Nothing. He cursed, took a deep breath, and then . . .
V-TRAC > GPS ENABLED > ONLINE > SIGNAL: 98.563
As the signal-strength numbers continued to fluctuate but remained well within the green, he pushed up, hurried back onto the sidewalk, and jogged up to the hotel, where Sergei waited.
They headed to the parking garage and reached their car, where Hansen pulled his gear box from the trunk and threw it on the backseat. He took a seat beside the box. Sergei got in on the driver's side and pulled out, giving Murdoch's Mercedes an appreciable lead and putting several cars between them.
Hansen immediately began slipping into his black bodysuit. The now-standard DARPA Mark V tactical operations suit was, in his humble opinion, overkill for this short-duration op, so he'd packed one of the older models equipped with interwoven Kevlar, a thermoregulation system to maintain its temperature, photosensitive threads to detect a sniper's laser, and water bladders to keep him hydrated. The suit's weight, simplicity, and reliability made it a perfect choice. Hansen also tugged on a pair of Blackhawk light assault boots and buckled on his weapons belt. He'd wait to shoulder the backpack, a narrow satchel only 2.5 inches thick. Before leaving the car, he would put on a heavy woolen coat and cap, so that on first glance he could pass for one Korfovka's fifteen hundred residents, his gear fully hidden from view. He placed the butterfly-shaped SVT on his throat, then activated his OPSAT, notifying Grim that he was online. A few seconds later, her voice sounded through his subdermaclass="underline"
"Excellent work so far, Ben. We see you've tagged Murdoch's car, and we're also monitoring the signal. The road out to Korfovka is, in a word, rural, so keep your distance, lights off."
"No problem, ma'am."
"Grim will do. Or Grim Reaper--as I've heard some of you call me behind my back."
"No, ma'am. I mean Grim. I mean--"
"Ben, listen carefully. I've had my eyes on the satellite feeds. Two cars arrived in Korfovka earlier today. We ID'd Bratus and Zhao, and they've just driven from a small restaurant to a pub on the east end of town. Take a look."
The OPSAT screen switched from the V-TRAC indicator's multicolored map of the territory to a satellite image, zooming in on a row of single-story buildings, outside of which were parked two late-model sedans. The level of detail was, as always, remarkable.
"Bratus and Zhao are inside, waiting for Murdoch," Grim added.
"I need more pictures of the place--the roof, the rear entrance."
"Working on it."
"Anything else I should know?"
"There's a storm front moving in. Should be blizzard conditions in three, four hours, which leads me to believe that this meeting will be short, so you'll need to get in there as quickly as possible."
"Roger that."
"All right, more pictures of the pub coming through now. Saving to your OPSAT. I'll be here if you need me."
"Thanks, Grim."
Hansen tapped Sergei's shoulder and handed him the trifocal goggles that had become synonymous with Splinter Cell operations.
Sergei shook his head. "Don't torture me, Ben. I'm not good enough to wear them. They made that very clear."
"Put 'em on. Lights out." Hansen's tone left zero room for argument.
After groaning in disgust, Sergei accepted the goggles, slipped them over his head, then switched off the car's headlights. Hansen returned to studying the new images glowing on his OPSAT screen.
7
EN ROUTE TO KORFOVKA, RUSSIAN FEDERATION
HANSENand Sergei took highway M-60 out of Vladivostok, passing into the city of Ussuriysk, situated on the Rasdolnaya River, about ninety-eight kilometers north of the hotel. Then they turned onto A-184 out of Ussuriysk and made a left turn onto A-186, heading west toward Korfovka. There wasn't much to see beyond the windows, especially with the lights out--just stretches of a barren valley blanketed in ice and snow. Only a few other cars passed them on the road, and the driver of a small truck flashed his lights to warn them theirs were off. "It's okay, buddy," Sergei had muttered. "I can see you just fine."
They were on A-186 for just a few minutes when Grim called to say there were two cars traveling about a half kilometer behind them.
Hansen told Sergei, "Grim thinks we might have a tail."
"What do you think?"
"Two cars. Hard to say."
"Better safe than sorry, right? I'll take care of them after I drop you off."
"But do me a favor. Don't wind up in Khabarovsk."
"Have you seen the ladies up there?"
Hansen snickered. "What's your plan? To come home with a Russian wife?"
"Worse things could happen."
"As a matter of fact they could."
AMEShad finished answering the hotel security man's questions and had explained that he'd been sitting there, observing the lobby, because he thought his wife was having an affair and he wanted to catch her in the act. Svetlanoff and his muscle-head partner chuckled and made a comment about Ames's diminutive size in multiple areas and suggested that his wife wouldn't be cheating on him if he were man enough to satisfy her. Ames knew they were just trying to provoke him so they could detain him even longer, maybe even slap him around a little, so he quickly agreed with them, apologized, and was summarily released.
Instead of punishing himself for the rookie mistake of drawing the security man's attention, he got back to work. There'd be plenty of time later to bang his head against a wall. He hired a taxi to follow him to Korfovka, though the driver had a difficult time understanding why he should do so when Ames had his own car. "Are we picking up a large number of people? Are we hauling cargo? Because I do not haul cargo, only suitcases and bags." Ames paid him double, in advance, and the questions ceased.
Now, as they headed up the bumpy road, he imagined Grim sitting there in the situation room, wired on caffeine and watching the stream from her satellites. He even felt her electronic gaze on his shoulders. He glanced up and thought, Don't worry, my dear Reaper. It's only me, come to fog up your lenses. You really should switch to contacts. . . .
He grinned. What a witty bastard he was. Ah . . .He took a breath, reached into his pocket, and found his Zippo. He began rolling it between his fingers, growing more relaxed as he imagined a warm yellow light engulfing him.
Lying on the passenger's seat was a digital video camera and a suitcase containing $250,000 in small, unmarked bills--part of plan B, in case Hansen made it to Korfovka.
" WE ' REalmost there," said Sergei. "There's a little petrol station up ahead. About two blocks from the pub. I can drop you off out back. I'll let the other cars go by and follow them for a while. I'll be in touch."
Hansen took in a long breath. "Sounds good."
"You all right?"