Dead fall, p.14
Dead Fall, page 14
The challenge for Harvath was in timing their exit. But he had something the man in the attic didn’t—a partner. He also had a plan.
After Harvath told the woman what he wanted to do, they awaited a pause from the shooting upstairs. As soon as it came, she raised her weapon and began firing.
Harvath rushed over to the two dead bodies, grabbed what he needed, and then moved with the woman to one of the broken windows on the far side of the living room, where he ripped down the plastic.
Based on the dacha’s design, if there was a vent of some sort up in the attic that the shooter might use, he expected it to overlook the front, or the back, of the structure. That made bailing out on the side their best option.
His rifle primed and ready, Harvath leaned out the window and scanned for threats. Not seeing any, he took care to avoid the bits of broken glass and rusty nail heads along the sill, swung his legs out, and jumped down.
The moment his feet touched the ground, he moved for cover and took up a defensive firing position. Then, covering her, he signaled for the woman to join him. The little building was going up like a tinderbox.
He watched as she balanced on the sill and hung one leg out the window and then attempted to swing the other. But something happened.
“I’m stuck,” she exclaimed. “I’m caught on something.”
“Jump,” Harvath told her.
“I can’t.”
Behind her, he could see bright orange flames licking the dining room and headed in her direction. “Jump,” he repeated.
Throwing the AK-47 down onto the ground, she used both hands to pull at the part of her pants that was caught.
With the flames continuing to get closer, Harvath noticed something even more dangerous behind her.
“Get down!” he yelled.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she bent over, threw all of her weight toward her outside leg, and forced herself to tumble out of the window.
She hit the ground hard and landed on top of her rifle as Harvath let loose with a furious barrage of rounds from his Galil. He kept firing until he could no longer see the man inside.
Swapping magazines, he motioned for the woman to come to him and kept his rifle trained on the house.
The woman’s pants were torn and she was bleeding from a pretty good gash, but it wasn’t anything life-threatening.
“We need to move,” he said. “Now, while we know he’s still in the house. Are you good?”
She nodded and readied her rifle.
“We’re going to go for the Land Cruiser. Stay behind me and stay close. Understand?”
Once more, she nodded.
Getting up, Harvath led her around the rear of the dacha. There were more trees and brush that way and therefore more cover. The last thing he intended to do was loop around the front.
The building was completely enveloped in flames at this point. Thick pillars of smoke could be seen billowing up into the sky. The pops and crackle from the fire were almost as loud as gunshots.
Having witnessed the state of Kharkiv, he doubted any of the local fire services had the capacity to come put water on a tiny cottage out in the forest. Besides, by the time they got here, it would only be a pile of embers.
Coming around the back of the dacha, he saw a traditional sauna, or banya as it was known. They were such a custom in Ukraine that Harvath remembered having read about soldiers building fortified versions in the trenches along the front lines.
Just beyond it was the Land Cruiser, fully intact, but a little too close to the burning building for his taste. He picked up the pace, anxious to get the hell out of there.
As they drew even with the SUV, Harvath pulled out the keys he had taken off the dead woman and stood guard as the woman he had just saved climbed into the passenger seat.
Closing her door, he was about to move around the front of the vehicle and get behind the wheel when one of the dacha’s unbroken windows exploded.
He spun, expecting it to have been caused by the heat from fire. Instead what he saw was the man from the attic, bleeding and engulfed by flames, stand up and hobble toward him.
Gone was his rifle. How and where he had lost it was no concern of Harvath’s. In its place, the man now carried a knife.
Raising his own rifle, Harvath seated the stock against his shoulder and took careful aim. As the man was moving, it was a difficult shot to make.
Convinced he had a good sight picture, he pressed the trigger. Then, for good measure, he fired again.
He watched as the man went down, a bullet through each of his knees.
Tossing his rifle into the Land Cruiser, Harvath got in, turned over the engine, and, putting it into gear, left the man from the attic—the third member of the Kharkiv ambush party—to burn to death, alone on the ground, screaming.
CHAPTER 13
KYIV
Nicholas stood watching as his dogs enjoyed a few moments of fresh air. Though the breeze was cold, he was enjoying it as well. The sun, when it poked out from behind the clouds, felt good on his skin.
The GUR had made it clear that because of the clandestine nature of his work and the constant threat of Russian attack, the amount of time he could stand out in the open needed to be limited.
Closing his eyes, he turned his face up to the sky. He had read enough history of war, especially about the Brits during the Blitz, to know to be grateful for moments like this.
As he enjoyed his few minutes outside, he and the dogs were surrounded by hard, well-trained men with guns. Even though they were relatively safe, his mind was troubled by the most recent text he had received from Harvath.
Targeting civilians and civilian infrastructure, though against international law, was nothing new for the Russians. As such, Ukraine had experienced multiple train attacks. What bothered him, however, was what had followed—the imposter who had been waiting at the station in Kharkiv. The Russians had known Harvath was coming.
