The Enemy v-2

by Tom Wood

  Four days before he had discovered a thin path of squashed detritus in the grounds of the dacha and knew exactly who had created the trail. It had led him to the hide he now watched.

  The target, though unaware he was being observed, was alert and skilled. Even with the aid of the ghillie suit, which broke up the American’s silhouette in three dimensions and made him all but invisible, he kept low in the undergrowth and didn’t risk getting any closer.

  The American was armed with a Heckler amp; Koch MP5SD-N1 camouflaged with green and brown paint and using leaves and branches as stencils to break up the weapon’s lines. The N1 variant of the submachine gun featured a retractable metal butt stock, three-round burst trigger group and a stainless-steel integrated suppressor made by Knight Armament Company. As close to silent as any firearm could hope to get, it was the perfect weapon for a close-quarters engagement. A single squeeze of the trigger could put three 9 mm Parabellums in the target, and although the stopping power of the 9 mm round was significantly reduced flying at subsonic speeds, the overlapping of the hydrostatic shock waves on internal organs due to three bullets hitting the target almost at the same time more than made up for it.

  ‘This is Cowboy Daddy,’ a gravelly voice said through his earpiece, ‘Cowboy Gamma, gimme a sitrep. Over.’

  Another voice answered, ‘Cowboy Gamma. I’m ten metres south-east of the guesthouse. No sign of Mr and Mrs VIP yet. A gorilla is on patrol near the swimming pool. Over.’

  ‘Copy that, Cowboy Gamma,’ the gravelly voice replied. ‘Let me know when you have eyes on Mr and Mrs VIP. What’s the target’s status, Cowboy Bravo? Over.’

  ‘Cowboy Bravo. The target is awake and having himself some breakfast. He has absolutely no idea his ticket is gonna get punched. Over.’

  CHAPTER 51

  Kasakov stirred from his sleep and groaned. His face was buried in a big goose-down pillow. One of Izolda’s slender arms was draped across his waist. He lay still for a minute, enjoying the intimate feel of his wife’s limb, the softness of her skin, the warmth of her flesh. When Kasakov rolled on to his back, the movement roused a sleepy moan from his wife. He gently kissed her on the forehead, the tip of her little nose, and then finally on the lips. She smiled and kissed him back. He found her especially beautiful first thing in the morning when only he got to see her.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked, eyes still closed.

  ‘Just before eight.’

  ‘Wow,’ she said with raised eyebrows, ‘and you’re still here in bed. I’m honoured.’

  ‘I’m on vacation, aren’t I?’

  ‘Does that mean you won’t answer the phone when Yuliya and Tomasz call?’

  ‘I’ll do my best. How does that sound?’

  She grunted. They kissed again.

  Kasakov sat up and yawned. ‘What would you like for breakfast, my love?’

  She stroked his wide chest. ‘Hmm, your famous scrambled eggs, please. Plus orange juice and some melon. And coffee, lots of coffee.’

  ‘A veritable banquet.’ He scratched the back of his head. ‘What might I receive in return for preparing such a feast?’

  Izolda gave a cheeky grin. ‘You get the pleasure of making it and bringing it to your gorgeous wife.’

  ‘Ah,’ Kasakov said, ‘sustenance enough for any man.’

  ‘You had better believe it.’

  He climbed out of bed and opened the drapes. The dacha’s master bedroom was at the front of the house and the window provided a breathtaking view of the Black Sea. Kasakov stretched as he stared outwards at gulls circling near the shoreline.

  This was his favourite part of the country. Sochi had sandy beaches, the climate was as hot as it got in Russia, and the nearby Caucasus Mountains offered excellent skiing. Kasakov came with Izolda at least a couple of times a year, though he kept away from the tourist-heavy city itself, as well as the havens where Russia’s elite frivolously spent their wealth. He preferred the isolation his dacha provided. It had its own private beach, accessible via a path through the woods, where he could relax without the bother of other people, and especially their children.

  He’d bought the house when the international efforts to bring him down started to pick up momentum. He hadn’t left the country for any purpose other than the most important business trips since then; the risks were so great that even those trips were growing less frequent, and only then to nations who wouldn’t go running to the UN.

