by Dirk Patton
“Perhaps you were tired of being robbed, grandfather,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Perhaps you are who I should be looking at!”
The old man cackled, not at all phased by the attempt at intimidation.
“You are right! I am a dangerous man who just killed all four of them. You had better stay back!”
He tried to laugh, but it came out as a phlegmy cough that nearly doubled him over. The guard glared, his hand squeezing the truncheon so hard his knuckles turned white. After a long moment, he leaned closer until the brim of his hat touched the old man’s forehead.
“Do not test me, grandfather!” he hissed before spinning around and barking orders to the other guards.
They quickly selected several prisoners who shuffled forward and picked up the bodies. With more shouts, and an occasional blow to men who didn’t get out of the way quickly enough, they cleared a path to the door. The dead were carried out behind them, but no one seemed concerned over the quickly cooling pool of blood that was left behind.
“Thank you,” Igor said when they were gone.
The old man turned around and looked up at him with rheumy eyes, both of which were nearly opaque from cataracts.
“I told the truth,” he said, tilting his head as he peered at Igor. “They were bullies. Thieves. They got what they deserved.”
“Is that why you helped?”
The old man smiled, then turned his head when another fit of coughing hit him. It lasted for a long time, then he spat a wet glob of something onto the floor before facing Igor again.
“First, perhaps you should tell me who you are.”
“I am Igor. A prisoner here, just like you.”
“You are nothing like me,” the old man said sharply. “I was a writer. A poet. You are neither. Nor are you a simpering protester who drew the attention of the FSB. The men that are sent to this camp are not trained fighters, like you obviously are. And we do not have pretty girls for company, either.”
He leaned sideways to look at Irina, Igor moving with him to shield her from view.
“You have seen what I can do,” Igor said softly, the warning clear in his voice. “Do not give me a reason.”
“I’m dying, you young fool,” the old man cackled, then coughed up more phlegm. “What can you do to me other than shorten the time I’m in pain? Calm yourself. I mean neither of you any harm. Now, step aside and introduce me to your friend with the beautiful eyes. It has been far too long since I had the pleasure of a woman’s company!”
23
The party lasted long into the night. After what Lucas and I had experienced with the seagulls, Commander Sherman put two of his SEALs on watch, one on the roof of the hangar, the other the main house. They were constantly scanning with thermal imagers to provide an early warning if any animals, flying or walking, approached. I didn’t envy them their assignments.
Somewhere around 0300, Rachel and I called it quits and headed for a small outbuilding where Ziggy had made up a bed for us. I’d had my fair share of Foster’s and was a little unsteady, leaning on Rachel. Dog walked beside me, ignoring Lucas’s mutts as they raced circles around us. They finally gave up and went off to find something more interesting than two buzzed humans and an aloof German Shepherd.
We undressed quickly, but the excitement of the day, combined with too much food and drink, did me in. I was asleep about three seconds after my head hit the pillow. Other than a couple of sharp elbows and several mumbled complaints about snoring, I didn’t remember anything else.
When I woke, it took several minutes for my fuzzy brain to remember where I was. Rachel lay next to me, covers thrown off to expose her nude body. She didn’t stir as I sat up and nearly fell off the edge of the bed. Okay, so maybe calling my condition when we to bed as buzzed wasn’t doing it justice. But right now, I didn’t care. All I knew was that I had one hell of a hangover.
Still seated on the mattress, I put my elbows on my knees and leaned forward to rest my pounding head in my hands. Eye closed, I gulped air, trying to keep my stomach from going into full rebellion. I managed to get it under control and sighed a deep breath after Dog stuck his wet nose against my head. He wanted to go out.
Grumbling, I stood, swayed dangerously for a second, then looked around for my clothes. They were on the floor at the foot of the bed, but I was processing things in slow motion and it took a bit for me to recognize them, then even longer to figure out which pair of pants were mine. It didn’t occur to me until after I’d already pulled them on that all I had to do was pick the larger pair.
Dog was dancing with impatience by now, looking between me and the door. I reached for my shirt, but came up with a bra. Dropping it back on the pile, I said the hell with it. I’d survive taking Dog out without a shirt, so I grabbed my boots and stumbled to the door.
When I opened it, the brilliant sunshine and heat of the Australian day nearly knocked me down. The small building was dark inside, the air conditioning keeping it a comfortable temperature, and I wasn’t prepared for the assault of nature. Dog didn’t care, slipping through the opening and racing off to take care of what he needed to do.
“What the hell?” Rachel yelled, her voice rough. “Close the goddamn door!”
She had pulled a pillow over her head and didn’t seem in any hurry to get out of bed. Grumbling, I stepped out into what looked like late morning and closed the door behind me. There was a small outhouse that serviced several outbuildings and I made use of it before stumbling towards the main house.
Lucas was seated beneath a tree that shaded the area where we’d partied last night, playing with Little John. Ziggy was working the grill, the smell of food cooking nearly sending my stomach over the edge. Stumbling up, I dumped my boots on the ground and dropped into a chair next to Lucas, gently resting my head on the table with a groan.
“DRINK TOO MUCH?” he asked, deliberately shouting.
