Precipice: V Plague Book 9 (6 page)

Colonel
Grushkin sat in the co-pilot’s seat of a Hind Mi-24 helicopter, watching the
landscape unroll beneath his feet.  Having been born and raised in
Russia’s Ural Mountains, he felt at home as the terrain changed from flat to
rolling to rugged, forested peaks.  He had been flown in a captured Gulf-stream
G IV jet from Seattle’s Boeing Field to the vacant Mountain Home Air Force Base
in Idaho.

Upon his
arrival, eight Hind 24s were waiting, fueled, manned and ready to go. 
Each carried six Spetsnaz troops in the back and he had marched down the G IVs
air stairs and trotted across the tarmac to the closest helicopter. 
Sending the co-pilot to occupy the seat reserved for him in the rear, he had
climbed into the cockpit and barked at the pilot to get them in the air even
before he had his flight harness buckled.

It had been
a short flight to reach the southern edge of the Sawtooth Mountains and he had
taken the opportunity to call his aide who had remained behind in
Seattle.  The Captain assured him that there was no new intelligence and
that his orders had not changed.  Disconnecting without so much as a
“thank you”, he martialed his impatience after verifying the pilot was pushing
the helo to its top speed.

The flight
approached the mountains from the southwest, the pilot contacting the other
Russian helicopters that were already in the area searching for the American
Major.  Soon they were flying between rocky spires that soared above them,
the Hinds stretching out into single file as they wove their way deeper into
the wilderness.

“Go directly
to the crash site,” Grushkin ordered the pilot over the intercom.

“Of course,
Comrade Colonel.  It is on the far end of that lake,” the pilot pointed
through the windscreen at a large, crystal blue body of water that glinted in
the sunlight.

He descended
as they moved over the lake, flying at two hundred feet.  Even at that
height the fierce wind from the giant rotor tossed the surface of the water,
churning mist into the air that the following helos avoided by gaining altitude
and spreading out to the sides.  As they approached the midpoint of the
lake, the pilot began bleeding off speed and finally transitioned into a tight
orbit over the crashed Russian helicopter.

The machine
sat slightly off shore in a few feet of water.  It was nothing more than a
burned out hull, the flames having been so intense there were portions of the
armor plating that had begun to melt and run down the sides.  Grushkin
gave it a cursory glance before turning his attention to the shore.  He’d
seen more than his share of helicopter crashes and knew that after the intense
fire only aviation experts would be able to make any type of determination on
what had brought the aircraft down.

The experts
were on their way, having departed Malmstrom Air Force Base in Montana shortly
before he had lifted off from Mountain Home.  They had farther to go, but
he expected them on site within an hour.

“Get me on
the ground,” he growled, pointing.  “Right there.”

The pilot
followed the legendary Colonel’s finger, seeing a large mound of earth and
rocks that rose up from the water’s edge.  A thick stand of pine trees
grew from the top of it and there was no room for him to bring the Hind in for
a landing.

“I’m sorry,
Comrade Colonel.  There is no room to land.”  The man was nervous,
his voice shaking as he told Grushkin he wasn’t able to do what the Colonel
wanted him to do.

“Fuck your
mother,” Grushkin invoked a common Russian curse.  “I’m Spetsnaz. 
Hover the helicopter and I will go down a rope.”

The Colonel
took off his flight harness and worked his way out of the cockpit into the
troop compartment.  He snapped a terse command and the Spetsnaz troopers
leapt out of their seats.  While two of them prepared a pair of fast
ropes, the door was opened.  Grushkin leaned out, satisfied to see the
pilot had them in a stable hover over the shore.

He nodded to
the troopers, and the ropes, secured to specially made stanchions inside the
helicopter, were tossed out to uncoil to the ground.  Checking his
sidearm, Grushkin zipped his cold weather parka and accepted a pair of leather
palmed gloves.  Slipping them on, he grasped one of the ropes and nimbly
stepped out of the aircraft and slid to the snowy ground. 

