The Shadow Protocol (39 page)

The whine of the Beriev’s engines rose sharply. The young copilot reached from the open hatch to unfasten the mooring rope as the seaplane shifted, ice churning and bobbing around its belly—

A hole suddenly exploded in the windshield, the pilot’s head snapping back out of Adam’s sight as a gunshot echoed along the shore. Not the dry mechanical rattle of the G36s, but the enormous boom of Rossovich’s XM500 sniper rifle. Five hundred meters was nothing for the Persona member’s Barrett; the weapon was designed to hit targets well over a mile away. The copilot shrieked and ducked back inside. The Beriev jerked to a stop, held by the line.

Al-Rais made a break for the building. Adam took aim—but forced himself not to fire. The mission objective was to
capture
al-Rais, not kill him. Instead he found a new target as the other three terrorists sprinted after their leader. This time, he didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. One of the running men fell from a bullet wound to his upper back.

He tracked the next man—but al-Rais had already kicked open the broken door, his remaining followers piling in after him. Unlike the other ruined structures, this had stone walls rather than wood, giving the terrorists much more cover.

But they hadn’t gone there purely for protection. For Zykov to have contacted him, al-Rais must have had a satellite phone of his own. If he warned his organization, anything Adam learned from the terrorist’s persona would be rendered worthless.

It would take Tony and his team a couple of minutes to reach him. More than enough time for al-Rais to make a call …

Adam ran back through the building and out of the
rear door, rounding the side of the derelict structure. He paused at the corner, glancing across the tracks at the stone building. Movement behind a broken window, one of the terrorists pointing an AK toward the shore.

He ran—

The Kalashnikov swung toward him, but Adam raised his own gun and fired five rapid shots as he raced across the cutting. The bullets smacked off the stonework. The AK briefly jerked away from the impacts—then returned, unleashing a burst of automatic fire. Rounds sliced through the air just behind him. He fired once more, then dived headlong behind a couple of overturned mine carts.

Snow sprayed in his face as he landed. He wiped his eyes, then ejected his SIG’s magazine. It had three bullets remaining, but he wanted to reload while he was still in cover.

The new mag clacked home. He popped his head out from the side of the wagon, seeing broken planks piled against the stone building’s windowless sidewall, then ducked back as the gunfire resumed. Screaming ricochets bounced off the thick metal, but an AK couldn’t rock-and-roll on full auto for long …

The gun fell silent. Now it was the terrorist’s turn to reload, the thirty rounds in the curved magazine gone.

Adam burst out from behind the carts. He heard a warning shout, but kept running for the stacked planks. They were slippery with ice and rot, but he had enough momentum to charge up them and vault onto the roof.

There was a large hole where decay and the weight of a winter’s snow had made a combined attack. He jumped down through it, landing with a thump inside a back room.

Al-Rais was just six feet from him, whirling in surprise at the noise. He had a satphone in one hand, gun in the other.

The pistol came up—

Adam charged, slamming his shoulder into the Saudi’s stomach and driving him back against a wall. He lashed
out with his gun hand, metal striking metal and sending the terrorist’s weapon clattering across the room, then whipped it back up to smash against his opponent’s skull. Al-Rais slumped to the floor.

Movement to one side—

Adam spun and fired three shots into the chest of one of the terrorists as he rushed into the room. The dead man tumbled to the ground.

Where is the third?
He had—

Something hit him hard from behind.

Adam stumbled, landing painfully beside al-Rais. Another blow struck his arm. The SIG was jarred from his hand. He cried out, twisting to look up at his attacker. It was Qasid, fumbling to reload his AK after using it as an impromptu club.

The magazine slotted into the receiver with a solid
clack
. Qasid yanked back the charging handle, then pointed the gun at the downed American—

Shock filled his face. “You! But—”

Adam took full advantage of the moment of confusion to sweep a foot up at Qasid’s leg. The steel-reinforced toe of his boot cracked against the other man’s kneecap. The Pakistani shrieked, his leg buckling and pitching him to the floor. The AK barked as he landed, bullets tearing into the ruined ceiling. Before he could recover, Adam scrambled to him and drove a savage punch into his face. Qasid went limp.

