The Dragon's Tale: A Jack Lauder Thriller (27 page)

     "Okay, okay," he screamed, "I'll tell you where it is."

     "No," Peter said, "you'll show us."

     They dragged him up off the bed and forced him to put some clothes on. His thumb and ear poured with blood “Deal with the slag," Peter commanded crisply. The crumpled woman panted on the floor, partially conscious now. Feminism didn’t even have a toehold in Russian cities.

     They dragged the stricken man down to the car. Diana started up as soon as she saw them. She didn't ask any questions, not even when the gunman was dumped unceremoniously in the boot of the saloon, his injuries roughly plastered. She just looked at Jack. The two men who had dealt with the woman came out of the shadows and jumped in the car behind. He hoped they had just tied her up but didn’t dare ask. 

CHAPTER 6

     Like actors in a scene from the Apocalypse, they made their way downtown through the city streets.   The butterflies in his stomach told him this had been the easy bit. What was to follow? “We could quit while we’re ahead,” he tried.

     “Nonsense!” Peter laughed, “It’s the big fish we’re going after now.”

     Diana followed Peter's terse directions through the city suburbs. The other vehicle, bearing the hapless gunman, brought up the rear as they swept through country roads towards their destination, which was at the coast north of Nakhodka.

     Sensing his uneasiness Peter tried to reassure his friend. "We're all fishermen, Jack, we take big risks all our working lives for less reward. In life you only get one shot. Remember, nobody knows we’re amateurs. Nobody knows who you are even. The word has gone out on the street that you are a hard man from the west. You hired an outside team to do this job. They'll be looking in Moscow, Tbilisi, Kiev, but they won't look under their noses. Don't worry about it. All these men are battle-scarred. They came back from war to the same kind of poverty they left. They've got a chance now to put some roubles in the bank and give their kids the start they never had. Don't you feel sorry for them; they're grateful to you for the one shot. They won't throw that chance away lightly."

     Jack smiled ruefully, “I think you mean it’s out of my hands now.”

     “I think you’re right.”

     After a couple of hours on the road they stopped. Peter got out and stood talking to his cousin in the second car, then he returned and climbed up next to Jack.  “Okay,” he said, “we’re very close, so we’re going to park the cars in the trees over there and go up to the house for a recce. Diana, I’d like you to stay here and keep an eye on the other car. Any trouble, use the gun. Don’t stand on ceremony!” The idea didn’t phase her. Jack felt like staying behind too. He had a feeling the next few moments were not for the squeamish.

     “No, last time it was your choice and maybe you are regretting that now but this time we need you with us, Jack,” Peter said. “You have to give credibility to this operation. You must talk to us as if we are from Moscow, not from here. If he escapes from this he must have the impression an out of town team has stung him. Do you understand? It is your job to get this across.”

     The gunman was bundled roughly out of the second car; his hands were tied and his mouth gagged. He was led through the woods until they came out on a narrow peninsula at the end of which was a single, large house. "This is his dacha," Peter said, "his country residence. He's out of town, staying here until the heat dies down."

     "Do you mean, in connection with Gerry?" Jack asked.

     "Oh yes," he replied, "The Chief of Police will go through the motions of rounding up all the usual suspects. No doubt this guy will be high on his list."

     “He gave me the impression he wasn’t interested.”

     “He would say that, wouldn’t he?” Peter’s teeth flashed in the dark. “Believe me, he will be interested in finding the money. He just plays a long game, as only the cops can afford to.”

     They looked at the house. It was a fortress all right. It was built at the end of the peninsula and protected from three sides by sea cliffs. It was approached by a single dirt road across open fields all too visible from the guard tower which sprouted up from the centre of the building on top of the inner of two redoubts. “He is certainly ready to repel boarders,” Jack whispered.

     “Hmm! I hadn’t counted on that,” Peter mused.

