Don Pendleton - Perilous Cargo

“What?” she asked, incredulous.

“It’s possible those pilots survived. They could be out there somewhere.”

“They aren’t our mission,” she said.

“And our mission is going to be pointless if the Chinese find evidence of a stealth bomber in Tibet. We’re going to need to do what we can to make sure they don’t find any evidence.”

She shook her head. “We don’t have the time or the equipment to try and hide plane wreckage.”

“We’ll just have to improvise,” he said. “Right now, we don’t even know where we are for sure.” He held up his phone, showing her the shattered screen. “We don’t have GPS or communications to tell us our location, let alone tell anyone else. We’ll have to wing it.”

“That much, at least, I can help with.” Nischal reached for her pants, which were drying by the fire, and pulled out a map. She carefully unfolded it to keep the damp paper from ripping. “We’re isolated and we’re going to need support. There’s a monastery about ten miles south along the Bhote Koshi River. We can get help there and then go and look for survivors.”

“No, we go after the plane. That’s the mission now. We have to make it the priority or there will be war with China. No one can know we’re here. After we get to the plane, we’ll figure out the rest.”

“You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I generally do.”

“So do I,” she said. “But you’re right. If the plane or the pilots are found, this whole region is going to fill up with Chinese military.”

“We’re agreed, then?”

She nodded. “Yes. Now we’d better get some sleep. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

He chuckled. “Tomorrows tend to work out that way.”

CHAPTER FIVE

The Russian Mi-26 helicopter had the paint style and markings of a civilian aircraft, but if trouble arrived, it was a fist inside a velvet glove. Usually used as a troop transport by the military, this one had been custom outfitted with a variety of hidden surprises, paid for by funds siphoned from other military divisions. Hidden inside the nose cone was a belt-fed .50 caliber machine gun that could be extended free of the aircraft and used to strafe ground personnel on nearly a hundred-and-eighty degree angle. On each side of the cabin, two S-5 fragmentation rockets added to the armament. The chopper’s registry was civilian, too, and even the transponder code would come up as a private aircraft registered to a holding company based in the Cayman Islands that didn’t actually exist. All of these, in addition to the helicopter’s interior comfort, were among the reasons Nizar Vitaly used it to travel when his presence was required elsewhere in the world and why he took it to Kathmandu. Under the circumstances, it was impossible to predict what he might be dealing with, and a little local air support might come in handy.

As he stepped out of the helicopter and made his way across the pad to the waiting team, he realized he still far preferred fieldwork over the intrigue of urban intelligence. He was a hands-on kind of man, and those who knew him gave him the respect he’d earned in the field, not by playing word games at cocktail parties. The waiting men all snapped to attention as he approached, and a few of the younger ones looked nervous. It appeared that his reputation preceded him, which meant that his advance man had done his work well. Vitaly liked the unease most people felt around him—it offered an edge that few men enjoyed, let alone knew how to take advantage of. His advance man was waiting at the end of the silent receiving line.

“Fedar,” Vitaly said, stopping and offering his hand. “What’s the situation?”

“Vitaly, it is good you have arrived. Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you everything I’ve learned.”

Fedar wanted privacy, which meant the intelligence provided by the Russian network was either wrong or woefully lacking. Which was not all that unusual in a remote location such as Kathmandu. “As you wish,” Vitaly said. “Return the men to their duties for now.”

Fedar snapped out an order and the men quietly dispersed. He gestured to the small offices attached to the warehouse, and they stepped inside. Although he despised the heat of Yangon, Vitaly was glad to get out of the cold wind. Kathmandu didn’t have the most welcoming climate. Once inside, he found an office that seemed like it had recently been cleaned from top to bottom and emptied out. A plain metal desk and several folding chairs, along with an old coffee percolator, were about all that was left.

Fedar poured both of them a cup and sat down in one of the chairs. “It’s drinkable, if barely. What they call coffee here is not all that different than highway tar.”

Vitaly nodded, sipped a bit of the black brew and grimaced. He gestured vaguely around the office. “You’ve already cleaned this area? Is there anything missing that I need to know about?”

“No, I finished it this morning. Everything appeared to be in order, if a bit lazy. All of the files have been boxed up, locked and sent on to Moscow, but they aren’t going to find anything there that helps with the situation here.”

“So, what is the situation here?” Vitaly asked. “Was this an inside operation?”

“I don’t think so,” Fedar said. “I’ve interviewed all the personnel and accounted for the off-shift staff. I’ve also reviewed the security footage. Everyone was taken by surprise, and no one has gone unaccountably missing. I believe this had to have come from the outside. We found an old underground passageway that was long forgotten. That had to have been his entrance. This facility has never been breached.”

“That’s damn sloppy guard work, Fedar,” he said. “Who else would have known about this tunnel?”

“It’s not even on the retrofit plans,” Fedar admitted. “No one knew of its existence. This place has been left alone for so long, procedures and drills got lax. Hell, most of the people here didn’t even know what they were guarding because they weren’t allowed inside. Did you know it was here?”

Vitaly laughed. “I did, and I warned Moscow about it, but you know the situation. Everything is political now, and everyone is so busy covering their asses and keeping their secrets, it’s a wonder we manage to do anything at all. How long until we can shut down completely?”

“I estimate a few weeks or so, from whenever you give me the go and a direction. The locals are stirred up, and it would be a lot easier to slip out quietly, bit by bit. It will give them less to talk about.”

“You’ve got the go,” Vitaly said. He pulled out his phone and sent a map and some additional information to Fedar. “There’s the destination, too. Put someone you trust in charge of the operation and tell him he has two weeks to get it done. I don’t want there to be a trace of our presence here after that time.”

“And the locals on the payroll that know the truth?”

“Arrange for them to have an accident once the warehouse is cleaned out. I think a gas line explosion or something like that will suit. Be sure to pay off their families to keep them from asking questions, and if need be, pay whatever excuse they’ve got for a police force here to keep their noses out of it. The fewer questions, the better off we’ll be.”

“Easily handled. They’ll all want to keep working as long as possible. Work is hard to find here, so we’ll bring them in as a ‘cleaning’ crew once everything is secured.”

Vitaly sipped more of the horrible coffee. “I’ll want you with me for the rest of this mission, along with a handful of our own men—nobody local, of course. We need men we can trust. Where do we stand with the locals?”