Actually, that wasn’t true. The Russians had known someone was coming. If they had been aware that it was Harvath, there would have been a kill team the size of a battalion waiting for him.
But even if they didn’t have a name, how did they know that anyone of note was arriving in the first place? Which begged another question—why attack the train and post a fake GUR agent at the station? Based on the initial reports Nicholas had read, it was amazing that any of the passengers had survived.
Perhaps the Russians didn’t know what train Harvath was coming in on and only had a general time frame in which the fake agent needed to be at the station. As thoroughly as Nicholas understood the Russian mindset, there were times when trying to think like them made his head hurt. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Outside of a small group in Ukraine, the only other people who knew of Harvath’s assignment was an even smaller group back in Washington. In one of those circles, the Russians had managed to place a mole.
Compounding the situation, if the Russians knew about Harvath, they very likely knew about him, too. Both he and Scot had plenty of enemies in Moscow and now that they had stepped into a war zone, they were even more enticing targets. If the mole was inside the GUR, it was hard to say who was now the most vulnerable.
Once Harvath had linked up with his team from the legion, he would be in the wind and free of any interface with Ukrainian Intelligence.
Nicholas, on the other hand, was literally eating the GUR’s food and sleeping under their roof. If the mole was in their agency, he wouldn’t be truly safe until his work for them was done and he was back across the border in Poland.
That realization made part of him want to pack up and get the hell out of there right now. Ukrainian Intelligence had gotten plenty far without him. The country wasn’t going to lose the war just because he decided to pull the plug. In all fairness, he could still assist them with a lot of operational issues from afar.
But there was another part of him—the part that had stood up and said yes to the assignment in the first place. He believed in what this fight represented and why the Ukrainians needed to win it. His contribution would be to help teach the GUR how to better hack the Russians and how to best exploit the fruits of those labors.
Much of it couldn’t be taught. It was an art form of sorts—driven by instinct and a feeling for how certain pieces of intelligence fit together. To really take them to the next level, he needed to be in the same room, shoulder to shoulder, carrying out operations with them in real time.
There was no one more qualified for this assignment. He had grown up speaking Russian and was a savant when it came to identifying, sifting, and leveraging intelligence.
He also had a deeply personal reason for being here. He wanted to be in the best possible position to assist Harvath.
Wars could be chaotic, bureaucratic, and very, very messy. Harvath and his team would be in the field alone, without a reliable cavalry and with almost zero air support. Accessing prime, grade-A intelligence was going to be critical if Harvath was to be successful. And, as his best friend, Nicholas wanted that more than he wanted anything else—even more than the Ukrainians winning the war.
Harvath was getting married soon. Nicholas had a new baby about to be christened. Harvath was going to be her godfather. The two friends had many important moments yet to be shared and many good years ahead. He was determined that they stick around long enough to enjoy each and every one of them.
From where he stood, he could see the bronze statue of St. Michael the Archangel, brandishing a sword and shield as he towered over the Lach Gates in Independence Square. St. Michael was the patron saint of Kyiv and the divine protector of all of Ukraine.
Though not a particularly religious person, Nicholas offered up a prayer for Harvath’s safety. He also entreated the saint for help in finding the mole.
As he was finishing his silent appeal, he noticed a bird as it landed upon the tip of one of the Archangel’s golden wings. It appeared to be a raven. Was it a sign? An omen of some sort?
Nicholas had no idea. All he knew was that upon seeing it, the breeze turned even colder and his chest tightened. It felt as if someone were walking across his grave.
Argos and Draco had noticed it, too. Both dogs raised their heads, cocked their ears, and stood frozen in place.
But as soon as the ill wind began to blow, it was gone. And with it, so too did the bird disappear.
The dogs lowered their heads and went back to what they were doing. The muscles of Nicholas’s chest relaxed.
Up above, in a window obscured by draperies, a figure stepped back from the glass. Their next move had been confirmed.
CHAPTER 14
KHARKIV OBLAST
Harvath couldn’t drive and properly question the woman at the same time. So, as soon as they were a safe distance away from the burning dacha, he pulled over.
The first thing he did was a medical evaluation. Despite all of the rounds that had been flying, neither of them had been shot. He examined her leg and, pulling a bandage from his IFAK, dressed her wound. Then she filled him in on who she was and what, to the best of her knowledge, had happened.
She was the real Zira—the GUR operative who worked with the International Legion and was supposed to meet Harvath at the train station. Her orders were to transport him to a Ukrainian military base near Staryi Saltiv. There he would be issued his uniform, ID card, and other items before being linked up with his team.
Before dawn this morning, the two men from the dacha had broken into her apartment. They kidnapped her and took her to the dacha. In addition to roughing her up, they had information and photographs of several of her family members whom they threatened to harm. She was embarrassed for having broken and apologized to Harvath for not having held out longer. He told her that she had nothing to be ashamed of.
