Ulm looked at Jones, covering him from the door. He heard a high-pitched note, like an ultrasonic alarm in his head. There was someone else in the room, someone besides Jones. He could feel something, a presence…
He began to turn when the gun barrel hit him in the base of the spine.
Ulm froze.
Jones took a step into the room. He squinted against the light. ‘Sir…?’
Girling came up from behind the sacks of grain. He moved the pistol up Ulm’s spine and held it between his shoulder blades. ‘Drop your weapon, Sergeant.’
Jones looked at Ulm.
‘Do it now!’ Girling shouted. ‘You, too, Colonel.’
Ulm flinched. ‘Girling!’
‘Drop the gun, Colonel.’
There was a clatter as Ulm let his MP5 fall to the floor.
Seconds passed, then Jones did the same.
‘Don’t say anything, Colonel. Don’t say a fucking word. Just listen and listen good.’
Girling stepped out from behind his cover. He kept Ulm’s body between himself and Jones. ‘You’ve been set up. There are no hostages. No Franklin. There’s only one reason Spetsnaz are here. The Sword’s an Uzbek, a Muslim from Soviet Central Asia. They need him dead, and they need you to take the fall.’
Ulm gritted his teeth. ‘What the fuck are you doing here, Girling?’
Girling’s voice rose to a shout. ‘Don’t you ever learn, Ulm? The Sword wants out, but the Russians don’t know that.’
‘This is bullshit,’ Jones said. ‘There are terrorists with fucking surface-to-air missiles out there.’
‘They’re Palestinians, Hizbollah,’ Girling said. ‘The Sword got them here to say the deal’s off.’
‘The Russians have hostages, too, Girling.’
‘Colonel, they’ve gone to a lot of trouble to make this work. And unless you want another Panama here, we’ve got to stop that happening.’
Jones was about to speak again but Ulm silenced him. ‘You’d better talk fast, Girling.’
‘The Sword’s been shot, Colonel, and there’s a good chance he’ll bleed to death unless — ‘ He hesitated. ‘If he dies, Washington carries the can for this whole operation. Those are American helicopters up there.’
‘With Russian soldiers on board!’
‘Are they wearing red stars on their uniforms?’
Ulm faltered. Opnaz were the goddamned crack troops of the Interior Ministry. It began to hit him. Uzbekistan… Jesus.
Ulm tried to turn, but Girling told him to keep his eyes front. ‘Girling, this can’t be happening…’ Then he thought of TERCOM’s discreet offices, the blacked out windows and Joel Jacobson. He suddenly felt tired. ‘There won’t be any further need for the gun.’
Girling held the gun steady.
‘For fuck’s sake, man, if you’re right, I’ve got to warn the men.’
‘OK,’ Girling said. ‘Then let’s go.’
They ran across the courtyard, Ulm trying to raise Bookerman and the other pilots on the walkie-talkie. He couldn’t see anything for the smoke and dust drifting across the valley.
Once through the gates, Ulm ran ahead of Girling, while Jones brought up the rear. Girling was thankful for the escort. The pistol in his hand felt unwieldy.
They reached an abandoned pick-up truck and ducked down by the driver’s door. Sharp cracks from the cliffs signalled the presence of snipers. Ulm continued to work the radio, but his voice was met by a wall of static. Girling edged round the side of the truck, hand raised against the smoke. He wanted to pick out the path again. He had to get back to the Sword.
It was then that he saw the Pave Lows.
The two helicopters had crashed between the caravanserai and the outhouses, each carving its own trench across the valley. There were bodies strewn around them. Broken, burning bodies.
Ulm took a step forward, but Jones held him back. ‘No, Colonel. It’s too late.’
An explosion shook one of the wrecks, sending smoke and flames billowing into the sky.
‘Christ, Spades. A mid-air?’
‘One too many accidents, boss. We’ve got to find the others.’
As Jones turned, he almost walked straight into Bitov. Ulm was mesmerized still by the burning wreckage. Girling saw the confrontation between the two sergeants, but from the broad smile on Bitov’s face he thought the big son of a bitch was American.
Jones hesitated. ‘Bitov…’
The Russian raised his arm and shot the American once, straight through the forehead.
Girling tried to move, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t tear himself away from the sight of Jones, still falling, his brains spilling through the jagged hole in the back of his Balaclava. It was only when the body hit the ground that the spell was shattered. And by then, it was too late.
Bitov shifted his aim and Girling stared straight into the barrel of the pistol. Behind him, he heard Ulm’s shout of rage, but it was a faint echo amongst the screams and gunfire.
Bitov squeezed the trigger. Once, twice… Strange, Girling thought, that there should be no sound.
The gun had jammed.
Ulm brought up his MP5, pulling Girling out of the way, and fired.
Bitov was already diving for the truck. He rolled, but the bullet caught him in the back, close to the spine. His body kept rolling, out of Ulm’s line of fire. And then it lay perfectly still.
Ulm was doing what he could for the Sword, staunching the flow of blood with a field dressing and killing the pain with morphine when Girling called to him from the other side of the rocks.
Girling pointed into the sun. ‘Your missing helicopters,’ he announced.
The sun was coming up behind the two Pave Lows, casting long shadows across the rocks. The helicopters were a little over three hundred metres apart, separated from each other by a cluster of large boulders. Their main blades drooped, motionless. It was as if the machines had been drained of energy.
For a second, Girling thought the helicopters had been left unprotected, but then he saw movement on the ramp of the nearest machine. As his eyes became more used to the light, he could make out the figure behind the minigun. He was training it left and right, back and forth, with the restlessness of an insect.
With the Sword’s dead weight to carry, they would not get more than a few yards across the open stretch of land before being cut down by a hail of 7.62 bullets.
‘What are we going to do?’
Ulm slapped in a new magazine and snapped back the bolt of his MP5. ‘Those two helicopters can’t see each other. Now if we go for the nearest one…’
He leaned against the rocks, unslung his weapon and reached into a thigh pocket. He screwed the silencer onto the barrel of the MP5, never taking his eyes off the nearer helicopter. Then he attached the laser sighting system.
‘I could take out that guy from here, but I don’t know how many others are inside. This way, I might stay alive long enough to find out and fly us out of here both.’ He looked at Girling. ‘When I signal, bring the old man over to the back of the helicopter. Meanwhile, keep watching that trail. Still got your weapon?’
Girling held up the pistol.
Ulm disappeared behind the rocks. Girling tried to follow his progress amongst the shadows, but lost him. The American was working his way around to the other side of the helicopter so as to approach it with the sun at his back.
Ulm stepped out into the open and began walking towards the nearest MH-53J when it was no more than thirty metres away. He could see the minigunner’s forearms; the rest of his body was hidden behind the wall of the Sikorsky’s cargo hold. If there were other gunners inside, he hoped they were looking the other way. For all the concentrated firepower in the helicopter before him, it was the second machine, away to his left, that worried him most. If any of its crew caught wind of what was happening, they could destroy their only means of escape with a few well-aimed bursts of automatic fire.