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The bed was comfortable but Kara had difficulty sleeping. This was the second time in her life she felt not only very alone but lonely. The first time was when her parents’ plane had been shot out of the sky by a terrorist. The day she heard of her parents’ deaths marked the beginning of her sleeping problems. With no other siblings or extended family, Kara couldn’t have felt more alone if she had been abandoned on the moon. Coming from a very wealthy family, she had never needed to learn to do anything for herself. Cooking, cleaning, paying bills—either her parents or their well-paid staff had handled all those daily tasks. Then, once she’d dismissed what staff had been left in her employ, she had felt even more alone in the world.
After a few weeks, her sorrow had turned to anger, and it motivated her to make a change in her world. She had continued to be in touch with her parents’ lawyers. One particular lawyer was responsible for tying up the loose ends of her parents’ estate. During a meeting, Kara had expressed her desire to track down their killers, and the bright young attorney had suggested she join the CIA. In the end, she couldn’t think of a better chance to take revenge upon the people responsible for the deaths of her family. Fortuitously at that time, people with advanced language skills were being fast-tracked into the program as quickly as they could be vetted and trained.
Nothing to lose, Kara had thought to herself. She could always quit if she felt the job wasn’t leading her toward those she sought. Thus, she had applied to the CIA and had listed the dozens of languages she could speak fluently. It surprised her that the phone rang even before the ink dried on her application.
The CIA recruiter seemed tickled pink to vet her background and get her on the payroll as soon as possible. Kara had been given a crash course in Spy 101 at Camp Perry, the spooks’ training facility. The course covered: how to spot land mines, surveillance tactics, weapons, and how to drive just about anything with a motor. She had even been trained in a simulator to fly a helicopter. Those were all very good skills to learn, unless the agent being trained, due to her exquisite looks, was used primarily to entice the bad guys to tell her their secrets and then pass them onto the CIA. Now Kara was going to fully put her real training to good use—finally.
Lying on a bed in the Russian arms dealer’s safe house in Pakistan, she allowed herself to fully realize she was in the thick of it. She was fully committed to her final goal. She was certain that in the eyes of Jarret Pepper, she had already gone too far, regardless of the outcome.
Finding sleep eluding her, Kara gave up and decided to perform a comprehensive inventory of the items Kornev had stored in his tunnel.
The secret hatch in the closet was still open. She had seen no reason to close it. If she needed to get out fast for some reason, wasting time trying to pry open the top would prove costly. She had left the lights on in the tunnel for the same reason. Once at the bottom of the stairs, she turned to her left to the tunnel section beyond where she’d gone up the ladder to the house. She moved down the narrow tunnel, looking closely at the items she’d noticed on her way up to the house and which were stacked on more shelves similar to ones she’d seen before, dug into the dirt walls.
One shelf below the handguns held an assortment of binoculars. It was immediately apparent to Kara that this stash of Kornev’s was not merely defensive. The diversified collection of binoculars contained some that were made exclusively for long-range observation. Long range, as in for hunting someone or something. Kara picked up a pair of marine binoculars that she felt provided her the best of both worlds, having long range as well as being damn near impervious to water. She knew she would be in the elements for a minimum of three days and all her gear might get wet for one reason or another. She also picked out a sturdy night vision monocular and began to assemble her gear on an empty shelf under the binoculars nearest the ladder.
One step deeper into the tunnel, next to the binoculars, was an assortment of camouflage clothes. Several complete suits of fatigues and BDUs sat in dusty, neat piles, folded and color coded, waiting to be used. Black, gray, desert camouflage, jungle camouflage tops and bottoms, hats and matching stocking masks were all good to go. Kara had considered the color of the terrain she had observed using Google. The home she was targeting was built on the side of a substantial hill, located on the outskirts of Peshawar. The hill was comprised of nothing more than low brush and large rocks and boulders embedded in dirt the color of honey.
Next to the standard camo outfits was a gray ghillie suit. This was a netted garment covered in loose strips of material. The ghillie suit gave the appearance that the wearer was nothing more than a clump of sagebrush growing on a hill. Kara thought the ghillie suit could be useful, although it would be thick and hot. But it was large enough to conceal Kara, all her gear and anything she chose to wear underneath it. Grabbing the puffy suit with both hands, she placed it on the bottom shelf. One shelf over supplied the makings of a vast selection of disguises: fake mustaches, makeup, hairpieces and the implements needed to apply them. Kara didn’t think she could get away with looking like a man so she passed on these.
The first time she had entered the tunnel, she had noticed a large collection of land mines. It was comforting to know she had access to the lethal contraptions if she needed them. On the shelves, there were assorted types of mines from which to choose. Some were upright mines that were set off with tripwires and killed by throwing shrapnel off to the side. She skipped over those and turned her attention to the flat round mines. Most were anti-tank mines. Almost all were metal, which meant they were older, a series of mines that could be located with a metal detector. The anti-tank mines were large, the size of a dinner platter. Further down the shelf, she selected the smallest of the anti-tank mines, with the understanding that she was not going to blow up tanks. At least she hoped not. The next four weren’t the exact same model of pressure-triggered mines. Two the size she wanted had Russian markings, and another two had Chinese symbols written on them. Kara placed all four on the lower shelf.
Communication devices were located next to the mines. There were several types of burner cell phones, walkie-talkies and a few advanced military communication devices. Since she would be working alone, there was no need for any of those devices. Next to the communications section was an assortment of electronic gadgets. Almost all items were black and rectangular. Kara recognized one of the units as a Geiger counter. The device was used to detect radiation, either on a person or on a contaminated object. There were several scanners that did everything from detecting metal to isolating radio signals. One black box even sniffed the air and analyzed and detected explosive residue. She didn't know if she would have a need for any such scanning devices, but it was nice to know that if she did, it wouldn’t require a stop at the nearest Pakistani spy store.
