Betrayal (2 page)

The smoking man was weighing in to the argument now as well, standing in their path to stop them getting any closer, trying to make them back down. He was a formidable figure, as tall and wide as a doorway to Natasha’s young eyes, but his younger comrades were apparently beyond such intimidation now.

They had come here to act, and nothing was going to stop them.

It happened fast. The older man reached out to grab the nearest one by the arm, but the young man reacted by shoving him away with enough force to put him off balance. Growling with anger, he waded back into the fray, drawing his rifle to swing it like a club. But the second young gunman was ready for him. Raising his assault rifle, he aimed it dead centre in the older man’s chest and fired.

The resulting cacophony of noise echoed around the gym like the pealing of thunder, mixing with the frightened screams of the hostages as the weapon discharged. The older man crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes, his blood staining the floor.

People were scrambling away in terror now as the two gunmen moved further into the room, yelling and screaming as if they had lost whatever self-control they possessed. One of them raised his assault rifle and fired a burst into the ceiling, sending chunks of plaster and broken wood raining down on them.

Natasha gripped her friend’s hand tight. This was it. This was the moment. They had to act now. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, blood rushing through tired muscles, investing them with new strength.

It started as a faint whooshing sound from outside, barely heard against the screams and shouts of 500 men, women and children. But it soon grew in power and intensity until everyone in the hall could hear it. Natasha turned towards the source of the sound, perplexed despite her fear, wondering what it could mean.

The flash lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was bright enough to burn its way on to her retinas to leave a blurry after-image flashing across her vision. An instant later, the flash was replaced by a ball of fire that tore through brick walls, reinforcing struts, beams, wooden floorboards and fragile human bodies without mercy.

Natasha was thrown off her feet by the blast, her head slamming on to the hard floor with bruising force. For a moment she saw and felt nothing but blackness, sheer and absolute. She was in her own world now, a world without pain or fatigue or fear, a world of nothingness.

Then, as if heard from a great distance, she became aware of sounds around her. Panicked voices, screams of pain and fear, the rhythmic thud of automatic gunfire, the pounding of her own heart, and a distant roar that she couldn’t identify.

With great effort she forced her eyes open. The world around her was a nightmare.

Something had demolished the far wall of the gym, blasting through the bricks and mortar, and turning them into a deadly hail of shrapnel that had torn apart anyone unlucky enough to be caught in their path. There was blood everywhere, and the screams of the wounded and dying mingled horribly with the cries of those now seeking a means of escape.

The explosion had also set the roof ablaze, and fire was already clawing at the wooden rafters, filling the air with thick dark smoke. She could feel the heat even from the other side of the room.

More gunfire erupted around them, both inside and outside the school. A full-scale battle had apparently flared up between the gunmen and the Russian police and army outside. The building shook to its foundations as another massive explosion rocked it.

Natasha stared again at the hole in the wall. It was a ragged, smoking gap about 8 feet wide, partially blocked by fallen rubble and dead bodies. But beyond the haze of smoke, she could see daylight.

That was it! That was their way out! Hope surged through her. This was their chance.

Turning away for a moment, she reached down for Yelena, who was lying on the ground beside her. ‘Yelena! Get up. We’re getting out now!’ she yelled, coughing as the smoke seared her lungs. The fire was raging above them, pieces of burning wood and insulation falling everywhere.

The young girl didn’t move. She lay curled in a foetal position, knees drawn up to her chest, eyes staring straight ahead without seeing anything.

‘Yelena! Wake up!’ In desperation, Natasha drew back her hand and slapped her friend across the face with all the strength she could muster. The shock of the blow seemed to snap her out of her reverie, and she looked up at Natasha, eyes wide with fear.

‘Come on!’ Natasha yelled, pulling her friend up. ‘We have to go.’

People were running everywhere in blind panic, some trying to help injured friends, some just searching for a way out. Still clutching Yelena’s hand, Natasha pushed her way forwards, getting jostled left and right as people crowded in, all making for the gap in the wall.

