cab, Braddock shot the forklift driver. He had just rounded the far side of the forklift, heading deeper into the cargo area, when the truck burst into flames. A soldier stepped out from a pass-through in the aisle, in front of Braddock. Pistol at the ready, the soldier fired. Braddock felt the punch of the bullet as it struck his vest. He dove toward the soldier before he could get another shot off. Shoving his shoulder into the man’s gut, Braddock felt the air leave his attacker’s body in a quick rush. Following up with the knife in his left hand, he slashed the soldier’s throat and moved on.
“If Fargo has an eye on those propane tanks at the far end of the cargo area, perhaps he could put a couple bullets into ‘em?” Worthington suggested.
Fargo panned the area with his binoculars, looking for the tanks. The ship in berth #2 blocked his view of a large portion of the dock and the scaffolding to the submarine was the highest vantage point at the north end of the shipping port. If he could make his way down the ledge on the north wall he’d have a perfect view of the tanks.
“Give me two minutes,” Fargo said and slung his rifle over his shoulder.
***
Once Jimmy held up Bailey’s dart gun, Tate knew that someone at The Sector had passed those specs to McMaster who, in turn, had sold the prototype to Godin. Blackburn didn’t have the access needed to get those guns out of Bailey’s vault. Her assistant, Schwartz, did. Tate figured that Schwartz stole the prototypes and Blackburn delivered them to McMaster.
Jimmy left Emily positioned near the middle crates and had run over to the far pile to set up his explosives. Emily had an unobstructed view of the entrance to the complex. Tate wanted to get inside the main complex. Emily pulled her binoculars from the dry sac on her back and focused on the door across the cavern. She spotted the reader. “The door has a card reader. It doesn’t look like it requires a pass-code, so any card will open it.”
“Our friendly forklift driver must have a card key,” Jimmy replied.
The forklift entered the room. The driver had spent a lot of time at the far section, where Jimmy was hiding, but this trip he went for the middle pile, where Emily was crouched alone.
“Shit, we’ll have to get him on the next run,” Tate whispered.
Emily waited while the driver positioned the crate on the stack. Before he shifted gears to move away, she sprang out from her hiding place. She leapt on
to the back of the lift and cracked the butt of her rifle against the back of his head. The driver slumped in his seat. Emily removed the key card from his chest pocket and stepped down off the back of the lift.
“Let’s go,” she whispered, heading for the exit.
Tate looked at Gibson with a raised eyebrow. “What have we done to her?” she asked in mock horror.
Gibson shook his head. “Mom and Dad are going to be so pissed.”
Emily paused and looked back at the driver, horrified. “That didn’t kill him, did it?” Emily whispered.
Jimmy shook his head. “He’ll wake with one hell of a headache, but he will wake.” He didn’t have the heart to remind her that everyone inside the island complex would soon be blown sky high. Her forklift driver would be better off sleeping through that. “Let’s go.”
Tate and Gibson scrambled out from their hiding places and joined up with Emily and Jimmy. Jimmy confirmed that all was clear. The confusion of trucks at the north end hadn’t let up yet, allowing them easy passage across the open ground leading to the door near the gas station. Swiping the card, Emily watched as the reader’s light changed from red to green. Jimmy pushed the door open, gun up, and walked inside. He stepped to the side, allowing the rest to slip in behind him.
They were in a long hallway with shorter paths branching off to either side. Crates and boxes lined the walls near each doorway. The first path led to the left and Jimmy took it. He reached for the card key to swipe in the door’s terminal, but Emily stopped him. Stepping around him, she examined the reader. Tapping the rock above the reader, she heard a hollow sound echo out. A pressure-sensitive hinge released the faux rock, which flipped up to reveal a touch pad.
“You’ll need a pass-code for this one. We don’t have that.”
“Can we just destroy the reader?” Jimmy asked.
“Sure, but not quickly or quietly.” Pulling her palmtop from an inside pocket, she gestured with it, to the card reader. “I could bypass it, which would be quiet, but depending on the strength of the pass-code, it could take some time.”
“They haven’t detected us yet,” Tate reminded them. “Let’s leave it that way as long as we can.” She led her team down a passage off to the right. At the first door she came to, she motioned for Emily to investigate. The reader was just that, a card reader, and Emily passed the stolen card to Tate. Tate swiped it and entered the mess hall. Her gun already up, she opened fire. Gibson slipped in behind her and stepped to her right. He started firing, hitting the soldiers as they attempted to get up from their bench seats. The room was no longer occupied by staff alone. Twenty-five soldiers had just sat down to what amounted to their morning meal when Tate started firing. With Gibson and Jimmy adding to the firepower, the fight was over before it began. The mess hall staff got caught in the fray.
“What was that about remaining undetected?” Gibson asked her.
Tate shrugged. “It lasted longer than I thought it would.”
Emily had remained outside the room while the others determined that all hostiles were taken care of. As she stood there a faint sound echoed up from one of the rooms on the opposite side of the main hallway. Emily stepped away from the mess hall and followed the sound. She neared a doorway that had a card reader and a keypad. Plugging her palmtop into the system, she started running the possible codes. She heard the sound, much closer this time. It made the skin on the back of her neck crawl.
“I can hear someone screaming,” Emily whispered over the radio.
