Sentinel

by Matthew Dunn

  The dacha was thick with tobacco smoke. As they walked along the hallway, they could hear a TV. Passing a kitchen, a cloakroom, and two bedrooms, Will saw that nothing inside was as homely as the villa’s exterior suggested. Instead, the interior was minimalist and functional. They turned into a large lounge and saw the bright screen of the television. The light from the set was the only illumination, and it flickered over the surroundings to produce snapshot images of a man sitting on a sofa.

  Will said loudly, “Turn the lights on and the television off.”

  The man seemed startled. He scrambled for a controller, switched off the TV, and simultaneously switched on a table lamp. “I thought you guys were coming tomorrow.” The American looked hesitant as he slowly lowered himself back onto the sofa. He was slight, in his midtwenties, hair shaven at the sides and back, barefoot, and wearing tracksuit pants and a sweatshirt that had U.S. NAVY BASE KITSAP, NOT SELF BUT COUNTRY emblazoned on its front. He picked up a bottle of beer and took a swig. “I’m an important person now. I don’t need fucking surprises.”

  Will stepped forward. “There’s a lady present. I won’t tolerate foul language.”

  The American seemed to relax. “Well, fuck me.” He took another slug of beer.

  Will moved closer, but Korina put a hand on his forearm and said to the American sailor, “You’re clearly a stupid man. If you don’t change your attitude, I’ll make sure you stay here forever.”

  The American grinned broadly. “Good, because things have never been better for me. Twenty-four/seven protection, free food, booze, and cigarettes.” He lit a cigarette, sucked on it, and then tapped ash into an overflowing ashtray. “Plus the SVR has given me American cable TV.” His smile vanished and was replaced by a look of contempt. Directing his gaze at Korina he muttered, “The only thing the Russkies haven’t given me yet is any Eastern pussy. Is that why you’re here, lady?”

  Korina looked urgently at Will and said, “No, William—”

  But Will ignored her, took two steps toward the sailor, and slapped him hard.

  “God damn it!” The sailor put a hand to his red face.

  Will stepped back. “Next time it’ll be worse.”

  The American spat angrily. “How come a Russian speaks perfect English with no accent?”

  “Because that’s how it has to be.” Will threw himself down into one of the other armchairs.

  Korina said, “We’re here to ask you about the intelligence you supplied to Taras Khmelnytsky. We want to know if you were aware that the intelligence is no longer true.”

  The sailor sniggered. “I only answer to Khmelnytsky and”—he looked around—“my new SVR hosts.”

  Korina snapped, “You’ll answer to whoever has authority over naval intelligence matters. And right now that person is me.”

  Korina was about to speak again, but Will interrupted. “How did Taras recruit you?”

  The sailor glugged beer. “He told me, ‘You don’t need to live like scum anymore. If you give me what I want, I’ll make sure you live a life that would be the envy of your arrogant officers.’ ”

  “So that’s it?” Korina leaned forward. “You spied on America because Khmelnytsky could deliver to you your vision of domestic bliss and maybe even”—she smiled, though her look was venomous—“Eastern pussy.”

  The American said nothing, his face defiant.

  Korina pointed at him. “We’ve learned that the three Ohio submarines will be entering Russian waters on a different date, but that’s all we know. I’m here to find out if you know anything about this.”

  The sailor shook his head. “The dates of deployment were specific. I never heard anyone say that the subs might sail on another date.”

  Will asked, “Were there any protocols in place in case the deployment was delayed for whatever reason?”

  The American looked puzzled. “No.”

  Will sighed and looked at Korina. “This has been a waste of time.”

  As they reached their BMW sedan rental car at the end of the driveway, Korina spoke to Markov. “Join Vitali, Roger, and Laith on surveillance detail. Let me know the moment the target leaves the dacha.”

  Markov disappeared into the night. Will and Korina jumped into the vehicle. The GRU major looked at Will and said softly, “Thank you.”

  Will shrugged. “It was nothing. Getting a stupid man to do something rash is hardly worthy of thanks.”