Moving out
of the way he scrambled down the small hillock, idly noting the remaining
troopers touching down behind him.  Reaching the flat spot behind the
mound, he stopped and surveyed the area with his hands on his hips.  It
was obvious there had been a fresh snowfall since there was activity here, but
the signs of a fight were still easy to see.

Careful not
to disturb areas which he might wish to examine closer, Grushkin stepped to the
corpse of a large wolf.  As big as it was, he had both seen and hunted
larger ones when he was just a child.  Kneeling, he brushed snow off the
body and didn’t need to look any further when he saw the damage from rifle
bullets.

Standing, he
looked in each direction along the shoreline.  The snow had been so
churned up that even with a fresh fall the surface was not smooth, and he could
see where several sets of tracks had arrived from and returned to the
north.  He signed to the Spetsnaz who had fanned out around him in a
protective bubble and they began moving along the edge of the lake.

It wasn’t a
particularly difficult hike for Russians who were used to cold weather and soon
they reached Rachel’s camp.  Though the canopy that had functioned as a
windbreak was gone, the snow that had piled up against it remained and had
sheltered the area from the north wind.  The remains of the fire were
plain to see, as were the tracks heading directly up the ridgeline in front of
them.

Leading the
way, Grushkin set off, climbing quickly while thoroughly examining the forest
floor as he moved.  Quickly he found a corpse that had been mostly
consumed by animals and waved one of the troopers forward to collect a tissue
sample.  He had no idea if they had DNA on file for the Major, but he
liked to cover all his bases. 

Odds were
either the GRU or SVR would have obtained a sample at some point in the man’s
military career.  Both organizations had gotten quite good at it, and had
instituted the procedure even before the general public knew what DNA
was.  Their most common method, once a target of interest was identified,
was to send a female agent to make contact and seduce the man. 

American
males seemed to despise condoms, perhaps thinking they were more indestructible
than the rest of the world.  Regardless, the agent would leave the target
with a smile on his face and completely oblivious to the fact that she carried
a sample of his DNA in her body to be collected, typed and catalogued. 

Grushkin
continued up the slope, the Spetsnaz troopers fanned out in a wide line around
him.  As they reached the top of the ridge he heard a distinctively
different rotor in the valley below and knew the crash investigators had
arrived.  Ignoring them for the moment, he paused to look at the compacted
snow where something heavy had been dragged, following the path to a narrow
road.

Fresh snow
filled in the deepest tracks that had been left by a vehicle, but he could make
out where it had turned around and headed to the east.

“Have the
helicopter pick me up,” he barked at the Spetsnaz team leader.

The man
immediately got on the radio and in a few minutes the Hind appeared over the
treetops.  It was equipped with a winch and Grushkin was quickly lifted
up, swinging through the troop compartment door.

“Go. 
Follow the road,” he shouted at the pilot over the rotor noise.

“But the
other men, Comrade Colonel.”  The pilot turned in his seat.

“Have
another helicopter pick them up,” Grushkin said, working his way into the
cockpit.  “Now get us moving.”

The pilot
nodded and said something to the co-pilot who was operating the winch.  It
whined as he retracted the braided steel cable and soon they were in a slow
flight, following the Forest Service road.

The Jeep
tracks were faint from their altitude, but still visible enough to be
followed.  It didn’t take the Hind long to reach the larger road, the
heavy aircraft banking and following as it began to descend. 

“What town
is this?”  Grushkin asked as they approached several homes that marked the
boundary.

“Ketchum,
Comrade Colonel,” the pilot answered after consulting a map.

From their
altitude the vehicle tracks were still visible and they followed them to a
small, brick building in the center of town.  An abandoned ambulance was
visible, marking the structure as a hospital.

“Someone is
injured,” Grushkin muttered to himself as the pilot reversed course when the
tracks doubled back on themselves.

Only minutes
later they came into a stable hover over a large home set amongst thick trees
on a several acre lot.  Tracks that were mostly filled in as well as fresh
tracks churned through virgin snow clearly marked the house.

“Comrade
Colonel, do I follow the tracks or set down to search the house?”