Her foot caught on something, and she glanced down in time to see the body of one of her friends splayed out on the floor like a rag doll. His torso had been shredded by shrapnel, exposing ribs and charred muscle, and one of his legs had been blasted away. For a moment she found herself transfixed by the shattered bone and torn flesh where his leg should have been. His lifeless eyes stared upwards, reflecting the flames in the roof overhead.

She knew she should have felt horror, should have felt revulsion and grief at the sight, but there was no time to feel such emotions. Her mind was in survival mode, dealing only with the things it needed to deal with to keep her alive. Instead she stepped over the body, pushing the horrific image from her mind, concentrating only on getting out.

The shooting was growing more intense now. She could hear the whoosh of what sounded like rocket launchers, accompanied by heavy thuds as missiles impacted on the school building. Everywhere there was smoke and fire and confusion and yelling, people clambering over the bodies of the dead and wounded in their terror.

She was almost there now. She could see daylight outside.

‘Yelena! Keep moving!’ she screamed, yanking her friend’s hand with a fierce strength that defied her malnourished body. ‘We have to—’

She never got a chance to finish. A mother of one of the children, running in blind panic, tripped and fell into her from the side. The impact of the larger and heavier adult knocked her off balance so that she landed hard on the ground. She tried to keep hold of Yelena’s hand, but they were being pulled in opposite directions and before she knew what was happening, her friend was gone.

‘Yelena!’ she cried, trying to get up. But every time she did, someone would run into her or trip over her, knocking her down once more. ‘Yelena, wait!’

She gasped in pain as a boot slammed into her chest, bruising her breasts and forcing the air from her lungs. She coughed, trying in vain to breathe the hot, smoke-filled air. She felt as if her ribcage had been caved in.

Then, above the roar of the fire, the chatter of machine-gun fire, the pounding of her heart and the screams of terrified people, she heard her friend’s high, thin voice. ‘Tasha! I can’t! I can’t!’

She caught a momentary glimpse of the young woman’s frightened face as she was carried away by the press of people, and just like that her friend was gone.

She tried to follow, but instead found herself jerked backwards as strong hands clamped around her neck, dragging her away from the hole in the wall. One of the gunmen had seized her, she realised. In desperation she kicked and struggled against his hold, summoning up the last reserves of her failing strength in a vain effort to break free.

It was no use. He was twice her size and many times her match in strength. With one arm locked around her neck, he used his free hand to cuff her across the side of her head. White light and pain exploded through her mind as she went limp in his arms.

With a hard yank, she was pulled right off her feet and hauled back through the burning gym. Vaguely, through clouded vision, she realised she was now in the corridor running between the gym and the school cafeteria. The corridor was streaked with bloody footprints, and on her left she saw a body lying curled against the wall, clothes and flesh shredded by bullet holes.

Rounding a corner, her captor dragged her into the food hall. The place was in chaos, windows smashed out, chairs scattered everywhere and tables upended to serve as temporary barricades for the dozen or so gunmen who had decided to make a stand there.

‘They’ve betrayed us!’ one of them shouted in Russian as he fumbled to insert a magazine into his weapon with trembling hands. ‘They’re going to kill us all!’

His companions were firing indiscriminately at the row of apartment buildings beyond the school gates, the roar of their weapons deafening in the confined space. The floor was covered with broken glass, empty bullet casings, discarded magazines and blood.

‘Move!’ her captor yelled in her ear as he pushed her towards the windows. ‘Move!’

She tried to comply, but her legs wouldn’t work. She was still groggy from the blow to her head, but a hard kick to her back was enough to move her. She fell forwards, gashing her knees on the broken glass. She barely felt the pain now.

Staring out into the open space beyond the windows, she froze in horror at the scene unfolding before her eyes. The school yard was littered with the bodies of children, teachers and parents unlucky enough to have been caught in the crossfire between the two sides. Amongst them, curled into a ball as if to hide, she saw the body of a plump girl with dark hair. Yelena.

