Meaning I did not leave them alone in the airline’s care. They have been under continuous two-man guard since I claimed them and they will remain under guard until they are delivered. To you.
“You’re certain they are my agent’s remains?”
“Yes, sir. The coroner identified the four bodies to me—three male, one female. He attested to the female remains when I claimed them.”
Collier broke into a sweat just thinking about the scene in the morgue. Four covered stainless steel autopsy tables in a row and the four charred corpses the coroner insisted on unveiling to him.
“You received my shipping instructions?”
“Yes, sir. I have arranged shipment to the location you specified and to you, personally. As I was instructed.”
Wolfe hadn’t directed Collier to ship the remains to him. His instructions were to send the remains to one Charles-Pierre Lavalle, owner of the New Orleans funeral home with whom he’d contracted Laynie’s memorial service and internment. Collier was acting on someone else’s orders.
Cossack.
Wolfe’s hesitation was almost imperceptible. “Thank you, Mr. Collier. I appreciate your attention to detail.”
COSSACK HAD LEFT TBILISI soon after speaking to Collier. He rode north on his motorbike until daybreak before he pulled off the road into a grove of trees where he hid himself and his machine. Exhausted physically and mentally, he wrapped himself in his cloak, lay down in a thicket, and slept.
When he woke, he judged the time to be past noon. He’d slept six hours without disturbance, long enough to fortify himself for the grueling journey ahead. He had hours ahead of him before he reached his militia’s stronghold in the mountains. His route, so far, had been easy. Cossack’s destination would take him in the direction of the Georgia-Chechen border, but he would leave the road before he reached it and then the way would become difficult, his progress slow and arduous.
The most direct crossing from Georgia into Chechnya wound through the eight-mile-long Pankisi Gorge, also known as the Gate of Wolves. The gorge’s only road followed the Argun River and was cut into steep canyon walls that plunged down into the river.
The gorge eventually opened to a valley on the Chechen side of the border. The valley had been occupied by Chechen Muslims for as long as anyone could remember, and the gorge had been used for generations to smuggle arms and radical jihadis into Chechnya. It was also infamous for skirmishes and all-out battles between Chechen-Islamic separatists and Russian forces.
Last year, when the Russian military defeated Chechen forces, the Russians had instituted direct rule over Chechnya, including taking control of the border between Georgia and Chechnya along the Pankisi Gorge. The route through the mountains was now dotted with checkpoints, the road tightly controlled by Russian military. The Russian stranglehold over the gorge had made using the direct route to cross into Chechnya impossible for insurgents such as himself.
Cossack and his militia, hunted by Russian troops, had been forced into the wilds of the mountains where they were determined to forge another route from Georgia into Chechnya. They had also resolved to establish a winter stronghold for their ranks deep within the forbidding mountain terrain, but this goal was not without its challenges.
The Lesser Caucasus Mountains, running northwest to southeast across Georgia and Armenia, boasted many notable caves and cave dwellings because of their soft, easy-to-carve sedimentary rock. Those caves and cave systems included the monastery complex built into the sides of Mt. Gareja in the Kakheti region bordering Azerbaijan, and Vardzia, another cave monastery etched into the slopes of the Erusheti Mountains. These cave systems were well known and frequented by tourists. They were also far south of the area where Cossack needed to hide his men.
The Greater Caucasus Mountains that stretched northeast and southwest between Georgia and Chechnya were roughly the length of California. These wild, primitive mountains, in contrast to the Lesser Caucasus range, consisted of harder, less malleable rock. Nevertheless, Cossack knew that Sayed’s All Glorious for Allah operated out of a mountain stronghold in eastern Chechnya. Sayed had not yet trusted Cossack with the exact location of his stronghold, but Cossack knew that Sayed’s militia used their cave system to stockpile the arms and supplies that enabled them to winter in the mountains.
