One is evil, p.31
One Is Evil, page 31
part #1 of Bobby Greco Series
“This will warm you,” she said. She noticed him glance about the room as he sipped on the tea. “Do you like my apartment?” she asked.
“Cozy,” he said.
She grinned. “I have the largest apartment in the building. And the nicest. This is the only apartment with a bedroom.” She smiled and pointed to one of the pictures on the wall. It was a photo of Pat holding a hammer and some wood, taken in the very room where they were standing. “Pat built me the bedroom.”
Bobby nodded. “This is a nice home you have.”
June poked her head out of the washroom looking suitably awake. “Try brushing your teeth, Bobby,” she said. “It’s heaven.”
He joined her in the washroom, and said, “I’m starting to get this thing with Pat now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look around. Yulia’s an incredible young woman and there’s no getting ahead for her.”
June nodded. “That’s where Pat comes in.” She finished brushing her teeth and tucked away her toothbrush.
Yulia waited until Bobby and June were finished their breakfast, then said, “We should get going.”
“Ready. Let’s go find that crazy Canadian.”
“Good,” Yulia said, laughing. She followed them out of the apartment and locked the door behind her. Their footsteps echoed in the stairwell as they descended to the ground floor, and when they slipped outside they were hit with a blast of bitterly cold air.
“Shit,” Bobby muttered. The air seared his lungs when he breathed in, then formed a torrent of steam as it left his mouth. He squinted at June, blinking to keep his eyelashes from freezing together. She stared back at him in disbelief. Yulia, however, was already trudging down the block.
“I guess we walk again,” June said, falling in behind her.
“Walk or die,” Bobby said. He started to pace his breathing, careful of how quickly he drew air into his lungs and after a couple of minutes it didn’t hurt as much. He pulled his toque over his eyebrows and tucked his nose into his parka, leaving only a slit, and his body heat warmed the inside of the snowsuit. He didn’t feel quite as cold now, just about right, actually. The pilot’s warning about dressing for the weather was damn good advice, he thought.
There were no birds or animals and the only noise was the oddly appealing crunch of their boots on the crystallized snow. It had a clean, crisp sound that he found refreshing. Yulia stopped in front of another apartment building exactly like hers and they followed her in.
June crept carefully up the stairs. Her oversize boots were slippery and there were numerous places where the handrail hung limply from the wall. When they reached the fourth floor, Yulia knocked on a door close to the stairwell and after a moment Pat poked his head into the hallway.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, waving them into the apartment. “C’mon in, it’s cold out there.”
“No shit,” Bobby said, closing the door behind him as he entered.
“Don’t be so negative,” Pat said. “There’s no wind. Wait until it’s minus fifty with a wind. That’s brutal.”
“Yeah, Yulia mentioned that last night.” Bobby was quickly getting the drift that at these temperatures wind chill was a big deal.
“Be right with you, I’m on the phone.”
Bobby unzipped his snowsuit and began peeling off the layers. Murdoch’s apartment was opulent by Russian standards, and filled with leather furniture, wrought iron coffee tables, and a fifty-inch flat screen television. Numerous photos hung on the walls, most of Pat with smiling Russians in fur coats and shapkas. Bobby took a closer look. The scenery in some of the pictures looked different, and several had a much younger Pat posing in a group with a helicopter in the background. Bobby pointed at them when Pat hung up.
“Where were these taken,” he asked.
Pat glanced over. “Canada, in the Yukon, close to where I grew up. I worked as a millwright in one of the mines there.”
Bobby tapped one with his finger. Pat had a rifle slung over his shoulder and was standing next to a massive grizzly carcass. “You shot it?”
Pat’s smile disappeared, and he said, “It charged me. Didn’t want to, but she would have killed me.”
Bobby could barely imagine having a bear that size running at him. He sat down on the couch. “There are helicopters in a lot of the pictures. Do you have your license?”
Pat shook his head. “No, but I flew in and out of the mine site lots of times. Most of the pilots back in those days had flown in Viet Nam and they were loosey-goosey about the rules. Got pretty good at all of it,” he said enthusiastically. “Logged a few hundred hours.”
A fresh pot of coffee sat steaming on the counter and Pat motioned for them to help themselves while he took another call. He spoke in fluent Russian for a minute or two, then ended the conversation with a few da’s. He hung up and smiled.
“Speaking of helicopters, I found us one,” he said. “But, we need to pay for it up front.”
June figured she could get some cash out of John if she asked. Surely the CIA operative had some sort of operating budget for this sort of thing. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. In the worst case Adler would pay.
“Now let’s see.” Pat sat at the kitchen table where a topographical map covered most of the surface. “I’ve already lined up the chopper and the snowmobiles, and I think I’ve laid out the best route from Magadan to the gulag.”
Bobby eyed Pat. Apparently he didn’t suffer from hangovers. Lucky him. “You look chipper,” he said, then added, “Don’t you sleep?”
“Forgot to last night,” Pat winked. “Anyway, things to do, we’ve got a rich person to rescue. There’s only one small problem.”
