by Peter Cave
Hailsham certainly did not intend to stick around long enough to test out this observation to its logical conclusion. With a warning yell to the others, he threw himself forward through the thick snow, desperately trying to break into a run. The best he could manage was an ungainly, floundering struggle, but it sufficed. The distance between him and the dark mouth of the ventilation shaft began to dwindle, yard by precious yard.
So, the expected attack had come at last, Tovan Leveski realized as the internal alarms started to pulse out their incessant warning bleeps. It was no surprise. He had been primed for it for two days and nights now, ever since the coded messages had started coming in over the radio. He was prepared; he knew what he had to do. The tension of waiting had focused his attention, channelling the wanderings of his muddled brain into unusual clarity.
He rose from his desk, walked calmly across his office towards the shredding machine and switched it on. The files were already piled beside it, in readiness. Every scrap of paperwork, laboratory note or requisition slip which referred to the Phoenix Project was there. The computer records had already been erased, the hard drives taken out and destroyed so that there would never be the faintest chance of retrieval. Slowly, painstakingly, Leveski started feeding the files into the shredder. Finally he pulled a cigar and lighter from his pocket. Lighting the cigar, he sucked on it for a few seconds. Then, using a twisted bundle of shredded paper as a spill, he lit that and dropped it into the waste bag and watched the flames spread greedily.
Phoenix would keep its dark secrets from the outside world. There remained only the physical evidence, but soon that too would be destroyed. As, indeed, the whole complex would be destroyed.
Hailsham threw himself into the tunnel of the ventilation shaft, pressing himself against one wall so that the others could crowd in behind him. Exactly as the plans had shown, there was just the single barrier of the metal grille, recessed about three feet inside the mouth of the shaft. Beyond that the tunnel ran straight ahead at a steady incline for about fifty yards, before branching off into several smaller shafts which Hailsham assumed went to the various different levels. The fact that he could see clearly was something of a bonus, he reasoned. He had expected the tunnel to be as black as pitch, since one would not expect an exhaust vent to be illuminated. As it happened, none of the upper levels or outer corridors had been supplied with power for several months, ever since Leveski had sealed and isolated them. It was only now that the complex’s alarm system had been activated that emergency lighting had cut in automatically.
‘Right, Thinker, this is your department,’ Hailsham grunted, but the burly corporal had already set himself to work. Dropping to his knees and opening his bergen, the Thinker took out and unwrapped two bundles of Semtex and began to knead the malleable substance in his hands. Rolling it out into long, thin sausages, he pressed it into place at strategic points where the grille was embedded in the walls of the shaft. Explosives were his speciality, and he was good at his job. He worked quickly and efficiently, knowing instinctively how much to use and where to place it. The entire operation took less than forty seconds. Finally he stuck in the pencil fuses and detonators and nodded his head at Hailsham. ‘Fifteen seconds,’ he said quietly, deftly setting the timers.
It was more than enough time to retreat and take shelter around the outside of the shaft. They did so – although in truth they could probably have safely stayed exactly where they were. With his typical expertise, the Thinker had used no more explosive than was strictly necessary to do the job. The blast which blew the grille clear out of the tunnel wall did not even disturb the snow outside the mouth of the shaft.
They were back inside and running down the ventilation tunnel before the small amount of smoke from the explosion had cleared. If the original plans still held good, and the air-conditioning system had not been modified in recent years, it was a clear run to the exhaust pumping station. From there they should be able to use the maintenance access directly into the storage bays, and thence get into the internal security area. With luck, most of the guards would still be occupied with the frontal assault, and they could expect only minimal resistance. That was the plan, anyway.
The front access port of the Phoenix Complex had been designed to withstand the most violent of storms and any normal ground-level military attack. Over four decades previously, its makers had not been able to foresee the devastating effects of the steady stream of ‘Swatter’ anti-tank missiles and 57mm rockets which were being delivered by the two still-circling Hind-A helicopters. Under such a blistering attack, even a door made of eight-inch steel armour plate is still just a door.
As the surrounding concrete walls blew in with a final roar, Captain Yascovar ordered the two helicopters to rake the minefield with a hail of shells from their undernose heavy machine-guns. It was a matter of minutes now before he could safely bring them both in to land and discharge his troops. He wondered how Hailsham and his men were getting on.
The Thinker inspected the heavy steel shutter which sealed off the loading bay from the storage area. ‘No problem,’ he said confidently to himself, preparing to set another couple of explosive charges.
