Precipice: V Plague Book 9 (8 page)

Colonel
Grushkin was on his second read through of Major Chase’s GRU file.  The
first pass had been a skim, just to spot the highlights.  The second was
slow and methodical as he looked to get a better insight into how the man
thought.  Despite himself, he was impressed and couldn’t help but wonder
why Chase had left the Army.  That detail wasn’t included.  He also
didn’t understand why the file listed his final rank as Master Sergeant yet he
was apparently now a Major.

He was further
surprised to find that the American’s wife was a former CIA officer. 
There was a reference to a separate file on her that was available, and he had
ordered the Corporal to obtain it as well.  He was already confident that
the Delta trooper was the one calling the shots, but being a thorough man he
wanted to know about the intelligence agent wife who was with him.

That file
rested beneath his chair, held in place against the wind with a fist sized rock
that had been lying in the middle of the roof.  Katie’s bio was only a
fraction of the thickness of the Major’s and when it had first been handed to
him he’d cracked it open long enough to verify the reason it was so scant on
detail.  Katie Chase had never been assigned to the CIA’s Russia or
European desks, so other than being noted and tracked she had not been researched.

Her husband,
on the other hand, had a long history of popping up and spoiling Russian
endeavors in Central America, Europe and the Middle East.  As he continued
reading, Grushkin wondered why the old KGB or the GRU had never targeted the
man for assassination.  He had certainly made enough of a name for himself
that he should have drawn the attention of the men who made such
decisions.  Then he turned the page and saw that three attempts had been
sanctioned.

The first
had been in Bangkok, Thailand, utilizing local assets who had been paid to make
it look like a street mugging gone bad.  The locals hadn’t survived the
encounter and there were no details about what had gone wrong.

The second
attempt had been in West Germany before the fall of the Berlin Wall.  A
Soviet agent, assisted by two East German assets, had been dispatched to
intercept Chase at one of the nightclubs he was frequenting while in the
country training with the West German GSG-9 counter terror unit.  He had
not showed up that evening and several weeks later it was determined that only
hours before the planned hit, he had boarded an American Air Force flight to
Turkey for unknown reasons.

The third
and final try had come several months later in the UK.  Paid assets, who
were former IRA soldiers, spent two weeks tracking the Major’s movements. 
He was on TDY (Temporary Duty) with the British SAS at Credenhill Barracks in
Herfordshire, England and had taken a small apartment a few miles away in
Hereford.  A squad of SAS troopers had cornered the four IRA thugs on an
empty stretch of road. 

They fought,
but were outmatched and three of them were killed, the fourth seriously
injured.  He was taken to a British Army hospital where he underwent
surgery, dying on the operating table.  MI-6 became involved,
investigating the four men as it didn’t make sense to anyone why the IRA was so
interested in a Yank.  There was a note in the file that one of the
investigators posed a theory that the men were working as paid Russian assets,
but no hard evidence was ever developed to confirm.

There were
no further sanctioned attempts after the fiasco in England, but the file didn’t
explain why.  Skimming the next few pages of meager details about missions
the Major had been on, he paused on the section that detailed how DNA had been
collected.

Grushkin
suspected a “honey pot” had seduced the man at some point, but was surprised it
had been taken from blood left behind from an injury sustained in Central
America.  An alert KGB officer had spotted a team of Americans in a remote
village and kept watch on them.  They had returned late one night, one of
them injured, and locked themselves into their small hotel room.

The next morning,
they were gone.  He had broken in, collecting blood soaked gauze pads and
sealing them in a plastic bag that was put on ice and shipped back to
Moscow.  When he rotated home he identified John Chase from a photo and
the DNA record was added to the file. 

“Interesting,”
he thought to himself as he finished reading.

He glanced
up at the lowering sun, ignoring the steady gunfire from all around the small
city, and reached for Katie’s file.

“Comrade
Colonel.  We have movement on a road outside of town, leading west,” one
of the soldiers manning the command post called.

Grushkin
leapt to his feet and strode quickly to where the man was peering at a video
feed from the orbiting AWACS.  Leaning in he watched an American made Jeep
racing along a narrow ribbon of asphalt, but no details of the passengers could
be seen.

“Have them
zoom,” he ordered.

“It’s
already at maximum resolution, Comrade Colonel.”  The man said.

“Then order
them to change their location for a better view, and dispatch two of our
helicopters to intercept.  Remind them that I want our target
alive!”  Grushkin was excited, but his voice never rose above a low growl
that turned the soldier’s bowels to water.

“Right away,
sir.”  He said, jamming his finger on the transmit button of his radio and
breathlessly relaying the instructions.

Grushkin
straightened and turned to look to the west, nodding in satisfaction when a
pair of Hinds peeled away from the perimeter, lowered their noses and headed
out in pursuit of the target.

“Get a
helicopter here immediately to pick me up,” he said over his shoulder. 
“And instruct those pilots to not engage the target until I arrive.”

“Yes,
sir!”  The soldier made another call and breathed an internal sigh of
relief that Colonel Grushkin would soon be leaving the roof.