“What’s that?” June asked.
“Chopper needs a fix, it’s missing a piece.”
Bobby sipped his coffee with unsteady hands. “What kind of piece?”
“One of the rotors,” Pat said. “Better get going so we can get on it.”
“We?” Bobby asked.
Pat shrugged into his snowsuit and slipped on a shapka. “I’ve done plenty of work on motors and landing gear, stuff like that. How hard can it be?” He stood at the door, waiting for them while they struggled into their gear.
June was still sitting at the kitchen table, putting a call through to John. “We need a bit of help,” she said to their CIA contact, then explained where their investigation had led overnight. “The chopper is going to cost a bit. Can you to cover it?”
John’s response was quick. “I’ll meet you at the helipad. I’ve rented from Sergei before so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Excellent.” June hung up, wondering if everyone knew everyone else in Magadan.
Nine hours later, while John discussed the terms with the owner, they watched Pat reattach the rotor to its housing atop the aircraft. The hydraulic lines snapped easily into place and he tested the strength of the bolts with a torque wrench. Pat sat next to the rotor for a few minutes reading the technical brochure, then made a couple of additional adjustments to both the main and the tail rotors. He scrambled halfway down a makeshift ladder propped against the machine and opened the casing that contained the engines. Bobby walked over and stood at the bottom of the ladder.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
Pat leaned against the machine and set his wrench on the cowling. “Tell you what, I answer a couple of your questions, then you leave me alone to fix this thing,” he said and Bobby nodded. “Okay, ask away.”
“You said the problem was with the rotor. Why are you working on the engine?”
Pat pointed to the rotor. “This is an older model Sikorsky. It was probably built in Stratford, Connecticut to some pretty exacting American standards. The Russians pick up these choppers when the Americans figure they’re going to start costing too much for regular maintenance and repairs. They use them for transporting people and equipment in and out of mines in Siberia. So even though it has a lot of flying hours on it, we have a good bird on our hands. But here’s the problem. If you look about halfway along the rotor, you’ll see a hairline crack. If we take off with full power, we’ll snap it. These are Pratt & Whitney PT6B-36A engines, and I’m adjusting them to perform at about sixty percent efficiency. That’s enough to lift off with four people and two snowmobiles, but not enough to shear off the rotor. Any other questions?”
Bobby looked as stupid as he felt. “No. Not really.”
Pat picked up his wrench and stuck his head back inside the engine compartment. It took another three hours before he reattached the cowling and pulled the ladder away. He opened the cargo door and started one of the snowmobiles, then drove it up the steep ramp into the bay. He strapped it in place and did the same with the second snowmobile, then closed the hatch.
“Ready to go,” he said, yanking open the hangar doors.
A fierce blast of snow pelted them as they rolled the chopper out onto the concrete pad. The pilot checked Pat’s job of tying down the snowmobiles and nodded his approval, then sat up front and started going through the preflight procedure. Bobby and June retreated to the hangar and shut the doors, trying to keep some warmth inside. John was standing next to Pat, and his cell phone rang as they watched the pilot ready for takeoff. He answered, then turned away and retreated to a corner where no one could hear. Bobby glanced at June, but she just shrugged.
Bobby and June were still standing inside the hangar when John walked up to them. The look on his face was telling.
“Anything wrong?” June asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Plenty.”
“What?” June asked
“Langley intercepted one of Cortez’s calls. He’s meeting with the buyer on Monday and he’s already given the order to execute Alexis the moment the deal is done.”
June’s face went white. “Monday. That’s tomorrow.”
“Fuck.” Bobby squeezed his hands into fists.
June turned away from the men and pressed her head against a shelf. She closed her eyes, thinking of the woman she had gotten to know so well, and who she respected. If Alexis was in the shack, she had been through hell on earth for the past three months. Now that she was on the verge of being rescued, the word to kill her had come down. June set her jaw, pushing away any feelings of disparagement. They were ready to go, and there was time. They could still do this. She turned back to face John and Bobby, who were both staring at her.
“We have time,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Pat had returned to the hangar and was standing off to the side, listening. There was a spark in his eyes. “Chopper’s waiting,” he said.
The pilot was already strapped in and checking his instruments as they boarded. Pat sat in the co-pilot seat and they spoke in Russian as the engines powered up. What started as a friendly conversation quickly deteriorated into a shouting match. Yulia unsnapped her safety belt and went up front, and within seconds she was yelling at both of them. Finally the pilot unbuckled his belt and got out of the aircraft.
“What now?” Bobby asked as Yulia rejoined them and John poked his head inside.
Yulia waited until John was in the chopper and the door shut. “The pilot doesn’t want to fly with sixty percent power. He said it was too dangerous.”
“Aw, shit,” John said.
He jumped out of the machine and ran over to where the owner was talking with the pilot. They all watched as the pilot stormed off and the owner shook his head numerous times. John held up his phone, but the man shook his head again. Finally, John returned and climbed back in.
“The pilot is adamant, he’s not going to fly. It’ll take at least a day to get another pilot here, and even then there’s a good chance he would refuse to fly.”
