by Alex Shaw
Snow squinted to read the number on the building. The restaurant was indeed the target address. There was a main double door entrance, the heavy looking red doors in a slight shadow caused by a porch. The windows either side were shuttered. Snow waited for several minutes to determine any sign of movement or anything at all that could help him in his rescue attempt. He could not see any other visible entrance or exit to the restaurant but had to figure that there would be at least one at the back as a fire escape. He needed to do a complete close target recce but was thwarted both by lack of cover – he could not move forward without being seen – and lack of time.
Snow was just about to retrace his steps and cross the road in the dead-ground further back down the street when his eyes caught movement. A shape momentarily rose above the parapet. Back across the road now, Snow made his way to the other end of the building. This end was occupied by an office supplies showroom. Snow slowly rounded the back of the block. The fire exit was just around the corner. He flattened himself against the wall by the side of it. At the far corner there was a second such exit with steps and railings leading down. He counted at least four ground floor windows. There was no visible hostile presence. He had to think fast. His options were limited. He was unarmed with the exception of Mitch’s commando knife, and without backup, facing an opponent of unknown size, commitment and alertness. He could enter the forest and covertly work his way along the perimeter so that he faced the back of the building; but how to gain entry? No. He would follow the line of the wall and keep flat against it, making it impossible for anyone on the roof to see him and then try the door. He checked his watch. Shit. He had ten minutes. Get to the RV by 10:00 or both Arnaud and Larissa would die. Of that he had no doubt. He moved as fast as he could without making a noise, along the wall. Through the open windows of the supply company he could hear the radio and the catty chat of at least three women.
Arnaud and Larissa heard footsteps approaching and quickly moved back into their original positions as best they could. Larissa sat on another chair and Arnaud leant against the table legs.
Oleg opened the door. “Your friend is coming for you now.” He leered at Larissa and then grunted at Arnaud on the floor. “Maybe you see him before he die, maybe I let you say goodbye.” A wide smile creased his piggy face as he shut the door. Oleg walked towards the back of the building and nodded at the man on sentry duty – one of the better men they had recruited. “See anything, Dmitro?”
“No, he can’t get past me.”
Oleg nodded and slapped him on the back. “I’m happy to see standards in the Ukrainian Army have not dropped.”
Oleg walked past him and turned the corner to start his check of the perimeter. The sentry’s smile beneath his baseball cap froze as his head snapped to react to a movement in his peripheral vision.
“You are expecting me.” Snow’s arms were quickly around the sentry’s neck, applying pressure into the nerve inviting unconsciousness. Dmitro’s hands flailed, a suppressed semi-automatic burst of 7.62mm lead impacted the trees. Snow sprung forward, throwing himself and the guard through the doorway and into the wall. The Kalashnikov dropped. Snow increased the pressure on the guard’s neck before his body became limp. Snow let go and the Ukrainian fell to the floor, banging his head. Snow grabbed the suppressed short stock of the Kalashnikov and pointed it first down the corridor, then back through the door. Nothing, no shouts nor footsteps. Moving slowly but tactically forward, Snow edged further into the building. There were two doors on the left, one with a window one without. Snow peered through it. A small toilet, empty. He got to the next door and noted the heavy padlock on the outside. That was where they would be holding them, he reasoned. There was a faint noise, from where he could not tell, but there were shadows ahead. Without thinking Snow moved towards them.
Outside Oleg noted that Dmitro had gone. The giant Lithuanian advanced inside and saw the guard’s unconscious form on the ground. He bent down to search him for weapons. None. A huge smile on his face, Oleg moved forward, his sidearm drawn.
A heavy curtain let only a chink of light spill through. Snow cautiously placed his eye to the gap. The dining hall was directly in front of him and so too was a figure he recognised.
