Tom Clancy Under Fire (34 page)

This was often the case with “secure compounds,” Jack knew, especially ones that aren’t tested frequently. Under those conditions it was easy to fall into a complacent mind-set: We’re safe and secure behind these walls and cameras and no one bothers us, so what’s to worry about?

This could work to their advantage when the time came.

Jack asked, “Did Gavin get ahold of you?”

“About the Vetochkina woman? Yeah, I followed her from her office to a house on Elista; it’s covered by a fumigation tent. She talked to one of the workers, then went back to the office. She locked the car. I’m going to swing by there again on the way back to the motel.”

“How goes Gavin’s game of phone tag with Pechkin and Wellesley?”

“Pechkin’s meeting fake Captain Osin tomorrow at a playground a few miles from here. Matt will call you with the details. As for Wellesley, Gavin—”

“Continuing his acclaimed role of Dobromir the Broker.”

“Right. He’s been stringing Wellesley along, demanding to know what’s happened to Helen. As far as Gavin can tell, Wellesley hasn’t figured out she’s not in an Edinburgh jail. We’re going to keep poking at him. Hell, maybe he’ll fly off to Scotland and we can have Clark’s Hereford friend pay him a visit.”

“A man can dream. Jack, my boy, you’re a devious son of a gun. I’m outta here. I’ll call you if I catch up to Zoya. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Makhachkala

T
HERE MUST BE
hundreds of them, Jack,” Dom said over the speakerphone.

“At least,” Ysabel replied, then handed the binoculars to Jack, who watched the throngs of children as they scampered over jungle gyms and down slides, chased one another across sandpits, and bounced on vast stretches of raised trampolines.

Either it had slipped Spellman’s mind or he himself didn’t know, but Anzhi Gardens was massive, at least a hundred acres of green grass, flower beds, and wooden benches that formed a ring around the central play area.

Jack and Ysabel were parked on the street along the eastern edge of the park, Dom the northern. Spellman was in a third car at the park’s main entrance, to the south. Since arriving ninety minutes early they had been swapping positions, lest Pechkin had arrived before them and was watching for the very trap they were trying to lay for him.

As they had no stand-in for Captain Osin that Pechkin would fall for, Jack had decided to play it by ear. If the SVR man gave them an opening, they would take it and hope for the best.

“You see the size of that ball pit?” Dom asked. “Where the hell was that when I was a kid?”

“Apparently, in Dagestan this whole time,” Spellman replied.

Jack checked his watch: 10:09. “He’s late.”

“Did you expect anything else?” asked Dom.

•   •   •

“HEY,
I think I’ve got something,” Spellman called. “A guy in a yellow cardigan just got out of a taxi.”

“And?” said Jack.

“He didn’t pay the driver. Yeah, I think it’s Pechkin. He’s got a hat and sunglasses on, but I’m ninety percent certain. Dom, the taxi is turning north on Murom Street. It’s red, with a bum front headlight.”

“I see it. I’m on him.”

Jack and Ysabel waited.

“He’s just passed me,” Dom reported. “Still headed north. I’m following. We’re turning west onto a private drive. Heading uphill. I see some kind of statue ahead, a guy on a horse—”

“Imam Shamil monument,” Spellman replied. “Jack, there’s a clear sight line from there down to the park. Do you have eyes on Pechkin?”

Through the Opel’s side window Jack aimed the binoculars at Pechkin and zoomed in. “I’ve got him. He’s on the main path, headed to the playground. He’s taking his time.”

“Probably giving his backup time to get set. Dom?”

“He’s pulling into a parking spot. He’s got binoculars. I’m going to circle around, see if I can get a better look. Jack, you and Ysabel stay put.”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

Two minutes passed, then Dom said simply, “Abort.”

•   •   •

AS PLANNED,
they cleared the area on separate rounds, then rendezvoused back at Dom’s hotel. “The guy went to his trunk and pulled out a long box with a picture of a telescope on it. Trust me, that guy ain’t no astronomer.”

“Ruthless motherfucker, Pechkin,” Spellman said. “He was going to gun down Osin right in front of the kiddies.”

“Or whoever approached him,” Jack added. “Time for plan B.”

Jack opened his laptop, connected it to his phone’s built-in hotspot, then called Gavin and explained what he wanted him to do.

“Loop me into the exchange,” Jack said.

“Okay, you should be up.”

Jack opened his chat window. In the upper right-hand corner the words
Remote Connection
were slowly pulsing.

