Bishop sized him up: heavy build; large, round, shaved head; jeans and a leather jacket. The Russian perfectly matched the photo of Aleks in the intelligence pack Chua had uploaded onto his phone. Bishop had already read his file and knew every aspect of Aleks’ former career in Russian Intelligence.
“You can call me Aden.” He offered the big man his gloved hand.
The Russian took it with an iron grip, shaking it with vigor. “My name is Aleks, Aleks Andreyev.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Aleks.” Bishop opened the rear door of the car, throwing his leather bag on the back seat. He slid into the front and opened the glove box.
“Your pistol is there with the mobile phone you requested,” Aleks explained as he started the engine.
Bishop checked the compact Beretta handgun before returning it to the glove box and pocketing the mobile. “Thanks, Aleks, I take it the rest of the hardware is all in order?”
“Da, da, you’ll see it soon. We go to the house now,” Aleks responded with a grin as he guided the big car towards the security checkpoint at Zhuliany Airport. He flashed a Ministry of Interior pass at the bored guards who waved him through. As usual, bribes and forgeries ensured them free passage through customs and border security.
Aleks accelerated out of the gate onto the highway heading north towards the centre of Kiev.
“How far to the house?” Bishop asked.
“It is in Podil Raion, not far, on the West Bank.”
“Is the rest of the team assembled?”
“Da, all of them are there,” Aleks responded as he drove.
“Excellent. I take it there were no problems getting everything we need?”
“Nyet, it was all delivered. The men are very pleased with the equipment. It is good to work with a company that is willing to spend money.”
“A bit different from the FSB, yes?”
“Da. With what you’ve given us, we make the FSB look like school children,” Aleks responded with a chuckle.
“Good, good. I’ll brief the whole team on what’s going on when we get there.” Bishop looked out of the heavily tinted windows of the car, watching the light morning traffic and the passing scenery. The buildings that lined the streets were an interesting blend of historic architecture intermingled with the cold, efficient construction of the Communist era. Towering grey concrete apartment blocks rose out of lower level terraces and cathedrals like the hulking battlements of a watchtower.
Perfect for conducting surveillance, thought Bishop.
As the BMW entered the business district, Bishop noticed the number of modern high-rise office blocks had increased. Since the break-up of the Soviet Union, Kiev had embraced the wealth that came with a free market, and massive glass-fronted towers stretched up to the sky, neon signs proclaiming the presence of capitalist banks.
“First time in Kiev, boss?” Aleks spoke up as he calmly weaved the BMW through the traffic.
“Yeah, how’d you guess?”
“You look out the window like child at the zoo,” Aleks chuckled.
“That obvious, hey! All part of my cover, da.” Bishop laughed in return.
A few minutes passed in silence until they entered a less-affluent looking neighborhood and Aleks spoke again. “Nearly there.”
He was driving the BMW down a wide road with rusted tramlines running along the centre. In the distance Bishop could make out where the road met the Dnieper river and he noted the row of yellow construction barriers blocking access to the half-completed iron girder bridge.
For a moment he was lost in his thoughts. He’s in this city, the bastard who killed my parents is in this city and I am going to kill him.
“Boss, you don’t like my driving?” Aleks interrupted his thoughts.
“What?” Bishop looked confused until he realised his knuckles were white from clenching his fists. “No, not at all, Aleks, just a little tense.”
“Da, we all feel like this, but it will be OK.” The Russian gunned the BMW, overtook a rattling Soviet-era tram and swung the car into a narrow cobblestone side street.
Run-down houses butted up against both sides of the road, blocking the rays of the morning sun. Bishop could sense the desperation of poverty amongst the old buildings.
Perfect part of the city for dodgy characters like us, he thought.
Chapter 23
PRIMAL Safe House
The car nosed into the front of an old three-storey townhouse wedged into a row of equally drab buildings. Aleks reached into the center console and activated a small remote control. As the automated roller door slowly opened, one of the faded curtains on the second level moved slightly and Bishop caught a glimpse of someone watching them.