The American pulled the Kalashnikov from Qasid’s hand and used it as a support to get back to his feet. He checked on the two terrorists. Qasid’s face was twisted in pain, blood oozing from his nose. Al-Rais moaned, head lolling. The satphone lay nearby. A number had been entered … but not sent, the last digit missing.

Adam kicked the terrorist’s gun away, then recovered his own pistol. “Adam!” said Holly Jo in his ear. “What’s happened?”

“We have al-Rais,” he announced. “I repeat, we have captured Muqaddim al-Rais.”

Bianca didn’t dare move. Curled into a tight ball, she flinched with every gunshot and scream. Who was shooting at whom? Had Adam been hit, or even killed? Was she stranded in the Russian wasteland with a group of angry terrorists?

Even after the shooting stopped, she heard activity around the buildings. Petrified, she stayed hunched in the snow. Was she about to be saved—or shot?

“Bianca!” Adam’s voice. “Bianca, where are you?”

Relief rose in her heart—almost immediately stamped back down by paranoia. Was it a trick? Had he been captured, forced to draw her out of hiding? She peeked fearfully around the trunk. There were men with guns near the jetty, but she couldn’t make out their faces.
Oh God, he’d been caught …

“Bianca!”

Another voice. Tony’s. The feeling of relief returned with full force, overcoming her coldness and fear. “Here!” she cried, jumping up. “I’m over here!”

Figures hurried through the woods: Adam and Tony. “Are you okay?” the latter called as he approached.

“I’m fine,” she replied gratefully. “Is everyone all right?”

“We’re all okay,” said Adam. “We’ve captured al-Rais.”

Tony regarded the cases. “Is the PERSONA gear okay?”

“As far as I know,” she replied.

“Good. We’re going to need it.”

*   *   *

“Soon as we make the recording, we should just kill this asshole,” muttered Baxter. Al-Rais had been secured with flex-cuffs, as had Qasid and the Beriev’s terrified copilot, the three survivors held at gunpoint inside the stone building. “These two as well.” He pointed his G36 at Qasid, who recoiled.

“No!” Adam said firmly, interposing himself. “He knows something. I want to find out what.”

“That’s not the mission. We got al-Rais, that’s all that matters. Everyone else … well, I know
my
orders. Eliminate the terrorists and anyone helping them.”

“What?” exclaimed Bianca, who was taking the repaired recorder from its case. “But they’re prisoners—that’s murder!”

“It’s war. And the only prisoner we were supposed to take was al-Rais. Everyone else should have been shot, if we’d all been following orders.”

“Nobody gave me that order,” Adam replied.

Baxter’s only response was a look of contempt. Tony stood beside Adam. “Well, we’ve got prisoners now, so we’ll treat them by the book, okay? Besides, we can use this guy”—he indicated the copilot—“to fly the plane back to the airport.”

“Seriously?” said Baxter in disbelief.

“The RTG weighs over half a ton. You want to carry it all the way back? Adam, what was your assessment of it? Browning’s, I mean.”

After finding Bianca, Adam had boarded the Be-200 with the Geiger counter to examine its cargo. “It’s not in the best condition,” he said, his borrowed persona’s clipped speech patterns unconsciously returning. “But there was no sign of radiation leakage. The casing is intact.”

“Good.” Tony reactivated his headset. “Holly Jo? Put us through to Martin.”

Morgan’s distorted voice came on the line. “What’s the situation?” he asked.

“We’ve secured al-Rais and the RTG,” said Tony. “It seems to be intact and safe—as safe as these things get, anyway.”

“Good. Will you be able to bring it back to the States?”

“Yeah. They’d already loaded it into their seaplane.”

“In that case, transfer it to our jet and bring it back home. Better we have it than it’s left lying around in the Russian countryside until they can be bothered to collect it. What about al-Rais?”