He put her through a full battery of questions—all of which she answered. There was nothing about her responses that suggested she was being anything but honest and forthright. As far as he was concerned, she was telling him the truth.
She had no idea who her tormentors had been other than that they were “filthy Russians.” She assumed they were operatives from Russian Military Intelligence, as those tended to be the people who carried out these sorts of operations inside Ukraine. Harvath agreed that they were the most likely culprit.
Unfortunately, she had no idea how they had known about her assignment. The most logical explanation was that they had a source somewhere inside Ukrainian Intelligence. It pained her to say that, but even legendary agencies like the CIA and MI6 had known their share of traitors. The fact that it had happened during wartime, when the country was enduring an invasion, and the information had been given to the enemy, only made the act that much more evil and reprehensible.
Harvath agreed with that as well. He was a big believer that treason should be dealt with in the harshest terms. It established a bright line and made it crystal clear what would happen to those who aided a nation’s enemies.
After having all of his questions answered, he inventoried his gear and gave her a chance to take herself off this assignment. She had been through a lot. No one would blame her if she wanted to tap out. He could drop her off in the next town or village and see himself the rest of the way to the forward operating base at Staryi Saltiv.
Zira, however, refused his offer. She wouldn’t give Ukraine’s enemies the satisfaction. She would see her mission through. And once she had gotten him to the base, she would return to Kharkiv and file a full and accurate report with her superiors. They needed to know what had happened. If there was a mole in their organization, they needed to start the hunt immediately.
She was a fighter. Harvath liked that. She was also a professional. Since she knew the roads and it was her responsibility to get him to the base, she insisted on driving. He turned over the keys and climbed into the passenger seat.
He preferred riding shotgun, especially this close to the front. If anything bad happened, he wanted to be able to get on his weapon right away.
He was also exhausted. It would feel good to dial it down a couple of notches and not have to worry about being behind the wheel. Sitting back in his seat, he allowed himself to close his eyes and to slip into a meditative state.
When he felt the Land Cruiser slow down a little while later, he had flashbacks of the train coming to a stop and his eyes snapped open. There was a checkpoint up ahead. At this point, as far as he was concerned, he suspected everyone and gripped his weapon a little tighter.
Zira noticed. “Don’t worry,” she said, rolling down her window. “Everything is okay.”
Arriving at the checkpoint, she put the SUV in park and it was instantly surrounded by men with guns. As she chatted with the officer at her door, the conversation quickly became heated.
Harvath didn’t speak a word of Ukrainian, but he was getting the gist of it, including her insulting the Russians who had beaten her and taken her identification. She then pantomimed the firefight and did a zombie-like impression of the man who had burst through the window, completely on fire, and walked toward them, at which point Harvath had shot him in the knees.
Upon hearing this detail, the stunned officer’s eyebrows shot up in bemused surprise and he called his men over to hear Zira’s story for themselves.
When she got to the part about kneecapping the flaming Russian zombie, Harvath received smiles all around and a thumbs-up from several of the Ukrainian soldiers.
The officer gestured toward Harvath and asked a question, which Zira translated. “He wants to know if you have any identification. Mine is back at my apartment. He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t ask.”
“Of course,” Harvath replied, fishing the paperwork out of the pocket in his plate carrier and handing it to her.
Zira passed it along to the officer, who gave it a quick once-over and handed it back, saying to Harvath in English, “Thank you, Captain.”
The man then looked at Zira and delivered a cheerful “Palianytsia!” to which she laughed and replied just as cheerfully, “Palianytsia!”
He then stood back and waved them through.
Rolling up her window, Zira put the car in gear and drove on, the smile lingering on her face.
Considering what she had been through today, it was a tribute to her resilience that she could muster up any sort of good cheer. He wondered what had caused it.
“That word you just spoke,” he began.
“Palianytsia?”
“Yes. I heard you say it to each other in the beginning, too. Although it didn’t sound as nice. What is it? Some sort of greeting or a way to wish someone well?”
Zira laughed. “It’s a type of Ukrainian peasant bread. We make it in our fireplaces.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The only people who can’t pronounce it correctly are the Russians. When we meet someone we don’t know, we challenge them to say palianytsia. If they can pronounce it, we know they’re okay; they aren’t Russian. Then, as a joke when we part, we ask them say it one more time. Just to make sure.”
Harvath smiled back. It was a good joke. He liked the Ukrainians’ sense of humor. “Will you teach me how to pronounce it correctly?” he asked.
Zira winked at him and said, “Da. Of course, comrade.”
* * *
By the time they reached the base, Zira had really grown on him and he was sorry to have to say good-bye. Though he had only met a handful of Ukrainians so far, his admiration for their spirit had continued to expand. They had that magic ingredient, that zest, that was necessary for any underdog to face down a bigger, stronger enemy and emerge victorious.
After handing him off to an efficient yet very busy Supply Sergeant, she turned to head back to her Land Cruiser.
