Lone Wolf (26 page)

Twenty minutes later, he went down the hall and tapped on both Neil and Moose's doors, calling to them to meet him for breakfast in his room. Both of them grunted acknowledgment, and he returned to his room to order breakfast. He picked up the phone and punched the intercom button, and was surprised when the butler answered instantly.

“Good morning, Mister Colson,” said the stiff upper lip. “I trust you slept well?”

“Like a baby,” Noah said. “Rothschild, what's good for breakfast here?”

The Butler chuckled. “Absolutely anything you might desire,” he said. “The cook on duty spent several years as a chef in one of London's finest hotels. However, I might suggest that he is excellent at preparing eggs and beef, what you might call steak and eggs. Might that suffice?”

“That will be fine, and make it times three. Eggs over easy, steaks medium rare. Do they have any decent coffee down there?”

“Everything from Russia's own Zhokei, which I find delightful, to American brands like Folgers or Maxwell House.”

“Good, send up a pot of the Russian variety. Better send along a big sugar bowl, that skinny kid with me can't seem to get enough of it.”

Moose tapped on the door a moment later, and by the time Noah opened it for him, Neil was also staggering down the hall. They were both dressed, but while Moose looked fresh and alert, Neil's hair suggested that he had showered before he went to bed and hadn't bothered to use a towel.

“Steak and eggs on the way,” Noah said. “I'm sure it will be a few minutes, so we can talk until he gets here. I've had an idea, and I think it might make Nicolaich tip his hand.”

“We're listening,” Moose said. “What are we going to do, Boss?”

“Remember we figured that Nicolaich expects me to act like a normal person? I was thinking about how normal people act in situations like this, going over some of the movies I've seen. Whenever the hero's wife or girlfriend or daughter is in danger or has been kidnapped, the hero gets angry. I need to let Nicolaich think he's driven me to a rage.”

“Oh, dear God,” Neil moaned. “Don't tell me you're going on a killing spree. Liam Neeson always goes on a killing spree in those movies.”

Noah looked at him. “Pretty close,” he said. “What I'm going to do is start snatching SVR people and demanding Nicolaich's whereabouts. I will kill a few of them, just to make it look like I'm out of control, but I have to let some of them live so that he'll hear about it. He'll think he's got me all torn up, not thinking clearly, and I suspect that's when he'll make his move.”

Moose grinned. “I like it,” he said. “We going after them soon as breakfast is over?”

“We aren't,” Noah said. “I am. This is one time when I need to operate alone, so that it looks like I'm freaked out over Sarah being taken hostage. Don't worry, though, I’ve got things for each of you to do.” He turned to Neil, who was staring at him open mouthed. “Neil, I want you to find a phone line going into that safe house, and listen to everything that goes through it. Any mention of Nicolaich, I want you to tell me. We'll be using those super communicators Wally gave us, so you can be in my ear all the time.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Neil said. “How the hell am I supposed to know what might be important and what isn't? I don't speak Russian!”

“Are you going to tell me you can't find some kind of an audio translation program? I'm sure there has to be one out there somewhere.”

Neil blinked at him. “Well—well—yeah, I guess there is. Fine, I'll see what I can do. But not until I have some coffee, okay?”

“It's on the way.” Noah turned to Moose. “Moose, I'm sending you on some special errands. I want you to take pot shots at the police. Don't kill anyone, and don't let yourself get trapped, just scare the crap out of them. Shoot close to them, but miss, or shoot their cars. I want the police in the city in a panic, so keep moving around. Think you can do that?”

Moose rolled his eyes. “Of course I can,” he said. “I thought you wanted me to do something difficult.”

“All right, we all jump on it as soon as we eat. I'll drive you into the city, Moose, and have Carson get you some wheels. Wait, on second thought, you can have the Land Rover. There are a lot of flashy cars running around Moscow. I need something similar, something that will get attention . Within a couple of hours after I start, I want every SVR agent in the city to panic every time he sees anything similar to whatever I'm driving.”