     There was a rustle in the undergrowth and Peter’s cousin appeared. He had been on a scouting mission. "There are dogs in the grounds," he said, “armed guards on all sides of the house. I counted eight men. We have to assume there are more inside, probably another two. They have CCTV.” He pointed with his Kalashnikov up towards the eaves of the house, “See, it is on all four gables. They are well prepared.”

     "Are they a problem?" Peter asked. It seemed a ridiculous question but the response was presumably what he’d expected. His cousin spat on the soil and looked at the gunman who was sitting sullenly on the ground, and in Russian he added, “No problem! Not if we can get in.” Jack admired his calmness. A further hurried discussion took place out of earshot of the gunman, who looked up at Jack out of sullen eyes, the loathing and fear suddenly made bright by the moon. “The only way in to avoid the guard tower is from the sea. But the cliffs are pretty sheer. Worse than anything we had to scale in the army.”

     “Do we have a rope?” Jack asked.

     “We do,” Peter responded, “What do you have in mind?”

     “Well, if one of us can get up the cliff, he can rope another up. Create a diversion. Two more then come in through the front.”

     Peter’s cousin laughed, “It’s getting up there. Who will do that?”

     “I will,” they looked at Jack as if he were mad. “No, I’m serious. There’s usually a line. Can we get down to the cove?”

     “Oh yeah, there’s a path down.”

     “Okay then. Let’s go.”

     “Jack?” He looked towards Peter, “You climb as well as play chess?”

     “Twin passions,” He shrugged.

     “Outstanding!” the Russian declared.

     A few moments later Peter and Jack walked back through the forest towards the vehicles. Peter outlined the plan as they walked. Even though he talked in a mixture of Russian and English, Jack couldn’t get the drift of all the details as Peter described the operation. Back at the vehicles they found Diana sitting on the sill, the gun still in her hand. Peter quickly repeated the gist of what he’d already told Jack.  "Let's go," he said eventually. "Diana, you bring the other car up,” he patted her gun. The nephew, Georgi, now looked like a Russian commando, his face blacked over. They moved the vehicles slowly through the trees towards the house, standing back so that they couldn’t be picked up on the CCTV. Jack surveyed the house through binoculars and noticed an open garage with a silver coloured Rolls Royce parked in. He passed the field glasses to Peter who remarked, “Nice, eh? I'm going to enjoy making Chernenko a poor man. If you can give us the advantage of surprise."

     Peter’s cousin took a lump of putty out of the back of the Lada. Georgi pulled the gunman to his feet. He snarled defiance, his courage having returned. For about two seconds. Jack watched as Peter strapped the wad of putty to his back. The gunman screamed.

     “Not Semtex?” Jack said.

     “We sometimes cheat on the fish,” Peter replied with a grin. “Whoosh! It’s raining cod, eh?” Then he held up a dull metal object, “And with this,” he added, fixing the detonator into the plastic explosive, “we guarantee silence.” He reverted to Russian, barking out orders to the gunman, who nodded his head in terrified agreement. Diana translated matter-of-factly. The plan was that Jack and the nephew would go in round the front and would signal on the walkie-talkie when they were in place. The gunman, accompanied by Peter and his son-in-law and brother, would drive the vehicle up to the gate, tell the gateman he had to see Chernenko with news about the mad English (meaning Jack) and, credentials checked, he should be allowed in. But if he wasn’t Georgi would start a diversion and in the commotion they’d take out the gate. The other two then had to get to the door into the main building before the defenders could seal it off.