  Korina shook her head. “That’s not why I’m grateful.”

  “I know.”

  She touched his hand and let it rest there for a moment. “It felt nice to—to have someone stand up for me.” She faced forward, moved her hand to the steering wheel, and started the engine. Her next words were strident. “We need to take up position.” Engaging the gears, she drove the vehicle forward. “We’ll wait out of sight a mile up the road. The moment the rest of the team spots the foul-mouthed cretin leaving the dacha, we’ll follow him until he leads us to his master.”

  It was pitch-dark both in the car and outside. They were a few feet away from the road, on rough ground surrounded by trees. Will and Korina had waited in the vehicle for hours, barely speaking. Only occasionally had she turned on the ignition to generate some more heat.

  Korina’s cell phone rang. She listened in silence. “They watched him walk out of the house, argue with his SVR guardians, who wanted him to stay, then get into a car alone and drive off. Our team is tailing him in their two vehicles. He’s heading toward Moscow.”

  Will muttered, “We’ll let them pass us, wait a few minutes, and then follow team and target.” He briefly opened his door to trigger the interior light and checked his watch. It was a few minutes after four A.M.; they had entered a new day. Everything rested on the sailor making contact with Razin, but so far everything that Will and Sentinel had done to try to trap him had gone wrong. He began to sweat, his mind racing with uncertainty before landing on one thing that was a certainty.

  In three days, the U.S. submarines would be entering Russian waters. When that happened, Razin would detonate his bomb to make it look like a U.S. strike. For Russia, that would be an act of war.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Fifteen minutes later, Korina was driving fast while Will used a small flashlight to study the rental car’s road map of Moscow. He noted that the city was surrounded by an outer, a central, and an inner ring road and that nine motorways led into and out of the metropolis. His cell phone rang; he put the map and flashlight down to listen to Roger’s voice.

  “We’re on the M-10, approaching Moscow from the northwest. We’ve just passed signs for Skhodnya. Target is driving at normal speeds.”

  “All right.”

  Keeping her eyes on the road, Korina said, “We’re only three or four miles behind them.”

  Will spoke again into his phone. “We’re going to gain speed and try to overtake your two cars and the target. Instruct all of the team that we need to switch to military comms.”

  “Understood.”

  Korina further depressed the BMW’s accelerator, switched lanes, and sped up the motorway. Will leaned to the rear passenger seats, rummaged through his Bergen rucksack, and withdrew two waterproof tactical communications systems. Pulling open his upper garments, he placed one of the sets on his body, using strips of black masking tape to fix the flesh-colored wire containing the earpiece and throat microphone to his skin. As he finished buttoning up his shirt and jacket, he said, “I need to put the other one on you.” He smiled. “Either I can tape the cord on you, or I can get close and personal and fix it to your body in the manner that most female surveillance operatives prefer.”

  Korina also smiled. “My skin reacts badly to tape.”

  Will opened her jacket and blouse and strapped the set onto her waist. Holding the wire, he threaded it underneath her bra, alongside one breast, and out of the top of her underwear until the system was secure. After turning on the set and selecting the correct channel, he gently fastened her clothes and
said, “Right, we should all be linked in.” He turned on his own set and spoke into the throat mic. “Roger, Markov: can you hear me?”

  Markov replied, “We can.” He and Roger were in the vehicle closest to the sailor. Roger was the driver.

  “Vitali, Laith: what about you?”

  Laith answered. He was the passenger in the other vehicle. “Yeah, we’re getting everything. We’re about a quarter mile behind the target. We should switch over in one mile.”

  Roger said, “Agreed.”

  Korina was now driving at ninety miles per hour. The motorway had lights straddling its route, but they were spread out and required her to occasionally flick on her high beams as she raced along the route.

  After five seconds, Roger said, “Okay, we’re slowing down to fifty. The target’s moving away from us. Vitali, get your vehicle into point.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  Will looked at Korina. “We’re about nine miles from the city’s outer ring road. We’ve got to be ahead of the target before he reaches that point.” He reached for his MR-445 Varjag pistol and said into his mic, “Any sign of cops where you are?”