“Down,”
Grushkin said, already unstrapping and reaching behind him for an AKMS rifle.

He jumped to
the ground as the Hind’s landing gear settled, running for the side of the
house.  Checking the full perimeter first, he made entry and methodically
cleared the large home.  Satisfied he was alone, he spent several minutes
walking around and looking at the signs of three people who had stayed here.

Discarded
American MRE wrappers.  A bed that had been used.  Empty IV bags in a
trash can.  Blankets left on two chairs and a couch.  Fresh ashes in
the fireplace.

Squatting in
front of the hearth he removed the cold weather glove from his right hand and
extended it over the ash.  Not hot, but not cold either.  There was
still some warmth emanating.  Drawing a twelve-inch, World War II era
bayonet that had belonged to his grandfather, Grushkin dug through the remains
of the fire, feeling faint heat radiating on his face.  He was only a few
hours behind the Major.

Twin Falls
was surrounded by a lot of agriculture and as we began heading west we drove
past huge farms that were now sitting untended.  Massive pieces of
equipment could be seen resting where they had stopped.  The road we were
on was flat and even though it was only two lanes, it was wide with broad
shoulders to accommodate all the trucks that would carry the produce to market.

When we
stopped in the city to top off the fuel tank I had needed a bathroom break, and
was sure Dog and the girls did as well, but decided to get us out into open
country so we weren’t having to fight at the same time we were trying to go. 
Less than a mile ahead I could see a large grove of trees near the edge of the
road. 

As we drew
closer a barn and several vehicles came into view.  I pointed it out and
alerted them that I was planning to stop for a few minutes.  Both of them
nodded and quickly checked over their weapons to make sure they were
ready.  I couldn’t help but grin at the sounds of magazines being dropped,
checked and clicked back into place.

“What’s
amusing you?”  Katie asked from the passenger seat.

“Just
thinking how surreal this is,” I said.  “Driving down a road, telling you
we’re going to make a stop and the first thing you do is check your
rifle.  A couple of months ago all you would have done is warned me to
make sure it looked like the kind of place with clean bathrooms.”

“Well, if
they’re not, you’re going to be in trouble,” Katie said, looking out her window
at a large tractor lying on its side in a field.

I slowed the
Jeep, coming to a stop on the pavement to survey the area before pulling off
the road.  More than a dozen old trees shaded the barn and surrounding
area, their branches swaying slightly in the chilly breeze blowing down out of
the mountains.  Large, double doors were set in the end of the barn facing
us, one of them swinging slightly with the wind, the other locked into
place.  It looked deserted.

“Good as
any,” I said, taking my foot off the brake and idling onto the short, dirt
track that led from the road.

I pulled to
a stop thirty yards from the barn and we sat there for a minute, engine idling,
waiting to see if there were any infected inside that were going to come out
and greet us.  Finally, still seeing nothing, I shut the engine off and stepped
out.  Katie and Rachel got out the far side at the same time and all of us
raised our rifles and scanned the area.

“I’m going
to check the barn,” I said quietly after none of us detected any threats.

I moved
forward and the girls fell in with me.  I started to say something but
Katie just stuck her tongue out at me and crossed her eyes.  Trying not to
laugh, I focused on the open door to my front.  Katie and I went in,
Rachel taking up station with her back to the open door, keeping an eye on the
surrounding area.

The barn was
gloomy, but my eyes quickly adjusted.  It held two tractors and several
power attachments for them that I couldn’t identify.  There was also a
large truck with an open bed and mud caked tires.  I suspected it had been
used to transport harvested produce from the fields to a location where it
could be transferred to a larger truck for the drive to town.

Finding
nothing of concern, I waved Katie out the door ahead of me and we rejoined
Rachel.  While they made use of the privacy afforded by a rusting
harvester, I lifted Dog down out of the Jeep so he could get a break too. 
As soon as his feet touched the ground he shook, sneezed and limped over to the
closest tree.