The sun was
directly in line with my eyes, making it difficult at best to see the road in
front of us.  And it was a rough road.  Rutted and pot-holed from the
heavy tires of trucks and agricultural equipment.  I was pushing the Jeep
hard, our speed hovering around 90, and the stiff, off-road suspension was
beating us to death and making it a challenge to drive in a straight line.

I was
straddling the crown of the road, unconcerned about meeting any oncoming
traffic, and as much drift as the poor surface was causing in our path it was a
good thing.  At this speed I didn’t think I could keep the vehicle in only
one lane.

Katie and
Rachel were both buckled in and holding on for dear life.  Dog’s front
legs were resting in Rachel’s lap and she had an arm around his shoulders to
keep him from being thrown off the seat.

“Rachel,
keep an eye out the back window for pursuit.  If they see us they’ll send
one of those helicopters,” I said as I fought with the steering wheel.

She turned
in her seat after adjusting Dog’s position and ducked her head so she had a
good view of the sky to our rear. 

“Do you
really think they’ll see us?”  Katie asked.

“I’ll be
more surprised if they don’t,” I answered, grimacing when we bounced through a
pothole and my seatbelt was all that prevented my head from smashing in to the
roof.  “They have to have an AWACS plane up there, which is why the phone
isn’t working, and that will give them a great view for miles in all
directions.  The sun’s still up and we’re easy to spot when there’s
nothing else moving.”

Katie nodded
and adjusted her grip on the grab bar mounted to the dash in front of
her.  I glanced quickly in the mirror to make sure Rachel was still
watching behind us, then realized that even if she did spot an approaching helo
there wasn’t a damn thing we could do.  The terrain around us was flat and
open.  Nowhere to hide.  And I sure as hell couldn’t outrun them in
the Jeep.

Feeling
trapped at just the thought of a Russian helicopter chasing us down I pushed
harder on the throttle.  The small, six cylinder engine roared louder and
we gained a few miles per hour, but as the speedometer needle bounced around 95
it was obvious this was it.  There wasn’t enough horsepower to push the
big tires and brick-like aerodynamics any faster.

It wasn’t
much longer, no more than eight or nine miles from the barn, when Rachel called
a warning that she could see something behind us.

“What do you
mean, something?”  I asked, wanting to look but afraid to take my
attention off the road.

“I caught a
glint of light, two actually.  Looks like they’re a few hundred feet in
the air and right over the road.”

“How
far?”  I asked.

“Can’t tell…
wait…” She was quiet for a few moments and in the mirror I could see her
pushing over the top of the back seat to get a broader view of the sky.

“OK, it
looks like there are definitely two of them.  I can see two dots and
they’re getting bigger.  They’re following the road.”  I could hear
the concern in her voice.

I looked in
all directions but didn’t see anything we could use to conceal the Jeep. 
It was probably too late anyway.  The Russian AWACS would have us spotted,
tracking us, vectoring the helicopters to our location.  The only real
question at the moment was in regards to their intentions.  Did they want
me alive, or would a missile blow the Jeep and us into a few million pieces as
soon as they were in range?

Thinking
about it, I decided it wasn’t very likely they would attack first.  They
would want to verify who was in the fleeing vehicle.  So they would catch
up and force us to stop.  And there wouldn’t be a damn thing I could do other
than comply. Despite depictions on TV and in movies, a vehicle doesn’t stand a
chance against a helicopter. 

Unless
you’re driving a Lamborghini and have a nice, smooth, straight road, the helo
is faster.  It is definitely more maneuverable and when it’s of the
“attack” variety it’s also better armed.  A few rounds from their canon
would shred our tires or knock out our engine or turn us into hamburger if they
weren’t careful with their aim.  No matter, once they caught up it
wouldn’t be long before the chase was over.

I spoke
these thoughts as I continued to push as hard and fast as possible.  Maybe
our capture was inevitable, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to go quietly.

“What about
the grenade launcher?”  Rachel asked.  “It worked once.”

“There’s two
of them, and they aren’t going to sit still in a nice stable hover,” I
answered, forcing myself to think rationally and not get caught up in the
emotions of what I’d done.  “Besides, they aren’t going to let me take pot
shots at them.  They will defend themselves and there’s not even a pile of
rocks we can hide behind for protection.”

“How far are
they?”  Katie asked, turning in her seat and trying to see out the back
window.

“I’d guess
maybe three or four miles,” Rachel said.  I didn’t blame her for her
uncertainty.  It’s damn hard to estimate distances to an aircraft in
flight.

“What do we
do?”  Katie asked, turning back to face forward.  “Unless you’re just
going to pull over and surrender we need a plan.”

I was
momentarily irritated, but not at her.  At myself.  She was right and
I’d been focusing on the negatives, not trying to figure out a way to get us out
of this.  I churned through several ideas, quickly dismissing each.

“I don’t
know,” I finally said.  “I’m out of rabbits.”

Then
realization dawned on me.  It was the only thing I could do.  Lifting
my foot off the gas I hit the brakes.

“What the
hell are you doing?”  Katie yelled as she was thrown forward against her
seatbelt.  From the back I heard Dog grunt as he slipped off Rachel’s lap
onto the floor.

