Under Fire

  “The website didn’t say. It sure doesn’t look active, does it?”

  Seth called over the headset, “We’re going to pull in, Jack. Drive past me, then pull over up ahead and wait.”

  “Roger.”

  Seth slowed the Suburban, doused the headlights, then turned off the road and pulled up to the gate. He leaned from his window and punched the keypad box. The gate started rolling open.

  “Still gainfully employed, I guess,” Seth called. “Sit tight. We’ll take a spin around the lot and see if we draw any attention.”

  Jack and Ysabel watched as the Suburban disappeared around the side of the southernmost warehouse. When it emerged around the opposite end, Seth said, “We’re good, Jack. Nothing’s moving. The keypad code is 77426.”

  Jack did a U-turn, pulled up to the gate, typed in the code, then drove to where Seth was parked before the breezeway entrance, a double-doored glass alcove.

  Jack and Ysabel got out and joined the others at the back of Seth’s Suburban. Dom handed out the Ruger pistols, then the ARXs. Jack gave Ysabel a quick run through the assault rifle’s operation. He hoped none of them had cause to use the weapons. If the Krasukhas were inside, their security teams probably wouldn’t be far away. Fifty against five was impossible odds.

  “What’s the plan, Seth?” asked Dom.

  “Jack’s call,” replied Seth. “The only thing I know about the place is the entry code.”

  Jack mentally flipped a coin and decided on the simple approach. He walked to the front door and waited while Seth punched his code into the keypad. With a soft buzz the lock disengaged. With Jack and Dom in the lead, the group stepped through and into a wide concrete corridor lit only by the light coming through the doors and from a humming soda machine standing beside a potted fake palm.

  Four office doors, two on each side, lined the corridor. At the halfway point a pair of hallways branched off, one leading to the south warehouse, the other to the north warehouse.

  Jack pointed left. Dom led them down the hallway to a steel door. He tried the knob, then gave them a thumbs-up. He opened the door a crack; through it Jack saw darkness. Jack nodded and Dom went through, followed by the others with Jack bringing up the rear.

  Sitting in the middle of the hangar in a staggered line abreast were four Krasukhas painted in a dark green forest camouflage pattern. Clark hadn’t been kidding. These were beasts, impossible to mistake for anything but high-tech military vehicles. The flanks were lined with square and rectangular pods Jack assumed were part of the onboard EW suite. Folded snugly against the top was a ten-foot-wide parabolic energy director. At the back of each vehicle was what looked like a drawbridge-style ramp. Folded lengthwise along the length of each Krasukha was a heavy green canvas tarpaulin with fixed ratchet straps; while these wouldn’t disguise the Krasukha under close scrutiny, in passing they might be mistaken for standard semi-trailer trucks.

  Spellman said, “Nicely done, Ysabel. You found the needle in the haystack.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jack gestured to the others and made a twirling motion with his index finger. They split up, made a circuit of the interior, then regrouped. “All clear,” Dom whispered.

  Jack stared at the Krasukhas. Part of him hadn’t expected to find them here. Now that they had, he wasn’t sure of their next move. They had no way of destroying the Krasukhas, or even disabling them; the exteriors were armored, as were the tires and probably any vital system. They were built for the battlefield.

  Jack felt powerless.

  “What now?” Seth asked. “Pop the tires, put sugar in the gas tanks, call Daddy Volodin and tell him the kids are off joyriding again?”

  Dom laughed softly. “Fuckin’ hell, Seth.”

  Jack walked to the nearest Krasukha, stepped onto the running board, and tried the door. It was open. He leaned in, then hopped back down. “No keys.”

  “Something like that you’d expect to at least have push-button ignition,” muttered Seth.

  “You’re on fire tonight, man. Jack, what’re you thinking?”

  Behind them came the clicking of boots on concrete. A male voice started humming.

  “Cover,” Jack whispered.