I was just
zipping up when the sound caught my attention.  Rotor noise. 
Correction.  Rotors making noise.  It was on the threshold of
hearing, but I was certain I was hearing multiple helicopters.  They were
too faint for me to recognize the signature and identify the aircraft, but what
I could hear told me they were large.  I had little doubt they were
Russian.

“Hear
that?”  Katie called from the far side of the Jeep.

“Yes,” I
said, shading my eyes with my hand and peering in the direction of Twin Falls.

We were only
perhaps ten or fifteen miles from the edge of town, but that was far enough
that I didn’t stand a chance of seeing the helos.  The wind had shifted
until it was coming out of the east and that was probably the only reason I was
even hearing them.

“Shouldn’t
we get moving?  Get away from here?”  Rachel asked, coming over to
stand next to me.

I turned and
looked west, along the road.  The terrain was flat and I could see to the
horizon.  It was wide open without a single tree or structure
visible.  Turning back, I continued to try and spot the helicopters.

“If we do,
and they come this way, we’ll be caught out in the open,” I said.

“You think
it’s the Russians?”  Katie asked, joining us.

“That’s what
I’m thinking,” I answered, fishing in my pocket for the sat phone, then heading
for the Jeep when I remembered it was on the charger.

Lifting it
out I noted there was no signal lock and looked up at the trees.  They
shouldn’t be blocking us but I moved out into the open just in case, keeping an
eye on the signal meter in the display.  It still didn’t lock onto the satellite. 
Getting a bad feeling I powered the phone down, then restarted it.  No
change.  Shit!

“What?” 
Katie asked as I walked back to the Jeep.

“Sat phone’s
not connecting,” I answered, tossing it inside and closing the door. 

“Any idea
why not?”

“Just a
guess, but if that’s Russians I have an idea they’re jamming the signal. 
Don’t want us communicating with anyone.”  I resumed my pose with a hand
shading my eyes, staring to the east.

“Why would
the Russians be looking for us?”  Rachel asked.

I glanced at
Katie and nodded for her to tell the story.  We’d told Rachel about the
events at Tinker and how we’d found her, but hadn’t gone into detail about some
of the things that had happened on the drive to Idaho.

While Katie
filled her in I checked on Dog.  He had stretched out in the dirt by the
Jeep’s back bumper where he could keep an eye on us without having to
stand.  I gave him some water and a thorough head rub as I thought about
our situation.

My initial
reaction was to get on the road and put as much distance as possible between
the Russians and us.  If I didn’t know how easy it is to spot a moving
vehicle in open terrain from a helicopter flying at a couple of thousand feet,
I would probably have given in to that impulse.

But what
really bothered me was how had they found me again?  I was almost certain
I’d shaken them in Dodge City, and it’s a hell of a long way from Kansas to
Idaho.  There was only one answer that made sense.  There was another
traitor.  And this one had to be in Hawaii.

Colonel Crawford
and the people with him knew where I was going.  Jessica knew where I
was.  Other than that we hadn’t had communication with anyone.  Now
the Colonel and the rest of his party were dead, at my hand.  Had one of
them betrayed me?  Had I been completely fooled by either Irina or Igor
and they were actually Russian agents?

I didn’t
think so.  Too many things tipped the scales in their favor.  That
left Pearl Harbor.  How many people were actually aware of who and where I
was?  I had no idea, and with the sat phone not working I couldn’t contact
Jessica.  Maybe that was good, though.  Maybe she was the mole.

I dismissed
that thought as soon as I had it.  She had us spotted precisely.  If
she was the mole, the Russians wouldn’t be having to search the area. 
They’d be crawling up my ass with a big, bright flashlight.  That left
someone she worked with.  I needed to talk to her.

Standing, I
yanked the Jeep door open and grabbed the phone.  Still no signal
lock.  I walked back into the open, making sure I was well away from any
branches that could even possibly interfere with the device. 
Nothing.  Just an icon of an antenna and the word “searching” rapidly
blinking beneath it.  As I stood there, staring at the offending device, I
could still hear the faint sounds of helicopter rotors from over Twin Falls.