“Giving up,”
I said.  “They want me.  When I get out you drive like hell. 
They’ll stop for me and you’ll have time to get away.”

I reached
across and grabbed Katie, pulling her close and kissing her.  Reaching
over the back seat I squeezed Rachel’s hand.

“No! 
Drive!  We’ll think of something!”  Katie screamed at me, grabbing my
arm.

“Honey,
there’s no time.  You know I’m right.  Now go!”

I pulled
away from her grasp, avoiding meeting her eyes and stepped out of the
Jeep.  Slamming the door, I looked in and saw she was still not moving,
tears rolling down her face.

“Go!” 
I shouted, pounding on the window with the palm of my hand.

Katie
finally started moving, unbuckling her seatbelt and working her way over the
center console.  Behind the wheel she looked out the window and met my
eyes. 

“I love
you.”  I read her lips. 

I gave her
my best smile and told her I loved her before stepping back.  She floored
the throttle and the Jeep shot forward, engine screaming as she kept the power
on.  I stood there, in the middle of the road, watching them disappear
into the setting sun, then turned to the east when I began hearing approaching
rotors.

Two fat dots
quickly resolved into Russian Mi-24 helicopters.  I guessed they were
close to a mile away and I calmly removed my weapons and placed them on the
asphalt before stepping a few yards away.  By this time one of the helos
had come into a hover about a hundred yards away while the other one went into
an orbit around the area.

They didn’t
land, just patiently waited for something.  Through the windscreen of the
one hovering over the road I could see the pilots staring back at me. 
What the hell were they waiting for?  I had surrendered and disarmed
myself.  All they had to do was land and take me.  Then, as the
orbiting helo moved farther away on its racetrack course I picked up the sound
of another rotor.

A third Hind
came into view, rapidly approaching.  The hovering helicopter slipped
sideways a few hundred yards to make room, pivoting as it moved so it remained
facing me.  The new arrival was moving fast, flaring into a brief hover
before touching down.

The man in
the co-pilot’s seat popped his door open and jumped down, followed by four
soldiers from the back that I was sure were Spetsnaz.  He began striding
directly towards me as they spread out and formed a crude perimeter, weapons
trained on me.

I had time
to get a good measure of the Russian as he crossed the distance from the idling
helicopter.  He was my height with a full head of tightly cropped, iron
grey hair.  Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and he moved with a
fluidity that revealed his conditioning.  As he drew closer I could see
the three small, silver stars on his shoulders that marked him as a Colonel.

The uniform
fit him well, the pants bloused into gleaming black paratrooper boots.  He
came to a stop six feet away and looked me up and down.  His eyes were
pale blue, deeply set in a face that was hard angles and planes and had that
uniquely Russian appearance that I’ve never been able to put into words.

“You are
Major John Chase,” he stated with certainty in only slightly accented English.  OK,
maybe more than slightly accented.  He kind of sounded like Boris Badenov
from the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons.  “Is that your wife in the Jeep?”

“You have
what you came for.  Let’s leave her out of it,” I said, meeting his gaze.

“I have no
interest in her,” he said after a long pause.

I nodded my
thanks.

“And who are
you, Colonel?”  It was taking all of my self-control to not say something
sarcastic or disrespectful, but there was no point in needlessly antagonizing
my captor.

“I am Senior
Colonel Yuri Grushkin, Commanding Officer of the 45th Guards Spetsnaz Regiment
of the Russian Federation Army.  I’ve read your file and am surprised you
chose to give yourself up.  You know why I’m here?”

“I have a
good idea, but just for shits and giggles why don’t you tell me.” 

I wasn’t
really interested in talking to the man, but the longer I drew this out the
more time Katie and Rachel had to get out of the area.  I didn’t necessarily
believe that he wouldn’t send a helicopter after the Jeep, but there wasn’t any
reason for the Russians to bother going after them now that they had me,
especially if I appeared to be cooperative.

“Shits and
giggles,” Grushkin repeated, laughing.  “You Americans and your useless
sayings.  You are like weak little spoiled children, trying to act tough.”

I smiled at
him, refusing the take the bait he was dangling in front of me and lose my
cool.  After a moment he smiled back and flapped his hand at one of the
soldiers.  The man came forward, handed his rifle to the Colonel and
approached me with his hands waving for me to raise my arms.

With a sigh
I complied and he stepped behind me and began a very thorough body
search.  I had expected this and hadn’t bothered to try and conceal any
weapons, which was a good thing since they would have been found.  The
Russian checked every crack, crevice, nook and cranny on my body. 

Once
satisfied, he pulled my arms behind my back and restrained me with thick flexi-cuffs
pulled tight around my wrists.  He placed a firm hand in the middle of my
back and applied pressure to get me moving in the direction of the waiting
helicopter.  I walked fast enough to keep them from getting impatient and
angry, but took as much time as possible.

“Where are
we going?”  I asked Grushkin when we reached the Hind.  I had stopped
outside the troop compartment door and turned to look at him.

“Seattle,
then Moscow,” he smiled.  “President Barinov is quite anxious to make your
acquaintance.”