Stoyan nodded. ‘It doesn’t make sense. And they’ve covered their tracks pretty well.’ He peered out of the window into the moonlight. ‘Maybe they’re waiting for us to try to get out.’
Belotserkovsky suddenly looked agitated. ‘Maybe there’s no one out there,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe it’s the enemy within we should be worrying about.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Buslenko.
‘Maybe there’s no Vitrenko force out there. Maybe we’re dealing with an infiltrator.’
‘That’s crap,’ said Stoyan, but he looked uneasy.
‘Taras is right that only his friend knew about this location,’ said Belotserkovsky. ‘That is outside all of us.’ He looked at Olga Sarapenko. ‘She’s not one of us. How do we know she isn’t in Vitrenko’s pay?’
‘That’s bullshit,’ said Buslenko.
‘No… no, wait a minute,’ said Stoyan. ‘ She was outside immediately before Vorobyeva was killed.’
Buslenko’s face darkened. ‘Enough! Are you trying to tell me that she,’ he indicated Olga with a nod of his head, ‘was able to sneak up on the best personal security specialist I’ve ever worked with? No offence, Captain Sarapenko.’
‘None taken,’ she said. ‘Even I know my limits. But maybe this is why they haven’t finished us off. Maybe they’re waiting for us to come apart at the seams.’
‘Good point.’ Buslenko’s expression suggested that he had made a decision. He looked at his watch. ‘It’ll be light in two hours. I want us out of the woods by then. Get kitted up. We’re going for a walk.’
‘Stoyan, you take point.’ Buslenko looked up at the sky. The moon was low, caressing the bristling tip of the forest. He found himself blessing the few clouds that had drifted in from the west. ‘Captain Sarapenko, I take it you know how to use one of these…’ He tossed a Vepr assault rifle to her.
‘I can handle it.’
Buslenko pointed to the river to the left of the hunting lodge. ‘Same as before – we use the bank as cover. Keep low and keep together. If we’re going to encounter opposition, it’ll come from the forest, where there’s more cover. They’ll have to expose themselves to attack. The one thing we have to watch out for is grenades. Or they’ve maybe predicted our route and set booby traps. Watch out for tripwires.’
Buslenko gave Stoyan a gestured countdown. On one, Stoyan rushed out of the lodge, across the drive and down the river bank. He ran crouched low but fast. Buslenko waited. No gunfire. Stoyan indicated the all-clear and Buslenko gave Olga Sarapenko the order to cross, then Belotserkovsky. Still no attack.
It didn’t make sense. Now would have been the time to pick them off. It seemed as if they were running from ghosts. Maybe Belotserkovsky had a point. Maybe it was one of them. But there was no one in the remaining group that he could have imagined taking out Vorobyeva with such ease. Certainly not the woman.
Buslenko scoured the fringe of the woods with the night-vision scope he had attached to his Vepr. Finally, he bolted across the snow-encrusted track and down the river bank.
9.
Maria spent three hours searching for the BMW. She had been sure she would find it slewed off the road, the Ukrainian slumped over the wheel. She was vaguely shocked at her lack of concern for the driver. She could be pretty certain that she had just either killed another human being or seriously injured him. But, there again, he had tried to kill her and death was something these people traded in. Maria backtracked to check for turn-offs she might have missed: there were none. He had got away. She checked the fuel gauge: she was running low and she was not entirely sure which way would lead her back to the autobahn and Cologne. And it was as if she herself was running out of fuel; the leaden, aching tiredness of her system was draining the adrenalin that had flooded it during the chase. Eventually she came to a junction which indicated Dusseldorf, Cologne and Autobahn 57. She turned onto it and headed back towards the city.
10.
They had covered five kilometres in the last hour, by Buslenko’s reckoning. Not bad considering the terrain and the darkness. There had been no booby traps, no ambush. And, Buslenko was beginning to believe, no enemy waiting in the woods. The woman, Olga Sarapenko, had done particularly well, considering she hadn’t had to go through the same rigours in training as the rest of them.
‘Take a rest,’ he ordered them.
‘I’m telling you…’ Belotserkovsky dropped down next to Buslenko, resting his back against the frozen river bank. ‘There’s no attacking force. It must have been one of us.’
‘Where are you going?’ Buslenko called across to Stoyan, who had started, crouching low, to climb up the river bank.
‘I’m going to take a look around, boss. I’ll be careful. Then I’m going to take a leak.’
Buslenko nodded and turned back to Belotserkovsky. ‘It can’t have been one of us. I’ve been working it out. The four of us here had no opportunity. Captain Sarapenko was outside for less than ten minutes. It would have taken her that long to reach Vorobyeva. You, Stoyan and me… we were all inside.’
‘We don’t know for sure when Vorobyeva was done,’ said Belotserkovsky. An owl hooted in the woods and suddenly flew over their heads, its wings clapping the air. They both swung their weapons to bear on the owl. After a moment they relaxed.
‘We’re getting jumpy,’ said Buslenko. ‘And yes, I do have a rough idea when Vorobyeva was killed. His body was still warm. In these temperatures that means he died just about the time he was supposed to head back to be relieved. And he wasn’t killed by ghosts, so it’s best to keep our wits about us.’
At the top of the river bank, Stoyan kept low and scanned the length of the river. He could see the lights of Korostyshev in the distance. It would take them less than an hour to get there, but the sky was lightening and it would be the trickiest part of the journey. His eyes traced back up the front edge of the forest. The first three ranks of trunks were visible, then blackness. It would stay night in the forest for hours yet. He decided to recommend to Buslenko that they should quit the river bank and use the trees as cover. It would be slower going but safer. He gestured down the bank to Buslenko, pointed two fingers of one hand to his own eyes, then indicated his near surroundings with a sweep of his hand. Buslenko nodded, signalling that it was okay for Stoyan to recce the immediate area.
Stoyan crossed the narrow expanse of open ground between the river bank and the forest. He pressed his back to the bark of a tree, took out a small monocular night-vision scope and surveyed as far into the forest as he could. He could see nothing. Literally. Even the night-vision scope couldn’t penetrate the blackness of the forest’s interior.
‘Stoyan!’ He spun around and aimed the scope in the direction from which he had heard his name called in a loud whisper. ‘Stoyan! Over here!’
Stoyan didn’t reply. He tried to locate the voice near enough that a burst from his assault rifle might hit whoever was there.
‘Stoyan! It’s Tenishchev!’
Stoyan moved closer, keeping low to present as small a target as possible, and keeping his Vepr aimed at the source of the voice.
‘Here,’ said the voice. Tenishchev appeared above some bushes at the edge of the forest. He looked ragged and dirty and had no weapon. The dark stain on the side on his face looked like blood. ‘Come here… but keep low. Serduchka is somewhere around here. He’s been shadowing you. Serduchka is a traitor. He killed Vorobyeva and he tried to kill me.’
Stoyan ran across to the bushes and they both dropped behind them. Tenishchev looked afraid. His parka was torn and when Stoyan touched it, it felt wet. Stoyan looked at his fingertips – they were slick with blood.