  They moved to the wall and stacked up on the hinge side of the door. Jack drew his Ruger. The footsteps stopped. They heard the tinkling of coins followed by the thunk of a soda can tumbling down the machine’s chute. A few seconds later a door banged shut.

  “One road,” Ysabel whispered. “There’s only one way up to the ridge.”

  “She’s right,” Spellman said. “We shut that down, we shut them down.”

  Nothing short of cratering the road would do that, Jack knew, but every minute they could delay the Krasukhas was another minute Seth’s hubs could be broadcasting.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jack said.

  He led them back through the main corridor and out the main doors to the Suburbans. A half-mile down the highway, he pulled over. He and Ysabel walked back to the other Suburban.

  “Seth, when do things kick off?”

  He checked his watch. “Six hours. Our first e-mail/text blast goes out at eight. The first wave of protesters should be at their rally points by nine.”

  If Seth’s previous estimates were correct or even close, Makhachkala’s streets would go from crowded to standing room only, especially outside the government buildings and President Nabiyev’s private residence. Nabiyev would immediately order the ISPs shut down. And in response, Seth would order their satellite Internet hubs powered up. None of this would come as a surprise to Wellesley; he and Pechkin had had a year or more to hone their counter-coup plan.

  These Krasukhas would need to be in place on the ridge and operational before dawn.

  “Dom, you’re with me. Grab everything. Seth: You, Matt, and Ysabel go back to the city. Convince Medzhid to send us some of his ERF troops—threaten him, bribe him, whatever it takes.”

  Ysabel said, “Jack, I thought we agreed we were never having this conversation again.”

  “It’s not a conversation, Ysabel.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  He’d half hoped she would go along with his request. He didn’t know how to answer her question. Why was he doing this? It certainly wasn’t because he couldn’t count on her, or that she hadn’t earned her place on their thrown-together team. He could, and she had. That one obvious reason for his decision: He didn’t want her to get hurt; the thought left a hollow feeling in his belly. He didn’t want Dom to get hurt, either, or Matt, or Seth, but that was different, wasn’t it? He knew why that was, of course, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. He couldn’t think about that right now.

  “Matt, drag her if you have to.”

  “You got it.”

  “Jack, please, don’t—”

  Jack turned around and walked back to his Suburban.

  TIME ISN’T on our side, Jack,” Dom said.

  “We’re almost there.”

  Although Agachaul was no farther from the ridge road than Makhachkala, the rear approach up the escarpment had taken more than an hour to traverse, partially because the roads were steeper and the hairpins more plentiful and partially because of the quickly deteriorating weather. The intervening day of sun since the previous rainstorm had done little to dry the gravel roads, and rainwater streamed over them in rivulets. And while this was enough to often slow the Suburban to a walking pace, Jack doubted the Krasukhas’ massive off-road tires and powerful diesel engines would have trouble negotiating the grade.

  Finally, they rounded the last bend before the entrance to the maintenance road. Jack’s headlights flashed over something dull and metallic. He braked hard and the Suburban skidded to a stop.

  The barrier chain was up, its thick links drooping between the steel posts and completely blocking the road.
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  They got out.

  The wind was stronger up there, driving the rain so hard against their ponchos it was as though handfuls of sand were being hurled at them. Jack could feel the chill seeping up his legs. He suppressed a shiver.

  “Jack, over here.”

  Dom played his flashlight over the steel post. “Padlocked. Big bastard, too. We’d need a fifty-cal to break it.”

  They stepped over the chain and walked to the first clearing. Jack shined his flashlight upward. Thirty feet above him a camouflage net drooped between the trees.

  “Thorough bastards,” Dom said.

  Jack’s phone rang. He stuck it under his hood and bent double to dampen the wind. “Yeah, Seth, what’s happening?”

  “We’re back safe. Ysabel’s pretty pissed, though.”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “She’s using curse words I’ve never even heard before.”

  “Tell me about ERF,” Jack said. “We could use some help up here.”