  ‘What’s the weather like?’ Izolda asked.

  ‘Blue sky, sunshine,’ Kasakov answered. ‘It’s going to be nice for once.’

  ‘Great,’ Izolda said. ‘I think I might have a swim after breakfast.’

  Victor glimpsed a blur passing by one of the mansion’s visible upstairs windows, which he recognised to be Kasakov’s wife by the slightness of the silhouette. Kasakov’s large frame followed a moment later, but again did so too fast to risk a shot, especially when the temperature was continuing to rise and the sky remained clear of rainclouds. Another ten degrees and it would be perfect weather to use the swimming pool.

  The Dakota Longbow lay directly next to Victor, shielded from the elements by a waterproof sheet weighed down with small rocks. When the time came, it would take but a split second to whip the sheet away and prepare for the shot. The sight was already set for the distance. There was little wind at the moment. Maybe two and a half miles per hour.

  Aside from the pleasant chirping of the birds above his head, there was no other sound. In other circumstances, Victor would have enjoyed camping in the forest. Maybe one day he would come back to Sochi and do just that, only far away from here.

  He used a straw to drink some water while he watched the dacha. Soon the job would be complete and Victor’s obligation to his nameless employer finally over.

  One squeeze of the trigger and he would be a free man again.

  The American using the call sign Cowboy Bravo remained kneeling in the undergrowth approximately twenty yards to the right of the target’s position. From his elevation and angle, the man in the ghillie suit could only see the target’s legs, elbows and half of the binoculars. The rest of him was hidden by the undergrowth, trees and rain sheet, but there was no need to keep a more complete view. The American saw enough to maintain eyes on the target.

  He only needed to see more when the order came to complete the kill.

  The American’s earpiece crackled. ‘This is Cowboy Daddy. Gimme a sitrep, Cowboys. Over.’

  Another voice whispered, ‘Cowboy Gamma, I’m eight metres south-west of the main building, alongside the shed. I can see Mr and Mrs VIP through the kitchen window, fixing coffee. Two gorillas are out and about. Mrs VIP is wearing a swimsuit, over.’

  ‘This is Cowboy Bravo,’ the man in the ghillie suit answered. ‘I’m exactly nineteen metres north of the target. Ready and waiting. Over.’

  ‘Copy that,’ Cowboy Daddy replied. ‘Cowboy Gamma, maintain your visual on Mr VIP. When he drops, you let us know and we can finish up here. If our boy is waiting for Mr VIP to step outside, today could be the day. Maintain focus, Bravo. Out.’

  The American was patient but looked forward to fulfilling the mission. It would be simple.

  One squeeze of the trigger and the target was a dead man.

  Izolda finished her breakfast and kissed her husband on the cheek. They were sitting side by side at the breakfast bar of the dacha’s kitchen.

  ‘That was divine, Vladimir,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  Kasakov nodded and slurped some coffee. ‘Always a pleasure.’

  She wrapped her thin arms around his huge shoulders, stretching to lock her fingers together. She kissed him again. ‘I’m so glad we came away. I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea with how strained things have been between us recently, but it’s been wonderful.’

  ‘And now the sun is shining it will only get better.’

  She grinned. ‘It’s a shame we can’t live here. It’s much nicer here than in Moscow. There’s no no
ise, no stress, no distractions. Just the two of us. In Moscow I have to share you with all your business associates, and you’ve been so busy lately it’s as if you’d forgotten I even existed.’

  He covered her hands with his. ‘I could never forget about you.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it quite like that. I just meant you’ve been so distracted it’s lovely to have your full attention again. I’ve finally got you all to myself and I’m going to make the most of it.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Well,’ Kasakov began, ‘I’m glad it’s nice to have my attention again, because you’re going to be getting a lot more of it.’

  She eyed him suspiciously. ‘And what does that mean?’

  He took a deep breath and said, ‘I think it’s about time I took a step back from the business.’

  She released him from the hug and turned on her stool to better face him. Instead of looking happy, the way he’d hoped she would look, she appeared unconvinced. ‘Really?’

  Kasakov nodded. ‘Why not? We have so much money it would take forever just to count it all. And besides, I’m tired of it all. I’m so tired.’