Weary of the continual danger of moving his men from place to place, Cossack and his lieutenants determined to search out their own mountain stronghold. He and his second-in-command, Rasul, sent several two-man parties into the rugged mountains to hunt for defensible locations. Cossack wished their sanctuary to reside south of Chechnya, just within the boundaries of the Republic of Georgia—thus providing them with a measure of safety from Russian troops—but not too far from the Chechen border. They wanted a home base from which they might mount sorties into Chechnya and return across the border to relative security.
One of their search parties reported finding a few small, unconnected caves in a densely treed ravine several miles east of Pankisi Gorge. They enthused over the ravine, telling Cossack and Rasul, “The terrain is so rugged that we can hold both ends of the ravine with only a few men. One end of the ravine can be reached from the road leading to Pankisi Gorge—and we have found a foot route from the caves through a narrow pass that crosses the border farther east into Chechnya.”
When Cossack had initially viewed their find, he rejected it. “The caves are too shallow to winter in. It would take tremendous effort and not an insignificant amount of time and money to deepen them,” he told Rasul. “We should focus our energies on consolidating our control over Chechnya.”
They made that decision in the spring of 1999.
A few months later, Sayed and other Islamist leaders proposed invading Dagestan, the Russian province east of Chechnya, bordering the Caspian Sea. Cossack had advised against the move and had warned of Russia’s likely retaliation. “If we rouse the Russians’ anger with a new offensive, we risk losing the Chechen territory we now hold—the ground our people have bled and died to gain.” He had not objected too forcefully, sensing that the leaders of the other insurgent militias might question his loyalty to the dream of a new Islamic caliphate.
In August, ignoring Cossack’s counsel, Chechen and Dagestani Islamist militants took the provincial government and declared Dagestan to be an independent Islamic state—the Islamic Republic of Dagestan. With their own people in control of the government, they soon began the work of giving unbelievers a choice—convert, leave, or die.
Two months later, the army of the Russian Federation responded. The army rolled into Chechnya in force, intent upon recapturing Chechnya’s capital, Grozny. A long, costly winter battle ensued, a bloodbath that would become known as the Second Chechen War. The campaign ended in May 2000 when the Russian military defeated the Islamist militias in open battle and reestablished direct Russian rule over Chechnya.
Cossack lost many of his men to the Russian military, as did Sayed and the other Islamist militias. But while Sayed had a mountain sanctuary to flee to, a secure stronghold in which to lick his wounds and regroup, Cossack did not. It was then that Cossack changed his mind about the hidden ravine high in the Georgian mountains east of Pankisi Gorge.
Gathering his decimated troops, he spoon-fed them the dream of a safe harbor. “We will build a home in the mountains—a sanctuary hidden from Russian gunships, a stronghold inaccessible to Russian troops. We will descend from our mountain aerie into Chechnya, terrorize the Russians and inflict damages on them, then return to our stronghold. They may try to follow us—but we will ensure that they never find us.”
He formed foraging parties and sent them to “liberate” what they needed from the Russian invaders. An element of a foraging party would harass the Russian troops, drawing them out, striking when feasible, distracting them, then withdrawing without taking casualties. While the Russians were busy defending themselves, the other part of the raiding party would attack Russian supply depots and steal all they could
carry.
Each raid was planned to worry the Russians like a dog worries a bone—all while robbing them blind. Cossack’s men lost their discouragement and entered into this form of guerrilla warfare with renewed zeal. They spent weeks stockpiling stolen materials and supplies in the foothills before porting them to the ravine by way of a treacherous route known only to them. With hope revived, they labored without complaint.
Over the late spring and summer, Cossack’s militia chiseled and blasted their way into the mountain, enlarging and connecting the caves, slowly carving out a deep and complex cave system with spring-fed water and multiple points of egress should they be attacked.
The road Cossack traveled this day by motorbike took him into the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains north of Tbilisi. Here he observed snow along the roadside, snow that covered the mountainous terrain through which the road wound. Had he continued up the winding road, he would have encountered Russian checkpoints guarding the Pankisi Gorge. The gorge, however, was not Cossack’s route.