There was a tap on the door at that moment, and Noah opened it to find a maid pushing a serving cart. She smiled prettily, tittered once and then pushed the cart into the room. She put it in the small kitchen, then set three large covered plates, three silver mugs and a large silver coffeepot on the table. When she had finished, she turned and looked at Noah, tittered again and then hurried out the door.

The three men sat down to eat, and each of them was surprised when they took the covers off the plates. The steaks were porterhouse, and large enough to be the entrée of a dinner, and the eggs were very large. There was a serving of fried potatoes on each, as well, and a large, heavily buttered roll.

Finishing their meals took the better part of an hour, but they were all wide-awake and ready for the day by the time they got done. Neil filled his coffee cup for the third time, and carried it over to the desk. Within minutes, he was back online and trying to crack the Russian telephone system. It took him all of ten minutes to find the numbers assigned to the safe house, and ten more before he could listen in and record everything that went through them.

Noah went to his bedroom and retrieved his Glock; Moose had already brought his along. Noah handed Neil one of the paired Bluetooth-style earpieces and put the other on his own ear. “Remember, you get anything interesting, you just pipe up and tell me. No one else will be able to hear what you say, but we can talk back and forth through these things as we need to.”

Noah turned to Moose. “Ready?”

“Hell, yes,” the big guy said. “Let's go make some mayhem.”

The two of them left the room, and ran into Rothschild as they came down the stairs. Noah told him that they were going into the city to take care of some “business,” and the butler wished them luck. They walked out the door into the morning sunshine, but the air was rather cool.

“I don't think it ever gets actually hot here,” Moose said. “This time of summer, you'd think it would be pretty warm. I don't think it's over sixty degrees, right now.”

“Don't complain,” Noah said. “Remember how hot it was in Mauritania? At least we're in a decent climate.”

They got into the Land Rover and Noah retraced the route to Moscow. Along the way, he decided to take a look at the safe house, and activated the car's built-in GPS system. He followed the directions, and an hour later they were on the street in front of the place.

It looked more like a fortress than a house, and it was easy to spot the guards patrolling the grounds.

Moose let out a low whistle. “Larry boy was right,” he said. “I don't think we'd ever get in there. Those guys look like they mean business and know what they're doing.”

“No doubt about that,” Noah said. “Going in there would be suicidal, anyway. If Nicolaich has any idea I know where he is, he's probably hoping I'll try. We're going to let him keep hoping, at least until he finds out what I'm going to do to his organization.”

Noah called Carson and told him they needed another vehicle, something flashy that would draw attention.

“I've got just the thing,” he said. “The CIA has a Marussia B2, the only real Russian sports car ever built. This one's been tuned to over five hundred horsepower, and can hit two hundred miles per hour. The sound alone is enough to make sure you get attention. There are a few of them around the city, and a lot of other cars that people mistake for one of these.” He gave Noah an address and told him the car would be waiting when he arrived.

The car was incredible. Low and sleek, it looked like a combination of a McLaren and the Bugatti Veyron, and both men were extremely impressed. A British agent went over the controls with Noah, showing him how to shift from automatic to manual mode, and then handed him the keys.

“Okay,” he said to Moose, “time to put this plan into action. You keep the police busy, because I'm going to be driving them crazy.” He climbed into the spectacular automobile and fired it up, then drove away quickly.

Moose got back into the Land Rover and headed for some of the busier parts of the city. He found an alley and ducked inside long enough to get the sniper rifle out from under the seat, then got back in with it leaning against his leg. Moments later, he spotted a police cruiser and followed it until its lights came on to pull over a driver ahead. Moose cruised slowly by and found another alley, turned into it and stopped just at the entrance. He raised the rifle and aimed it carefully at the patrol car.

The sound suppressor on the big gun couldn't silence it completely, but the report was not nearly as loud as even a handgun. Moose shot off the driver side mirror, then put a couple of rounds into the windshield. As soon as the first bullet struck, the policeman hit the ground. Moose stowed the gun in the floorboard again, then took off through the alley.

