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We used a micro surveillance drone to survey the base. The drone was silent and dark, nothing more than a tiny shadow against the night sky. West used a remote control with an infrared display to pilot the device up through the trees that concealed us and over the forest that ringed the base.
The buildings were much as I remembered them. A collection of bunkers, hangars, silos, and barracks, all crumbling and rusting, the legacy of a military might long gone. In the center of the base was the command block where I’d questioned Maxim Yenen and forced him to admit his involvement in the Bright Star program—a deacades-long initiative designed to subvert America’s political system and power structure.
Apart from the lack of snow, the only other difference was the collection of vehicles parked between the command block and the largest hangar. There was a large forward-operations truck. It didn’t have any military markings but was decked out in grey-and-black camouflage. Next to it were two troop carriers and a dozen SUVs and ten vans.
There were four men patrolling the vehicles, each armed with a machine gun, each sporting night-vision goggles. There were another three stationed outside the large hangar, who were similarly equipped. Two more men stood outside the command block.
West piloted the drone around the large building. We couldn’t be sure how many people were inside, but the artificial lights coming from within meant he was able to switch from infrared to optical camera, and through holes in the walls, we counted a minimum of three guards patrolling the interior. West flew the tiny aircraft through one of the holes and found a makeshift operations center in what looked like an old communications room. Six men and two women stood in front of computers that had been placed on old concrete plinths that were designed to be blast-proof. Some of the men and women were talking on their phones.
“They are hunting us,” West translated the audio picked up by the drone. “They’re coordinating a massive search of the blocks around the embassy where we disappeared.”
And overseeing it all was Valery Alekseyev, operations director of the SVR. He wore a black pullover and pants, looking every inch as cruel and ruthless as he had in his photograph. This was the man responsible for the deaths of the three Private agentsin Beijing, for killing Lewis Williams and putting Jessie Fleming in hospital, destroying Private Beijing, abducting Alison Lucas, making a traitor of Rafael, and trying to kill yet more of my friends and colleagues in New York and Moscow. I understood the depth of the anger Alekseyev felt toward me for causing his brother’s ruin because now I returned it many times over.
And then he was gone, swept off the screen as West piloted the drone around the rest of the command block. We didn’t find anything else.
“Let’s check out the hangar,” I suggested.
He nodded, switched back to infrared and flew the drone over the vehicles and high above the roof of the huge hangar. It was pocked by large holes and West took the device down through one at the heart of the building. The hangar was dark so he stayed on infrared, but we didn’t need light to spot the cluster of twenty-three blindfolded, gagged, and bound people huddled in the center of the vast space: Dinara, Feo, and the rest of the Private Moscow staff.
We had found Alekseyev’s hostages.
“I count six hostiles,” West remarked, pointing out half a dozen large men who brandished what looked like ShAK-12 urban assault rifles, extremely powerful short-range fully automatic machine guns.
I nodded. “Heavily armed and likely very well trained. You still sure you want to do this?”
West smiled. “What better way to spend my vacation?”
“Let’s get ready then,” I said, my stomach churning and adrenaline setting my body alight at the prospect of what was to come.
CHAPTER 93
MASTER GUNNERY SERGEANT Marlon West was no stranger to combat, but he had never faced odds quite this bad. He checked his watch, the luminous dial gently lighting the digits to tell him it was four minutes to midnight. Jack Morgan would be in position now, and it was West’s job to neutralize the guards outside the hangar so the hostages could be rescued.
West inched closer to the edge of the treeline and lowered his night-vision scope, which was attached to the headset that also supported his field radio.
“Go,” Jack said, and West peered at the corner of the hangar and saw the green glow of Morgan’s scope by the back wall.
West broke cover and ran for the vehicles parked in the yard. The four men guarding them had moved to the other side of them. West crouched, moved silently, and slowed as he approached so they wouldn’t hear his steps in the dirt.
He could hear them though. They were talking in Russian, discussing the situation in Ukraine, complaining that Russia should be taking stronger action. West crawled alongside the camouflage operations truck until he reached the hood. He leant over it to see the men with their backs to him. He targeted the tallest of the four with his HK416 assault rifle fitted with a custom suppressor.
He lined up his sights and applied pressure to the trigger.
The rattle and crack of automatic gunfire sent his heart into overdrive as bullets hit the ground and truck beside him. West turned and saw one of the guards from the hangar was off position and had caught sight of him. The guard was shooting from fifty yards away, which was the only reason West hadn’t been killed instantly.
He was about to return fire when he saw muzzle flash from the rear corner of the hangar. Jack Morgan felled the guard instantly.
There were shouts and commands barked across the base, and West heard movement behind him as the taller of the four men jumped over the hood. West wheeled round and opened fire instinctively, catching the man in the chest as he tried to raise his own gun. He fell forward, tumbling to the ground inches from where West stood. His comrades raised their weapons but West was already on them and squeezing the trigger. The HK416 sprayed a burst of bullets that put them down.
West didn’t even wait to watch them fall. He started running toward the hangar, aware of shadows and shapes moving around the base. He had to neutralize the guards by the entrance if Jack was to have any chance of rescuing the hostages. Thanks to him,the first guard was already down. West passed his motionless body as he drew level with the hangar.
“I’m almost at the target,” he said breathlessly into his radio. “The four by the vehicle pool are down.”
“Copy that,” Jack replied via the earpiece.
“I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it. Let’s get this done.”