Whatever grief she should have felt at the sight, there was no time for it to sink in.

A deep rumble off to her left caught her attention, and she stared open-mouthed as the massive bulk of a battle tank rumbled through the brick wall that marked the boundary of the school yard, crashing through the solid barrier as if it wasn’t even there. Its domed turret swung around in a measured, unhurried fashion, the long barrel of its main gun eagerly searching for a target. Then it stopped, a brief moment of inaction passed, and with a roar that shook the very ground, it fired. The shell hit one of the classrooms on the first floor of the main building, sending glass and burning debris raining down on the playground.

She was not alone by the windows, she realised now. Several men and women of various ages had been lined up next to her, and all stood unmoving, some crying in fear, others strangely silent as if resigned to what was happening. Gunmen were crouched behind them, using them as human shields.

Before Natasha could recover enough to get up, she was once more grabbed by the arm and forced to her feet. She could feel the bulk of his body armour pressed against her back, and the rough bristle of his beard brushing her cheek. Thunder erupted beside her as he opened fire, spraying bullets into the school yard almost without bothering to aim.

To her left, one of the hostages cried out in pain and fell to the ground, blood flowing from his chest and legs. He was followed a moment later by the woman beside him, who took a round to the head that shattered her skull like an eggshell. She crumpled without as much as a sound.

With dawning horror, Natasha realised that it wasn’t the gunmen who had killed them, it was the Russian soldiers fighting their way into the school. She bucked and lashed out with her feet, screaming, arching her back in a last desperate attempt to get away.

This wasn’t real, her mind screamed at her. This couldn’t be happening. Her life had been one of safety and security, each day like the one before. Things like this couldn’t happen to her. This wasn’t—

All such thoughts were silenced when a 7.62mm projectile penetrated her chest, shattering ribs, tearing through internal organs and blasting out through her back before doing the same to her captor. Her legs gave way beneath her and she fell to the floor, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling as the last few seconds of her short life played out.

She felt no pain now. She felt nothing except a vague sense of sadness and regret that she would never see her family again, never hear her mother’s laugh or listen to her father chastise her for not drinking her water at dinner.

Her last thought was a simple one. Why us?

Then her vision faded and she saw and thought no more.

In what became known as the Beslan Massacre 334 people were killed and 728 injured. The majority of those casualties were women and children.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, 19 December 2008

Ryan Drake watched as the man before him shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying and failing to find a comfortable firing stance. The M4 assault rifle at his shoulder was held at an awkward angle that he was sure would cause problems when the shooting started, but he made no move to intervene.

He was here as an observer, nothing more. His role was to evaluate the candidate’s performance and ultimately decide whether or not he was suitable to join the Shepherd programme. It was a task he didn’t relish. Drake wasn’t accustomed to sitting back and watching good men fail.

‘Candidate ready?’ he asked when it seemed the shooter had settled down. He couldn’t blame the man for being nervous. They both knew what rested on this.

There were no second chances when it came to the Shepherd teams. Either you made the grade first time, or you went home.

‘Been a while since I heard that.’ Cole Mason glanced at him and managed a strained smile, before turning his attention back to the rifle range stretching out in front of him. The tension in his body was obvious, even to Drake. ‘I’m ready.’

‘Go hot,’ Drake instructed, watching as he thumbed off the safety on his weapon. It was loaded with live ammunition for this exercise, and even amongst experienced professionals there was no room for complacency.

Giving Mason a few seconds to prepare, Drake checked his ear protectors were firmly in place, then pressed the little remote trigger in his hand to start the live-fire exercise.

Straight away the light levels on the rifle range decreased, and the strained silence of moments earlier was replaced with the loud boom of explosions, the chatter of heavy machine-gun fire and the screams of panicked civilians, all of it blasting through speakers strategically placed around the room. The explosions were accompanied by strobe light flashes and vicious orange glows, designed to simulate the confusion and disorientation of a real combat situation.