A scrape from behind. Snow spun to be met by a fist. His head snapped back and before he had time to react a second blow hit him in the stomach. Snow doubled up, winded, his head suddenly dizzy. The AK fell away. He had a split second to act whilst his attacker thought they had the initiative. The Lithuanian’s left hand extended to balance him as the right moved to perform an uppercut. Too slow, thought Snow. He twisted and grabbed the right fist with his left, making Oleg pivot, and then pushed him against the wall and through the curtain. Oleg held on and threw Snow to the floor. They skidded on the plastic sheeting. Oleg scrabbled up to his knees and pushed his pistol hard into the Englishman’s neck, breaking the skin. “Stop. Up now. Get up.”
Snow released his grip and held his arms up. Oleg, now regaining his composure, stood and swung his boot into Snow’s groin. Stars erupted in Snow’s head and he desperately tried not to pass out.
“You are lucky that I do not shoot you now; but that honour belongs to another.” Oleg pushed him further into the room.
Snow stayed stooped in an attempt to soak up the pain.
“Hello, Snow.” It was Pashinski. “Please take a seat.”
Still winded, Snow fought for breath, and was manhandled into the opposite chair. “Where are my friends?” he demanded. Pashinski spoke in Lithuanian, Oleg left the room. Snow locked eyes with his would-be murderer. “I am here, and now what?”
“Now we can talk.” Pashinski smiled, “I have never met an SAS man, not at a time that I could have a conversation with him.”
Snow continued to stare at the eyes, the same eyes that had haunted him in his sleep, the eyes he could never forget. He noticed the powerful but wiry physique under the suit jacket and the pancake holster holding a Glock 9mm. He was determined not to let his fear of this man show.
“You look well for a dead man Pashinski.”
“Pashinski died in Vilnius. My name is Knysh.”
“Your name is Tauras ‘The Bull’ Pashinski. Former captain in the Red Army Spetsnaz.”
“And you are Aidan Snow, former SAS trooper.” The mouth smiled but the eyes remained cold. “Are we now formally introduced or should I show you a picture of my mother?”
“What you are doing in Ukraine? Planning to rob banks?”
“You joke? Knysh is establishing himself as a valuable business leader, as I am sure you are aware, there is much opportunity for men such as us.”
“Such as us?” Snow felt like spitting. “I’m not the same as you. I’m no murderer.”
“You have killed for your queen and I for the Politburo. We are not that different.”
“Killing Jas Malik, who was that for?”
“I did not pull the trigger but I have killed for business purposes. I accept that. It has not been personal. As for Malik, I had nothing against the man but it is better for business that he is dead.”
Snow felt a chill run through him. He had never been in the presence of one so ruthless, a man so soulless that murder was just a business strategy. “So you are in business; and then what?”
“Politics. Our governments do not care for men like you and me. They discard us when we become too expensive, too old or know too much. We are left to work in degrading positions for a salary that could not feed a wife and child. We are heroes, we are men who have given everything for our motherland, but we are not respected. For men of honour that is an insult worse than death. I see the value in our kind, and what we can do. I have a vision to unite these men of honour. The Orange Revolution is over, dead. Who will lead the next? It is time for Ukraine to have a new Hetman.”
Snow looked at his tormentor; the eyes remained cold even when he spoke with passion about his megalomaniacal vision. “That’s not going to happen.”
Bu
ll looked intrigued. “Why? Because a former British soldier thinks that I am someone he has met before?”
“There are others who know who you are.”
“True, the mighty KGB – sorry, SBU – have a picture, my picture; but they need you to identify me. Now I have you. You are a hard man to catch Snow.” His insincere smile widened. “Like your name, you melt away in the hand.” Bull paused. “So now we talk. We talk about the Spetsnaz, yours and mine, yes?” The mouth smiled but the eyes did not.
“You are one sad Russian.” Snow spat the words at Bull.
Bull stood and slammed both fists on the table.
“I am Lithuanian!” His eyes flickered momentarily before he regained his composure. “I hate Russians. For three generations my countrymen, like those of Ukraine, were subjugated by Mother Russia. We were worked the hardest in the fields, were assigned the most dangerous tasks, and used as human shields on the battlefield. We did what was beneath a Russian to do. My own family starved because Russians took their harvest.” His eyes had now grown wide with an uncontrollable anger and a vein on his temple throbbed. “Never call me Russian.”
