Tom Clancy Under Fire (46 page)

A
FTER A WHILE
he opened his eyes again.

There was activity all around him, voices, people rushing, phones ringing.

He lifted Seth’s body off the ground.

“Jack,” Ysabel whispered at his side, her hand on his biceps. “Let’s put him in our room. Come on, I’ll take you.”

Ysabel led him down the hallway and opened the door to their bedroom. She shoved one of the pillows out of the way and smoothed the comforter.

“Here, put him here.”

Jack laid him down.

Seth’s eyes were open and staring. The front of his shirt was a mass of blood. There was a perfectly round hole a couple of inches below his chin and an exit hole at the nape of his neck. Vasim’s bullet had punched into the soft tissue of Seth’s throat and blasted through his spine, right below his brain stem. There was probably some life left in Seth, but there was nothing to be done. He was as good as dead.

He felt Ysabel’s arms around his waist. She pressed her head against his back. “I’m so sorry, Jack. I wish there was something I could do for you.”

“Is Rebaz okay?” he asked.

“The doctor’s with him now, but it could be bad. He was hit somewhere in the chest. Dom thinks the bullet went through Seth.”

He nodded.

“I don’t know what to do, Ysabel.”

“I know.”

“He asked for my help,” he said.

“You did help him.”

“No.”

•   •   •

LATER HE WANDERED OUT
to the main room. Dom and Spellman were sitting on the couch, heads together as they talked. Jack took one of the club chairs across from them. Neither of them told him “Sorry”; they didn’t need to.

“Rebaz?” Jack asked.

“He took the round in the right lung. Sucking chest wound. We got a piece of cellophane on it quick, but his lung was already collapsed,” Spellman said. “We should know more in the next hour. He wants to see you.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t say,” Dom replied.

“It’s over,” said Jack. “We’re going home. Medzhid can’t be a beacon of hope from a hospital bed, not with troops in his city.”

“That’s his decision to make,” said Spellman.

Jack shrugged. “I need to find Raymond Wellesley.”

“Well, Medzhid must have your mind,” said Dom. “Yana told me that while we were chasing the
Igarka
, Medzhid sent a couple ERF guys to the schoolhouse on Lena Road. They found computers, monitors, cables . . . the same setup we found at the Chirpoy apartment. There was nothing left but a melted pile of junk. They found traces of white phosphorus.”

Spellman added, “We figured that once he saw the hubs were getting fried by the Krasukhas, the protesters were dispersing, and Volodin was sending in the border garrisons, he decided his job was done.”

“He was right.”

“Jack, I can see it in your eyes,” Dom said. “I know what you’re planning.”

“No, you don’t.”

“It’s a raw wound right now—and a shitty time to be making big decisions.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s an easy decision.”

•   •   •

MEDZHID’S DOCTOR WALKED IN.
“Are you Jack?”

“Yes.”

“The minister would like to see you. Follow me.”

He led Jack out into the tiled hallway. They took the elevator down to the basement and then went through a white door with a red medical cross on it. Medzhid was lying on a hospital bed with an IV in his arm. Behind him a monitor chirped softly. His face was very pale and his eyes were sunken. A square transparent bandage was taped to his chest; through it, Jack could see a ragged hole. The bandage bulged slightly each time Medzhid took a labored breath.

“Jack,” he said. “Thank you for coming. I am sorry about Seth. I feel responsible.”

“I’m the one who got it wrong. I killed Anton instead of Vasim.”

“It’s a forgivable mistake. Seth loved you like a brother, you know. Even before we met I felt like I knew you, he talked about you so much. He was a good man.”

Jack simply nodded. “How’re you feeling?”

“Lucky. Seth saved me, my doctor tells me. Had he not . . .”

“Slowed the bullet down?”

“Yes. I would be dead right now. I need surgery to repair the lung. I told him he can do whatever he likes with me, but not immediately. Jack, I know you want Wellesley. I can help you find him, but I need your help first. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not bargaining with you. I will help you regardless of whether you agree to help me.”

“Go ahead,” Jack said.

