SOUTHERN CHECHNYA
Ferguson leaned against the window, staring inside the large hangarlike building, trying to interpret the different shadows inside. He could see several trucks and a number of crates in the area to the left. Beyond that was a wall that seemed as if it blocked off another section of the building, maybe for use as offices or barracks.
The only way to know what was going on inside was to climb in. The window was the casement kind; it worked by a crank. Ferguson put his knife in and pushed. As the blade threatened to bend, he backed off the pressure. The window squirted open about a quarter inch, just enough for him to put his fingers on the edge and pull.
With the window open, Ferguson got a light click in his earbud: gamma radiation, though at a level barely above background.
The window was so narrow he couldn’t fit through with his ruck and rifle, so he placed them against the wall where he could reach back for them and began squeezing through. He had one foot on the floor and was twisting his back to bring the other through the window when the lights went on.
Conners had remained in the shadows by the fence as Ferguson worked his way across the field toward the buildings. He didn’t move until Ferguson was on the other side of the runway. Then he ran directly to the trench, his chest heaving as he slid feetfirst into the depression. One of the legs of the grenade launcher’s tripod poked him as he got down, but having come that far with the weapon, he wasn’t about to give it up.
There was definitely activity at the cave or whatever it was at the mountain flank; he could hear machinery and people moving and see a whitish glow that had to be coming from floodlights. But the entrance was angled away; to see it he would have to go almost to the end of the runway.
And so he began to crawl on his hands and knees.
Ferguson let his body fall through the window to the floor, as if he were a sack of rice. He thumped loudly—but not quite as loudly as the cough of the truck motor turning over and catching about fifty feet away. He lay on his back for a moment, then turned over. Truck wheels moved on his right; another engine started up, the place smelled like exhaust. Ferguson drew himself to his knees and got up, moving quickly to his right to get behind more vehicles. There were voices, loud—he put his hand over the tailgate of a pickup and rolled over, sliding into the bed as a truck a few yards away started up. He heard the beeping of a backup signal echoing in the empty building.
Then he realized it wasn’t a backup warning at all—it was his rad meter.
The door to the pickup opened, and the truck shook as someone got in. Ferguson reached his hand down for his pistol: He could take out the driver, whoever was nearby, call Conners, get the assault started before they wasted him.
Someone shouted something. Ferguson drew his gun up, ready.
The door of the pickup slammed shut. There were footsteps nearby.
Another truck started up. Ferguson leaned against the side of the pickup, waiting.
More trucks, more exhaust. He felt himself starting to gag on the fumes.
Then the terrorists were gone.
Conners had gotten about fifty yards from the spot where he’d gone into the ditch when he heard the first truck back near the building. He stopped, staring in its direction.
Where the hell was Ferguson, he wondered. He brought his gun up and began moving back in the direction he had come. Another truck appeared from the building, then another and another. They stopped in front of the second building; men came out from it and got into the vehicles. Then, with their headlights still off, they drove onto the dirt road that ran around the fence, heading toward the cave area.
Knowing Ferguson, Conners thought, he’s in one of the damn trucks.
He had just started to move along the ditch again when the sat phone began vibrating.
“Yeah?” he whispered into it.
“Pay dirt,” said Ferguson. His voice was only slightly lower than normal. “Gamma-wave generators around, trace stuff—they stored stuff here. The real shit must be over in the mountain.”
“Where are you Ferg?”
“Inside the north building. I’m calling Van in. You at the cave yet?”
“No.”
“Wait for me then. Once we have the layout psyched, we have to take out a van for them.”
“You OK, Ferg?”
“Never felt better. Well, except after sex.”