There were steps behind; Arnaud was pushed into the room. Snow looked at Arnaud and saw the belief in his face, the belief that he would save him. Bull removed his Glock from his shoulder holster and waved it in Arnaud’s direction. “Now I have no use for him.”
“Wait! Let them go.” The words came out of Snow’s mouth, meaningless, he realised.
“Niet.” The arm straightened and he took aim.
“No!” Snow tried to move, unseen, the butt of a Kalashnikov impacted with his neck. A shooting pain raced down his spine.
“Not yet.” The arm relaxed. “You can say goodbye first.”
Oleg’s radio cracked and he raised his left hand. “You are certain? OK, ready positions.” He looked at Bull. “ALFA units have arrived.”
Bull aimed the gun at Snow. “You told them you were coming here. That was very foolish, SAS man.”
“I told no one.” How had they found them? Snow’s heart raced in his chest.
There was a burst of gunfire from outside as two men on the roof laid down suppressing rounds at the arriving Ministry of Internal Affairs anti-terrorist troops. One of Bull’s Brigada ran across the room to the window, positioning his rifle just below the shutter as he readied to repel the assault. Dmitro, now conscious, joined him at the second window. They both fired. Arnaud saw his chance; this was it. As fast as he could he sprang at Oleg, his loosened ropes dropping. Oleg batted him away with his Makarov pistol but Arnaud held on to the arm. A shot rang out and the bullet zipped across the room. Bull ducked and Snow threw himself sideways, using the table for cover. Bull fired and the chair back shattered. Snow reached up into the small of his back for Mitch’s Soviet commando knife, swung his arm right arm wildly and plunged the blade into Pashinski’s thigh. Pashinski staggered and moved away, the knife grating against bone. He shot again, this time hitting the table. There were shouts at the windows and an explosion outside.
“Exfiltrate,” Bull shouted above the gunfire. He staggered towards the corridor and the fire exit, sending another round towards Snow. Dmitro left his position and grabbed his commander under the arms, hustling him away. Smoke grenades flew in through the shattered windows, the last soldier manning them cut down by an ALFA bullet.
Snow turned and moved towards Arnaud. Arnaud was hanging onto the huge soldier’s arm and kicking him with his right foot, Oleg’s left hand was pounding against Arnaud’s face. The gun went off and Arnaud dropped. Snow’s fist hit Oleg in the throat and he fell, the gun spilling from his hand. Snow grabbed the Makarov and fired, Oleg squirmed and the round entered his stomach. Automatic gunfire ripped into the carpet around him, Snow rolled into cover behind another table. Oleg scuttled away, helped by two pairs of hands. The firing ceased. Snow grabbed at Arnaud. His chest was covered in blood, his eyes suddenly wide. “I knew you’d come Aid… knew…”
No time for sentiment, no time to grieve; Snow could see his friend was dying. “Where is Larissa? Where is she?”
“Storeroom… down the corrid–” Arnaud tried to sit up as blood seeped from his mouth. “Sorry… I fucked it all…”
“No mate, it was me. You were superb.”
The eyes had glazed over. There was an explosion at the door. Move it. Snow dropped the teacher and ran for the back door. He frantically tried the storeroom door, Larissa cowered in the corner. “We’ve got to go!” He grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the back door.
“No,” she yelled above the gunshots as the ALFA troops entered the restaurant from the main street. “Where is Arnaud? Where is Arnaud?”
“Outside. He’s outside.” No time to waste; have to get out.
There were shots ahead now but the exit was clear. No time to wait. “Davai Davai – go, go, quick, this way.”
Holding Larissa’s hand Snow ran down the steps. In his peripheral vision he saw assault troops exchanging fire with Pashinski’s men. Rogue rounds zipped over his head and now from behind. They crashed into the tree line, breaking branches and ripping their skin. Larissa screamed as a limb sprung against her forearm but did not slow. The ground dropped away below them and they hurtled down a slope, losing their footing they started to tumble and slip through the undergrowth. They landed at the bottom in a heap, bruised, battered, but alive.
