22

TERUMBU ISLAND, LATE JULY

A silhouette of commandos lined the crevice as two of their number leaned against rappelling ropes, balancing themselves on the edge of the opening. One of the two, a corporal, spoke into the small mouthpiece of the radio headset strapped to his uncovered head. He was testing the equipment. Once Yeshenko heard the corporal’s voice on his headset, he ordered the men below. Silently, the two men lowered themselves from the protective watch of their comrades.

The soldiers slid down the ropes and into the fissure. Flashlights dangled from their cartridge belts and lit their way as they descended. After a few moments, they found themselves swinging in the spacious underground cavern, where their lights illuminated the body of their fallen comrade. The men stared at the ghoulish site, watching the body move. The corporal lowered himself farther, halting six feet above the cadaver. He saw the clothing move from the hundreds of insects that feasted on their unexpected meal. The light hanging from the corporal’s belt passed over the man’s face, revealing a grinning mask of death. In less than two hours, insects had consumed his eyes and lips.

The other soldier, hanging several feet above the corporal, shuddered at the sight of their friend. “Poor Sergei. Is there any chance he survived the fall?”

The corporal looked up from the corpse at the private above him. “Nyet. He’s dead. Let’s get him out of here before those damned bugs eat him down to the bone.”

The men lowered themselves to the floor, landing on either side of their comrade. The private bent over the corpse to weave his climbing rope through the shoulder straps of the man’s web gear. The corporal made his report to Yeshenko, who stood 160 feet above him.

“Colonel, we’re on the cave floor and we found Sergei. He’s dead.”

When the soldiers had finished securing the rope, the corporal added, “He’s ready to be lifted out.”

“Stand clear,” Yeshenko ordered.

The men in the cavern stepped back as the men on the surface took up the slack in the rope, and as if the corpse had come back to life, it jumped to its feet. The insects that were not quick enough to latch on to a piece of flesh cascaded off the puppetlike body. The dead man soared upward through the hole in the rounded ceiling as if he were Lucifer himself.

After watching their friend rise out of the cavern, the men began their search for the sarin. First, they used their flashlights to scan the dry, sandy carpet of the cavern floor, looking for the tiniest clue, the smallest disturbance. When the beams of lights failed to find any sort of track, they moved out from where they stood. For many minutes, busy light beams danced about the floor and walls of the cavern and stabbed into every crevice. Finally, the corporal’s light found something out of the ordinary.

“There,” he said, pointing with the beam of his light.

The private turned and saw the corporal looking into a small cul-de-sac. He joined the corporal and saw the same thing. The sand inside the cul-de-sac was different from the sand outside of it.

“Sir,” the corporal said, speaking into the mouthpiece. “We have found an area that looks like it has been recently disturbed. We are going to start digging.”

“Very well,” Yeshenko’s distant voice replied.

The corporal and his charge placed their lights in crevices and angled them so that they lit the floor before unclipping their entrenching tools from their belts and beginning to scoop away the sand. They dug with a mission. Soon, their sweat mixed with the sand and the sweat of previous men, and their efforts paid off when the blades of their shovels struck something firm. The corporal set aside his tool to scrape away the loose sand and expose a patch of camouflage clothing. They had found one of their missing men.

The diggers worked fast to uncover the body, and as they pulled his body out, the two men uncovered another missing soldier. The second dead soldier was faceup and laughing at them with a great, bloody smile that went from ear to ear under his chin.

The corporal said aloud, “Did the Americans really have to cut his throat?”

The private sighed. “Well, it’s done. Let’s get him out of there.”

The two men grabbed the top dead man by the feet and the shoulder straps of his web gear, pulling him from the shallow grave. They turned back and pulled the second man from the bottom of the grave, expecting to see the bottom lined with canisters of sarin. However, there was no sarin.

The corporal reported their findings: “Sir, we have both missing men but no sarin.” His voice echoed throughout the domed cavern as he spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Keep digging,” Yeshenko ordered over the headset. “It has to be there!”

“Yes, sir,” the corporal replied.

Back on the surface, Yeshenko took his eyes away from the black hole and looked to his right. Varonov stood next to him. “Call the base camp. Have them get the Americans out here. If they won’t tell us where the sarin is, we’ll hang them upside down over this hole until they do. Tell that Asian pig to ask the professor again too. Tell him to tell Xian not to be so nice this time.”

