"Someone is unhappy with you. He says he will do his job but he doesn't have to like any of you. He said he's going to check on the chutes."
Nick coughed.
"You must excuse Sergeant Ivanesky," Korov said. "His father was a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. One of your stinger missiles killed him."
"He doesn't like us. Can we trust him?"
Korov bristled. "He is Spetsnaz. He will obey orders without question. Ivanesky is one of my best men."
The Americans were dressed as the others, in gray and black and white camouflage uniforms and black jump boots and berets. Nick wore the rank markings of a Major. Anyone looking at the group would have seen nothing out of order. A small group of soldiers going somewhere. Ronnie could have been from the Siberian steppes. The only thing unusual was Lamont's skin color. People would guess he was from one of the former Soviet Republics in the south. Unusual, but not unknown.
Korov had provided AK-47 carbines for their primary weapon.
"I thought about the new AN-94," he said, as he handed Nick a rifle. "It's accurate, but trouble in the field."
"How so? I thought the 94 was replacing the AKs."
"They're supposed to. But they're too complicated. Expensive. Very good for accurate, high rate of fire but difficult to maintain. They jam, they catch on your clothes. I don't like them. We stick with these. Besides, you are familiar with them."
"Half the world is familiar with them," Nick said. Half the world was, usually the half that hated America.
Their ride was an Antonov AN-72, nicknamed the Cheburashka by the Russians after a popular cartoon character. The name came from the unusual engine configuration, two huge jets mounted forward on the tops of the wings like giant ears. The plane had been in production since the 80s. A large cargo door in the rear made it ideal for their purpose. Thinking about a jump at low altitude at night made Nick's back ache in anticipation.
The air crew ignored the Americans, assuming they were Russian, though they'd given Lamont odd looks. As long as everyone kept their mouth shut, they'd be all right. They all knew a few Russian phrases and words. An airman brought Nick a cup of steaming black tea and he thanked him in Russian. The man nodded and returned forward.
Each man had a small pack in addition to his parachute. The Russian parachutes were their newest stealth model, almost invisible from the ground, similar to the American design. Korov had gone over the differences with them. Still the same procedure. Jump. Pull cord. Land. Assuming the chute opened. They almost always did.
Ronnie, Nick and Lamont sat on one side. The fuselage was lined with strap benches, just like in the states. When you came down to it, the military forces of the world were much the same everywhere. What was different was the degree of professionalism. The Russian elite forces had that in spades.
Korov and his men sat on the opposite side of the plane. Nick was too wired to doze off. Ronnie turned his jish over in his fingers, reciting a Navajo prayer to himself. His lips moved silently. Lamont sat with his eyes half closed. Sergeant Ivanesky stared at them. When Ivanseky saw Nick notice him, he looked away.
"We'd better keep an eye on that one," Nick said to Lamont.
"Yeah. I noticed. He doesn't like us much."
"Selena said one of our missiles got his father. In Afghanistan."
"Explains it. I wouldn't like us much either."
Korov spoke into his headset, listened. He got up and came over to Nick.
"We are ten minutes away. Get ready. We jump together. I will lead, you come last."
"Got it."
"There is little wind. Snow on the ground, it will show tracks. We are coming in at 2000 feet."
The cargo door dropped open and the engines slowed. The plane lost altitude and speed. The inside of the cabin turned freezing cold as the wind sucked all the heat into the Russian night. They formed up. The engines maintained a steady beat. The light over the open door changed from red to green.
"Go," Korov yelled in Russian. He leapt into the darkness. The others followed close behind.
Nick didn't like low altitude jumps. That close to the ground, there was no room for error. He kept his knees bent tight together and his stomach taut. The chute opened with a familiar jolt that grabbed him in the groin. The night sky was cloud covered. There was no light. The air smelled of coming snow.
The landing zone was flat, free of boulders or trees. The ground came up in seconds, a white blur emerging from the darkness. The snow cover wasn't enough to cushion the shock. Nick hit hard and rolled. Warning stabs of pain shot up his spine.
He was last man down. He pulled in his chute and ignored the pain. The others had gathered around something. Nick walked over and looked down at the body of Captain Zhukov. He lay shattered on the ground, his chute tangled about him. The bones of his legs stuck out through his bloody uniform. It was a bad way to begin.
Korov was stone faced. "Leave the chutes over him."
They covered the body.
"The river canal is that way," Korov said. "We go there and follow it in."
He set off at a fast trot. The snow crunched under their boots. Someone's equipment creaked. The pyramid loomed on their right. They ran until they came to the canal and followed it to the shaft. Water from the Irtysh River plummeted down over the edge and out of sight. Freezing spray drifted over the opening. Steel rungs covered with a thin coating of ice descended at precise intervals along the side of the shaft.
Korov gestured. "Nick, take the point. I will come last."
Nick slung his AK muzzle down and began the long climb to whatever lay below.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
If there had been a window in Elizabeth's office, she could have looked out on a warm Indian Summer afternoon. There was no window. She had a satellite display on the wall monitor instead.
They had infrared visual on the objective. Selena, Stephanie and Elizabeth had been listening to the mission unfold. The jump. The death of the Russian captain. They watched the luminous heat signatures of the men run toward the river canal, turn, and reach the black hole of the water shaft. They heard Korov tell Nick to start down.
The shaft was visible only as a dim heat gradient. Selena watched one of the green figures detach itself from the others.
She clicked her microphone button twice. "We can see you and hear you, Nick. We might lose you under ground." She stopped. What should she say? She didn't want to distract him. "I'm with you. We're watching."
Cough.
Then he was gone. The others followed down the ladder. The three women watched until all that remained on the screen was darkness.
"This is the part I hate," Steph said.
"What do you mean?" Selena rubbed the surgical scar on her abdomen, still fresh. It itched.
"The waiting. To see how it turns out."
To see if they come back. The unspoken thought.
"It can't be that bad," Selena said. "How about some coffee?"
"Oh, oh," Elizabeth said.
On screen, the infrared image flared. A large heat source moved into view.
"What's that?" Selena asked.
"A helicopter coming in."
"What's it doing there that early in the morning?"
"Good question. That's not normal." Elizabeth swore under her breath. "It's trouble. Selena, get Nick."
She pressed her transmitter button twice.
"He's not responding."
"See what I mean about the waiting?" Stephanie said.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Ogorov ducked under the whirling blades of his helicopter and walked toward the pyramid. Tonight they would use the weapon for the first time. He'd gotten word the site had been penetrated and radioed ahead to warn Kaminsky.