Bitter Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 2) (41 page)

“I am not going back,” Khatuna spat as she pulled the plane into a sharp bank to the right. Jack’s eyes bulged as he watched out Mikhailov’s window and saw the right wingtip nearly brush the white surface of the frozen river before she leveled out again. “Not ever.”

“So it’s the Mathias Rust plan, then,” Jack said, holding tight as Khatuna made a sharp turn to the left this time.

“Yes, but first we need fuel.” He looked at the map for a moment, then turned to Khatuna. “Zadonsk is just ahead. The M-4 highway runs just south of it. There!”

As Khatuna brought the An-2 out of another left turn, far more gentle this time, there was a highway bridge just ahead, maybe a kilometer away, spanning the river. She brought the old biplane up, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief as they climbed away from the disturbingly close ground below.

All three of them looked around for anything that looked like a gas stop as Khatuna flew over the bridge, then turned west to parallel the highway.

“There!” She pointed to a pair of nearly identical structures on each side of the divided highway, about half a kilometer west of the river. A couple of trucks and cars were stopped there, and Jack could make out what looked like fueling islands.

“I hate to ask,” Jack said, “but are they going to have the right kind of gas for this thing?”

Khatuna shook her head as she circled over the truck stops, then headed back the way they had come, toward the river. “Not the best kind, which is one hundred octane. But they will have premium, you call it? That will do. You need to strap in now, Jack.”

“Oh, shit.” Jack stepped down from the cockpit and strapped himself into the nearest seat just before Khatuna banked the plane hard to the left, nearly standing it on its wingtip. That’s when he realized that she was going to land the old crate on the highway.
 

As the plane leveled out, he got the queasy sensation in his stomach that was familiar to all air travelers as the plane slowed, the nose coming up slightly even as the An-2 dropped more quickly toward the ground. The engine noise fell off to a quiet thrum except for a few times when Khatuna nudged the throttle to adjust the rate of descent.

With a brief squeak of rubber on asphalt, the main wheels kissed the highway, and Khatuna eased the tail down until the plane was fully on the ground. Jack had expected her to slam the plane down in an imitation of a carrier landing, but was glad to be disappointed.

They taxied for a couple minutes before Khatuna swung the tail around and killed the engine.

“Jack,” Mikhailov called. “Do you still have your pistol?”

“Yes, but it’s empty.” Jack unstrapped and stood up, stepping aside as Khatuna climbed down from the cockpit.

“Take it along, just for show. Keep it in your holster, but make sure everyone outside can see it.” Mikhailov grimaced as he clutched his chest. “You will have to pretend to be nasty VDV officer requisitioning this plane and fuel to fly it. Khatuna will do the talking. Just look like you will shoot anyone who argues with her.”

“Jesus, Sergei.”
 

Khatuna passed by him and opened a door at the tail of the cargo compartment. Leaning inside, she dug around for a moment, then stood up with a heavy coil of thick rubber hose. “Here.” She handed it to him, and he was hit with the smell of gasoline. “Hoses from pumps cannot reach. We must use this. Many planes like this have hoses for refueling in, how do you call it, remote places.”

Then she swung open the passenger door and hopped nimbly to the ground in front of a dozen curious onlookers.

Jack jumped down, nearly losing his balance when he landed.
Doing a face plant right now wouldn’t be so great
, he thought as he recovered. He sucked in his breath. It was cold, a lot colder than it had been down south.
 

Khatuna was speaking in rapid-fire Russian, and two men, whom Jack took to be workers at the station, were exchanging disbelieving looks. Then they began arguing with her.

Jack stepped up next to Khatuna, shifting the heavy hose to expose the Desert Eagle under his left arm. Unable to help themselves, the two men who’d been arguing with her gawked at him. He saw their eyes take in the blood stains, gore, and mud, the rips and tears in the fabric. Then they looked at his face, and he didn’t have to work hard to put on an expression that gave them pause. He’d been through a lot in the last few days, and the last thing he was going to deal with now was crap from this motley crew.

After a moment, the two returned their attention to Khatuna and mumbled something. With a curt nod, she turned and took one end of the hose from Jack, while one of the two men took the rest of it. While Khatuna connected her end to the plane, the man took his end to where the fuel tank fill caps were. Dropping the hose, he opened one of the caps, unscrewed something inside, then dropped in the hose.
 

