“We — we haven’t seen too many Russians, right?” Gary insisted. “Here, guarding us, or coming with Bogdanov, we’ve only seen three. King Cobra, Death, and One-Eye,” he counted on his fingers.
“Four,” Marie-Elise said. There was this other Russian on the first day, the one with a beard, remember him?
“Yes,” Gary said. “I remember him. And there were definitely more at the trucks, when we got here.”
“You have to assume that there are quite a few more, guarding the others,” Fortuin added calmly, as if the entire dialogue was academic in nature. “You’d have to assume at least twenty Russians or so, all trained sociopathic killers.”
“So we have nothing,” Gary said, feeling blood boil in his veins. “That’s what you’re saying? That we have nothing, no fucking way out of here? That we’re gonna die in this rotting hell without even trying to put up a fight?”
Without even realizing it, he had grabbed Fortuin by the lapels and was shaking him, pushing him against the wall.
“Gary,” Jane Crawford spoke quietly, sitting up against her pillow. “Knock it off and get your shit together, what the hell?”
Somehow, hearing her voice, the American accent reminding him of home, of who he was, calmed him instantly. He immediately let go of Fortuin’s lapels.
“I–I am so sorry, Dr. Fortuin, I don’t know what got into me,” he apologized, feeling ashamed.
“Well, I guess it’s all right,” Fortuin replied with cold dignity, straightening his clothing and running his fingers through his silver hair. “We’re all frustrated and desperate, son, don’t let it get the best of you.”
“I know, you’re right,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks burn. “I just wish there was something we could do. If we could only get more of them in here at the same time, not just one, then my plan would work.”
“Umm… maybe we could,” Dr. Teng spoke tentatively, keeping his gaze riveted to the ground.
Gary turned toward the thin, frail man, surprised.
“How?” he asked.
Wu Shen Teng’s back bowed a little more, and his head hung low.
“I–I have… I have been telling Bogdanov things, in exchange for my family’s safety.”
“You what?” Gary reacted, grinding his teeth and barely keeping his voice under control. “You… betrayed us?” He couldn’t even find his words, suffocated by anger.
“Yes,” Dr. Teng replied, his voice chocked and trembling. “I thought I was protecting my family. I was wrong, terribly wrong.” He clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture, not lifting his eyes from the ground. “Please, forgive me.”
Marie-Elise closed her eyes in a silent gesture of disappointment, and Adenauer muttered something in German.
“Unbelievable,” Gary replied. “Fucking unbelievable.”
“Oh, no, it’s believable, Gary, trust me.” Jane Crawford spoke. “Just put yourself in his place, for Christ’s sake. You’d do anything.”
“Let’s stay focused, please,” Dr. Fortuin said. “Dr. Teng, you’re saying you could bring more of them in here?”
“I think I could,” he replied. “I think I know what to say.”
“Keep in mind we’re not combatants,” Adenauer said. “Some of us can’t even shoot a slingshot.”
“I’ll handle the shooting,” Gary said. “Bukowsky can help.”
“Sure, I can do that, I’m a decent shot,” Bukowsky replied.
“I can too,” Jane Crawford added. “I used to shoot clay pigeons for sport.”
“Works for me,” Gary said with a wide smile. “Dr. Teng, you have to get them in here and get them to stay for a few minutes. Even if we use aerosolized anesthetics, we can’t get them to drop to the floor instantly. We have to consider what solution concentrations we can risk exposing ourselves to, and it would take the aerosol a little while to work.”
Wu Shen Teng nodded.
Gary started pacing slowly, clasping and unclasping his hands, running the plan details in his mind. It could work… There was definite risk involved, of course. The compounds would need to be precisely titred, the aerosol effect localized, and the antidotes powerful enough to resist a strong, fast-acting sedative without harming them. If the sedation effect was too slow, the Russians would have the time to react and shoot people before falling flat. If it was too fast, it would pose risk to the very people they were trying to save. The doctors would risk becoming drowsy when they needed to stay fast, sharp, and quick on their feet. Not easy, but definitely worth trying.
“There is some risk,” Gary said after a little while, “but I think it’s well worth it. I, for one, don’t want to die in this shithole.” He searched their faces, and, satisfied with what he saw, he added, “Then let’s get to work!”
…51
Myatlev finished reading another one of Bogdanov’s reports, and rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Maybe it was going to work after all. The latest test had been promising, and Bogdanov had cranked up the heat on those doctors, getting them to take their situation more seriously and start producing some real results.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, then checked the time. He should grab some lunch, but before going out to eat, he wanted another shot.
Ivan barged in through the door before Myatlev had a chance to call him. That’s what he liked about his right hand; he was always there, reading his mind, giving him everything he needed.
This time Ivan carried a piece of paper instead of the shot he’d been craving. He groaned with disappointment.
“What is it, Ivan?”
“My man in the field looked everywhere for the four people we saw on satellite running from the hangar, and nothing. No one’s seen anything or heard anything. The only unusual thing he found was that an American private jet, a Phenom 300 had just landed there, at Khabarovsk Airport, just a few hours earlier. Four passengers and a pilot. That could be it.”
“Who are they?”
“We have no idea,” Ivan said, hesitantly. “The flight was unregistered, and didn’t even go through customs. Someone bribed someone, that’s for sure. We have no way to find out who they are and what they want.”
“Ivan, you disappoint me,” Myatlev said bitterly, getting up from his massive leather chair and going to the window to light another cigar. “It’s time to think for yourself, not wait for me to think in your place, and feed you everything you need to do piece by piece, da?” He sounded clipped and impatient.
Ivan shifted his weight uncomfortably, but remained silent.
“Well, what will you do next?” Myatlev prompted.
“Track the plane?” Ivan asked, unsure.
“Yes, track the fucking plane, Ivan! A Phenom has got to have an owner. Get the tail number, find out who owns it, where the flight originated from, and get video from their place of departure. Cyber Division will help you get all that really quickly. Then ask someone to pull their backgrounds.”
“Understood,” Ivan confirmed, looking ashamed.
Myatlev softened a little. Not everyone had it in them to think globally, considering all the assets at their discretion. After all, Ivan was his bodyguard more than his assistant, and Myatlev had selected him for his combat skills and his loyalty, and little else.
Myatlev’s irritation stemmed mostly from learning that someone had come so close to the most secret of his operations. This secret, if exposed, could bring everyone down, including President Abramovich. There was no way Russia could ever be able to explain the hijacking of a commercial flight. That was an act of terrorism. Those four people, regardless of who they were, needed to be dead and buried before they could compromise him.