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The second man’s face was spattered with dried blood and one of his legs was twisted at a grotesque angle. That wasn’t the full extent of it, though. His pallor and fluttering eyes suggested injuries that went significantly deeper.
“Report,” Semenov said.
“Sir, Mikhail is badly injured. We need to get him—”
Semenov pointed to the sidearm carried by one of the mercenaries and then at the injured soldier. A moment later, his bloodstained face had been shattered by a bullet. Stunned, Lenkov tried for a moment to support the dead man’s weight, but then let the body slide to the ground.
“Report,” Semenov repeated.
“It…” he stammered. “It was another ambush. No less than… No less than twenty men, sir.”
“Where’s the Canadian?”
“Gone. The insurgents who attacked us took him.”
“So, he’s still alive?”
“The last I saw of him, yes, sir.”
Semenov fell silent, watching the young man become increasingly nervous beneath the weight of his gaze. After a few seconds, it became too much and he started talking again.
“I was in the lead car and started taking fire from the trees on a narrow stretch of mountain road. I had no choice but to slam on the brakes and the driver of the SUV did the same. The motorcycles crashed into the back of it and Mikhail was injured by the impact. The other rider was killed. The Canadian jumped out and ran toward the forest, while I and the men from the SUV chased. But the insurgents had men down there, too. Dmitri was shot and Oleg was beaten to death after falling down the slope.”
“But you’re completely unharmed,” Semenov pointed out.
“Once the insurgents had the Canadian, they disappeared into the trees. Getting him back would have been impossible and any attempt might have endangered him—something you specifically warned us against. Like I said, there were at least twenty men.”
“In total or in the trees?”
The young officer’s eyes narrowed briefly. “It was impossible to—”
Semenov pointed to the dead man at his feet. “What about him? Why did they let him live?”
“He was unconscious,” Lenkov said after another telling pause. “They probably thought he was dead. But even if they didn’t, there was no reason to prolong the battle. They appeared to just want the Canadian.”
Semenov nodded silently. Soldiers were famously incompetent liars. Military leadership was always trying to foist these men off onthe intelligence services, but it was almost always a disaster. In the modern world, they were useful as cannon fodder, but little else. Often they couldn’t even manage to die properly.
“So, then they let you drive away. These twenty—perhaps more—men just let you walk back to the road, put your injured comrade back in the SUV, and drive here. Unconcerned that you might call for air support. Or that you had additional personnel nearby. Maybe the Syrian insurgency has suddenly developed a fondness for Russian soldiers?”
“Sir, I don’t—”
“Shut up,” Semenov said, and then turned to the mercenaries. “Interrogate him and find out what really happened. Also, send men to examine this supposed ambush site. See if there’s anything useful to be learned from it.”
“And the Canadian, sir?”
Semenov didn’t immediately respond, instead stepping back into the shade. His manpower at the facility was limited and he’d just lost five men in addition to the three who had died trying to retrieve Fournier after he’d been captured in Saraqib.
Calling on the Syrians for assistance was impossible. Damascus was infuriated by the loss of the Golan Heights and revealing the Canadian’s escape would undoubtedly filter to Moscow.
For one of the first times in his life, Aleksandr Semenov found himself unable to proceed by the sheer force of his will and brilliance. He’d never learned to do battle with men who were his equal because, in his experience, they didn’t exist. In Damian Losa, was it possible that he’d finally stumbled upon an opponent capable of challenging him?
CHAPTER 32
WEST OF AL-KAWM
SYRIA
ONthe back of the motorcycle, the morning air was cool and devoid of the ubiquitous dust due to a rain shower the night before. It wouldn’t last, though. Afternoon temperatures were expected to climb into the low hundreds, but by that time Rapp planned to be kicked back in the shade of his adopted village.