The acrid smell of smoke and cordite from spent shells hung in the air as Blazhevich stepped into the restaurant. Around him the ALFA troops had secured the building and were now trying to ID the dead kidnappers. In the dining hall he met the gaze of the assault leader, who was crouching over a body; he shook his head. Blat! They were too late. Blazhevich moved nearer and nodded. He recognised the body of his fellow Hasher, the young British teacher who had run and drunk with him on several Sundays. “We are too late.”
*
SBU Headquarters, Volodymyrska Street, Kyiv
Budanov looked up as Dudka entered the cell. “You are now responsible for the death of a young British citizen. I hope you can forgive yourself, because I, for one, cannot.”
Budanov suddenly felt dizzy. “W– what? But... but I gave you the address.”
“We were too late. He was shot.” Dudka looked down at the pathetic man who sat on the metal cot bed. The man who had betrayed both his personal trust and that of the SBU.
“We have Pashinski?” Budanov was anxious.
Dudka sat heavily at the opposite end of the bed. “We? For you, Budanov, there is no ‘we’.” His nostrils flared as tried to regain his composure. “No, ‘we’ do not have him. They were well prepared, they opened fire on the ALFA team and many escaped – including Pashinski.”
Budanov felt himself suddenly age at the realisation of what he had done and what would now happen to him and his family. Tears began to roll down his face and in shame he hung his head.
Dudka looked on, nonplussed. “Where are your wife and child?”
“Cyprus.”
“How convenient.” Dudka grunted.
Budanov desperately raised his head, tears fell from his face. “You must send someone to protect them, Gennady Stepanovich.”
“And why is that?” Dudka could guess.
“Pashinski said that he would kill them if I told you anything.”
“Pray.” Dudka rose and banged on the door. It was opened, and then shut behind him. As he walked away he heard a mixture of sobbing and desperate screams from his former protégé. The fact that Dudka had already sent word to the consulate in Cyprus was something that Budanov need not know about, yet.
*
Borispil Village, Kyiv Oblast
The gunfire was loud behind them as they picked themselves up from the muddy ground.
“Where is he? Where is Arnaud?” Larissa had become frantic and suddenly realised that she could not see her boyfriend. Snow held her arms firmly and looked her in the eye. This would be the worst moment of her life so far.
“He’s dead. I’m sorry, I was too late.”
Her mouth started quiver. “No… he can’t be…” Her face froze as the words registered in her brain. She let out a moan and started to thrash her arms in an attempt to break free from her rescuer.
“We have to move.” Snow pulled her forward but she dug her heels into the ground. This was not the place to grieve, that would get them both killed.
“No. I want to see him.” Her words were almost unintelligible through the anguish.
“We have no time.” Snow tugged harder and she toppled over. In amongst the trees they moved forward. Tears fell from Larissa’s eyes. There was shouting behind them, rounds zipped past. Larissa screamed and Snow threw her to the ground at the foot of a tree. He landed on top of her and pushed her into cover. Snow hurriedly removed the Lithuanian’s Makarov from his jacket pocket and took aim. On the crest above, figures followed their path into the woods. They were Bull’s men attempting a retreat, firing controlled bursts back towards the street. The ALFA assault group, however, had not given up and a lot of fire was rained down on them. Rounds flew into the woods, pinging from branches and falling wildly.
Below him Larissa was shaking. Snow held the pistol steadily, if they got too close he would have to use it. A black clad figure ran towards him holding a short AK74. More rounds flew past and one hit the figure. He fell forwards no more than six feet from Snow’s face. His eyes crazed with pain, he saw Snow and scrambled to bring the automatic weapon to bear. Kill or be killed. Snow fired a double tap into his face. The bullets flew into his brain with deadly speed. Snow stayed still and again felt the pressure on his pistol grip. Above, the movement had stopped, but the gunfight had not. Snow rolled and dragged Larissa to her feet. This time she made no attempt to resist and they ran forward. The trees gave way to grassy fields peppered with newly built dachas. The first of these was at least 400 yards away, on the edge of a village.