Jimmy exited the mess hall with the rest of the team on his heels. They crossed the hallway and crowded around Emily as her program picked through the combination. When it chimed, she punched in the code and swiped her card. The red light changed to green and Jimmy pushed the door open just as a woman’s scream rang out. Four guards lounged in the anteroom. Jimmy and Tate made short work of them, while Gibson continued on to the back room.
Pleski had heard someone coming but, unlike Dr. Ho, he didn’t have any escape routes built into his room. He held a blade to the woman’s neck as the door swung in. “I’ll kill her if you take another step into this room.”
Gibson stood on the threshold, weighing the man’s words against his own ability to make the kill shot in time. He looked down at the woman. She lay whimpering in pain on the surgical table.
“Put your weapon down and come in,” Pleski ordered.
Gibson nodded in consent and then started to lay his weapon on the floor. Pleski, expecting swift action on the soldier’s part, failed to notice the movement behind Gibson until it was too late. As Gibson had bent down, Tate stepped into the doorway and took the shot. Gibson had whispered Pleski’s location over the radio and Tate had mentally lined up her shot before she’d revealed herself. The bullet tore through Pleski’s skull, the force pushing him backwards.
Pleski collapsed to the ground, his plastic suit acting as a container for the blood and other fluids that leaked from him. Gibson schooled his features and turned to look at the woman. Her eyes were wide and tears leaked from the sides, dripping down into her ears. There was a cut on her chest, the beginnings of a standard Y-cut. The first angle had been completed. The skin over the left side of her chest, above her breast, had been split open. Blood welled up, spilling over her side. It pooled on the table near her armpit before the table’s drains could get rid of it.
Gibson stepped up to the bed and examined the wound. He pulled his pack off his back and rummaged through his medical kit until he found his stock of morphine. He gave her a shot to kill the pain and then he threaded a needle. Jimmy stepped to the far side of the bed and turned the woman’s head away from Gibson, so she wouldn’t have to watch the procedure.
“What’s your name?” he asked, to distract her.
“Natalia,” she whispered.
“Are you here with anyone else?”
“No, they took me from my home in Prague.”
“Why?” Jimmy asked.
“My brother worked for Sergei Godin. He left Godin’s employ without asking permission. Godin got angry, so he gave me to that madman, to set an example.”
Gibson spent ten minutes sewing the cut in Natalia’s chest before he was satisfied that his work would hold and the scar would be minimal. The morphine dulled the pain but it also made it difficult for Natalia to function under her own steam. Jimmy suggested that she remain while they cleared out the compound and then he’d come back for her, but she refused. She wouldn’t stay in Pleski’s lair a moment longer than she had to. With Emily’s help, she donned her clothing and forced her body to respond to her commands. She took a few teetering steps. Emily held her up as she got her legs under her.
“Do you know which door leads to Godin’s office?” Tate asked.
Natalia nodded. “I’ll show you.”
Chapter 19
“Kirilenko?” Godin asked.
“Yes, father,” Vlad admitted. “Nicolai Kirilenko is my brother. And you know what else? He’s your son.” Vlad let that idea filter through his father’s brain. He watched as the colour drained from Sergei’s face.
“She was pregnant when she left me?” Godin demanded. He couldn’t believe the betrayal. She’d never said a word. Even when Pleski was torturing her, she’d never uttered a single word about his other son. If he’d known, Kirilenko would have made a far better heir than Vlad. “Nicolai,” Godin whispered, reaching out his hand for the son he’d never known.
Kirilenko stared down at the man who was his father and the utter loathing in his eyes made Godin shrink back in fear. Here was the man who had killed his mother. Working for Godin for the past two years had been quite informative. He’d taken the job because he’d needed to know the truth. He’d learned that truth on his second full day working for Godin.
He had been forced to watch Pleski perform his sadistic duties on a soldier who had angered Godin. Watching the ‘operation’ was a ritual that Godin forced on everyone in his employ. Knowing that Pleski had killed his mother
had been bad enough. Watching another man go through what she had and knowing that others had watched her as she had died, had enraged him. Too many times, he’d thought that killing Godin would free him of the pain. But he knew that it wouldn’t have been enough.
Then Nicolai had met Vlad and he had recognized the same simmering rage in his older brother as he carried inside himself. It was Vlad who had decided that the best way to make Godin pay for his deeds was to take from him that which he prized above all else, his power. Nicolai captained the submarines that Godin used and oversaw the day-to-day operations of his military. Vlad had always been in line to take over Godin’s empire and had been learning the ropes, so to speak, for the past year. With Blackburn on their side and Morrison around to subdue any uprisings and quell any rumors before they got back to Godin, Vlad had wrested control of the operation from his father. Godin had thought that Vlad was turning into the son he’d hoped he would be. Nicolai had tested the waters with specially placed men in their military, to see if they would follow Vlad’s plan. Those that declined were quickly disposed of.
Kirilenko had to take a few steps away from Godin to keep from snapping the man’s neck. Reminding himself of the plan wasn’t working. All he could see was the fear in Godin’s eyes and he enjoyed it. He wanted to make it last; to give Godin hope and then dash it. He wanted to play with him the same way Godin had let Pleski play with his mother. His hands curled into tight fists and his breathing became ragged as he imagined the pain he could inflict before Godin breathed his last breath.
“Well father,” Vlad said, “how does it feel to have the tables turned on you? Your own plan is coming to fruition, but not quite the way you wanted it to. You’ve had your time and now it’s mine. Nicolai and I will rule the way you never could.” Vlad raised his gun and aimed it at his father’s head.
***