     Georgi led the way towards the cliff path and ten minutes later they were down in the cove where Jack prospected for a route while his companion kept toot. He found one ultimately up a grassy bank towards a crack which half way up bourgeoned into a chimney. The rope over his shoulder he began to inch up the volcanic rock. It had good friction and he gained in confidence as he neared the comparative safety of the chimney. Pulling himself into it he looked back down and got a thumbs up from Georgi. He lost no time and began the delicate task of bridging his way up the chimney, sometimes coming on to the outside wall when the holds were good enough. Like all sea cliffs even if the rock is granite or basalt there was some friability because of wind and salt erosion but it was stable enough. The headwall was the big test and, without protection of any sort, it was a daunting proposition but he found a line which ran right to left upwards and followed it until it led into a scoop which provided a proper foothold. From there he inched up some small holds to near the summit and then it was a leap of faith, a dynamic move from the calves like a ballet dancer’s spring to get his hands on the top and hope there was enough there to give him the purchase to pull himself up. He got his hands on the rim and it was smooth and good only for a mantelshelf move but his body was not in balance for that and for a moment he scrabbled inwards and it was then his hand closed over an incut hold and that was all he needed to get the extra purchase. “A jug!” he said to himself, “a jug! Fortune favours the brave.” He pulled himself up now so he could see over the rim and there was the wall of the house no more than a metre in but there was no guard on this side. A CCTV camera kept watch out to sea for approaching craft but it could not survey this point, which was presumably thought unscaleable.

     Heaving himself over now took the rope from off his shoulder and tied a bowline round his waist. He then sat on the edge staying low, his feet dangling over while he paid it out down the cliff face below. Once he felt the tug on it and knew Georgi had it he retired to the wall, braced himself against a rock and waited for the tug which would signal the command to take in. It duly came and he began to take in the rope as the second man climbed. Ten minutes later his grinning face appeared above the parapet and Jack pulled to help him over. The two shook hands in the dark and collected the rope. They made their way now round the side of the house above the waves below until they were as close as they could get to the wall into the inner grounds.

     As soon as the signal came over the walkie-talkie Peter’s brother climbed into the cab of the Lada, armed with a silenced handgun and Peter demonstrated the remote device to the gunman. It would blow him to Kingdom Come if he so much as twitched the wrong muscle.

     A few moments later the terrified gunman was driving the Lada towards the high, remote-controlled metal gates, his three passengers, posing as his henchmen, in the passenger seats. The black-clad guards ran to the gate even before the vehicle had reached it. Two of them controlled large Doberman dogs, the others carried automatic weapons. One opened the doors and checked in the compartments. Another came up with a long mirror for underneath the chassis. A fierce exchange of words at the gate left one of them talking furiously on his walkie-talkie. The guy with the mirror stood there, doing nothing. “You see,” Peter whispered, “the same the world over. Sloppy! Lazy bastards!”

     The first guard barked out a command to the others. They retired slightly and the gate began to open. The car drove in and pulled up. The guards surrounded it, automatic weapons aimed at its occupants. No one would dare start a fire-fight here, they must have thought. Then, Georgi hurdled the wall and came across the lawn as the guards concentrated on the vehicle. He was on them before they realised and only at point blank range did he open fire with his silenced weapon; there was next to no sound as two guards on the passenger side went down instantly; the dogs fled, yelping; a guard rushed round but Georgi cut him down. The men came out of the car now and they fired too, cutting down the other guards, who, still uncertain of what had occurred, retreated to the house. Peter came out behind them, a long cylindrical weapon in both hands. He fired it at the dacha’s reinforced door as the guards reached it; a screech heralded a mighty explosion as the door blew away. The men advanced on the house firing at will. The gunman rolled out of the Lada and grabbed a fallen guard’s weapon. He brought it to bear. Peter’s cousin had the remote device and pressed the button; the gunman went up in a ball of flame. Watching from his safe house behind the wall, Jack said, “My God, what have I done?”

     He was horrified by the thought that he had brought about all this carnage. The cause had been hijacked. It was no longer his. He had promised his friends a reward and they were intent on earning it. He hadn’t envisaged they would be so ruthless. All resistance from within crumbled as soon as the rocket launcher was reloaded. Armed men came out holding out their weapons in gestures of surrender. Peter walked in amidst the smoke, beckoning to Jack to follow. In the first room they came across a guard slumped over the CCTV, knocked out by the blast. In the living room two young women cowered behind the curtains and a fat, ugly man thought he was invisible under the piano. “Mr. Chernenko, I presume?” Jack said.