‘Stop wasting time, you plonker,’ Cyclops yelled out at him through the intake of his respirator. Pushing past the big man, he bent over and pulled up the bottom of the shutter. It slid up effortlessly, the open padlock dangling impotently.
A burst of gunfire from an AK-47 took him in the legs and abdomen as the shutter slammed into the ceiling above. He screamed horribly and fell back at the Thinker’s feet, convulsing and twitching violently for a few seconds before finally lying still.
The Thinker hardly moved, other than to step slightly to one side and bring his SA-80 up into the business position. The single security guard in charge of the loading bay never got a chance to fire a second burst. The Thinker’s first four slugs opened his chest up like a split watermelon. The next twelve slid his corpse jerkily across the loading-bay floor, leaving a glistening trail of blood. The Thinker did not even blink.
The very walls of the complex were echoing and vibrating with the sounds of gunfire now, as Yascovar’s troops poured into the breached building. Guided by the sound, Hailsham led the rest of his men towards the scene of battle, prepared for further opposition but never encountering it. Perhaps overawed at the ferocity of the assault that had been mounted against them, or dispirited by their months of isolation, Leveski’s security guards maintained only a token resistance for a few more minutes, and then put down their weapons and surrendered to the inevitable. Captain Yascovar was already interrogating them by the time Hailsham joined him in the central control room.
The door to Leveski’s office was ajar. Hailsham sent one of the captured guards through it first, just in case. Nothing happened. Cautiously, Hailsham kicked the door fully open with his boot and fired a warning burst from his SA-80 up into the ceiling. Only then did he step forward, flanked by Andrew and Tweedledee.
Leveski sat at his desk, facing the open door. He smiled chillingly as Hailsham entered. ‘I’ve been expecting someone,’ he said quietly. ‘Although the British SAS is something of a surprise.’
‘Your men have already surrendered,’ Hailsham told him calmly. ‘Now I must ask you to do the same.’
The Russian pushed himself stiffly to his feet, clicking his heels together in a curiously old-fashioned gesture. ‘Of course, Major. You must ask – just as I must refuse.’ He leaned forward, pressing a small red button set into the surface of his desk.
He smiled again, and Hailsham thought that the man’s face was possibly the most evil thing he had ever seen.
‘And now we all die together,’ Leveski said. ‘I have just initiated the auto-destruct sequence which will blow this entire complex apart in just over thirty seconds. There is no way that you and your men can escape in time, Major.’
Hailsham’s face was impassive. ‘Wrong,’ he said quietly. ‘We have already disarmed it.’
His
hand dropped to his hip, drawing his Browning. Raising it, he put a double tap cleanly through Leveski’s forehead.
‘That’s for Piggy Baker,’ Hailsham muttered. ‘Never trust a fucking Russian.’
1 In August 1945, three days after the second atomic bomb fell on Nagasaki, General Sergei Oropov was arrested by the KGB, found guilty of treasonous activities against the State, and executed by firing squad. All files relating to his last assignment, which he had code-named Project Phoenix and put into operation some two months previously, were removed from Military Intelligence and taken to KGB headquarters.
Discover other books in the SAS Series
Discover other books in the SAS Series published by Bloomsbury at
www.bloomsbury.com/SAS
Soldier A: Behind Iraqi Lines
Soldier B: Heroes of the South Atlantic
Soldier C: Secret War in Arabia
Soldier D: The Colombian Cocaine War
Soldier E: Sniper Fire in Belfast
Soldier F: Guerillas in the Jungle
Soldier G: The Desert Raiders
Soldier H: The Headhunters of Borneo
Soldier J: Counter Insurgency in Aden
Soldier K: Mission to Argentina
Soldier L: The Embassy Siege
Soldier M: Invisible Enemy in Kazakhstan
Soldier N: Gambian Bluff
Soldier O: The Bosnian Inferno
Soldier P: Night Fighters in France
Soldier Q: Kidnap the Emperor!
Soldier R: Death on Gibraltar
Soldier S: The Samarkand Hijack
Soldier T: War on the Streets
Soldier U: Bandit Country
Soldier V: Into Vietnam
Soldier W: Guatemala – Journey Into Evil
Soldier X: Operation Takeaway
Soldier Y: Days of the Dead
Soldier Z : For King and Country
This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
First published in Great Britain 1993 by Bloomsbury Publishing
Copyright © 1993 Bloomsbury Publishing
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise
make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
(including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying,
printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The moral right of the author is asserted.
eISBN: 9781408844748
Visit www.bloomsbury.com to find out more about our authors and their books You will
find extracts, author interviews, author events and you can sign up for newsletters to be
the first to hear about our latest releases and special offers