Outside the airport building, the dark clouds of the night had quashed the last embers of the setting sun. It was the darkest evening, a far cry from the white nights the Russian summer was renowned for. Clouds laden with rain had descended on St Petersburg like a blackout curtain. Only a single shaft of moonlight pierced that curtain, throwing its cold light on a convoy that did not welcome the moon’s assistance. Three Ladas, followed by a few vans and a Dodge Suburban 4x4. With their lights turned off, the vehicles drove along the potholed dirt road through the swamp areas surrounding the abandoned Rzhevka airfield.
Only a few times were the cortege lit by blueish light from one of the few rundown dachas. As they neared the ramshackle airport, the cars slowed and crept forward like cats sneaking up on prey. When they finally drew to a halt, a black-clad man leapt from the foremost Lada and scurried down the road towards the buildings, which loomed, contoured in the darkness. After a short exchange with a man in the first car, he reappeared a few minutes later and jogged back in the direction of the buildings with watchful eyes. They were at the right spot, roughly a hundred metres from the airport’s main building.
Further back in the convoy, another man emerged. He instinctively tugged on his close-cropped black beard, and if it hadn’t 380been for the oppressive darkness, the crinkles in his weathered face would have revealed his concern. Vladimir was the leader who had agreed to help the Documentation Group. Within minutes, a small group armed with AKS-74U Kalashnikovs had assembled around him. Silently, using only gestures and signs, he ordered them to turn the cars around. Ready to leave the area quickly again. Vladimir walked towards the big Dodge Suburban. It was evident that the massive American four-wheeler was under autonomous command. A heavy-set man in a black leather jacket stepped out of the dark Dodge and exchanged information with Vladimir. The heavy-set man nodded, poked his head in through the passenger window and barked a series of commands to the men inside. Soon, the Dodge had been turned and parked by the wayside, and a handful of men in dark clothes had gathered around it. They were tall, crew-cut and armed with various automatic weapons. Not even this darkest of nights could conceal their imposing stature, which would scare the wits out of anyone on a deserted road like this.
After a short delegation of tasks, the armed men split up and moved cautiously up the gravel road towards the main gate in small groups. As the lead group reached the grey gatehouse, everybody halted for a moment in the long shadows of the roadside. The next moment, a couple of men sneaked up on the sentries, silently on their stomachs. They did not have to wait long for a signal. The steel flashed in the moonlight as the knives swiftly dispatched them. The heavily armed, black-clad men continued unfazed towards the darkened building complex. Suddenly, the silence was ripped apart as chaotic volleys of automatic fire boomed through 381the night. The guards in front of the building fell onto the broad stairway, cut down like grain by the farmer’s scythe. The shots had awakened the building, and armed men came storming out from the terminal as if someone had poked a stick at a beehive.