He continued to cruise the city, and every time he saw a policeman or a patrol car, he found a concealed position and squeezed off two or three shots. No one was injured, but there were suddenly a lot more patrol cars running around the streets of the city. It became difficult for Moose to find stations to shoot from, but now and then he would get another opportunity. Some of them were close enough that he simply used the Glock, but most of the time he employed the rifle. Luckily, he had a large box of ammunition on the floor under his legs. Over the next few hours, the Moscow police began to think they were under attack, and were concentrating all of their forces into the area of the city he had chosen for his campaign.

N
oah wasn’t being much more discrete. Another call to Carson had gotten him the names and locations of several SVR agents who were known to have ties with Nicolaich Andropov. He started by scouting them, cruising past the houses and offices where they could be found. The car he was driving was getting a lot of attention, with almost everyone he passed stopping to stare and sometimes point.

His first opportunity to strike came after almost 40 minutes, when he spotted one of the agents he was looking for coming out of his house. Carson had sent him photos by SMS, so he knew he had the right man. He watched the fellow make his way to a car, and then suddenly slid his own vehicle to a stop beside him and leaped out of the car. He grabbed the man by his throat and slammed him against the side of his own car, as he pointed the Glock at his face.

“Sergey Chegin?” he asked. The surprise man stared into his eyes, but refused to answer. Noah pressed the gun against his left cheek and asked again. This time the man nodded once. “Where can I find Nicolaich Andropov? Answer me, and you might live through this.”

“Nicolaich? I don't know, I don't even know who you mean.”

“Wrong answer,” Noah said. He removed the Glock from the man's cheek, pressed it against his left shoulder and squeezed the trigger once. The forty-caliber slug almost tore his arm off, and the man screamed. “Let's try this again. Where can I find Nicolaich Andropov?”

“I don't know, I swear I don't know! I don't even think he's in the city, the last I knew he was on his way to the UK.”

Noah quickly patted the man down, removing a pistol from a holster on the back of his waist. He let go of Chegin and spun back to his car, getting in and driving quickly away. In the rearview mirror, he could see Chegin fumbling with what looked like a cell phone.

Fifteen minutes later, he found another target. Nikolai Ukhov was standing on a sidewalk in front of the building where he had an office. As far as the locals knew, Ukhov was a financial analyst, but his real duties involved funneling laundered money into black operations accounts. Noah pulled up and parked just beside where he stood talking to another man, lowered the passenger side window and leaned over so that he could speak to them.

“Nikolai? Is that you?” Noah asked.

Ukhov and his companion both looked down at Noah. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“Not really, I just wanted to ask where I can find Nicolaich Andropov.”

Ukhov suddenly looked wary, and his companion turned white. Both of them began to shake their heads, but Noah raised his pistol and fired once, blowing the top of Ukhov's head completely away. The other man spun and ran, but Noah let him go.

Over the next three hours, Noah struck six times. Two of his victims were left alive, wounded but not mortally. The rest died instantly, immediately after they were heard by bystanders to deny any knowledge of Nicolaich Andropov or his location.

Noah was cruising, looking for another victim, when an armored police car suddenly appeared behind him. The lights came on, and Noah slapped the car into manual mode and floored it. He was on Ul. Ostozhenka, a main thoroughfare, and was doing more than a hundred miles per hour in less than eight seconds. Fortunately, the traffic was fairly light, but he knew that the police car would radio ahead. He saw an intersection approaching just after he passed a couple of large trucks, and he managed to slow the car to about sixty before he had to cut the wheel and drift around the corner. The turn cost him speed, but then he spotted an alley in the middle of the block. He downshifted again and managed to slide the car into the alley without hitting the buildings on either side. He pressed on the brake pedal to slow the car even more, and then took a left turn onto the next street it met.

He continued to zig and zag for several minutes, until he was certain that he had lost the police car. Driving sedately again, he continued to cruise for several minutes more, but then he heard Neil's voice in his ear.

“Hey, Boss? I think I got something. I just heard Nicolaich's name mentioned on the call, and I'm running it through a translator right now. Give me a couple of seconds to listen.”