The Increment (11 page)

Let's hope those bastards don't keep running to the loo all night.

'Himmo,'
cried the Ukrainian as he fell backwards.

You don't need to have learnt much of the language to know what that means:
Shit.

Matt remained completely still. He looked up at Andrei, raising his fingers to his lips. The sound of the fall, and the cry that followed might easily be heard above the ground. He kept his breathing steady and even, waiting and listening. Above, he could hear some feet slow and steady across the ground. One of the guards. From the tread, Matt judged the man was walking slowly towards the fence: he was probably directly above them just now. Not running – that was a good sign – but heading out to take a look.

Matt flashed the torch three times down the tunnel: the prearranged signal that they could have been compromised. Ivan, Malenkov and the rest of them knew to melt away into the wood, and ready themselves for a firefight.

Matt gripped the AN-49 he had slung over his back. He held it between his forearms, his finger ready on the trigger: he'd spent an hour this afternoon in the woods familiarising himself with the weapon, but it was still a new gun for him, and it took a moment to remember where everything was and how it worked.

If we're discovered, our only hope is to shoot our way out of the darkness.

'Tam,'
shouted the guard.

Even down here in the ground, ten feet beneath the surface, the sound was clear enough. Matt didn't know much Russian, but he'd picked up a few words on a regiment training course:
Who's there?

'Tarn,'
shouted the guard, louder this time.

Matt remained still. He looked towards Andrei, and could see the boy fingering the trigger of his gun nervously. Matt smiled. He wouldn't claim to know much about commanding a troop of men – only what he'd picked up in the field of combat – but he knew the best way to calm everyone down in a flap was to look relaxed and cheerful yourself. Even when your stomach was churning, and your nerve endings felt like someone had just poured raw alcohol on to them.

Fear spreads quickly. So does confidence.

Another voice. Matt couldn't make out what the man was saying, but he guessed it was one of the other guards asking what was going on. More footsteps. The guard seemed to be moving sideways, along the perimeter of the fence. Then he started walking backwards again, towards the interior of the compound.

Matt took a deep breath, feeling the oxygen fill his lungs. Even the stale air of the tunnel felt good. The guard had decided it was nothing, just a stray wolf or some other animal rampaging through the forest.

We're in the clear. For now.

Matt nodded towards Andrei, and repositioned his torch so its light was shining up to the front of the tunnel. He could see the manhole inside the compound ahead of him, and there was just one more pile of waste to be cleared away before they could reach it. He picked up his shovel, and started hacking into it.

Another five feet and we can get out of this graveyard.

Matt took a hit of the vodka, swilling it around his mouth, enjoying its crisp, chunky flavour before letting it hit his bloodstream.

'We know the guards are doing their jobs,' he said, looking across at Ivan and Malenkov. 'That guy who heard the noise was making a proper check of the area. He's not just some clock-watching security guard sitting around drinking vodka and doing the crossword until he can knock off for the night.'

'We can deal with them,' said Malenkov gruffly. 'Our men are good, and we can take them by surprise.'

'Right,' added Ivan. 'And they can take us by surprise as well.'

'Let's get some sleep then,' said Matt. 'We're going to need our wits about us.'

He checked his watch. It was just after four in the morning. It had taken three hours to dig through the tunnel they needed, and they had left Nikita in the forest to keep watch, and make sure the tunnel wasn't discovered. He'd be relieved by one of the other men after three hours.

'Everyone get as much sleep as they can. We start work again at two tomorrow afternoon.'

Matt walked alone through to his room. Somewhere through the forest he could see the first glimmers of dawn starting to break through. He chucked a towel up against the window, catching it on the lock to block out as much sunshine as possible. Back in the regiment, he could lie down anywhere, close his eyes and go straight to sleep, any time of the day or night. But his body, he realised, had become used to the gentler rhythms of civilian life. He was used to going to bed at night, getting up in the morning, getting on with the day. Breaking back into the old pattern was disorientating him.

It takes weeks, sometimes months to be combat-ready. Whatever the idiots at the Firm might think, you can't just switch it on and off.

