The Kremlin Phoenix (21 page)

“American … Embassy?” he
repeated.

She babbled incomprehensibly
again, this time in a sharper tone.

Craig stepped back, nodding,
holding up his hands, “OK, OK, I get it.”

A short distance away, the driver
of a small truck honked his horn, flashing a broad grin, waving for him to
approach. Craig took a few wary steps towards the truck as the driver stuck his
head out of the window.

“Speaks English me,” the truck
driver said jovially. He wore a grimy short sleeve sheet unbuttoned half way
down, revealing a hairy chest.

“I want to go to the American
Embassy,” Craig said.

“Speaks English me,” he said
again, grinning.

“Right, and I’m a cosmonaut!” Craig
smiled back, nodding. “Can you give me a ride?” Craig asked, pointing to the
passenger seat.

The old driver nodded vigorously,
“Da Da. Go Lyublino? Lyublino?”

“OK,” Craig said. “Anywhere’s better
than here.”

The truck driver pushed the
passenger side door open, then pointed to himself once Craig had climbed aboard.
“Yevgeny! Speaks English me.”

“Craig,” he said pointing to
himself, “And I speak Russian about as good as you speak English.”

“Ahh.” The driver nodded
seriously, despite having no idea what Craig had said.

Yevgeny reached down and turned
on his scratchy radio. “Musika.”

Craig recognized the Nutcracker
suite, in spite of the static reception. “Russian top forty?” Craig asked
amiably, not realizing every radio station was playing similar music. “Nice.”

“Da. Good,” Yevgeny agreed.

The tail end of the tank division
was now crossing in front of them, trailed by more police cars. Once they’d
passed, the police woman moved to the sidewalk, signaling the waiting traffic
could go. A man and a woman, each carrying Makarov pistols, ran up to her with identity
badges held up. The man spoke quickly as Craig realized the woman with him was Valentina.

He knew she could help him, but he’d
double crossed her, giving her good reason to arrest him. He didn’t want to be
a Russian prisoner again, so he turned his head away while Yevgeny put the
truck in gear. It rolled forward as the traffic cop pointed at them. Valentina cried
out, but Yevgeny didn’t hear her over the roar of the engine. Before she could
reach the truck, they were on the main road, picking up speed, leaving
Valentina and Karmanov behind, watching helplessly.

Craig knew it was only a matter
of time before the police would stop the truck, so he tried to communicate with
Yevgeny one more time. “American Embassy?”

Yevgeny glanced at his new friend
and shrugged helplessly. “Da?”

“OK, how about a train station? Train.
Railway?” Craig said desperately, making train noises.

“Metro?” Yevgeny guessed.

“Yes. Da. Metro!” Craig
exclaimed.

“Metro! Metro!” Yevgeny grinned. “Yevgeny
English speaks good!”

Louis Rogers pinned a dozen color
photographs to a board in one of the embassy’s bug proof conference rooms. Harriman
and Corman sat around a table watching as Rogers pointed to pictures of a
Russian APC and paratroopers assaulting the safe house.

“They hit it fifty minutes ago,”
Rogers said. “The markings on the APC belong to the Kantemirovskaya Tank
Brigade, and these soldiers are from the Parachute Division. Both are crack
units based outside Moscow. These two civilians are part of the SK, the Russian
FBI. There was a shoot out in the house, one paratrooper was killed, but no
sign of Balard. Twenty minutes ago, Moscow police put out a detain on sight
bulletin for a truck seen leaving the area with a suspect matching Balard’s
description. He’s to be immediately handed over to Chief Criminal Investigator
Alexander Karmanov.” Rogers tapped the photograph of the male civilian. “Him.
We can assume therefore, that Balard is alive and on the run.”

“We have to get to him first,”
Corman said.

“I’ve got every available
resource on it,” Rogers said. “We’re listening to all the police channels. We’ll
know where he is as soon as they do.”

“At least some of the military are
resisting the coup,” Harriman said.

 “Which brings me to the next
item.” Rogers walked to a large wall map of the sprawling Russian Federation. “Our
intel indicates armored and infantry units are currently moving to occupy
Moscow, St Petersburg, Nizhny, Omsk, Novosibirsk and Volgograd.” He pointed to
each city in turn. “Other cities have police on the streets, some have militia
units mobilizing. There are reports of an armed uprising in Grozny, but all
other cities are quiet. There’s no word on the President, but the Prime
Minister broadcast on local radio that he’s resisting the coup. We’ve heard
nothing since, because Internal Security shut down the transmitter.”

“What are the Russian Air Force
and Navy doing?” Corman asked.

“Nothing,” Rogers said. “The
Russian fleet is sitting in port. There are no heat blooms in any of their
nuclear powered vessels, and ships at sea have been ordered to return to base.
As for the air force, it’s grounded. Nothing is flying, not even routine maritime
patrols.”

“Interesting,” Corman said
thoughtfully. A single announcement had been made over state controlled
television declaring that an Emergency Committee was now in charge of the
country. Defense Minister Tarkovskoi was Chairman and Marshal Baranov, Chief of
the Army, was his deputy, while the rest were hard line political types from
the Duma. “No one on the Emergency Committee has an air or naval background.
You can bet the air force and navy won’t like being left out in the cold on
something this big.”

“Maybe they’re not a part of it?”
Harriman suggested.

“The army controls Russia,”
Rogers said. “That’s where the power is.”

“What about their nuclear
weapons?” Corman asked.

“Whoever’s in control isn’t
stupid.” Rogers said. “They know Uncle Sam is watching. All the ICBM silos are
sealed shut, the SS-20’s are crawling back to their bases, and something we’ve
never seen before, their boomers are on the surface!”

