“Of course you do.”
“And that is when I see Cayman. He is sneaking around, heading up the ladders toward Odin’s tomb. The man carried a rucksack and weapons. It is then, unfortunately, that I sneezed…” Akerman hung his head in embarrassment.
“Cayman saw you. Did he say anything?”
“No. He just looked at me. A… a horrible stare, Torsten. A dead soul. I knew then that if I didn’t run I would die. So run I did.”
Dahl placed a hand on Akerman’s shoulder. “I am sorry.”
“It is not your fault. But then, the next day, I see Jakob. He is not hiding. I am walking through Reykjavik to get the shuttle to the tomb and Jakob is heading to the seaport. I follow him… ah, it’s not so difficult, no matter how much you spies and soldiers like to puff your egos up about it, and see him with money. A lot of money. He is purchasing a boat. That is when I called you, Torsten.”
“You think Jakob was paid off and is trying to leave by boat?”
Akerman shrugged. “I am academic. I leave the grunt thinking to you, my friend.”
“Well if that’s the case.” Dahl hurriedly finished his coffee. “We should find Jakob now, before he has chance to leave, and persuade him to talk to us.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Really?”
“I would have already done it if I hadn’t known someone more suited to the manual labor.” Akerman paused. “That is you.”
“Thanks. Now drink up, Olle, we have a rogue translator to catch before someone else gets to him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Drake and the team made ready. As the dawn’s gray light began to illuminate the eastern horizon, they were already driving steadily toward Tverskaya Street. Yesterday, they had observed the place, noticing how difficult access would be. The building itself was close enough to Red Square to get away with the extra security machinations, but also fronted by a private car park and surrounded by civilian offices and a few shops, not to mention the main thoroughfare that was Tverskaya Street. But this was the weekend. Many of those places would be unoccupied.
The traffic was sparse, most of the citizens and tourists still snoozing at this hour. Drake had spotted Zanko twice yesterday and two other men, but there had been no sign of Razin, although the man would most likely have a legitimate business or two in the area. The backpack between Drake’s legs was full of guns and ammo. It would not do to get stopped by the police at this point, even though the team’s ultimate purpose would explain everything away. The Russians were hardly known for their tolerance.
The professor was being held for the purpose of providing information indirectly linked to the tombs of the gods. That in itself was enough for Drake’s team to make a move, never mind that the information may have relevance to the doomsday device.
With this being a sensitive target, a dawn raid, and one that would undoubtedly meet resistance, they had decided to limit the strike force to three members. Drake, Mai and Alicia. The Englishwoman parked the car across the street. The three of them watched the door of their target building for a while, and the windows to either side.
“Yorgi,” Drake said over the car phone. “You had better be bloody right about this.”
“I will stake my reputation on it.”
Alicia grumbled, “Reputation? You’re a thief.”
Drake glanced her way. “So was Belmonte. And he died saving our lives.”
Alicia nodded. “So he did.”
After a moment, Drake hefted his pack. The three of them exited the car and shouldered the bags. They were dressed in jeans and large-size jackets to help hide the padding of a Kevlar vest. Alicia voiced their concerns as she negotiated the wide road.
“Do we look like tourists or undercover police officers? ‘Cause I can never tell the difference.”
Mai gave her a fleeting look. “All you need is your mask, Myles. Drake and I will hold your hand.”
Alicia snorted. “Yeah. Right after you let go of each other’s.”
Once across Tverskaya Street, the trio moved quickly into the car park that fronted Razin’s building. Ducking behind a pair of parked cars, Mai took out a small but powerful, hand-held spotter scope and studied the building.
“No movement,” she reported. “And sparse furniture. The front is likely a façade. The real action goes on in the back.”
“Helps the plan.” Drake stayed low as he ran across the car park, pausing briefly between another small group of parked cars to slip a balaclava over his head. “Ready?”
“It itches.” Alicia complained, rubbing where the material stretched across her forehead.
“I thought you would be used to them,” Mai said slyly. “Don’t Lomas and you…”
“Piss off, sprite.”
Drake caught their attention with a cough. “Ready?”
He moved before they could answer, weapon at the ready. They ran around the side of the building, hugging the wall, and stopped three feet short of a side door. Drake lacked the tact and subtlety that might have led him to investigate ways of bypassing the low-tech magnetic strip alarm system, and simply leaned forward, took aim, and fired two muffled shots into the lock. The mechanism twisted and dropped to the floor; the door inched open.
Shouting sprung up from inside.
Drake pushed his way inside, immediately surprised to find that the back of the house resembled a police holding area. Each one of the mini-cells was empty, but two more rooms attached to the back wall were spilling out tough-looking Russians. Drake heard distinctive American tones coming from the furthest room, then a sharp slap and a cry.
“He’s here.”
Drake fired constantly. Mai and Alicia fanned out behind him. The first Russian fell at their feet, the second pinwheeled into a row of bars, crushing his nose. The next two came up together, trying to overwhelm the attackers, but Mai and Alicia took them out from the sides. Drake threw a small flash bang grenade, then instantly hit the deck, hands pressed firmly over his ears. Even then the explosion, when it came, was louder and more effective than those he remembered from training. He blinked hard, fighting the disorientation, stood up, and was immediately hit by a body. Arms wrestled the gun from him. His sense of survival kicked in and he abandoned the weapon — if you allow an opponent to concentrate on his strongest point he will quickly reveal his weakest — and scrambled out from underneath. His attacker lay, a gun in each hand, unable to defend himself as Drake crushed his windpipe and his nose, then broke both wrists. He recaptured his weapon, whirling through the mayhem.
A man burst out of the nearest room, machine pistol firing. Bullets pinged and zipped off every wall, bouncing away from the solid steel bars and even ricocheting through his own men. Drake ducked low, raising his own gun and firing blindly in the man’s general direction. A rake of holes appeared in the ceiling, signifying that Drake’s effort had paid off. He raised his head, trying to peer through the second room’s open door.
So far, there was no sign of anyone he knew. Several men lay groaning or disorientated, some crawling across the floor, clearly at a loss as to which way was up or down. Alicia leapt for the door, hiding to the side with her back against the wall. Mai drifted toward Drake.
“Soldiers!” a voice cried out, all but quaking. “Soldiers stop! If you come further I put bullet through his head. You hear me? You have come for American, no?”
Drake motioned at Alicia to wait. He squinted hard. The flying bullets had punched several holes through the room’s plaster wall. If he could just…