Matt stripped off his clothes, and lay down on the mattress. He could feel his eyes shutting, and as they closed, he thought of Gill. It was so long since he'd heard from her, and he was starting to fear this time the break might be permanent. She had disappeared from his life so suddenly, so completely, it was hard to get used to.

Wait until this job is done. Then I'll know whether we can get hack together or not.

He rolled over, his eyes closing. Orlena was somewhere down the hallway, and Matt felt a mixture of guilt and desire as he wondered if she might join him on the mattress. He was listening for the sounds of footsteps in the corridors, but the house was completely silent. Within seconds, he was sleeping.

ELEVEN

The sunset melted slowly into the line of trees stretching out beyond the fields. Matt remained still, watching the light of the day seep away. In the regiment, all his toughest firefights had been at night. In the Philippines, he'd taken a flesh wound in the leg during an attack on a communist camp; in Bosnia, he'd held a man face down in the mud, and put a bullet through his head, even though he wasn't sure he'd got the right man; in Ulster, he'd come under sniper fire during a border patrol, and dived for cover as the man next to him had dropped down stone dead.

For most people, night is a time of peace. For men like us, it's a time of war.

The surveillance of the factory was now complete: Malenkov had made notes of when the shifts of guards at the factory changed, and how many men came on each rota. It was twelve in total. Two were on towers, six in the admin block and four in the factory. They had been carrying a lot more weaponry than Matt had expected: how tough this was going to be, he couldn't say, but he knew he had to prepare for the worst.

He turned towards Ivan. 'Kit OK?'

Ivan grinned. 'It'll do.'

The last two hours had been spent constructing home-made bombs for the job. All they needed was a big, cheap, dirty bang, with lots of smoke and flames, and they'd wanted to keep the ingredients simple so they hadn't had to smuggle anything into the country. Ivan had asked Malenkov to go into town and get two dozen cartons of orange juice in big plastic jars, some packets of old-fashioned hard soapsuds, petrol and plenty of strong fuse wire. That, he told him, would be all they would need.

Together with Nikita and Andrei, Ivan had spent the last hour emptying the orange juice out of the cartons, then filling them with some petrol. Into each carton, they mixed handfuls of soapsuds. It was crude, but it made an effective firebomb. Ivan had drawn them a detailed diagram. Put a fuse to the petrol, and it would blow up immediately. The soap made the petrol stick together in little balls of burning jelly. Those balls would fly off in all directions, sticking to whatever they collided with. They would burn for several minutes, enough to send even the toughest structure up in flames. In this dry weather, the wooden factory should light up like candle. The brick admin building would probably survive, but they would clear that by hand.

'Maximum havoc, for minimum effort,' Ivan explained. 'What more can a bomb-maker ask for?'

Matt took a length of fuse wire between his hands, and measured out a six-foot stretch. Ivan took one end, and Matt the other. Matt checked his watch. As the second hand completed a minute, he signalled to Ivan to light the wire. The fuse started burning, the flame racing down the length of the cord.

'Eight seconds to burn six feet,' said Matt, looking back up at Ivan. 'You can do your calculations from that?'

Ivan nodded. 'Once you know the velocity that a flame travels along the fuse, you can coordinate all the bombs to go off at precisely the same time. It's just a matter of cutting the right length of cord.'

Matt nodded. He'd trust Ivan on that. He was a careful, precise man, who took no more risks than were absolutely essential. Just the way a soldier should be.
Nervous, cautious, and alive.