“Dr. Childs is prepping the PERSONA right now.” Bianca glanced up at the mention of her name. “We’re going to make the transfer as soon as she’s ready.”

“And a recording.” It was a reminder rather than a question.

“Yes, the recorder’s ready.” Tony’s gaze moved to Qasid and the copilot. “There’s, ah … something else. We have two additional prisoners.”

Morgan was not pleased. “What?”

“A pilot, and one of al-Rais’s men. Adam captured him.”

“I see. Adam?”

“Yes?” said Adam.

“Care to explain?”

“I think Qasid’s got valuable information. Once we’ve got what we need from al-Rais, we should interrogate him too.”

“What kind of information?”

Adam hesitated before answering. “He recognized me. But I’ve never met him before. At least … I don’t remember meeting him.”

That brought surprised reactions from Tony, Bianca, and Baxter. Although Morgan was out of sight half a world away, the silence from the other end of the line suggested that he shared the feeling. “Okay,” he finally said. “Bring him back as well. But al-Rais takes priority. We need to get as much as we can from him as soon as possible, before al-Qaeda realizes he’s missing.”

“We’ll start the debriefing as soon as we leave,” said Tony.

“Good. Oh, and … one more thing.” Morgan sounded uncomfortable. “Considering al-Rais’s importance as an intelligence source, approval has been given to imprint Adam with his persona as many times as necessary to extract information from him.”

“Wait a minute,” said Tony, as startled as Adam at the news. “What about the rule on multiple imprints? It’s too risky.”

Bianca looked up again. “What is?”

“They want to imprint al-Rais on me more than once,” said Adam.

“But—I thought that was too dangerous?”

“So did I. John? Headset.” He clicked his fingers and held out a hand. Baxter was affronted, but at a nod from Tony took off his headset and gave it to Adam, who passed it on to Bianca. “Martin, Bianca’s on the line.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she said, adjusting the microphone, “but wasn’t the rule about only imprinting Adam once with a particular persona put in place because of the risk of his suffering the same side effects as Tony?”

“That’s correct,” said Morgan, not appreciating her confrontational tone, “but in this case, the value of the information we can get from al-Rais has been deemed to outweigh other considerations. We’ve captured al-Qaeda’s leader—we can cripple the entire organization.”

“And the price is Adam’s health?”

“Dr. Kiddrick is sure it’ll be possible to do it within the bounds of safety.”

“I don’t suppose anyone asked Dr.
Albion’s
opinion, did they?”

Morgan’s patience had already run out. “Dr. Childs, this is not a discussion. The decision has been made. We will use every possible means to attack al-Qaeda. Your job is to make that happen—while monitoring Adam’s condition, of course. If it looks as if there are going to be problems, we’ll decide whether or not to continue. But
for now, we need to know what al-Rais knows. So make the transfer, please.”

“Martin,” said Tony, “I want to state on the record that I don’t approve of this decision.”

“Noted, and understood. But you have your orders. Out.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Bianca snapped, pulling off the headset and returning it to Baxter. “Tony, you’re not going to go through with this, are you?”

“Right now, we don’t have much choice. Besides,” he added, “at this stage all we’re doing is a standard transfer. I’ll take this up again with Martin once we’re back at STS, but until then he’s right: We need that information. Are you both ready?”

“Yes,” said Adam. Bianca reluctantly nodded.

“Okay.” Tony indicated Qasid and the copilot. “John, take those two into the other room. No point in them seeing more than they need to.”

“I still say the only thing they need to see is a bullet,” Baxter told him.

“Just move them, okay?”

Scowling, Baxter and a couple of his team hauled the two prisoners through a doorway into another part of the derelict building. Tony turned back to Bianca. “All right. Let’s do this.”

Al-Rais was guarded by two of Baxter’s men, Cope and Trenton, their guns trained on him. He had maintained a defiant silence, glaring at his captors. The sight of the PERSONA equipment as Bianca set it up prompted a reaction, however. “You will never make me talk,” he rasped. “It does not matter for how long you torture me. I will not tell you anything.”