“I’m texting him now,” said Gavin.

A moment later, the first message appeared:

OSIN

I WAS THERE. YOU WEREN’T ALONE. I AM NOT STUPID.

It took almost a minute for Pechkin to respond.

PECHKIN

IT WAS JUST A PRECAUTION.

OSIN

YOU WERE GOING TO KILL ME!

PECHKIN

THAT IS NOT TRUE. WHERE ARE YOU? I WILL COME THERE. ALONE.

OSIN

HOW DO I KNOW THAT?

PECHKIN

YOU CAN PICK THE LOCATION.

OSIN

I WANT MORE MONEY OR I TALK TO MY COMMANDER AND TAKE MY CHANCES.

PECHKIN

THAT CAN BE ARRANGED. YOU MUST RELAX. TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE.

Over the phone, Gavin said, “Jack, what do you want me to say?”

“Tell him you’ll get back to him.”

Jack disconnected and turned to Dom, Ysabel, and Spellman. “We can either let him go or try again. Votes?”

“Try again,” Dom said.

“Definitely,” said Ysabel.

Spellman nodded his agreement. “Our odds of winning improve if we can take even half the Pechkin-Wellesley duo out of the picture.”

“Jack, I can see the gears turning in your brain,” Dom said. “What’s up?”

“How do you guys feel about a road trip?”

•   •   •

THOUGH JACK
had asked the question with the vague kernel of a plan in his head, he also realized his last response to Pechkin had put them in a time crunch.

As Gavin had portrayed him, their version of Captain Osin was a panicked and money-hungry man on the edge of confessing everything to his boss. Someone in that frame of mind wouldn’t wait days to reestablish contact with Pechkin, which meant they had to leave immediately and finalize the plan en route and pray they scared Pechkin enough that he would follow.

•   •   •

AFTER BRIEFING
Seth on the plan, they left Makhachkala, Jack and Ysabel in the Opel, Spellman and Dom in the Lada. Knowing only that their plan had to happen within twenty-three miles of Khasavyurt, the range of Major Umarov’s jurisdiction, Jack drove northwest up Highway M29, while Ysabel studied the map, looking for an area that fit their criteria.

Passing through Skalsoye, Jack had her dial Spellman in the Lada. “Guys, I think we’ve got our spot,” he said. “Go ahead, Ysabel.”

“There’s a little town called Endirey about five miles outside Khasavyurt. Unless we give Pechkin enough time to take another route, it’s got the only bridge across the Yaryksu tributary.”

“Sharp girl,” Dom said on speakerphone. “No offense, Ysabel.”

“None taken.”

“Jack, what makes you think Pechkin will even come? This has to smell fishy to him.”

“Maybe so, but what choice does he have? As far as Pechkin knew, he was talking to Captain Osin. The last thing he needs is one of Medzhid’s district commanders hunting for him for the murder of a Khasavyurt citizen.”

“True,” replied Spellman, “but who says he just won’t send his telescope-loving friend?”

“We don’t. We can only hope Pechkin wants to make damn sure it gets done right. Let’s find a place to set up for the night.”

•   •   •

IN ENDIREY,
a village of a few hundred, surrounded by black dirt farm fields and copses of willow trees, they found a youth hostel on the banks of the river that was empty, save the proprietor and a middle-aged hippie couple who spoke German. The woman who gave them their keys barely looked up from what looked to Jack like a Russian version of
People
magazine.

Once they were settled in their room, a twelve-by-twelve-foot square with two double bunk beds, Jack briefed Spellman and Dom on the plan.

“We need to be smart about how we set this up, but not so smart Pechkin won’t believe it’s coming from Osin.”

“It’s your call,” Spellman said. “You’re the only guy that’s met Osin. How sharp is he?”

“I wouldn’t call it a meeting, but he is one of Umarov’s, who is pretty sharp himself, so Pechkin might buy having to jump through some hoops.”

Ysabel said, “Either way, this is an invitation Pechkin can’t ignore. Having Osin as a loose cannon could be a disaster for him and Wellesley.”

“She’s right,” said Jack. “You guys take the afternoon and drive the area. Put yourselves in Pechkin’s head.”

•   •   •

THEY WERE BACK
two hours later. They walked into the room, and Ysabel went to the mini-fridge, a clattering avocado-colored box with no handle, and pulled out a couple of sandwiches Jack had scrounged at a nearby café.