Finally, she arrived at the weapons shelf. There was just about every type of gun that one would need to rob a bank or take on a platoon of militants. Small handguns lined the back of the shelf including revolvers of various calibers; semi-automatic magazine-fed pistols; German-made Lugers, American Smith & Wesson’s revolvers, and a collection of brands manufactured in different countries. The shelves above the handguns held boxes of ammo that matched the calibers for the weapons. To her left were the rifles. Hunting rifles were just as effective killing wild game as crazed terrorists. Racks of assault weapons. Some with scopes, some not. There were a few .30-30 Winchester lever-action hunting rifles. There were even some very expensive sniping rifles. Truly innovative weaponry.
Although Kara was a good shot, by no means was she a sniper. That was a science unto itself. It required an unwavering concentration to lie in wait for the adversary. The biological toll of lying prone and unflinching for hours demanded snipers to be in excellent physical condition. In addition, one had to understand windage, distance to the target and a million other factors she could never comprehend nor did she have any interest learning. Deeper into the tunnel, Kara located two fully automatic belt-fed .50 caliber machine guns that sat patiently on their bipods, freshly oiled, apparently anxious to see battle.
The CIA agent selected a desert camouflage painted M16 and set it on the lower shelf next to the other articles she had collected. She added two Glock handguns to the pile and searched for 9mm ammo and extra magazines for the Glocks. She would also need to locate 5.56mm bullets for the M16, and obviously Kara would need extra magazines for the rifle.
Ten minutes later, believing her to-go pile was complete, she decided it was time to fortify the home. In the world of security, there were two ways to go. Option one: present a home with absolutely no valuables inside if would-be robbers should peek in the windows. This type of home would have no external cameras or any other type of security that could be seen on the outside. If someone broke in, they would search through Kornev’s sterile home and be very disappointed. Option two: wrap your home in a security blanket, hang cameras from the eaves on the outside, and tie the security system to an online security company. It appeared Kornev had gone with the first option. Everything of value was hidden underground, out of sight. There was no need to have layers protecting the property. Kara thought that was a smart move because additional measures inform want-to-be burglars there is something of value in the home worth taking.
Kara hefted one of the heavy machine guns off the shelf, folded up its bipod, and headed for the ladder. She was happy to see that the gun had a heavy leather sling attached, which she slid over her shoulder so she could use both hands to climb the ladder. The gun banged into the frame of the trapdoor as she exited through the hole in the closet above.
Once out of the tunnel, she deposited the .50 caliber on the living room floor. As she headed back down into the tunnel for more items, she wondered if Kornev had hired a caretaker to look after the property. There weren’t any signs of someone living in the home, but if she were in Kornev’s shoes she would have someone check on the residence, maybe tend to the grounds and do some basic maintenance. Kara had noticed that the yard around the home was trim and neat, which didn’t occur in nature. Mother Nature wanted to take over small farmhouses such as this. Clearly Kornev had someone looking after the home. If the caretaker happened to knock on the door, she had to have a plausible story ready as to why she was there and Kornev was not.
Kara returned from the tunnel with an ammo box of .50 caliber belt-fed bullets and some paracord. She set down the heavy ammo box and cord on the living room floor. She popped open the machine gun’s bipod and placed the weapon in an aggressive stance in the middle of the living room. As she worked she began creating a story to tell the caretaker.
Maybe she could say that she was Kornev’s sister, in which case she should speak in a heavy Russian accent, like Kornev. She quickly dismissed that thought in case the caretaker may be someone in Kornev’s extended family who would know she was full of it.
She lined up the barrel of the machine gun with the home’s front door and thought, I could say I am a friend of Victor’s and he told me I could stay at the home for a few days. But why? Why was she there for a few days? It would be a common question for someone to ask.
Kara dragged a box of belt-fed ammunition over to the big gun. She located the end of the belt, pulled it out of the metal box and laid the end next to the gun. Prior to loading the weapon, she needed to verify its placement in the room. She took a moment to rack the gun so it would safely dry fire at the conclusion of the test.
Back to the question, what was she doing in Peshawar? She could say that she was...was...was... damn, she was coming up with a big fat blank. Was she there for work? Maybe for school? Maybe to visit friends? Nothing really made much sense, but she wouldn’t be staying at Kornev’s for very long. It didn’t have to make sense, if she said she knew Victor. That is if Victor had used his real name. She hadn’t even thought whether he used an alias. Would Victor use his real name? She guessed it depended upon who the caretaker was and how much Kornev trusted him or her.
The blue paracord was thin and easy to work with. She tied one end to the trigger of the gun and then threaded the other end around the sturdy leg of the dining table that sat between the living room and the kitchen. She walked the free end of the line over to the home’s front door.
The doorknob was made from some type of clear crystal or glass. She pulled the cord tightly, wrapped it around the knob and cinched it off with a tight knot. Looking over her handiwork, she was satisfied. What made this configuration work was the door opened to the outside. For reasons of his own, Kornev had chosen to install the kinds of exit doors usually found on businesses. Kara barely paused to speculate that an intruder would be hampered trying to kick in an outward swinging door. She turned the knob and pushed the door open. The slack in the cord was quickly exhausted, and the cord pulled the trigger on the machine gun. Kara heard the gun go click.
Thoughts of what to say if discovered at Kornev’s safe house still bounced around in her head as she headed back down into the tunnel for the second machine gun. After all, the home had a back door to secure.