John Gardner - Man From Barbarossa

They agreed to meet back at the room used earlier at three on the following morning if nothing occurred before then. Brooks obviously had a very clear picture of the building in which they were being held, so Bond did not try to intervene. As far as he was concerned, it was Michael Brooks’ operation now. All he had to do was try to get a signal out, if he could, and if anyone was listening.

They left in pairs, and once back in their room, Bond took his parka from the clothes closet and went into the bathroom. There he committed a message to tape from the notebook computer, then rewound the tape and put it into the transmitter. Half-an-hour later, he slipped from the room and went up the wooden staircase, working his way right to the top and out on to the roof.

The air was bitter and there seemed to be light snow drifting across the forest which spread out all around him. He calculated the direction, held the little transmitter away from his body and pressed the ‘send’ key. For the second time in four days a tiny fragment of signal leaped, invisibly, on to the airwaves. All he could do was pray that someone was listening.

Boris Stepakov left the dacha just after three in the morning with his bodyguards. He also took Stephanie Adoré and Major Rampart with him. They drove to the secret airfield where the crew of his Antonov An-72 had already filed a flightplan to the Spetsnaz training base just outside Kirovograd on the River Ingul in the Ukraine.

Because Spetsnaz are trained there, the base is one of the most securely guarded in the whole of Russia. The secrecy is so great that even those living in nearby towns and villages are unaware of its importance, for Spetsnaz are the very best troops in the world, easily ranking above the British SAS or the US Delta Force and Navy Seals.

Here, and at other secret bases, these special forces undergo what is possibly the most rigorous military training known anywhere. The men chosen to serve as Spetsnaz are often hand-picked even before they enter the Red Army. The recruiting officers go out and search for suitable material while young men are still in school or at universities, for these troops are brought to perfection not only in the most secret military arts, but also in the darker arcane callings which make them ideal for covert operations.

The GRU – the Red Army’s equivalent of KGB – have been known to make use of these men by infiltrating them into foreign countries to work under cover for long periods. They certainly take on a much more sinister role than their counterparts in SAS or Delta.

At Kirovograd – they call the base after the great industrial city even though it is situated some fifty miles from city limits – the Spetsnaz soldier risks his life every day. The training exercises are carried out with live ammunition, and sometimes with the added danger of deadly chemicals and real explosives. Because of this there is an allowed percentage of training deaths – just as there was among the British Commando training units during World War II.

They first learn the normal skills of soldiering, but with an accent on leadership and tactics, so that any member of the force can take over battlefield command from the highest staff officer should the occasion arise.

Following this stringent induction, the Spetsnaz soldier goes on to more specialised work. They study the customs and languages of possible target countries; survival techniques; the tradecraft of deep cover and disguise, so that they can pass themselves off as tourists, businessmen, members of trade or diplomatic missions, even as cultural groups or sports teams. For instance, a Spetsnaz officer was the winner of two Olympic silver medals in pistol shooting: in Melbourne and Rome. Because of his sporting activities, this man travelled freely throughout the world. He did not move alone, but always had two more officers in attendance, and is thought to have picked up valuable information from the West – just by being a crack shot.

Intermingled with these diverse crafts, future Spetsnaz men are taught sabotage of every feasible kind, and with every possible device: they also become proficient with all known weapons, in hand-to-hand combat and silent killing. Even while doing this distinctive training, they are constantly practising the normal skills of parachuting, skiing, mountain climbing and the basics of flying. Many active Spetsnaz troops could handle large civilian aircraft in an emergency, and most could fly a helicopter.

They are truly the cream, the best-paid and the most feared of Soviet forces. They have no special uniform, except that they are normally seen wearing the dress of the airborne and special assault forces, though, unlike the airborne, Spetsnaz do not wear the coveted ‘Guards Unit’ badges. There are times when they will wear only civilian clothes for months at a time.

Stepakov felt he had entered a distinctive environment as soon as he left his aircraft, dogged as ever by Nicki. Alex was left on the aircraft with the crew and the French couple. The men on this base were clear-eyed, moved with more confidence, carried themselves in a more doughty manner than even the Red Army’s other crack regiments. Trying to define this odd, uneasy sensation, Stepakov had long since realised that, when he was among Spetsnaz, he lived in the shadow of exceptional soldiers who could, if they chose, be ruthless killers.

General Gleb Yakovlevich Berzin – whom he had called a son-of-a-bitch – stood by the window of his austere office. He was tall with the figure of someone in peak physical condition. When he moved, the splendid muscle tone could be detected through his well-cut uniform. Like all Spetsnaz officers, Berzin took great pride in his appearance. As he turned to greet his visitor, the hard leathery face showed no sign of camaraderie. The eyes, like broken crystal, bore down upon Stepakov as though asking why a member of the KGB dared show his face, let alone his entire body, in this elect corner of the country.

‘Stepakov.’ He barked in acknowledgement that his brother officer was in the room.

‘Berzin,’ the KGB man nodded, turning the full power of his own unreadable clown’s face on the Spetsnaz man.

‘Moscow said this was important. It had better be. I haven’t time to waltz around with people from Centre.’

‘This is very important, comrade General.’ Stepakov did not raise his voice. ‘I bring you special orders, under seal, most secret, from the President himself. The President wishes these orders to be carried out with urgency.’ He thrust the heavy envelope into the general’s outstretched hand.

Berzin ripped open the orders and began to read. Halfway through he glanced up, looking at the KGB officer with what might have been construed as a new interest. Finally he folded the paper and gave a little laugh, like the yap of a dog.

‘The President really wants me to do this?’

‘If you read the orders carefully, you’ll see that he not only wants you to do it, he commands you. He also orders you to carry out this action with me as your joint commander.’

Berzin laughed. ‘You must be joking, General Stepakov. Why should I even take you along for the ride?’

‘Oh, I think you will.’ When Stepakov smiled, the already upturned corners of his mouth seemed to rise higher on his cheeks. This sometimes gave the bizarre impression that someone had taken an old cutthroat razor and slashed it across his mouth. ‘I bring another, even more secret, message.’

‘Oh?’

‘A verbal communication, comrade General. I was told you would answer me, and it comes with greetings. “And all I ask is a tall ship . . .” ’

For a fraction of a second, light appeared to flare behind the cracked crystal of Berzin’s eyes. It could have meant anything from fear to elation, for the man was virtually unreadable. He stood, statue still, studying Stepakov. Then, in a low voice muttered, ‘And a star to steer her by.’ He turned away to look out of the window again. Even though Berzin’s back was towards Stepakov, the KGB man sensed that he was looking far away, past the rows of hutments and wooded training areas, back to another life.