“Here we are, comrade,” the Russian announced, parking the BMW next to a white Mercedes van, the roller door closing behind them.
“Very quaint,” Bishop said.
“Da, I’ll take you upstairs and introduce you to the others.” Aleks led Bishop up a short staircase into the kitchen.
As they moved through the room, Bishop noted it was in drastic need of renovation. The cracked linoleum and missing tiles were complemented by a musty smell reminiscent of a retirement home. At least it’s warm, he thought. Bishop had endured worse conditions.
They continued up another flight of stairs into the main living area. Like the kitchen, the décor left a lot to be desired. Peeling wallpaper, a stained cloth couch and an antiquated television were a stark contrast to the state-of-the-art equipment that lay amongst the cheap furniture. A number of sturdy plastic Pelican cases lay open on the moth-eaten carpet displaying cutting-edge weapons and communications equipment. A couple of late-model laptops sat open on a table with a mass of cables running from them.
Two men looked up from their work connecting the laptops as Bishop entered. A third stood at the window with a submachine gun in his hands.
Aleks broke the silence. “Gentlemen, allow me introduce our team leader, Mr Fischer.”
Bishop looked around at the four men. They stared back at him with guarded eyes. Although he hadn’t met them previously, he recognized them from their files. This was a new team and they had not worked together previously, so his next words would have to break the ice.
“Sorry about the accommodation, gentlemen. It seems we’re on a tight budget.” The four men looked around at the millions of dollars worth of equipment with bemused smiles. Each of them had received a very large sum of money for this job and the promise of a hefty bonus upon completion, so obviously funding was not an obstacle for the organization that Mr Fischer represented. Although none of them knew exactly who that was, they assumed it was the British government. Bishop’s accent wasn’t typically British but the man who recruited the team had implied that he was an agent for the Secret Intelligence Service.
“Gentlemen, I’ve looked over all your files, and needless to say, I’m pretty damn impressed by the caliber of the team.” He paused, looking each of them in the eye. “You’ve been selected because you all come with a unique set of skills.” He nodded at the bald-headed Russian who had picked him up from the airport. “Aleks is a weapons man and our driver.” He gestured to the slightly-built Czech poised at the window with his submachine gun. “Miklos is our sniper and surveillance operator.” He nodded to the short, swarthy Russian sitting behind the laptops. “Pavel is our technical surveillance man, and lastly,” he indicated the blonde man sitting on one of the equipment cases, “our covert entry guru, Wilhelm.”
“Kurtz,” the young German corrected.
“I’m sorry?” Bishop replied
“Nobody calls me Wilhelm; they call me Kurtz,” the German said in his thick accent.
Aleks laughed and Kurtz glared at him.
The Russian apologized. “I’m sorry, it’s just your name is so funny.”
Bishop looked at them both. “You lost me. How is it funny?”
The German cut in. “Because it means short; Kurtz is German for short.”
; Bishop looked at the tall, lanky man and smiled. “It’s a good nickname. Kurtz. I like it.”
“Much better than Wilhelm,” added Aleks. “I like it too.”
The former police officer lost his scowl and Bishop looked around at the team. They already seemed relaxed together.. On the flight from Lascar Island Bishop had studied each man’s background in detail. He’d noted that all of them were extensively trained in covert operations and close quarter battle.
“Well, less about you Kurtz, and a little more about me. OK?”
The team laughed again.
“As Aleks has mentioned, my cover name for this op is Timothy Fischer. My real name’s Aden. My background and employer are irrelevant. What is relevant is the importance of this mission.”
Pavel spoke first, his accent a softer version of Aleks’ guttural Russian. “So, Aden, what is the job?”
“If you hand me one of those laptops, I’ll tell you.” Bishop took the laptop and powered it up, inserting a USB key from his pocket. He opened the briefing package that Chua had given him.