  “Medzhid said no. He’s sorry, but he can’t spare anyone.”

  “God damn it, Seth—”

  “Jack, Volodin’s ordered the border garrisons to move. They’ll be here by evening at the latest.”

  They now had the answer to their big question: Volodin wasn’t going to let Dagestan go without a fight. The ERF wouldn’t be nearly enough, Jack knew. Twelve thousand hardened Russian troops against a few hundred Medzhid politsiya. With luck, they could fight a delaying action long enough to give Seth and Medzhid time to clear the streets of civilians.

  “What about the city garrison?”

  “They’re still sitting inside their barracks. The commander isn’t taking Medzhid’s calls. At best, they’re going to sit it out. At worst, we’ll have sixteen thousand marching through the city rather than twelve.”

  “If that happens, document it all,” Jack replied. “Fire up your hubs.”

  “It’s already started, Jack. We sent out the e-mail blast about a half-hour ago. We should start seeing the next wave of protesters joining the first wave outside the Parliament Building. Whether we can show the world depends on you and Dom. I’m not going to risk the hubs until I know they won’t be fried by the Krasukhas.”

  “We’ll do our best. If you can spare Matt, send him down to the docks and see what he can do about the Igarka.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Seth, I want you to get Ysabel out. Put her on a plane or a boat or in a taxi, whatever you’ve got.”

  “She won’t go.”

  “Make her go.”

  “I’ll try, Jack.”

  “Do better than that.”

  Jack disconnected. He looked around and saw Dom standing beside the Suburban’s open passenger door, a pair of binoculars raised to his eyes.

  “Dom?”

  “They’re coming up, Jack, all four of them. We’ve got a half-hour at most.”

  • • •

  “EITHER WE HEAD BACK to the city, try to shanghai some ERF guys and come back, or we stand and fight,” Dom said.

  “There’s no ERF to be had,” Jack replied, then told him about Seth’s report. “It’s unraveling down there. I vote we stay.”

  “Fine by me, bud. What’s the plan?”

  “We’re going to have to part ways with our Suburban.”

  Jack explained what he had in mind.

  • • •

  MOVING FAST, Jack first shattered the Suburban’s dome light, then turned the vehicle around so the nose was facing downhill. Dom found a heavy stone and placed it in front of the rear tire.

  They removed their weapons and ammunition from the Suburban, stacked all of it in the trees on the other side of the chain, and did an inventory: four ARXs, two Rugers, and two hundred twenty rounds of ammunition.

  “We need steel ones,” Jack said.

  Dom checked one of the Ruger clips, said, “Lead hollow-points,” then examined an ARX magazine. “Bingo. Full metal jackets.”

  “Hold on,” Jack said.

  He walked the road, panning his flashlight over the ground. The rain was coming harder now, raking at the trees along the road. Leaves swirled around Jack’s feet. He stooped over, picked up a flat rock, and carried it back to where Dom was standing.

  “Go.”

  Dom lifted the ARX to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

  A spark leapt from the rock’s surface.

  “We’ve got a winner,” Dom said.

  Next they turned their attention to the Suburban. Using the combo car jack/crowbar, they shredded the interior, from the seat covers to the carpet to the roof liner. Finally they tore free all of the material and piled it into the front seat.

  “Looks like a tiger got trapped inside for a couple days,” Dom said.

  “Perfect. Where are they?”

  Dom grabbed the binoculars from the dashboard and aimed them down the road. “About halfway up. The hairpins are slowing them down. I’d say another fifteen minutes.”

  Jack checked his watch. It was three forty-five. They had about an hour before sunrise. Good. They could make the darkness work in their favor.

  He leaned into the driver’s seat and tugged at the seat cover until he had an armful of cloth. He stuffed this into the cargo area, then added some of the roof liner. Finally he placed the flat rock at the base of the pile.

  “What are the odds this’ll work?” asked Dom.