Corman nodded appreciatively. The
big nuclear missile boats never revealed their positions when on patrol. Having
them surface was a clear sign that this was not a prelude to an attack on the
West. “Unconventional, but smart. I bet there’s a few pissed off admirals in
Severomorsk right now.”

“If so, they aren’t talking,”
Rogers said. “Only Zharkev and Usilov have made any moves against the coup.
Other than trying to spring Balard, Zharkev sent a small detachment of troops
into the city, although we’re not sure why. They haven’t made any public
statements.”

“They’re too junior,” Corman
said. “Divisional commanders don’t cut it in this game. If there’s to be any
real opposition from inside the army, it’ll have to come from higher up – army
group or military district commander level.”

“With the Prime Minister free,”
Rogers said, “the Emergency Committee has a big problem.”

“That’s why they need Balard,”
Corman said. “They need that money to pay for their revolution – to buy loyalty
– which means we can spoil the party by keeping Balard out of their hands.”

“You don’t need to kill him now,
if he’s free,” Harriman said.

“I’d settle for stopping him falling
into the wrong hands,” Corman said. “But that’ll be no easy task. You can bet,
everyone is looking for him now.”

“Which is why I have a car
ready,” Rogers said. “We’ll head into the city, and my people will radio us if
there’s any word on his location. If we’re lucky, we might get to him first.”

* * * *

Fenenko parked the car behind Yevgeny’s
truck, while Karmanov and Valentina approached the driver. The Moscow Police
had scoured the southern suburbs until they’d found the truck outside a
supermarket, making a delivery. A blue and white police car was parked in front
of the truck and two uniformed officers were interviewing Yevgeny, who was
vigorously protesting his innocence.

Karmanov flashed his SK Identity
card at Yevgeny, silencing him with a look.

“We saw you pick up a man,”
Valentina said. “Where did you take him?”

“I have done nothing wrong!”
Yevgeny declared.

Valentina held up her hands,
trying to calm him. “You won’t be in any trouble if you tell us what we want to
know.”

“This is a national security
matter,” Karmanov added sternly.

Yevgeny sobered. “National
security?”

“Just tell us where you took him,”
Valentina said urgently.

“Cheryomushki metro. I had no
idea he was a spy. He couldn’t even speak Russian!”

“He’s not a spy. How long ago did
you leave him at the station?” Valentina demanded.

“Ten minutes.”

Valentina and Karmanov ran back
to the car. Karmanov told Fenenko to head towards the metro station while Valentina
radioed a request for the police to seal off the Cheryomushki Metro station.

* * * *

An unmarked Interior Ministry Mi-24
Hind helicopter landed on the roof of the Cheryomushki Metro station shortly
after Valentina’s radio transmission had been intercepted and relayed to
Nogorev. The chopper’s wheels had barely touched down when Nogorev and half a
dozen Spetsnaz jumped out and ran for the stairs. All wore civilian clothes,
carried miniature radio transmitters and multiple concealed weapons. They
charged down several flights of concrete steps to the crowded station, then
fanned out searching for Craig. Each member of the team had memorized his
photograph and had a description of what he was wearing when last seen.

Some of the men covered the exits,
others took up positions inside the station, while Nogorev led two of his men
towards the overcrowded train platforms. With martial law clamping down on the
Russian capital, the suburban trains were all running late, causing the station
to fill with increasingly irate passengers.

When Nogorev and his two men
reached the platform, they split up to search through the mass of frustrated
commuters. Two thirds of the way along the north bound platform, Nogorev pulled
himself up onto a vending machine to see over the crowd. Through a sea of angry
faces constantly checking the arrivals board, one face never looked up. Nogorev’s
attention became riveted to that one evasive face that avoided showing itself.

Finally, Craig looked up, first
glancing at the indicator board, then locking eyes with Nogorev. For a moment,
time froze, then Craig turned away and started frantically pushing through the
crowd. Nogorev spoke into the microphone sewn into his sleeve, alerting his
team as he jumped down and pushed through the wall of commuters, knocking aside
anyone in his path. Men and women protested as they fell against each other, or
were knocked onto the tracks, but there were so many people in his way, he made
little progress and quickly lost sight of Craig. He drew his pistol, unscrewed
the silencer and fired three spaced shots into the concrete ceiling. Screams
filled the platform as people dived to the floor or surged towards the stairs.

Craig stood at the end of the
platform amidst a carpet of people cowering around him. He glanced back, saw his
three pursuers standing half a platform away, then stumbled over the people
around him and jumped off the platform onto the rails. He scrambled to his feet
and ran into the darkness of the tunnel. On the platform, his pursuers pushed
towards the tracks, trampling anyone in their way.

Nogorev was the first to jump
down onto the tracks and run towards the train tunnel. He didn’t see Corman,
Harriman and Rogers run down the stairs, barging against the tide of people fleeing
the platform. A US embassy listening post had detected Valentina’s radio
signal, sending them speeding towards the Metro station. Soon after entering the
station, they heard Nogorev’s gun fire, and had raced towards it.

When they’d almost reached the
bottom of the stairs, the nearest of the Spetsnaz troopers yelled a harsh warning
at them in Russian. Harriman didn’t understand, but Corman did. Without
hesitation, Corman drew a silenced gun and fired two shots in quick succession.

Commuters cowering nearby
screamed as the other Spetsnaz trooper turned to see his companion go down. He
brought his gun up fast, but Corman turned and fired twice more, sending the trooper
falling back onto a woman who screamed hysterically as blood splashed her
cloths.

Corman stopped at the foot of the
stairs and yelled in perfect Russian, “State Security! Everyone out! Now!”

Hundreds of people, who’d just
seen Corman shoot dead two armed men, surged towards the stairs, giving him and
his two companions a wide berth.

“You didn’t have to shoot those
men,” Harriman whispered.