Less than a half mile farther up the road, he spied a marker only he and his people would recognize and turned off the road. He hauled his motorbike over the trunk of a fallen tree and wheeled it through the dense woods until he reached an unmarked and rock-strewn path leading away from the main road. Before he continued on, he returned to the fallen tree near the road and brushed away the signs of human disturbance in the snowy drifts and muddy ground.
Cossack pressed on. He knew the way to his militia’s sanctuary. It was strewn with rocks, patches of snow, and debris washed downhill. The “path” was often far too treacherous and too damaging to his tires to ride on, but he knew from experience when to dismount and walk.
Soldiers of his militia were posted at critical junctures along the route. Their job, should they detect an intrusion, was to give early warning to other soldiers up the path. A Russian patrol that stumbled upon the “path” might deem it unusable and ignore it. A patrol bent on following the path would, after half a mile, find their progress blocked by a rockslide of obvious age based on the lichen growing on the fallen rocks.
Cossack’s soldiers had constructed a bypass above the landslide and had cleverly hidden its starting point yards before the rockslide. The bypass wound up a steep, nearly vertical slope and across a portion of the rockslide they had stabilized with rock, timber, and mortar.
The soldier that met Cossack at the bypass’s starting point attached a short rope to the motorbike’s steering column. Together, the soldier and Cossack pulled and pushed the machine up the slope. They carried it across the rockslide and down the other side where, several hundred yards farther, Cossack could remount his machine and ride a much-improved path the remainder of the way to his militia’s hideout.
He was worn through when he arrived at his militia’s stronghold near midnight. The advance guards, recognizing him, allowed him to pass and radioed ahead to announce their leader’s return.
As he dragged his weary body from the motorbike, Rasul’s familiar voice greeted him.
“Welcome home, Arzu. Did you meet with success?”
“Mostly—praise be to Allah. Hassan agreed to our terms. However, he cannot fill our order for another six weeks.”
“We must be patient, then.” He slapped an arm around Cossack’s shoulder. “Come. You must be tired and hungry. I will have my woman fix you something to eat.”
“Thank you, but I would rather sleep, my friend. I can eat tomorrow.”
“As you wish, my general.”
They walked in companionable silence to the entrance of the militia’s cave system. The entrance was so close to a precipice that they could proceed only single file until they stooped to enter the cave. They took a narrow tunnel to the right and parted at Cossack’s spartan living quarters. It was not more than a shallow niche that branched off from the tunnel. It contained a cot, a short stack of boxes that served as a desk, and a trunk containing his clothes. A blanket hanging in the doorway was the extent of his privacy. He left it pulled aside except when he lay down to sleep.
He’d no sooner sat on his cot to tug off his boots than a gangly young insurgent appeared at the entrance to his room. The youthful recruit had little to offer in the way of fighting skills, but he was adept in the use and maintenance of long-range radios.
“As-Salamu Alaykum, little brother,” Cossack said.
“Wa alaykumu s-salam, General! Sir, I wished to give you a message that came while you were gone.”
“From whom?” Cossack asked. “I am very weary at the moment. Perhaps it could wait?”
“From Hassan, sir. Yes, of course. I will give it to you in the morning.”
Cossack cursed silently. Supposedly, he had just spent three days with the Turkish arms dealer!
“Wait,” Cossack said. “It could be important. Did you write it down?”
“Yes, sir. Always. I . . . it was short, so I memorized it and left the paper by the radio.”
Cossack was already putting his boots back on. “Never deliver a message without bringing the written version—for the receiver’s sake, eh? Not everyone can recall details the way a young mind can. We will go, and I will read it myself.”
“Certainly, sir. I apologize.”
“Did you report the radio call to your supervisor?”
“No, sir. I was told it was for your ears only.”
“Very good. Very good.” Cossack patted a pocket with feigned absentmindedness. “You return to your post. I will be along shortly.”
