Andy McNab - Battlefield 3 - The Russian

Vladimir was slumped across the back seat, finishing a packet of biscuits that was supposed to last them the whole six hundred ks to Tehran.

‘How do they forecast tremors, then?’

‘They measure the vibrations in the ground or something. Leave some for me, you greedy fucker.’

‘I need to keep my strength up. In jail I used to tell fortunes. Ten roubles or five cigarettes, or one joint, and I’d predict whether you’d get beaten or stabbed. If they paid up I’d predict they wouldn’t. And I was always right.’

‘Tell my fortune.’

‘There’s an earthquake coming and you’re gonna get nuked. And if you survive, the PLR’s going to chop your balls off. A thousand rials please.’

‘Piss off. You’ve already had all the biscuits.’

Vladimir screwed up the empty packet and threw it out of the window. After five years in Butyrka, thought Dima, a man was probably entitled to them.

‘What was it like in there, anyhow?’

‘I was doing all right as it goes. I was kind of sorry when Gregorin and Zirak showed up.’

‘Oh, come on. How did they spring you? Explosives? Disguised as a laundry woman? A bloody ugly one.’

‘They explained to the Superintendent that I was urgently needed on a patriotic mission. He was quite glad to see the back of me — I can’t think why.’

‘And have you now seen the error of your ways?’

‘Yeah, I shouldn’t have got caught. That was an error. Steady, you stupid bastard!’

Dima swerved violently to avoid a cow that had wandered into his path. He glanced in the mirror to see Kroll in the other Peykan do the same.

‘How do you rate your chances of finding Kaffarov and his — gadgets?’

‘I’m not a gambling man, remember.’

And rescuing Darwish’s daughter? Since when are you anyone’s knight in shining armour?’

‘If Kroll doesn’t fix Shenk’s tracker, she’s our best hope.’

‘Married to that psycho twat: what a hassle. Aren’t you glad you don’t have kids? Like poor old Kroll.’

‘Maybe they’re what keep him going.’

‘Too bad their mothers don’t let him near them.’

‘It might be good to have a son and heir. Otherwise, what’s it all for?’

‘For a laugh, you stupid cunt.’

In the mirror, Dima could see Vladimir’s incomprehension: build yourself a future? Who needs another thing to worry about? He focused all his concentration on the road ahead, in the effort to screen out what was going on in his head. Paliov’s photographs: confirmation, after twenty years of denials.

They passed through the gap in the Alborz mountains, that stand guard over Tehran’s northern suburbs. Above the dust cloud over the city he saw two planes circle and dive. Vladimir sat up.

‘Are you seeing what I’m seeing?’

23

Asara, North of Tehran

‘Great. That’s all we need.’

Gregorin lowered the binoculars and passed them over. ‘Brand new F-35 Lightnings, straight out of the box. Only one air force has those.’

‘I’m glad one of us is keeping up,’ said Dima.

They had turned off the highway and headed up Route 56, west into the Alborz mountains. From there they had a panoramic view of the city, which sat on the plain that stretched out below. Dima watched the fighters circling a giant column of smoke that was funnelling up from a refinery on the southern side of the capital.

‘First the PLR, then an earthquake. Now the US fucking Air Force. We’ve got the full set.’

‘Look on the bright side. At least they’re attacking the south and west. According to Darwish, Amara’s at her in-laws in the northeast.’

‘Oh well, that’s all right then: no problem. We just ignore the world’s biggest superpower laying siege to one part of the town as we rock up to her door and ask if we can take tea with her husband.’

Dima shrugged. ‘You got a better idea?’

It was nearly six o’clock. The light was fading. Darwish called. He had spoken to his daughter. She was in Niavaran, a northern suburb, alone in the house. All of her husband’s relatives and servants had fled. She had no idea where they had gone, and was hysterical with fear. Darwish had promised her that help was on the way.

‘ I told her Daddy is sending some brave men to rescue her: the best .’

‘ No pressure then. But where the hell is the husband — what’s his name?’

‘Gazul.’

‘What kind of man leaves his wife alone in the middle of an earthquake?’

‘And with the Americans bombing the place.’

‘I’m open to suggestions. ’

‘Let’s find the fucker and cut his balls off,’ said Vladimir, as Dima hung up.

‘Sensible suggestions. So far all you’ve done is scoff all the biscuits so be useful, or we’ll find a ravine and chuck you in.’

He turned to Kroll, in the back of the second Peykan, presiding over the tangle of wires from Shenk’s tracker, spread all over the seat.

‘Why don’t you get hold of her first and see how the land lies? See if the guy really has buggered off, and if so where,’ said Kroll.

Dima dialled the number Darwish had given him.

‘Actually those biscuits were a bit dry. Have we got any vodka?’

‘He shoots better when he’s drunk, isn’t that right Vladimir?’

‘Shut the fuck up, will you? I’m trying to listen.’

Dima waited for an answer. He had no idea if she’d be any use, and no expectation that she’d get them any nearer to Kaffarov or his suitcase nuke. If her husband’s own family had really abandoned her, were they even in touch at all? He waited for her to pick up. She spoke in a hushed whisper, tearful and breathing in fits and starts.

‘If my husband finds out I’ve even spoken to you he will have me killed.’

‘He won’t get the chance. Just confirm where you are and where he is.’

‘I don’t know! He went early this morning. I asked his mother if she knew, and she wouldn’t even answer. They all hate me. She doesn’t even — .’

Women.

‘Right. Just repeat the address for me, please. Good, OK. Now, are you definitely alone?’

‘Yes, even my maid has gone.’

‘ And where’s Gazul? ’

‘I told you, I don’t know! He never tells me anything. ’

As the jets flew overhead, Dima struggled to listen.

‘ Okay, Amara, thank you. We’ll be there in forty minutes.’

He chucked the phone on to the car seat.

‘She’s either genuinely in fear of her life or there’s something she’s not telling us.’

24

Camp Firefly, Outskirts of Tehran

From a distance the hill rising on Tehran’s southwest flank would have looked just as it should, nothing out of the ordinary, which was how it needed to look right now. Hidden under camouflage netting was Black’s platoon, trying to take five after the long charge east, deep into quake-blasted Iran.

A rest? Fat chance: over the city, gunships were doing battle with the AA guns on the ground, filling the air with crashes, thumps and the shrieks of rockets. The air was still so thick with dust from the quake they could constantly taste it.

Campo stuffed what was left of an energy bar into his mouth.

‘The fly boys putting on a nice firework display there. Just like Independence Day .’

Matkovic lay on his back, gloved hands cradling his head.

‘Whadya Mom tell ya? Don’t talk with your mouth full, dude.’

Montes was fiddling with his night-vision goggles, which were malfunctioning. ‘Don’t think anyone in Tehran’s feeling too independent right now.’