Varonov turned to call the camp on his cell phone, leaving Yeshenko to stare back into the crevice. For thirty minutes, the men below dug farther into the grave. When they hit solid rock, they started to dig around the edges of the grave.

Thirty minutes later, Yeshenko paced back and forth along the rim. Soon his earpiece crackled with the dreaded news that he had expected to hear.

“Sir,” the corporal reported, “we have dug down a meter. There is nothing down here except two dead spetsnaz.”

Still, Yeshenko was not willing to give up. “Spread out and keep looking. Either the Americans are lying or they moved it.”

Yeshenko waited for the Americans while trying to figure what had happened to the nerve gas. Finally, Varonov approached Yeshenko with a confused look on his face. “Colonel, it looks as if Deputy Anisimova went aboard the Stalinetz and executed the Americans an hour ago. They’re dead, sir.”

Yeshenko could not believe what he had heard. That impatient fool had killed the men before they had recovered the sarin. Killing the prisoners before the goods were within their hands went against all common sense and practicality. On second thought, though, Anisimova’s move did not surprise Yeshenko. Anisimova was a bully, and men like him were afraid of men like Havok and Stone. Anisimova might have impressed politicians with his intelligence and earned the respect of the public with his boldness, but professional soldiers who had to survive on their wits and honor despised the man. The only reasons Anisimova was in charge of this operation were his knowledge of the wreck and his ability to incur favor with the real leaders of their movement, who were all back in Russia.

After a few moments, Yeshenko’s anger subsided. Still looking into the crevice, Yeshenko gave his orders: “Varonov, get four more men in there and have them look another hour. I’ll return to camp with the rest of the men. In the meantime, I need to have words with Anisimova.”

Yeshenko returned to camp while six flashlight beams danced energetically over the cavern’s floor and craggy walls, searching for any clue. Hellish lights and dilated pupils inspected every nook and cranny. Nothing escaped the soldiers’ attention‍―nothing except a partial footprint almost completely covered by a four-foot-tall chunk of limestone that was wedged into a narrow vertical crack that split the cavern’s back wall.

***

Back at the base camp, inside the second-story room above Anisimova’s, a heap lay on the floor. Standing above the prostate figure was Xian, her face flushed with the erotic excitement from the beating she had just finished giving Pilar.

Xian decided to take a break and accepted a glass of wine from Chiba, Kang’s bodyguard. After filling her glass, Chiba placed the half-full wine bottle on a table next to the doorway. There were several bottles of liquor and wine on the table along with glasses. Chiba had watched the beating, and his pleasure showed. His thickset frame was capped with a head that was attached to his shoulders without the presence of a neck. Kang, sitting on a camp chair, held a glass of whiskey and smiled.

“I am sorry, Miss Bonne-Bouche,” Kang stated, “but if you refuse to give us the real location of the sarin, we shall have to continue with this foreplay. As much as I detest my present associates, I did make a substantial investment in their endeavors, and I will not let you destroy this opportunity.”

“You aren’t beating me for just the sarin,” Pilar grunted through swollen lips.

“You are correct,” Kang replied with a smile. “You have been a thorn in my foot for many years. Due to your efforts, my companies cannot legally enter the US to participate in projects that other companies are conducting this very minute. Now you are following me around the South China Sea to cause me more trouble. Yes, I am enjoying this. Again, please tell us where Havok hid the sarin.”

“I told you what Havok told me,” Pilar stated as she struggled to sit up. “What about Havok and Stone? Are they still on the Russian ship? Are they OK?”

“They are still alive,” Kang replied. He was unaware of Havok’s and Stone’s execution. “But from what I hear, they have been worked near to death. That is, they were worked near to death until you told us where the sarin was. Now, since it is not where you said it would be, I fear their tortuous work may begin again. Unfortunately”‍—Kang paused to sip his whiskey‍—“no matter what the Russians do to those two, I do not think Havok and Stone are the type who will break. No, they will be the cause of their own demise unless you are that cause. You had better be totally honest with us.”

“I have been truthful with you.” Pilar was sitting upright now. “If the Russians haven’t found the sarin, it is because somebody moved it or they’re digging in the wrong spot. I know Havok told me the truth. He had no reason to lie.”

“For your sake, Miss Bonne-Bouche, let’s hope he did tell you the truth,” Kang warned.