As soon as the boy left, Cossack pulled out a cloak he hadn’t worn for some time. He donned the cloak, drew a scarf over his head to hide his turban, and removed a compact Russian Karatel from his clothing trunk. He had taken the combat knife from the body of a Russian Spetsnaz he had killed in battle. He slid the knife into his waistband.
Just in case.
Stepping from his room, he checked the tunnel in both directions. Being the middle of the night, few of his soldiers were up and about other than the guards stationed far enough from the cave entrances to provide early warning should an attack be imminent. As Cossack moved stealthily toward the mouth of the caves, he thought it fortuitous that the radio was located at the very entrance of their cave system.
Their best climber had carried the radio’s antenna on his back and climbed as high up the ravine’s face above them as he could. Once he had secured himself to a narrow ledge, he bolted the antenna to solid rock. When he climbed down, he fastened one end of a one-hundred-and-fifty-foot coil of wire to his belt and climbed back up to the antenna and connected the wire. The remaining wire on the ground had reached inside the cave—but only just. Out of necessity, they had named the closest niche to the entrance the radio room.
Cossack also thought it fortuitous that the radioman had not shared the message with anyone else—anyone such as Rasul.
When he arrived at the radio room, the young soldier was its only occupant. The boy jumped to his feet and offered Cossack the slip of paper. “The message, sir.”
“Yes, yes, but now I need to relieve myself. Follow me outside and read it to me.”
“Sir, the light . . .”
“Bring a flashlight.”
Cossack set a brisk pace to the edge of the ravine close the cave entrance. His men had built a short wall of rocks as a safety precaution after one of the soldiers had stumbled in the dark. The man had fallen from the precipice and been dashed to death on the rocks below. After the rock wall was built, his soldiers—as young men would—had subsequently made a sport of relieving themselves into the void.
While Cossack did his business, the boy read the message to him, “I have received your order and can fill it by mid-January. When will you come for a visit? I enjoy our long conversations and wish to see you again. Hassan.”
When will you come for a visit? Cossack repeated to himself. How unfortunate.
When he finished his business, he reached out his hand. “The message, please.”
; As Cossack reached for the paper, he looked into the boy’s face. The young man hadn’t yet lived long enough to learn artifice, how to hide his thoughts and feelings—the skills one needed to survive in such a cruel world. Doubt was written in the radio operator’s slack mouth, growing distrust and fear in his wide eyes—and the prescient sense of danger.
Instead of taking the message, Cossack grabbed the boy’s wrist.
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
It was over quickly. Cossack jerked the boy toward him, twisted around so the boy’s back was to the precipice, and used both hands and his considerable strength to shove him. The boy’s legs hit the low rock wall. Off-balance, he started to fall backward. His hands groped the air even as he tumbled over the edge and pinwheeled into the darkness.
The boy screamed as he fell the first fifty feet. Cossack heard his body thump on the rocks and continue tumbling down into the ravine.
“What was that?” a voice called out.
Cossack hurried into the cave before the guards arrived to investigate. The boy had dropped the flashlight. It lay on ground close to the stone wall, still burning where it would tell the tale Cossack needed it to tell.
SERAPHIM, TOBIN, AND Jaz met again the following day. Jaz’s anger hadn’t abated. She reported her progress in short, terse statements.
“I’ve tapped every form of communication in and out of this place—email, landline, mobile phone. If anyone so much as breathes into their phone, I’ll know it. So far, nothing.”
Tobin muttered the obvious. “They know to keep their head down. We won’t catch them until we’ve given them something to report.”
Tobin and Jaz looked to Seraphim. She shook her head. “I’m working on it. I can’t just throw information out there. Has to be both critical and believable.”
She asked Jaz, “How do you monitor communications when you’re away from your laptop?”
“I’ve written code so that my laptop alerts my mobile phone when new communications arrive or leave.” She thought for a moment. “Everything is pretty much dependent upon the broadband service coming into Broadsword. If that cuts out, my surveillance goes kaput.”
Laynie Portland, Spy Resurrected Page 6