  Izolda was shaking her head, not in disagreement but disbelief. ‘I don’t know what to say. This is so sudden.’

  ‘I’ve spent my whole life planning for every last detail. It’s about time I was spontaneous.’

  ‘What will you do with your company?’

  Kasakov shrugged. ‘Tomasz and Yuliya can handle things without me. I’ll still own it, of course, but they can run it. I’ve got a horrible feeling they could do a better job than me anyway.’

  ‘You really mean this, don’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s taken a long time, but I’ve come to understand that some things really are more important than money or power. I never want to lose you, Izzy.’

  She was silent for a moment. ‘You’re not going to lose me.’ She didn’t look at him when she said, ‘Why would you even say that?’

  He gently stroked her cheek. ‘I’m not a fool, my love. I know I haven’t been the husband you deserve. I’ve allowed things to come between us. My company, Illarion’s death, our problem.’ He swallowed heavily and she squeezed his hand. ‘Things have happened recently that have altered my perspective somewhat. I won’t go into the details; all you need to know is that I’ve changed. And, I think it’s about time I acknowledged that our problem is really my problem. These days, doctors can fix anything. And if not, there are other ways to conceive. It’s not too late.’ Kasakov pulled Izolda close to him and held her tightly. ‘I’m so sorry I pushed you away.’

  He felt her tears on his shoulder.

  Just after nine a.m. Victor watched Izolda Kasakov emerge through the dacha’s back door. She was a vision wearing a patterned silk kimono, wide-brimmed hat, and large sunglasses. Her feet were bare, toenails ruby red. She carried a glass of what looked like iced tea with a slice of lime. She sucked the iced tea through a long straw and approached the swimming pool, disappearing from Victor’s line of sight. He imagined her taking a seat on one of the sun loungers while she finished her tea. No sign of Kasakov.

  Victor cracked his neck and sipped some more water. The temperature was in the low seventies by now, even under the shade of the forest canopy. The breeze was still light and helped keep Victor cool. Birds sang overhead. Victor’s ornithology knowledge was basic at best and he had no idea of the species, but he found their chirping especially pleasant and it helped relax him while he continued his long wait.

  An hour passed, then two. Izolda Kasakov re-entered Victor’s field of view. This time she was wearing nothing other than a black swimsuit. Her hair was damp and hung past her shoulder blades. She entered the house, closing the back door behind her.

  As midday came and went, the temperature continued to rise. Victor wiped the sweat from his eyes with a sleeve. The breeze had picked up, but it was still hot. The heat made him feel tired but he remained focused. At random intervals he grabbed the rifle and centred the reticule over the doorway so when it came to it the movement would be fast and fluid.

  At two p.m. Izolda appeared again. She was in her swimsuit still, but now a shawl wrapped around her waist covered her legs. She carried a plate topped with a salad. Again, no Kasakov. Izolda left the back door open. Perhaps for her husband to follow.

  Victor hadn’t seen Kasakov since he passed the window hours before. For all he knew, the Ukrainian could have gone out for the day, but guesswork was inherently problematic. Victor had faith in his plan. Whether it took an hour or a week, Kasakov would eventually step out of the dacha’s back door.

  Twenty minutes later, Izolda stepped back into view and stood in the open doorway. A bodyguard walked past her, patrolling the grounds, doing circuits of the mansion. He was armed with a compact AK74SU and wearing a level III Kevlar vest over his T-shirt. He spent longer than was tactically prudent checking out Mrs Kasakov as he went by. Victor couldn’t help but smile. Even the best bodyguards money could buy were still only human.

  From the way Izolda was leaning against the doorframe and gesticulating, Victor could tell she was talking with someone he took to be her husband. With his spare hand, Victor pulled the sheet off the Dakota and drew the rifle closer.

  A silhouette appeared on the far side of Izolda.

  Immediately Victor examined the sway of the tree branches on the lawn behind the house, estimating there was a ten mile an hour cross-wind. He knew that with the. 338 calibre round that would equate to around a twenty-five-inch displacement at seven hundred yards. He exchanged the binoculars for the rifle, adjusted the windage dial on the Longbow’s scope to compensate for the displacement, and positioned himself so his right eye was an inch from the eyepiece. He closed his left.