  Laith said, “None.”

  Markov replied, “Nothing.”

  Will glanced at Korina. “Increase speed to one twenty.”

  Korina gunned the engine, and within moments they were traveling at the required speed; the road lights now sped past them.

  Will checked the workings of the handgun. “You should see us any moment now. We’ll maintain speed as we pass you. Let me know if the target gets spooked.”

  They drove past civilian vehicles, occasionally switching lanes to overtake any that were in their way.

  Twenty seconds later, they spotted Roger and Markov’s car. It had picked up speed again to match that of the point vehicle and the target. Will said, “This is us, coming past you.”

  Ten seconds later, they were approaching Vitali and Laith’s vehicle and three hundred feet ahead of them the target’s vehicle was easily visible. Laith said, “You pass us . . . you pass the target . . . hold . . . he’s continuing as normal . . . don’t think he’s spooked. And I tried to get your license plate but couldn’t because of your speed, so there’s no way the target could ID you.”

  Will glanced at Korina. “Keep the speed up until we’re out of sight.” Into his throat mic he said, “Let us know when we can slow down and to what speed.”

  Vitali answered, “Not yet.”

  Will waited, silently counting the seconds.

  Vitali came on the air again. “You’re out of sight of us and the target. Our speed is seventy-three MPH.”

  “Heard.” Will nodded at Korina. She immediately braked until they were traveling at exactly the same speed as the cars behind them, and then she moved the vehicle into the middle lane. Will spoke into his throat mic, “We must be very close to the MKAD outer ring road. Has the target switched to the right lane yet?”

  “Negative,” Laith answered. “No indication yet that he’s going to exit the M-10.”

  Will silently cursed while examining his surroundings. More flashing lights ahead, but this time they covered two of the lanes. He said to no one in particular, “Large military convoy ahead. Given that you don’t think the target clocked our plates, we’re going to stay behind the convoy and hope we don’t look suspicious to him.”

  They drew closer to the convoy until they could see a column of twenty trucks containing troops in the central lane and nine trucks holding massive 9A52-2 BM-30 Smerch 300 mm multiple rocket launchers driving in the slow lane. He nodded at Korina. “This will do. Get in behind them.”

  She did so, now driving at forty miles per hour. “The convoy’s heading into Moscow. The army’s preparing to defend the city if everything goes wrong.”

  “Vitali, you should see us and the convoy at any moment.” Will spoke sharply.

  A few seconds later, Vitali replied, “We’ve got you.” The line went silent for a while. “Target’s maintaining speed, slowing down, he’s coming right up behind you, he’s overtaking you, no chance he’s taking the exit.”

  “Vitali, Laith: take point. Markov, Roger: stay behind them. We’ll fall in at the rear.”

  They drove for fifteen minutes, passing the exits to the central and inner ring roads. The target was heading into the heart of Moscow.

  Ten minutes later, Markov said, “He’s holding something in his hand, close to his head. But unless we pull up alongside him, it’s going to be impossible for us to know what it is.” Silence. “He’s slowing down, has got the option of an exit, not indicating, slowing further . . . Fuck! He’s taking the exit at speed, no indication. He must have spotted us!”

  Will’s stomach churned. “He’s holding a cell phone.” He withdrew his handgun and looked around. “Sailor boy knows fuck all about antisurveillance. He’s not spotted us. But someone else has, and that person’s telling our target what to do. Taras is mobile and nearby.” Will wasted no time. “All of us: follow him in. Don’t worry about being spotted.”

  Moscow was now before them. Only a few other cars were on the road.

  Will said, “Taras is guiding him to their meeting location, but he’s going to do it in a way to make us lose our target. Markov, is he still on his cell?” Will breathed deeply to try to calm his rapid heartbeat.

  “The whole time.”