“Can I borrow your gun?” I asked without moving.
“Who you going to shoot?” he asked, sounding way too fucking chipper.
“Next fucker that talks too loud,” I grumbled.
A second later there was a sharp slap on my bare back, hard enough to sting like hell. I jerked upright, my head threatening to explode.
“Language!” Ziggy said, pointing at her son and glaring at me with a large metal spatula held ready to whack me again.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, lowering my head back to the table. “Sorry.”
I could hear Lucas laughing, but didn’t care. A minute later there was a gentle thump on the table then a hand on my shoulder.
“Drink this,” Ziggy said in a soft voice. “Always helps Lucas.”
I opened my eye and after several blinks was able to focus. A serving tray held a large pitcher of orange juice and several glasses. I gratefully filled one full and lifted it to my mouth with a shaking hand. Finishing it without stopping, I immediately began to feel some relief and poured more.
“Don’t remember you being such a light weight,” Lucas said with a grin.
“Haven’t had much to drink the past few months,” I said, finishing off the second glass. “Tastes fresh. Where’d you get it?”
“Grow them ourselves,” he said proudly. “Got a couple acres of citrus in a small valley about two kilometers north. Soil’s better and the trees love the heat.”
I continued to improve as the fluid and natural sugar worked its way through my system. The pounding headache was backing off and I was able to sit up without risking falling out of my chair. Glancing down, I spotted the boots I’d carried out and tossed on the ground. Pulling them on, I located Dog, who was intensely interested in what Ziggy was cooking, then checked the roof tops. There was a SEAL on each, sitting beneath makeshift umbrellas.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“My guys are off to town to stock up on supplies. It’s a bit of a drive and they won’t be back until later this afternoon. Your crazy SEAL Master Chief decided his boys neede
d a run to start their day off right. Headed out about an hour ago, and most of them didn’t look any better than you do. Haven’t seen Nitro or his lads.”
I grinned, remembering the unwritten rule of paying the price for a night of drinking. At the moment, I was very glad I wasn’t one of Sherman’s men.
“So, what are we doing?” I asked.
“Made some calls this morning,” he said, bending and gently placing a sleeping Little John in a cradle. “Know a few people in Sydney.”
“And?” I prompted when he didn’t continue.
“Couldn’t go into details on the phone, but we’re leaving for Sydney tonight. Mate of mine from the Regiment is retired and living there. Knows everyone. He’ll help.”
“If you couldn’t go into detail, how do you know?” I asked.
“How’d you know I’d help the first time you called?”
“Fair enough,” I said, pouring more juice. “What about you? Going rogue on this?”
Lucas shook his head.
“Wouldn’t work any better here than it would for you in the States. We’ve got visitors coming this afternoon. Going to make it official… or unofficial official, I guess.”
“Who’s coming?” I asked, not liking the sound of the Australian government getting wind of me being in the country with a SEAL team.
“Relax,” he said, reading my face. “It’s my CO, Captain White, and Air Vice Marshal Symington.”
“You know these two well enough to trust them?”
Lucas nodded without providing any more information.
“Listen,” I said. “If they’re not going to help, or there’s something else going on here, just say the word and I’m out of your hair.”
He sighed and looked away to the horizon for a moment before turning back to face me.
“Plans have been being made since the Russians first arrived and the PM rolled over for them without even an argument. These two men are what you Yanks would call the chief conspirators. Your arrival has accelerated the timeline, and they need to hear the news about the virus.”
I held his eyes for a long moment, finally nodding. We looked around when a door banged loudly. It was Rachel, standing in front of the outbuilding, both hands shielding her eyes from the brutal glare of the sun. Her hair was a complete mess and it looked like she’d buttoned her shirt wrong from the way it fit. Guess she’d had more to drink than I’d realized. She slowly made her way to the shade of the tree and sat down next to me.
“Is it always this hot?” she grumbled.
“This?” Lucas asked, speaking in a much softer tone than when I’d arrived. “This is just a warm, spring day. Wait until summer!”
I poured juice into a fresh glass and pressed it into her hand. After a tentative sip, she downed it quickly. Ziggy came over and handed the spatula to Lucas.
“Come into the house,” she said to Rachel. “You can use a real toilet and shower.”
“You mean I didn’t have to use the outhouse?” I asked as Rachel stood to follow her.
“Not you,” Ziggy said, glaring with hands on her hips. “You curse around my child; you can crap in a hole in the ground like an animal!”
“He’s not even old enough to understand,” I protested, but not too strongly.
“If the first words out of his mouth sound like a bloody soldier, guess who I’m coming after?” she asked, then turned to lead Rachel away without waiting for a reply.
Lucas laughed, slapped me on the back and went to check the grill.
-----
We lifted off the red dirt runway slightly before midnight. It was another perfectly dark night in the outback, the stars seemingly close enough to touch. Rachel and Dog were in the back seat, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder as she leaned forward for a better view of the heavens.
The two Australian military officers had arrived early in the afternoon, and I’d been pleasantly surprised, especially after hearing accents that sounded more British. There hadn’t been any indignation over finding American military on Aussie soil, or angst over why we were there. In fact, Vice Air Marshal Symington had personally apologized to both me and Commander Sherman for his cowardly Prime Minister who had allowed Barinov to execute a group of SEALs.