It took him half an hour to brief the men and another hour to answer their questions. Although they were mercenaries, these men had been carefully selected for their willingness to fight for a cause. Bishop knew that by telling them exactly what they were dealing with, he was ensuring their absolute dedication. The only information he omitted was the personal aspect to the mission. The men didn’t need to know about his parents.
“OK, bottom line, we need to find out everything about Dostiger. Where he lives and works, who he spends time with: his entire pattern of life. We’re starting from scratch and the first lead we’re going to follow is his link to Antonov.”
Nodding at Aleks, Bishop continued. “Tomorrow I’m going to meet with an Antonov representative, Dmitri Krenkov, at their head office. Aleks will drive me in the BMW. The rest of you will need to be ready to start surveillance as soon as Dmitri makes a call to Dostiger.”
“Is your organization going to monitor his mobile phone?” asked Pavel, the technical specialist.
“Yes, they’ve already locked down half a dozen phones in the vicinity of the Antonov administration building. Odds are that one of them is his. Once we meet I should be able to get his exact number,” Bishop responded.
“What if he uses a landline to call Dostiger?” Pavel questioned.
“We’re still trying to work around that one. We think he’s more likely to use his mobile. Dostiger is probably suspect of landlines.”
“Could we disconnect all landline communications to the area? ” Pavel asked. “Just to make sure.”
“Isn’t that a bit obvious. Might make them suspicious?” responded Bishop.
Pavel laughed loudly. “Clearly you haven’t worked in the former Soviet Union before, Mr Fischer. Nothing here is reliable: electricity, telephone, even water. No, they will suspect nothing. It’s normal.”
“Alright.” Bishop smiled wryly. “Let’s make it happen.” Nodding to Kurtz, he continued. “OK, once we have Dostiger’s headquarters pinpointed, we’ll break in and get everything we can on him.”
“Ja, no problems, boss,” Kurtz said, patting the Pelican case he was sitting on. “I have everything I need here. I could break into the Bank of England and no one would be wiser.” He winked at Bishop.
Bishop didn’t doubt his claim; the former German Police technician’s file was impressive.
“Do we take weapons?” asked Miklos, the slightly built sniper. “Your friend provided some pretty serious hardware.” He pointed at the weapons laid out on the floor.
“Yeah, we roll heavy from here on in. Dostiger’s a nasty piece of work and I want to be ready for anything he throws at us,” Bishop replied.
“Alright, tomorrow is going to be a big day, gentlemen, and we’ve got a lot to do. Take the opportunity to prep your kit and get some rest. I’m going to confirm my appointment with Mr Krenkov and tomorrow morning we’ll run over the final details of the mission.”
Chapter 24
Kiev/Gostomel
The BMW was making short work of the distance between Kiev and Gostomel, the home of Antonov’s huge aviation factory and testing facility. Aleks deftly maneuvered the sedan through the capital’s heavy morning traffic before unleashing the powerful engine on the forest-lined highway.
As they tore through the countryside, Bishop mentally prepared himself for the task ahead. Dmitri needed to believe he was a purchasing agent for Gulf Air Logistics, an aviation company Chua had organized to use as a cover. If he couldn’t convince Dmitri, the meeting with Dostiger would never happen.
The PRIMAL operative wore a beautifully cut, three-button suit, dark navy, with a crisp white shirt and silk tie. He had combed his usually unruly brown hair to one side and donned a pair of black-framed glasses.
Almost Clark Kent, he thought. Still, one does have to look the part.
As they approached Gostomel, Bishop dialled the Bunker and waited for the secure connection. “Chua, you there?”
“Got you loud and clear.” The satellite link was good despite the thousands of kilometers between Lascar Island and the Ukraine.
“Ten minutes out. Is our asset in place?”
“Confirmed. The satellite is currently overhead,” Chua said.
“Good. You need anything else from me?”
“Yes, well, Krenkov’s number might save some time.”
Bishop laughed. “OK, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good luck, Aden, I’ll be listening.” Chua hung up, ending the call.