Khatuna climbed inside the plane, and Jack heard a hum from inside the aircraft. The hose twitched as fuel began to flow into the An-2’s dry tanks.
 

His role in their little play concluded, Jack stepped close to the cockpit, making sure to keep clear of the still-hot engine.
 

Khatuna slid the side window back and leaned out.

“I’m going to try to call home,” he told her.

She nodded, then turned away. Jack could hear Mikhailov saying something. “Sergei says do not talk too long. And keep watch for
politsiya
.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Jack stepped under the plane to the side opposite the people who continued to point and jabber about the plane. Pulling out his phone, he breathed a sigh of relief to see that, although the battery was low, it was still working. He dialed Naomi’s number.

“We’re sorry,” a recorded female voice told him after a few rings. “That number is currently unavailable.”

“Shit.” He tried again, but got the same recording. Then he dialed Renee’s number.

After two rings he heard her voice. “I’m sorry, hon, but you’re going to have to leave a message. I’ll ring you back as soon as I can. Leave a message at the beep.”

“Dammit,” he hissed. He hit the end call button. He didn’t want to waste the little bit of battery power he had left leaving a message.
 

That left only one choice. He dialed the number for Richards’ cell phone.

He answered on the first ring. “Dawson! Where the blazes are you?”

“I’m in Russia with Mikhailov, trying to make our way to Moscow. Listen, we’ve got to make this quick. My phone’s about ready to die.”

“Understood. Status?”

“Things are going to hell fast here, Carl. Last night I jumped into a village in southern Russia with half a battalion of Russian paratroopers. They were all wiped out in the fight. And it wasn’t just that village: the harvesters have spread like wildfire through the Caucasus region, causing hell all over the place, especially at military facilities, and the government’s declared a quarantine line along the Don and Volga rivers. They’re turning back planes, even threatening to shoot them down.”

“You jumped in with Russian paratroopers? You’re insane, Dawson.” Jack could imagine Richards shaking his bald head in disbelief. “But thanks for the tip on the quarantine. We hadn’t heard that from our intel people, yet.”

“When you do, believe it. And if things are moving this fast here, India’s going to be just as bad, maybe worse.” India was a lot more densely populated than Russia.
More food for the harvesters
, he thought darkly.

“That’s not the worst,” Richards told him. “LA’s been hit, Dawson. It’s a war zone out there, and we’re doing everything we can to keep those damn things from spreading.”

Jack felt as if someone had just punched him in the gut. “Naomi?”

Richards was silent for a moment. “She’s in the field. We’re trying to get her out.”

Leaning back against the cold metal skin of the plane, Jack said, “Christ, Carl. What the devil was she doing?”

“Her job, Dawson. Just like you and the rest of us. There aren’t any sideliners in this one, not anymore.” He paused. “Listen, if it’s any consolation, she’s with a team led by one of our best. You remember Boisson, don’t you?”

“Angie Boisson? Yeah, she was on the Bronsky case, wasn’t she?” Jack recalled the tough African-American woman who’d been in the shootout that was the finale of the multi-state killing spree by the murderous Bronsky brothers. When the FBI had sprung the trap that Jack had helped lay, Boisson had taken two rounds to the chest. Her body armor had stopped the slugs, but Jack knew that getting hit like that was an extremely painful experience that you didn’t just shrug off. But Boisson did. Ignoring the pain, she got back to her feet, grabbed up her weapon, and continued blazing away at the bad guys, and was credited with the killing shot for one of the two murderers.

“Yeah, the same. She’ll get Naomi out of there. You just need to stay focused on getting yourself home. Don’t let the Russians screw with you.”

“That’s the trick,” Jack told him. “I don’t have my passport or visa, and we’re escapees from the quarantine zone. Mikhailov’s trying to get us to his superiors.” He glanced up at the An-2 looming over him. “And let’s just say that we’re taking an unconventional mode of transportation.”

“I’m not even going to ask. I’ll tell the embassy people about you losing your passport. Dumb-ass.”

“Tell me about it.” He glanced at his phone. “I’m about out of juice. I’ll call you back when I can.”

