Eastern Shadows: Alex Thorne Book One (Alex Thorne Action Spy Adventures 1)

by C. J. Somersby

  Alex smirked, taking Pete's hand and shaking it. “He's always been like that,” she replied. “I wanted to punch him on my first day.”

  Pete made a knowing noise. “You're a government agent?” he asked.

  “Retired,” Alex replied. “I'm in the private sector now.”

  “Can't argue there,” Pete replied with a smile. “I was with the paratroopers for a decade before I got into freelance work; the money's better and there's less people screaming at you.”

  Alex chuckled. At least this man seemed like he would be easy to work alongside. “So how'd you pull this assignment?” she asked.

  Pete's eyes became a little distant. “I did a mercenary job for Edward's people in eastern Belarus a few years ago,” he replied. “I was captured and did a stint behind bars for espionage.” He shrugged. “They exchanged me for some Russian spy a year back. When this job came up, Edward remembered that I knew the terrain and the language.”

  “Sounds like a tough time,” Alex replied, looking at him with new levels of respect.

  Pete smiled, scratching his scalp absently. “It wasn't so bad,” he said. “But Edward definitely got one thing wrong.”

  Alex frowned. “What's that?” she asked.

  Pete grinned. “The vodka was always warm.” He nodded in farewell and turned to the door. “I'll see you in a few hours,” he said.

  Alex nodded with a smile. “Sleep well,” she replied.

  Pete flashed her one last grin and then disappeared down the corridor. Alex took one last look at the white board and then turned to leave as well. As she stepped out into the corridor, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck shoot up as her body's instinctive proximity alarm began shouting a warning. She spun around and saw Dmitri leaning against the corridor wall, his face half-hidden in shadow. “Did you forget something?” Alex asked, forcing herself to appear calm and undisturbed.

  Dmitri lent off the wall and stepped forward. His eyes were cold and blank as he looked Alex up and down, and she felt an uneasy chill run along her spine. “East Belarus is a dangerous place,” he said, his voice low. “It is no place for women.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow. “Thanks for your opinion,” she replied, her voice seething with venom. “But you're still under my command.” She took a step forward until she was almost nose-to-nose with the burly Belorussian. “And if you let your stupid gender ideas get in the way of keeping us alive, I'll blow you and that American bonehead away at the same time,” she added.

  Dmitri stared her in the eye, and for a moment Alex thought a fight was about to break out. Then he gave the thinnest of smiles. “Good,” he replied. “You have the killer instinct.” He turned and began to walk away down the corridor. “Let's see if you can translate it into practice,” he called back over his shoulder.

  Alex watched him go, her mind whirring. Beyond the anger, there was a cold, professional part of her brain that was analyzing the situation. Maxwell was a chauvinistic pig, but Alex reckoned that his desire to survive would outweigh his prejudices in a firefight. But Dmitri had something else going on. She would have to keep an eye on him and make sure Pete Gavel was on her side if the bullets started flying in the wrong direction. This was going to go badly, Alex thought as she turned away; she could feel it in her bones, and she did not enjoy the idea of warm vodka and a cold prison cell.

  PART THREE

  Into the Fire

  Chapter 6

  It was pitch black when Alex arose and readied herself for action. Her equipment had been brought to her room after the previous evening's briefing, and she took no time in gearing up for the task ahead. A set of jacket and trousers in generic woodland camouflage were covered by a commercially-available military webbing that would hold everything she needed.

  She found a Latvian soldier waiting in the corridor outsider her room, who took her through to an armory in another part of the building. She was issued with a camouflaged backpack filled with supplies and an AK-74 assault rifle, a Russian weapon readily available on the civilian market. It was all part of the deception, she realized. Their cover story in case of capture was that they were a group of mercenaries; that story would fall apart pretty quickly if they were caught with state-of-the-art military equipment only available to regular armed forces. By the time she stepped out into the hangar to join the rest of the team, she looked every bit the cut-rate hired gun she was pretending to be.