The meeting had gone well, but perhaps some of that was because we were gathered around tables under a tree, eating pounds of grilled chicken, courtesy of Ziggy, instead of confined in a conference room. The two men had listened to everything I had to say, as well as Lucas’s account of what had happened at the wildlife sanctuary.
There was a lot of concern over the possibility of Barinov making good on his threat to release the nerve gas, and I made the same argument that had gotten Admiral Packard on board. A risk had to be taken. There was no way around that fact. Devastation was assured if we did nothing and left the Russians in control of the country, but at least there was a chance if we acted now.
After the meal, the two officers excused themselves and took a walk for a private conversation. It didn’t take them long to arrive at the only conclusion that gave Australia, and the remainder of the human race, an opportunity to survive. And they were insistent that it be their men that went into the building and terminated Barinov.
Lucas, much to Ziggy’s chagrin, was tasked with leading the team that would go to Sydney. Not coincidentally, that team was already assembled and in residence at his compound. It was decided they’d drive, and they set about getting ready to leave as soon as possible. After much argument, it was agreed that I would be allowed to accompany them as an advisor, but none of us Americans were going anywhere near the action.
I’d had to pull Commander Sherman aside for a long conversation. It had taken some effort, but I’d won the argument with the simple logic that it didn’t matter who completed the mission, as long as it was successful. He grudgingly acknowledged that if the worst-case scenario happened, and the nerve gas was released, it would be much better if it was because of actions by the Australians. We didn’t need them as an enemy. We had enough of those. Nitro had shrugged his massive shoulders and gone in search of a beer.
Sherman and his team would remain at the compound, along with Nitro and his guys, making sure Lucas’s family was well protected while he and his men were in Sydney. It wasn’t the way I’d envisioned things going, but you have to be flexible when plans change.
“How long to Sydney?” Rachel asked from the back seat.
“Little more than five hours,” Lucas said. “Plenty of time for some sleep.”
24
The eastern horizon was quickly lightening when we touched down at Wedderburn Airport, south of Sydney. There was only a single runway, carved out of the surrounding forest with a grouping of perhaps fifty small hangars at the southern end.
“You just land wherever you like?” I asked as we slowed to taxi speed.
“Private field. Have to belong to the New South Wales Sport Aircraft club to use it,” he said. “This is where I learned to fly, when we decided to move to the outback.”
He taxied to the farthest row of hangars, making a sharp left. Three down on the right, a door in one of the small, sheet metal buildings was open, light spilling across the tarmac. Beyond the entrance was a shiny black Range Rover, a compact man wearing a well-cut suit leaning on the fender.
“That your friend?” I asked.
Lucas nodded as he guided the small plane into the hangar. A moment later he shut off the engines and the sudden absence of noise and vibration was a relief. We climbed out, the air much cooler than it had been in South Australia. While Rachel followed Dog out of the hangar and to the tree line, I went with Lucas to meet his friend.
They shook hands and hugged briefly, then Lucas turned and introduced me.
“James Wellington,” the man said, taking my hand in a firm grip. “What happened to your eye?”
He spoke in a much flatter accent than Lucas, his Aussie strine nearly undetectable.
“Nosy bugger, aren’t you?” I
asked, earning a grin to which I smiled. “Bullet fragment in the head. Fucked up the optic nerve.”
“Lucky bastard that’s all it did,” he said, peering at my eyepatch. “Well, gather up the lady and let’s be on the road. Traffic is about as bad here as any city in the world. We can just beat some of it if we aren’t mucking about.”
Rachel joined us, smiling politely at Wellington’s overly solicitous greeting. Dog, seemingly aware the man was wearing a several thousand-dollar suit, immediately rubbed against his perfectly creased trousers. To my surprise, he knelt and rubbed Dog’s neck, apparently unconcerned with the forest of fur that had been deposited on his clothing.
A few minutes later we were on the B69, heading north towards Sydney. Traffic was heavy, despite the early hour, and growing worse as we approached the city. Wellington pushed a button on the dash, activating a small screen set above the radio. It displayed several graphs that were updating in real time, and after a brief examination he nodded to himself.
“We can talk,” he said. “No electronics within the vehicle.”
“What exactly is it you do, James?” I asked.
“Security specialist,” he said, speeding up and changing lanes. I hadn’t failed to notice that he was paying close attention to the mirrors. “Got out of the Regiment ‘cause I couldn’t take any more of Lucas, then started my own business. If a company has operations overseas, in high threat areas of the globe, they hire me to provide trained men and equipment to keep their people safe. Well, they did. Business has gone to shit since the rest of the world ended.”
Lucas started talking at that point, ignoring the jab about him being the reason Wellington had retired. As he provided a thorough briefing on what was going on, I stared out the window at the passing scenery. It was just another sprawling city with bad traffic. Maybe worse traffic, I acknowledged to myself as we came to a complete stop for several minutes before we could merge onto the M31.
“How is it there’s enough gas for all these people to be driving?” I asked when Lucas was done and Wellington had finished with his questions.