“Take care of yourself,” Richards told him. “And don’t worry about Naomi. We’ll get her out of there.”

“Right.” Jack hung up, not feeling at all reassured. He knew that whatever Naomi was doing must have been necessary, and he told himself not to worry himself sick over her.
She’s a big girl and can take care of herself
. And he knew that it was true. That thought helped, at least a little.

He looked up as Mikhailov slid open his window and poked his head out. “Jack, get in here. We’ve got trouble.”

* * *

“What is it?” Jack was again standing in the cockpit behind Mikhailov and Khatuna.

Mikhailov had his cell phone to his ear and held up his hand for Jack to be quiet as he listened. His eyes met Jack’s, and he shook his head slowly.

“
Da
,” Mikhailov said. Then he spoke some more in Russian. He listened again, then hung up and put the phone back inside his tunic.

Khatuna looked frightened.

“Now what?”

“That was my division commander in Pskov. You are now a wanted man, Jack. The FSB, what I think you translate as Federal Security Service, which is actually a new name for the old KGB, thinks you brought the infection here.”

“
What?
”

“Do not shoot the messenger, please. They have issued orders to all police and military forces that you are to be arrested. And if you resist, you are to be shot.” He winced. Talking was becoming more and more of an effort. “Apparently some in the FSB do not believe the American government’s revisionist history, resurrecting you as a ‘good guy’ from your earlier status as a murderer and terrorist last year.”

“And the fact that the outbreak at the facility where you were first ambushed happened before I arrived here obviously eluded them,” Jack said bitterly.
 

“They are paranoid, faced with a disaster they cannot begin to comprehend,” Mikhailov told him. “Blaming disasters on a scapegoat is a very old game, my friend.”

“How did they even know Jack is involved?” Khatuna asked.
 

“Colonel Zaitsev informed VDV Headquarters that Jack was with us, and that he was a valuable source of information that must be protected. The FSB has ears everywhere, even in the VDV.” He frowned. “I suspect my division commander will be arrested for helping us.”

“Why did he?” Jack was curious. “Why didn’t he follow orders? They could’ve just waited for us to appear and then clapped me in irons.”

“I think because he realizes that you can help us, and that if the FSB gets you, it will not be a good thing for our country.”

Jack sucked a breath of air in through his teeth. “What do we do now? We can’t just waltz into Moscow to VDV Headquarters, and there’s no way I’d be able to get to the American Embassy or a consulate anywhere; they’ll be covered by FSB surveillance. And this crate won’t get us out of Russian territory.”

“This plane could get to Ukraine or Belarus,” Khatuna told him defensively. Jack realized that she really loved the old Antonov.

“That will not help,” Mikhailov said. “If they have not already, they will soon close their borders, and they still have deep ties to FSB. They may not turn you over, but they will probably hold you for interrogation. Perhaps for a long time.” He shook his head. “None of the former Soviet Republics will be safe. We need to get you to a NATO country.”

“What about the Baltic states? Aren’t Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania in NATO now?”

Mikhailov snorted. “Yes, but we could only reach either Estonia or Latvia; we would have to cross over Belarus to reach Lithuania. True, they are NATO members, but do you really wish to trust yourself against the FSB backed by Russian military forces in either of those countries, where they have maybe ten thousand men, combined, in their active defense forces? And Finland is not a NATO country. They have no love for us, but you would likely be swallowed for some time there, too. Quarantined, if nothing else.”

Jack scowled at him. “Well, Sergei, you’re not leaving us with a lot of choices. We can’t go east, because that’s just more of Russia until we get to China, which is probably also in the shitter by now. We can’t go south. We can’t go west. With the Baltic countries and Finland out of the running, the only country that’s left is…” Jack paused as the light bulb went off in his head.

“
Da
.” Mikhailov nodded, his blood-streaked lips curling up in a smile. “Norway.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“I don’t like this.”
 

Naomi looked up from her study of the larval harvester in the carboy to see Boisson staring at the racetrack and stables to the north of the mall. The horrid cries of the animals there had finally stopped. Now, from that direction, there was only silence that was in marked contrast to the sounds of panic and chaos coming from the other points of the compass.