“Soon I am going to get out of this bed and go meet with the Makhachkala garrison troop commander. He has pledged his support to me but there is one more thing we must do—”

“It’s over, Rebaz. If you’re lucky, you’ll get out of this alive. If you do, step out of the spotlight, wait a few years, then test the wind again.”

“In other words, live to fight another day.”

“Or take Aminat and your wife and move someplace warm.”

“There won’t be another day, Jack. Seth and I spent the last three years putting this plan into place. The strategy is sound, as are the tactics. The networks and infrastructure are largely intact. Most importantly, Dagestanis are still out there and they’re hungry for freedom. The only things we’ve lost are the element of surprise and some of our satellite Internet hubs—”

“And Seth.”

“Yes, and Seth. Believe me, I’m not trying to diminish him, but Matt knows the plan as well as Seth did. He would want us to go—”

“Don’t,” Jack said. “Don’t use him.”

“He wanted this to work and he still does. I truly believe that.”

Jack sat down on the bedside chair. He palmed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. He was so tired.

“Rebaz, I can’t decide if you’re a truly great man or truly full of shit.”

Medzhid smiled. “Mostly the former, with a dash of the latter. Will you help me?”

“Why do you need me? You have the entire MOI at your disposal.”

“Let’s examine the situation: Both my closest bodyguards are dead, one of them a traitor who framed the other one to be killed; the leader of my ERF, also a traitor; and Seth is gone. And then there is you: a man who risked his life to save my daughter, a complete stranger to him. I trust you, and I trust Ysabel, and Dom, and Matt. They look to you as a leader. I need people like the four of you by my side if I am to have any chance of succeeding. Plus, do you really want to miss the endgame, whatever the outcome?”

Jack thought about it. “You’ll help me find Wellesley? Your word on it?”

Medzhid nodded. “Yes. Whether you help me or not.”

“Okay. What’s your plan?”

“To buy my country some time.”

Vatan

I
T WOULD BE
only later that Jack would fully realize how well crafted Medzhid’s gambit was. As it was, he was having trouble focusing on anything more than putting one foot in front of the other.

Seth’s gone,
Jack thought. In various combinations the phrase kept popping into his head as though on some kind of subconscious timer.
Seth’s dead.

The rugged serpentine valley west of Vatan that Medzhid had chosen to confront the approaching border garrison was not only ideal ground for a smaller force to hold off a larger one. It was also, Medzhid had told Jack, the site of one of Dagestan’s most famous battles, Lemmes Nok, where six hundred Avar, Kumyk, and Tsakhur tribesmen had banded together to repel Tahmasp Qoli invaders.

•   •   •

HAVING SECURED
the local garrison commander’s commitment that morning, Medzhid had to make only a single call to get the four-thousand-man force moving northeast out of the city toward Vatan.

By the time the Ural truck in which Medzhid, Jack, Ysabel, Dom, and Spellman were riding reached the entrance of the canyon, the troops were already in position, standing at attention and formed into eight phalanxes of five hundred men each that blocked the mouth of the canyon, from rock face to rock face. None of them was armed.

It was an impressive spectacle, Jack thought, but useless on a modern battlefield. Of course, Medzhid knew this, as did the city’s garrison commander, and probably every one of the four thousand men. If whatever military vehicles were about to come down this road decided to open fire, many hundreds would be dead within minutes.

Dressed in his formal Ministry of the Interior
politsiya
uniform, Medzhid climbed down from the truck with his doctor’s help, then made his way up the road, passing through the phalanxes’ ranks as he went. He looked straight ahead, his gait steady. Jack saw no trace of pain on his face, no small feat, given what he must be feeling. His lung was working at half capacity at best, the doctor had told Jack in the truck. And not until they got him into surgery would they know whether there was any hemorrhaging.

Jack and the others followed behind Medzhid until he reached the front of the formation. He stopped to exchange salutes with the garrison commander, then continued on until he was twenty feet ahead of the first rank and standing in the middle of the road.

Jack checked his watch: 5:20.

An earlier reconnaissance report from one of Medzhid’s ERF units had put the lead units of the border garrison three miles away.