The darkness had fallen now, the final dregs of the sunset disappearing beneath the horizon. Matt gathered Malenkov over to his side, telling him to bring Nikita and Andrei as well. Josef was now doing his three-hour shift guarding the tunnel entrance, and would meet them there at midnight. With Ivan at his side, Matt started to run through the plan. At midnight he and Ivan would go through the tunnel first. They would position the bombs around the perimeter of the factory, attaching them to the sides of the building with simple masking tape. They'd connect up the fuse wire, then head back down the tunnel. Meanwhile, Malenkov and Andrei would cut the one telephone wire running into the front of the factory: that would stop them calling for any reinforcements, unless they had a satellite phone. And they'd just have to hope they didn't. There was no way they could know whether they did or not. If they did, Malenkov reckoned they would have an hour maximum before the police showed up: the nearest main police station was sixty kilometres from here, and by road that took at least an hour. By helicopter, it would be quicker, but the nearest police choppers were in Minsk, and that was also an hour away by the time they'd scrambled into action.

The bombs would be blown at fifteen minutes past midnight. They'd wait sixty seconds, enough time for the immediate blast of the firestorm to blow through the building. Then the six of them would rush the compound. Ivan and Nikita would take the factory, and take out the men there. Matt, Josef, Malenkov and Andrei would attack the main admin building. Six of the guards would probably be in there, but at least one of them would come out to see what had happened. They would clip him, then move in to take out the rest. If the guards wanted to flee or to surrender they could, decided Matt. Otherwise, they would have to take whatever fate the gods of war had cooked up for them.

'Target practice,' finished Matt, speaking confidently. 'We have better weapons, and we can take them by surprise. Those are two big advantages on our side.'

Sound confident, make it clear, but don't bullshit them.

'Everyone strip down their guns and check they're in working order,' he continued. 'This is a maximum firepower job. OK. We set off in ten minutes. Twenty-three hundred hours precisely.'

Matt looked back towards Orlena, who was standing two feet behind the rest of the men. 'We'll meet you back here,' he said. 'We'll be out of there by one at the very latest, back here before two. Keep the Land Rover ready.'

Orlena shook her head. 'But I'm coming with you.'

Her voice was quiet but determined, the words delivered with total self-confidence.

'Don't be ridiculous,' snapped Matt. 'There's no room for tourists.'

'My company is paying for this mission. I get to say who stays and who goes.' She paused, looking directly at Matt, taking one step forward. 'And I say I'm coming.'

Matt hesitated. He knew he could have an argument with her, but he would risk losing the respect of the other men.
Better not to start any fights you couldn't win.

'Fine,' he said. 'You get your fingernails chipped, that's your lookout.' He looked around at the rest of the men. 'Let's go.'

The tunnel was hot and sticky, and Matt could feel his T-shirt clinging to his chest as he peered up to the roof. It was three minutes past midnight. He had blacked up his face with a thick layer of cam cream he'd brought from Britain, painting thick dark lines of black and green across the side of the cheeks. His clothes were black, and he had pulled a black baseball cap over his head. When they emerged, they would be on the ten feet of open ground between the edge of the compound and the factory. In the dark, he was going to be no more than a shadow slipping through the air.

'Ready?' whispered Matt, looking back towards Ivan.

Ivan nodded. 'Let's bloody do it.'

Matt could feel the adrenalin surging through his blood, hitting his heart and pumping up his pulse. He took the pick he had left at the end of the short tunnel, and started scratching at the manhole above him. This was where they would come out in the compound. A layer of dirt had caked up over it. Using his shovel, Matt started to hack into it.

A lump of dirt came free, falling to the ground, hitting Matt in the face. He pressed his lips together to stop it falling into his mouth. Using his shoulder muscles, he struck upwards again. This time, a bigger chunk of earth fell away, collapsing inside the tunnel.

Matt repositioned the torch and, using his hands this time, took down another lump of mud. Opening the manhole cover would have to be done carefully.

Matt stopped. He could feel a whisper of air blowing through the ground above him. He gripped the manhole cover then, pushing all his strength into his hands, he started to prise it loose. Nobody had opened it for several years, he guessed, and it took several hard pushes to start getting it open. One final heave, and it started to slide open. Matt gingerly raised his hands up through the hole.

So long as I don't get my hand shot off in the next minute, we'll be OK.

Using his shoulders to lever himself upwards, Matt raised his head slowly above the ground. He kept his back to the fence, and looked forwards, swivelling his eyes sharply from right to left.