  The stealth-enhanced Blackhawk had been wheeled out into the open and was being readied for take-off. The exterior of the base had been cleared of non-essential personnel, and as Alex stepped out of the open hangar doors she could only see armed soldiers guarding against any snoopers. The base was in total darkness, and the Blackhawk seemed near invisible in the shadows.

  Edward was waiting on the tarmac with the rest of the team, wrapped in a large great-coat and sipping a mug of something that steamed in the cold night air. He turned as he saw Alex approaching and nodded with a slight smirk. “Glad you could join us,” he said.

  Alex ignored him and looked over the rest of her team. They were all dressed in similar, generic-looking commercial equipment. Each held a Russian-made assault rifle similar to her own. Pete had evidently volunteered for radio duties, as he had hoisted a large, old-style field radio onto his back in place of the small packs that everyone else wore. “Everyone ready?” she asked.

  There was a round of nods. Alex briefly made eye contact with Maxwell, who smirked in return. “Need a hand finding your seat?” he drawled.

  Alex regarded him with a long, cold stare. Then she turned to the helicopter and climbed up into the passenger bay, holding her rifle between her knees. “Let's get this show on the road,” she called out. A few seconds later, the Blackhawk's engine began to whine and the rotors started to turn.

  As the rest of the team climbed on board, Edward leaned into the compartment. “I'll be waiting here for your return,” he shouted. “If you get our man, our deal stands. If not, then I'm on the next plane home.”

  Alex smirked at Edward, leaning forward to grip the door handle. “Its so touching that you care so much,” she shouted back. Then, without a further word, she slid the door closed. She watched Edward scurry back several feet as the Blackhawk's engine reached a peak and began to take the aircraft's weight. With the smoothness of experienced piloting, the helicopter lifted from the ground and turned, swooping low across the hangars of the airfield and out into the darkness of the Latvian countryside, heading south-east towards the Belorussian border.

  Chapter 7

  James awoke with a start.

  His head was spinning, and it took him a few moments to realize that he was standing on his feet, his back pressed against a cold, brick wall. Standing was not quite the correct word, he soon realized; his feet were flat and limp against the floor and most of his weight was being taken by the chains that held him at the wrists and – more frighteningly – around his neck. He tried to look around, but was only able to get limited movement within his restraints. The room was dark, and his eyes struggled to adjust in the lack of light. Somewhere, a water pipe dripped, echoing like the strikes of a hammer in the silence.

  He struggled to move, the chains jangling like mocking laughter at his feeble attempts. His head still throbbed but was not as painful as it had been. He frowned, trying to remember anything about what had happened after the bus crash, but putting a thought together was like trying to wade through treacle.

  A door opened with a metallic groan, the shaft of light hitting James squarely in the face. He squinted and turned his head to try and protect his eyes, but it was like having a spotlight shined directly at him. There was a noise of footsteps intermingled in a way that suggested multiple people had entered. He heard someone bark an order in Russian, and then sensed a presence at his side. He felt a pair of hands work to remove his restraints, and with the last chain loosened he toppled forward onto the concrete floor. He grunted in pain as his body protested
the impact, his energy levels too low to cry out. James felt a shadow fall over him, and he opened his eyes to see a face.

  It was the mustached man that had been at the bus crash. He was wearing the same uniform and peaked cap as before, and his hands were gloved in soft leather, clasped together in front of him. His eyes were soft and grandfatherly, with wrinkles at the corners as they squinted in concern. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  James tried to talk, but his throat was dry with dehydration. He managed to make a couple of groaning noises before a coughing fit overtook him. The mustached man twisted his mouth in sympathy. “I understand you have been through a lot, my friend,” he said, his English accented with unmistakable Russian influence. “But I must know where you have hidden the package.” He shook his head slowly. “I take no joy in adding to your crash injuries, but you leave me little other choice.”

