Andy McNab - Battlefield 3 - The Russian

‘ You still there? ’

‘ Yes, still here ,’ came Paliov’s weary reply. ‘ What do you want me to say? ’

‘ Kaffarov wasn’t abducted. He was there willingly. Tell me right now you didn’t lie to me. ’

A long pause. ‘ The intelligence was thin. We drew the wrong conclusions. I apologise. Nothing with Kaffarov is straightforward, you know that. ’

‘ And he knew we were coming for him. He was tipped off. There was a leak. ’

Paliov’s indignation brought him back to life. ‘ An outrageous suggestion. For all you know he may have just changed his plans. ’

‘ If you weren’t so defensive I might have believed you. Shenk’s chopper was downed by an air-to-air missile. Someone was ready for us. You better take a long hard look at who knew what. Someone told us Al Bashir’s come under “outside influences”. Any bright ideas from the great Russian intelligence machine? ’

Another silence on the end of the phone. The sound of Paliov digesting yet more unpalatable information. They both knew what each of them was thinking. Eventually Paliov groaned. ‘ That doesn’t bear thinking about. ’

‘ Well you better think about it, but keep it to yourself. If it’s true, the longer Kaffarov goes on not realising we know, the better. He’ll get to hear about what happened at the compound, but it’s better he thinks the mission’s been aborted. ’

‘ So you’re going on? ’

‘ We still have a deal, remember? ’

20

It was starting to get light. They changed out of their kit and put on the local clothing again. All of the kit went into the cars’ trunks. Each of them kept a handgun and a knife on them and put their compact AKs in the footwells. Vladimir took the wheel of the lead car with Kroll and Dima sitting in the back. Zirak and Gregorin were in the second vehicle — one at the wheel, the other in the rear watching their backs.

Dima was still seething, but he did his best to keep it from the others. He needed them to be in no doubt that he was keeping it together.

‘From now on we do this my way. The signal Shenk was getting from the WMD. Is it still transmitting?’ Kroll, the scanner in his lap, shrugged. ‘Well find out. If Kaffarov hasn’t disabled it I want a grid reference immediately and any changes sent to me by text.’

They took the road going northwest towards Gürbulak. The sooner they put some distance between them and the Bazargan compound the better. Dima called the contact who had emailed him the photos of the compound walls. Darwish gave them directions to a tea shop run by a ‘most trusted friend’ in Meliksah, a small town eighteen kilometres away. Dima located it on the map and radioed the reference to the second car.

‘ Tea shop? What about breakfast? ’ was Zirak’s response.

At the first crossroads they hit a road block, two pick-up trucks with the letters PLR daubed hastily on their sides, parked across the road to make a tight chicane, and two men with PLR insignia pinned on their jackets, each with an AK.

From the back Dima instructed Vladimir. ‘Brake late and hard. Look furious.’

Vladimir snorted. ‘They look like they got hired ten minutes ago.’

Before the Peykan had come to a stop Dima was out of the car, shouting furiously in Farsi. ‘Are you the escort? Turn these trucks round and take us through to Kharvanah. Now!’

The guards looked at each other.

‘Don’t you know who I am?’

Dima thrust his dog-eared Iranian passport at them. ‘You know what’s happening.’ He gestured furiously at the hills behind them. ‘An entire platoon of foreign insurgents in those hills is what. You should be looking for them, not stopping senior PLR officials. Who’s your commanding officer?’ Dima pulled out his phone. ‘I’m calling him right now!’

The guards looked at each other. The taller bowed slightly. ‘I apologise for not recognising you, Sir.’

‘So you’re not the escort. What a shambles. Move those trucks. Let us through. Do it NOW!’

Back in the car, Dima laughed as he watched the guards recede in the mirror.

‘How did I do?’

Vladimir, at the wheel, shrugged.

‘You could have waved your arms a bit more.’

‘Your turn next time.’

‘Where the fuck is Kharvanah?’

‘Fucked if I know.’

The main street of Meliksah was rutted and dusty with no sign of any damage from the quake, but the whole place looked neglected. There were no people in sight except for a couple of old men sitting on a bench under a cypress tree, who stared as they stepped out of the cars.

All of the shops were boarded up and the windows shuttered. Definitely too quiet. Gregorin volunteered to keep watch on the cars. Kroll carried a radio so they could stay in touch. The tea shop was up a narrow flight of stairs. Inside there was some life, several men at tables drinking tea. As Dima entered all of them stopped talking and stared. Zirak nodded and spoke first. Once they heard his accent and mention of Darwish’s name they seemed to lose interest and went back to their conversations.

A rotund man in an apron came huffing up the stairs and greeted them as if they were his long-lost brothers. Then Darwish entered the room.

‘Dear Zima,’ said Darwish, embracing him and reminding him of his old cover name. ‘Come, I have reserved a room.’

They followed him down a passage to a small low-ceilinged room with peeling walls. In it were a couple of benches, an antique spinning wheel and some hens strutting about, pecking at the sawdust strewn on the floor.

The café owner brought in a tray of tea in small glasses and a plate of flatbread, local white cheese, jam, pomegranates and figs. Zirak could hardly hold himself back.

‘Please accept my apologies for the condition of this room,’ said the café owner.

‘No, no, it’s perfect. Your hospitality is too generous.’

Darwish waited for him to go, then shut the door behind him and locked it. All trace of bonhomie vanished. He raised his hands in the air as if appealing to Allah.

‘This is big, big trouble.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Dima.

Darwish clutched his brow and shook his head. ‘There’s already an alert out for you. No descriptions — just a group of foreigners, all armed. But shoot on sight. Big reward for information about you, even bigger one for your bodies. I sincerely advise you to cross the border as soon as possible. The PLR are using the aftermath of the earthquake to tighten their grip on the whole country.’

‘You said “foreigners”. Why not Russians? They must know our nationality.’

He shook his head vigorously. ‘No no. Much more cunning. They are claiming you are American-backed insurgents. It plays much better with the people, and strengthens support for the PLR.’

He shook his head in disgust and looked at them regretfully. ‘So far you are playing into Al Bashir’s hands. What you have done —.’ He pointed in the direction of the compound. ‘That only supports his claims about foreign incursion, which he uses to tighten his grip on us. Why did you let that happen?’

He clutched his forehead and closed his eyes.

Dima put an arm round him. ‘First of all, thank you for risking your life to see us. We won’t forget. But we’re not going home yet. What do you know about Amir Kaffarov?’

Darwish’s eyes narrowed. ‘Before Kaffarov, people like me, progressive, who wanted change, we were sympathetic to Al Bashir who we believed wanted change also. Peaceful change. But now Al Bashir has lost interest in building a coalition of support and it’s becoming clear he wants all the power for himself and his clique. Now it’s all about demonstrating the power, a show of strength. Some put that down to Kaffarov. Kaffarov comes along with his wares and he’s got Al Bashir addicted. Any trouble in our area he will come back and—.’ He made a flattening motion with his hand. ‘So Zima, we are very much trying to avoid trouble. So you must go.’