  “Depends on how you define work,” Jack replied with a grin. “It’ll go up, no doubt about it. Whether it’ll do us any good we’re going to find out. We’ll need to rig the steering wheel.”

  “I’ll handle that. You check on our friends.”

  Jack grabbed the binoculars and tracked them down the road until he saw the lead Krasukha’s slitted headlights. The three trailing vehicles were spread down the road at fifty-foot intervals. This, too, might work to their advantage.

  “Ten minutes,” Jack called.

  • • •

  AFTER JACK ADJUSTED the Suburban’s tires so they were pointed straight down the road, Dom tied the Suburban’s steering wheel with a length of wire he’d ripped from under the dashboard.

  “Let’s walk it,” Jack said.

  They hopped over the chain barrier and split up, each of them pushing through the underbrush for a few minutes before meeting back at the Suburban.

  “I’ve got a few good trees on my side, but not much room to maneuver,” said Dom.

  “Same here. If we can get them stopped and out of their vehicles, they’ll have to come straight up the middle with no cover.”

  “And if we don’t get them stopped, they’re going to plow right over us. We haven’t talked GTFO,” said Dom, referring to the Get the Fuck Out plan.

  “We run like hell.”

  “You know what they say about a bear chasing you, right?”

  “Huh-uh.”

  Dom grinned. “You don’t have to be faster than the bear, you just have to be faster than the guy running beside you.”

  “Fuck you, Dom.”

  “Love you too, man.”

  Faintly in the distance they heard the groan of diesel engines.

  “Time for the gas,” Jack said.

  USING THE CROWBAR, Jack punched a hole in the gas tank. Fuel started gushing, splashing on the ground and mixing with the rainwater sluicing down the hill. The stench filled Jack’s nostrils.

  Dom began handing him material from inside the Suburban and then, once it was saturated, threw it into the backseat and fed Jack another chunk.

  “Headlights coming around the bend,” Dom said, grabbing and tossing material.

  Jack resisted the urge to look. The sound of the Krasukhas’ diesel engines grew louder. Jack could feel the ground trembling beneath his feet.

  They kept up their daisy cha
in until every shred of material they could lay their hands on was dripping with gasoline. Finally, Jack stuffed a chunk of foam into the tank’s hole.

  Down the hill, the first Krasukha was a hundred yards away, its thick knurled tires churning up the wet gravel. The headlights were climbing up the slope, slowly edging closer to the nose of the Suburban.

  Jack opened the driver’s-side door, started the ignition, and shifted the transmission into neutral. The Suburban’s tires rolled up the stone wheel blocks, then rolled down them. Jack returned to the tailgate. Dom handed Jack a pair of ARXs and one of the Rugers in a paddle holster, which Jack clipped to his belt. He slung one of the ARXs across his chest, the other over his back.

  “You look like a bandito,” Dom said.

  “What do you make the distance, about two hundred feet?”

  “About that,” Dom replied.

  “Let’s send it.”

  Dom knelt and jerked the stone free.

  The Suburban started rolling.

  They turned, hurdled the chain, and took up their positions on either side of the road.

  • • •

  IT HADN’T COVERED ten feet when it hit a soft spot in the gravel. The nose veered left toward the drop-off. The tires hit the shoulder berm and the Suburban veered back into the middle of the road and started picking up speed.

  “Do it,” Dom said.

  Jack raised his ARX and peered through the scope; in the compressed view the Suburban was a jittery blur. Jack placed the lighted green reticle on the pile of material in the cargo area and pulled the trigger.

  Miss.

  He fired again.

  Another miss.

  Come on, Jack, shoot straight, damn it.

  “You’re two inches high right,” Dom shouted.

  A hundred feet away, the lead Krasukha skidded to a stop, its brakes screeching. Jack heard the grinding of gears and the vehicle started backing up. Horns started honking.

  Jack adjusted his aim again. He thumbed the selector to three-round burst, took a breath, let it out, and squeezed the trigger.