  James lay on the floor, too weak to even raise his head. “I already told you,” he managed to croak. “I am just a charity worker delivering medical supplies. I don't know what package you're talking about.”

  The man tutted with disapproval. “Suit yourself,” he said softly. He was about to say something else when another figure appeared in the doorway. It was another soldier, and they saluted before stepping forward. The mustached man listened intently to the soldier's low voice, and then he turned back to James with a smile. “You will be having guests soon,” he said with a smile. “Please excuse me; I have other duties, but my comrades will attend to you.”

  The man turned to leave, but he barked an order at the other soldier before he did. James felt himself being hauled back up, and a heavy shoulder held him against the wall as his restraints were reattached. He managed to raise his head enough to see the ugly grin on the face of the soldier that was approaching him, fists clenched in readiness.

  James braced himself for the first punch.

  Chapter 8

  Alex was roused by someone shaking her shoulder. She stirred and found Pete leaning over her. He motioned to the door of the helicopter and held up his hand with fingers and thumb outstretched. 'Five minutes', he mouthed. Alex nodded, pushing herself up in her seat and taking a look around.

  They had been in the air for a while, and she had decided to try and get some extra sleep whilst she could. She could feel the aircraft lurching from one direction to another almost continuously, the engine roaring in her ears with the strain of the maneuvers. They must now be over eastern Belarus, she decided, and the pilot was deftly flying low and fast over the countryside to keep from being detected.

  She settled herself upright and studied each member of her team. Maxwell had evidently also fallen asleep; he was currently yawning and stretching out his arms as far as he could manage in the tight compartment. He caught Alex's eye and gave her a sneering grin.

  Alex held his eye for a few moments to demonstrate her unimpressed opinion and then flicked her eyes to Dmitri. The Belorussian was staring out of the tinted windows of the Blackhawk at the darkened countryside below, his eyes as blank and distant as they had been before. Alex frowned a little, making a mental note to keep an eye on him when they hit the ground.

  Pete was sitting next to her, tuning the big radio set that he held between his knees on the floor of the compartment. He glanced at Alex and winked, a broad smile on his face. Alex returned the smile and then leaned forward to check her own gear. She went through the various pockets on her webbing and made sure that everything was where she thought it would be; ammunition and grenades in pouches on her solar plexus, and other items such as torch, map and compass in the side pockets. She loaded a magazine into her rifle and chambered the first round, checking that the safety was disengaged. Her heart was racing with the thrill of expectation, and she felt her muscles tense with anticipated effort. Despite herself, she grinned wolfishly. She never got bored of her job.

  'Two minutes', Pete mouthed to the team, who all nodded. The helicopter's engine was now starting to drop in power, and the turbulence was less frequent as they approached the drop zone. Alex felt her stomach lurch as they began to descend. She unclipped her safety harness and indicated to the others to do the same. Pete, who was closest to the door, leaned across and gripped the release handle.

  A moment later, the Blackhawk bumped and settled onto the ground. Instantly, Pete was wrenching open the door as fast as he could manage and jumping out into the darkness, keeping his head low to avoid the spinning rotors. Maxwell was second out of the door, flanking out to Pete's right with the practiced experience of a combat soldier. Alex was third, moving to Pete's left, and finally Dmitri leapt down and spun around to cover their rear. The Blackhawk's engines spooled up once again, and the aircraft lifted off into the sky, turning away back in the direction they had come. They were on their own now.

  Once the helicopter's engines had faded into the distance, the silence was strange and overpowering. Only the wind blowing across the grassland reached Alex's ears. She tightened her grip around the rifle, expecting something to interrupt the silence at any moment. The grass was cold and damp underneath her frame, but she ignored it and pressed herself as low as she could into the dirt, trying to make herself the smallest potential target that she could manage.