If anyone sees me, I'm going to have to make a rapid retreat back down the tunnel.

The compound was empty. Twenty yards in the distance, he could see the guards standing on the watch-towers, their searchlights flashing out on to the road and into the forest. But, as he knew from their observations the previous two nights, there was no guard patrolling this section of the fence.

He pulled himself quickly to the surface of the ground, crouched down low, and ran the ten feet towards the back wall of the main factory building. That would give him cover. There was no need to say anything to Ivan. The fact that Matt had moved forward would tell him the way was clear, and he would follow.

Ivan joined Matt at the wall, throwing down a black kitbag that was slung over his back, holding the first ten one-litre petrol bombs. Another ten were stashed at the bottom of the tunnel. He took five of the bombs, handing them to Matt, along with a length of fuse cord. 'Make them at least twenty yards apart,' he said. 'You move right, and I'll go left.'

Matt started to crawl along the length of the factory. He kept his head down low, pulling himself forward by his elbows. It was seven minutes past midnight now, the air was hot and sticky, and the sweat was starting to drip along his spine.

Keep your eyes out of view, he reminded himself as the arc of the watch light swung past: it was beaming out of the compound, while they were inside, but it could still illuminate their position if they weren't careful.
Like the Cat's-eyes on a motorway, they will catch the light and reveal your position.

He stopped. Taking the carton from his back, he ripped a length of masking tape, placed the bomb next to the wall, then strapped it firmly into place. The building was solidly built, probably no more than five years old. It was going to take all the explosive power they could muster to blow it up. He jammed the cord into the top of the petrol bomb, took a moment to make sure it was securely in place, then crept forward. Beneath his breath, he was counting out the paces. Twenty yards translated into roughly sixty elbow strides. The distance measured, he strapped the second bomb into place, then moved forward again. Ten minutes past midnight, noted Matt. They were making progress.

'OK, another ten, then we're done,' whispered Ivan, as Matt met him back at the meeting point.

Matt took the cartons, then started crawling back along the wall of the factory. He strapped the first bomb into place, then the second, quickly securing the cord in each one. He started moving forwards, aware of the blisters that were going to be boiling on his arms by the morning. A searchlight flashed forward, brushing against his fingers. He stopped, freezing his body, burying his face into the dirt.

They see us now, we're corpses. A man lying on the ground is just target practice.

His breath silent in his chest, Matt waited. He counted to fifteen, waiting to see if the light came back again. Nothing. Trying to bring his breathing back under control, he moved forward again. Faster, he told himself, dragging his body forwards. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get out of here.

'We're done,' whispered Ivan, as he met up with him again. 'Let's go.'

Ivan dropped first into the tunnel, Matt following quickly behind him. The darkness suddenly engulfed him and, without a torch, he had to use his fingers to judge where the walls were as he moved painfully forward. He could feel his breath quickening as he approached the exit.

I've never liked dark, enclosed spaces. And knowing there's a dozen guys up there waiting to shoot us like pheasants on a moor doesn't make it any better.

Ivan's hand reached down to grab him, pulling him up through the constricted exit of the tunnel. They were ten yards out of the compound, hidden by the trees. He stood up, shaking the dirt free from his body. Malenkov was standing next to him, with Andrei, Nikita and Josef close by. In the insipid torchlight, he could tell from the pale colour of the men's skin that they were nervous: they had taken on the ghostly appearance of men who knew they might die in the next few minutes.

'Chin up, lads, this is going to be a walk in the park,' whispered Matt.

Malenkov said something in Ukrainian but Matt couldn't judge the tone.
I'll just have to hope he's not telling them to bugger off if it turns rough, and leave the foreigners to face the fire.

'Set?' he said to Ivan.

Ivan cut a length of cord, put it in place and sat back. 'Just need a match,' he replied.

The voice was brimming with certainty and confidence, but Matt could detect the traces of anxiety underneath. Like surgery, bomb-making looked like a science, but was really an art. You needed intuition as well as knowledge.
And that could mean the difference between life and death.