•   •   •

JACK FELT THE APPROACH
of the armored personnel carriers at first as shivering of the ground beneath his feet, then as a rumbling as the first vehicles came around the bend three hundred yards up the road.

Jack said to Ysabel, “If they start shooting, I want you to go—”

“You’ll never learn, will you, Jack?” she said, and gave his hand a squeeze.

•   •   •

UPON SEEING MEDZHID’S
blocking force, the leading APC eased left, making room for the trailing vehicles until four of them were moving down the road in a line abreast. One by one, the APCs’ thirty-millimeter cannons swiveled about until they were aimed at Medzhid’s force. They closed to a hundred yards and then ground to a halt.

After a minute or so a GAZ Tigr—the Russian Army’s version of the Humvee—rumbled down the shoulder past the APCs, then eased left into the middle of the road. The Tigr kept coming, its diesel engine echoing off the canyon walls, until it was thirty feet away. It slowly coasted to a stop, and a man in camouflage coveralls and a maroon beret climbed out of the passenger seat and walked forward.

“Good morning, Minister Medzhid,” the man said, saluting.

Medzhid returned the salute. “Colonel Lobanov.”

“May I ask what this is about, Minister? Why are these men blocking the road into the city?”

“The city is quiet, Colonel. There is no need for you to enter.”

“I have orders to the contrary.”

“I have orders from the people of Makhachkala,” Medzhid replied. “You are an Avar Muslim, aren’t you?”

“Pardon me?” Medzhid repeated the question and Colonel Lobanov nodded. “I am.”

“I’m also Avar, but Russian Orthodox. The city’s garrison commander is of mixed heritage, Lak and Chechen. His wife is Azerbaijani.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“There are thirteen different ethnicities that call Dagestan home, Colonel. We all speak Russian and probably a mixture of other dialects. We know one another’s foods and drinks, our various marriage and funeral customs, our religious holidays and festivals. We are Russians, but we are also Dagestanis—Avars, Laks, Chechens, Tsakhurs . . .

“What you have been sent here to stop isn’t a violent uprising of three million thugs. The only damage that’s been done to Makhachkala has been done by covert forces sent here by President Volodin. The reports of violence you’ve received were not acts committed by people who call Makhachkala home.

“Earlier today, Colonel, I was shot by my own trusted bodyguard, a man working for Moscow. He is also responsible for the deaths of two dear friends. Another man, a sergeant named Pavel Koikov, with whom I served during my early days in the
politsiya
, was kidnapped from his home. This, too, was done at the behest of Moscow. Three days ago I was accused of having killed sixty-two fellow Dagestanis, burning them alive in a mosque at Almak in 1999.”

Lobanov said, “I know Almak. My father talked about you. I remember reading the news stories. You killed only terrorists.”

“Terrorists who had beheaded nine Russian soldiers,” Medzhid added. “Agents from Moscow took and tried to kill Sergeant Koikov for fear he would tell the truth about Almak.

“My own daughter was kidnapped, Colonel, taken from the university where she is studying to become a doctor. You remember Aminat. You met her four years ago at my birthday party.”

“I remember.”

“They threatened to send her back to my wife and me in pieces.”

“Minister, I am truly sorry that these terrible things have happened, but I have my orders.”

“Orders from where? Moscow? From whom? The same people who ordered done all the things I just told about?”

“I have no choice—”

“You have discretion!” Medzhid shot back. “You’re Dagestan’s military governor. You live here, Colonel, along with your wife and two sons. You’ve called Dagestan home your entire life. Colonel, you’re Russian, you’re Dagestani, you’re Avar, and you’re Muslim, and you live and work beside people who are the same as you, and yet different from you. These are the people Moscow has told you are militants and thugs. That’s the story they want you to believe. But what do you think?”

“Minister, what would you have me do?”

“Turn around, return to the border districts, and tell Moscow all is quiet in Makhachkala.” Medzhid offered Lobanov a smile. “If later you hear otherwise, call me and you can come down and see for yourself.”

Lobanov held Medzhid’s gaze for a long ten seconds, then shook his head and smiled. “Good day, Minister Medzhid.”

“And to you, Colonel. Safe travels.”