  After a couple of minutes with no contact, Alex raised her head a little further. She raised a hand and signaled to move forwards. The team were on their feet in a moment, moving low and quietly across the field towards a nearby hill. Alex could hear her heart pounding in her ears with every footstep, her senses on high alert for anything that may present itself as a target.

  She did not have long to wait.

  Two figures loomed in the darkness at the top of the hill. In near perfect synchrony, the team hit the ground and pushed themselves as low into the grass as they could. Alex trained her rifle up the hill, looking down the barrel at the silhouetted intruders. The wind was blowing towards her, and she could hear the two of them muttering quietly in Russian. Their tone sounded puzzled and a little wary; they must have heard part of the Blackhawk's approach, Alex realized. She tensed her finger on the trigger, waiting to see if they came any closer.

  She heard a rustling noise and glanced to her left. Maxwell had crawled over to her. His face was an odd mixture of tension and excitement; he was enjoying this, Alex realized. “We need to waste these guys,” he whispered.

  “Only if they get any closer,” Alex whispered back, her eyes trained back on the enemy soldiers.

  Maxwell snorted in derision. “What's the matter, lady?” he replied. “Afraid to get your hands dirty?”

  “I'm afraid to bring the rest of their unit down on top of us if they hear the shots or notice that two of their soldiers are missing,” Alex hissed back. “Now do as you're damn well ordered and hold your fire.”

  Maxwell glared at her, but said nothing. He was a misogynist but he was not stupid, Alex was glad to see. She glanced around the rest of the team to make sure that they were also staying put. Pete was laying prone in the grass to her right, his rifle trained at the soldiers with a precise but relaxed professionalism. He glanced over at her and nodded once in agreement. Alex returned the gesture with gratitude and then looked back over her shoulder to check on Dmitri.

  He had disappeared.

  Alex swore to herself, looking around as much as she dared without moving too much. The Belorussian was nowhere in sight. She gritted her teeth, thinking of a million ways that she would tear Dmitri apart. If he was out of position, then he was potentially exposing them all to a world of hurt.

  A third figure appeared on the top of the hill, and Alex hissed in anger. They must have run into an entire patrol, she thought bitterly. The situation was getting worse by the moment. Then she frowned, watching the third figure closely. They were moving oddly in comparison to the other two, approaching with a much greater degree of stealth and caution. The first two soldiers were still muttering to each-other as they surveyed the fields, seemingly oblivious to the
third figure's approach.

  The third figure suddenly leapt forward, his arm raised above his head. Alex realized with a start that they were carrying a knife. The figure lashed out at the nearest soldier, striking them from behind. A surprised gurgling noise suggested the blade had entered the throat, cutting off any potential for louder noise. The other soldier began turning in alarm, but the attacker was on top of them before they could retaliate and slashed brutally at the soldier's windpipe. The soldier fell to his knees and toppled over like a puppet without strings, joining his companion on the ground. Their attacker then stooped over the bodies and proceeded to strike them both several more times, determined to make sure the job was done right. Then they stood, looked straight down the hill at the team, and motioned them to come forward. Cautiously, Alex rose to her feet and indicated to the others to do the same. They moved slowly up the hill, rifles sweeping left and right in case of any new threats that may appear.

  Dmitri was standing at the top of the hill. His combat jacket was covered in blood and arterial spray had coated his hands and face. He was unslinging his rifle from his shoulder as the others arrived at the top of the hill. Dmitri looked at Alex with the same blank, distant expression during their conversation at the base. “We move forward now,” he said, his tone completely calm and neutral.

  Alex stepped forward, her fists clenching in anger. “You disobeyed my orders,” she snapped in a low, furious voice. “If you do that again, I'll kill you myself.”

  Dmitri said nothing. The two stared at each-other for a long moment until Pete cleared his throat. “We really need to be moving,” he said, glancing down at the dead bodies. They were both wearing Russian camouflage rather than the disorganized uniforms of the militias. “Once these two are late returning, they'll have an entire battalion out searching for them,” he added.