  Will looked around, but this stretch of road was deserted. He wondered how Razin was able to stay so well hidden. He decided he knew how. Speaking to everyone, he said, “Taras has gone ahead, probably to the meeting place. He doesn’t care about our team and formation now, because the target is going to use a preprepared antisurveillance route.”

  Laith said, “Maybe we should take the target down—force him to tell us where he’s meeting Taras?”

  “No, Taras hasn’t given him the route yet, and when he does he’ll only supply him with bits of it at a time. Right now Taras doesn’t want the target to know where he’s meeting him, in case we do precisely what you suggest.”

  Markov picked up the commentary. “He’s slowing down again, he turns left into a side street, no other vehicles are here, he drives on, I see his brake lights . . .” Silence. “I see him stop, reverse lights are on, he backs up, he moves his car into a parking space.”

  “He’s going on foot!” Will’s heart thumped faster. “Markov, jump out and get close to him. Roger, park, secure your vehicle, and join Markov. Concealed handguns and spare magazines only. Vitali, Laith: move further into the city. Then park until we have an idea where he’s going.” He glanced at Korina. “I’m getting out; I want you to stay mobile.” He told everyone, “We’re getting close now. But watch out for police patrols. If any of you get stopped, try to use GRU ID to get out quickly, but don’t get delayed. If it looks like they’re suspicious, do what you have to.” Will put his pistol and spare ammunition into his overcoat pocket, opened the car door, and jumped out onto the street.

  Markov muttered, “Target’s on foot, looking right at me. Now he turns, walks away.”

  Roger and Markov were two hundred feet away from Will. He saw them start to walk, tailing the target.

  Will followed but kept his distance in case he needed to suddenly change direction. Speaking quietly, he asked, “Description of sailor boy?”

  Roger answered in a near whisper, “Hooded, black down coat, jeans, running shoes. He’s walking quickly.”

  “Cell phone out?”

  “Not right now.”

  The sailor had as yet been given the directions for only the first leg of his journey on foot.

  Large snowflakes fell through the black air, illuminated by streetlamps. The sweat on Will’s face immediately turned icy cold; he rubbed it away before it froze. He thrust his hands into his overcoat pockets and gripped his handgun.

  They walked past terraced residential and commercial buildings on either side of the street. All of the properties were in darkness. As they neared the end of the street, Roger mut
tered, “He’s stopped. He’s turning. He’s facing us, standing underneath a lamp. We’re a hundred feet from him, easily visible.” Roger went quiet for a few seconds. “He’s reaching into his pocket, pulls out something . . . could be his cell . . . correction, it’s a pack of smokes. He lights a cigarette, still watches us, remains still.”

  Will stopped and waited fifty feet behind the CIA operative and the Spetsnaz soldier.

  “He’s got direct eye contact with us . . . bastard’s smiling. He checks his watch, smokes some more, flicks his cigarette away, turns his back on us, but he’s still waiting.”

  Will’s mind raced. He briefly wondered if this could be the place where the sailor was meeting Razin. He thought it was unlikely, that it was too risky when Will’s team was right by the target. But so far Razin had not cared about risks or opponents. Will said quietly, “Watch your perimeter. Taras could come at us from any direction.”

  Five minutes passed. Nothing happened. Will, Roger, and Markov remained static, watching the target but also keeping their hands firmly fixed on their hidden pistols in case they were attacked.

  Ten minutes passed. The target did not move.

  Fifteen minutes. Markov advised them that the target had just lit another cigarette.

  Will checked his watch. It was 5:16 A.M.

  After seventeen minutes, Will was about to tell the rest of the team to drive their vehicles closer to the area.

  But Roger spoke first. “He drops the cigarette, stamps on it, and walks away.”

  Roger and Markov walked. So did Will.

  “He’s running!” Roger immediately broke into a sprint.

  Will sped after them, shouting, “What’s ahead?”

  “Main road.” Markov was breathless. “He could be heading there for a mobile pickup.”

  “Unlikely.” Will increased his speed. “Anything else on that road that could be useful to him?”