  *

  The American with the call sign Cowboy Bravo watched as the target readied the rifle, and said into his throat mic, ‘Cowboy Bravo. The target has taken up his weapon. This doesn’t look like a drill. I think he’s getting ready to shoot. Over.’

  ‘Cowboy Daddy. Roger that, Bravo. Can you confirm that Mr VIP is exposed, Gamma? Over.’

  ‘This is Cowboy Gamma. Hold on, I lost sight of Mr and Mrs VIP to avoid a gorilla. I’m re-establishing a visual. I can hear them talking. Yes, I can see him in the kitchen near the door. He’s approaching it now. Looks like he’s going to step outside. He’s definitely going to step outside the door. Over.’

  ‘Copy that, Cowboy Bravo,’ Cowboy Daddy’s gravelly voice answered. ‘When he does, you can bet your bottom dollar our boy is going to drop that son of a bitch with one through the cranium. This is it. Be ready. I’m moving into killing range from the south of the target. Do the same from the north, Cowboy Bravo. Out.’

  The American rose from his kneeling position and carefully approached the target, moving in a semicircle to come at him from behind. He released the safety on his MP5 and checked the selector was switched to three-round burst.

  The silhouette behind Izolda stepped out of the shadows. Vladimir Kasakov was stripped to the waist and wearing long swimming shorts. His huge torso was covered in hair. His wife blocked a good deal of him, but Victor centred the reticule between Kasakov’s eyebrows and breathed slow and steady. His heart rate fell. He concentrated on its rhythm, timing himself, finger poised to squeeze in the pause between beats, ready for when Izolda had moved out of the way.

  Victor watched as she took a glass of iced tea from her husband and then stepped backwards and away from the door to allow Kasakov to exit. The big Ukrainian emerged through the doorway.

  The birds stopped singing above Victor.

  He squeezed the Longbow’s trigger.

  CHAPTER 52

  Something whizzed past the right side of Kasakov’s head, followed by a loud thunk, as if a nail had been hammered into the wood. He flinched in surprise, but didn’t understand what any of it meant. He put a hand to his ear and turned on the spot, confused.

 
‘Are you okay?’ Izolda asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Kasakov replied. ‘I think a wasp flew past me.’ He stared, confused, at a small hole in the doorframe. The edges were frayed. ‘Has this hole always…?’

  A sound like thunder rolled over them.

  Kasakov and Izolda looked at each other.

  ‘What was that?’ she asked, sipping some iced tea and looking skyward.

  Kasakov looked too. There were a few clouds, but certainly no storm clouds. What caused the thunder?

  ‘Maybe it was a plane,’ Izolda suggested.

  A window shattered to Kasakov’s left and Izolda let out a surprised yelp. She dropped her glass and it shattered on the paving slabs. Shards of glass and ice cubes scattered across the ground. Iced tea spread out in a puddle.

  Brickwork exploded. Kasakov flinched as fragments pelted his arm and back.

  A second sound like thunder echoed. Concern spread across Kasakov’s face.

  ‘ What the hell? ’

  One of their bodyguards came running around the side of the dacha.

  ‘ GET DOWN,’ he yelled, gesturing frantically with both hands, ‘ GET DOWN.’

  Izolda screamed. Kasakov cursed himself for being slow to understand and charged in his wife’s direction. He threw her to the ground and lay on top to shield her.

  Another gunshot filled the air.

  So close to the fired rifle, the sound of the gunshots was loud enough to sting the ears of the American with the call sign Cowboy Bravo. He was barely ten feet behind the target, the iron sights of the MP5 lined up to put a triangle of rounds through his spine when the command was given, which should be any second now.

  ‘Cowboy Gamma, this is Cowboy Daddy,’ a voice spat through his earpiece. ‘Shots have been fired. Gimme me a fuckin’ sitrep. Over. ’

  ‘He missed,’ Cowboy Gamma replied. ‘Goddamn missed with all three shots. Mr and Mrs VIP have realised what’s happening and are on the ground. Bodyguards are securing them. Over.’