Bishop turned to Aleks. “We’re good to go. Have you heard from Pavel?” Aleks was monitoring the team’s satellite radio communications.
“They’re in place at the telephone junction point. He’ll disconnect the lines once you’re in.”
“Everything’s ready then.”
Aleks grinned and said, “As you say, our geese are in a row.”
Bishop snorted with laughter, “It’s ducks.”
Aleks looked confused.
“It’s ducks in a row.”
The big Russian still looked confused and Bishop couldn’t help but smile. “Never mind. Let’s do this.”
Chapter 25
Antonov Headquarters, Gostomel
Dmitri Krenkov was everything Bishop expected. Well mannered and slick, he was ever the professional salesman. At first glance he seemed charming; well dressed in a single-breasted suit, with an open smile and a friendly demeanor. However on close inspection the suit didn’t sit quite right on the man’s thin frame and the smell of aftershave was a little too strong.
Dmitri’s eagerness to please made Bishop wary. No, I don’t trust this bastard at all, he thought. I’ll be fucked if I’d by a pair of shoes from him, let alone multi-million dollar airframes.
“Ahh, Mr Fischer, welcome to Antonov.” Dmitri met Bishop in the main building’s foyer, grasping his hand as if the two of them were long lost friends.
“Mr Krenkov, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The ever-so-slight Australian twang had transformed into an English accent. He carefully extracted his hand from the small man’s grasp.
“Please, call me Dmitri. It is very good to meet you too. Can I offer you some refreshments or would you like to move straight out and see the aircraft?” Dmitri asked, guiding him in through the foyer.
“I’m fine for now, thank you. I’m actually looking forward to seeing the jet. I’ve heard so much about it.” Bishop pushed his glasses back up his nose with one hand, clutching his slim briefcase with the other.
“Of course, of course, come this way.” The salesman had immediately pegged him as a nerdy office type, easily impressed by shiny aircraft.
Bishop was led through a short corridor that he knew, from his study of aerial photos, joined one of the gigantic aircraft hangars. The company’s website proudly boasted that this was one of two ‘heated hangars’ that allowed maintenance operations to continue all year round.
They pushed through
a pair of heavy doors into the wide expanse of the facility. Even his study of the aerial imagery hadn’t prepared him for the vast space inside. The hangar was at least three times the size of PRIMAL’s facility on Lascar Island.
“Very impressive, yes?” Dmitri asked.
“Absolutely. It’s huge.”
“Inside we can service any aircraft, even the ‘Mriya’, which is the largest aircraft in the world.” The Ukrainian puffed his chest out with pride. “It was built here as well.”
Bishop could visualize the entire PRIMAL fleet fitting inside with room to spare. Today, however, the hangar was almost empty, only a single AN-72 sat in the far corner. He was familiar with the peculiar looking aircraft. The Lascar Logistics fleet operated a number of them and PRIMAL had one in its inventory.
Unlike most commercial jets the AN-72s engines sat on top of its wings, giving the impression it had a massive set of ears. These ‘ears’ created a phenomenon whereby the exhaust gases of the engines blew over the top of the wing, creating lift. This additional lift had earned PRIMAL’s variant of the aircraft the nickname ‘Jumper’.
Dmitri continued talking as they walked across the bare concrete towards the aircraft. “The AN-72 is one of our most successful designs. We have sold them all over the world. Its unique, short take-off and landing capability has made it especially popular with freight companies working in developing nations. Although the original aircraft was designed in the 1970s, we have continued to make improvements to it.”
For a full twenty minutes Bishop listened to Dmitri’s pitch while the salesman led him around the aircraft pointing out its many features. Bishop was particularly interested in the advanced cockpit. With the assistance of a French aerospace company, Antonov had completely upgraded the control systems of what was essentially an outdated aircraft.
“So what do you think?” Dmitri asked as they stood under the nose of the jet.
“It’s even more remarkable than I was led to believe.” Bishop did not have to feign enthusiasm; he really was impressed by the upgrades that Antonov had made to an already capable airframe.
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