A long silence settled over the cabin, then Pat got up and pushed his way out of the craft. He headed straight for the owner and spoke to him for a few minutes. Pat nodded a new times and shook the man’s hand, then ran back to the chopper and slid into the pilot’s seat.
“Negotiated us a helicopter.” He glanced back at John as he strapped in and put on the headset. “Better hope I bring this thing back in one piece or the CIA is going to be coughing up some serious cash.”
John looked horrified. “Can you fly this thing?”
Pat grinned and tilted his head in the direction of the owner. “He trusts me.”
John looked into the rear of the cabin. “Do you have the satellite phone?”
“I have it,” June said. “We’ll call if we need anything.”
“Call no matter what,” he said. “If you get her, if she isn’t there, if you need help. Whatever is going on, call me.”
“Got it,” June said.
“You guys are on your own,” John yelled as he jumped out the door. “Don’t fucking crash.”
The motors picked up as Pat readied for takeoff and Yulia returned to her seat. Bobby unbuckled, moved to the front of the cabin and strapped into the co-pilot’s seat. He put on his headset and waited quietly for Pat to finish the pre-flight check, then spoke into the mic.
“You okay with all this?” Bobby asked.
“Getting us there or going after the bad guys?” Pat asked.
“Both.”
“I can fly this thing.” Pat’s eyes narrowed and for once he looked deadly serious. “Come on, Bobby, this was never about just having a look around. Time to go hunting.”
Pat had known from minute one that they were going up against whoever was at the cabins. Bobby swallowed hard, looking at the most capable partner he’d ever had.
“So you flew a Sikorsky back in Canada.”
Pat looked at him like he had two heads. “Not so much.”
“Shit,” Bobby said.
Pat glanced back at the instrument panel, opened the throttles and lifted the chopper off the ground. It groaned under the reduced thrust from the modified engines, but continued upward. Snow kicked up off the pad and visibility was reduced to zero until they rose above forty feet, and Pat pushed forward on the stick. The chopper began moving ahead and they continued to climb, passing three thousand feet and leveling off at about thirty-three hundred. Pat explained why he had chosen that altitude.
“The mountains between us and where we’re headed run as high as 6,200 feet above sea level, but we can follow a series of valleys that top out at about 2,500 ASL. The lower we stay, the better our fuel consumption and the less stress on the rotor.”
“You’re sure you can navigate the valleys?” Bobby asked.
Pat grinned at him. “I know this area really well. There’s only one ridge of mountains between the gulag and the mine where I work. It’ll be easier when the moon comes out and I can see where I’m going.”
Bobby looked northward to the horizon where the last hint of sunlight was disappearing behind the jagged mountain peaks. “How long until we get to the mountains?” he asked.
“About an hour,” Pat said.
“How long until we get some moonlight?”
Pat checked his watch. “About an hour and ten minutes.” He kept a straight face for a few seconds, then started to laugh. “Just kidding. We’ll make it.”
Bobby sort of believed him. He stayed up front in the co-pilot’s seat, watching out the windows for high hills or low mountains. “What exactly is your job at the mine?” Bobby asked after a while.
“Like I said, I’m a millwright. I work on large industrial machines. Conveyors, boilers, ball-crushers, all kinds of stuff. Basically, anything and everything.”
“And that’s why you’re so good with machines?” Bobby asked.
“Yeah, probably. Up north, you do what needs to be done. You need to be a jack of all trades.” He grinned and leaned over so he was closer to Bobby. “Yulia’s hot don’t you think?”
“Sure,” Bobby said, rolling his eyes.
Pat pointed ahead to the horizon, the mountain peaks clearly visible in the moonlight. To their right, about five degrees off their flight path was a valley that snaked between two mountain ridges. The helicopter was still cruising at thirty-three hundred feet, well above the level of the valley floor when Pat changed course and steered toward the rift.
“From here on it’s going to get a bit crazy, but if the visibility is okay I should be able to get us there. We’re about three hours flying time from where I want to land. From there we take the snowmobiles, then walk the last mile or so. It’s going to get rough. Think you can handle it?”
Bobby was torn between offering the guy a Bud Light and punching him. He settled for nodding. “Hey, anything a Canadian can do, an American can do,” he said. He was surprised how funny Pat found that remark.
chapter fifty-one
When Alexis woke the fingers on her right hand felt like they were frozen. She rolled from her side onto her back and willed them to move. No response, just a numbness that extended up her wrist into the tendons and muscles of her arm. She massaged the area with her left hand and some feeling began to return. She breathed a sigh of relief, figuring she must have pinched a nerve sleeping on her side. Her hand tingled with pins and needles for a couple of minutes, then she sat up and looked about.
The wind was savage, howling through the valley and driving snow through the cracks in the wooden walls. She moved about the room packing the snow into the gaps to keep the wind out, then added a few sticks of kindling to her fire and rubbed her hands together over the tiny flames. The warmth felt good. After a few minutes she walked to the grimy window and peered out into the driving snow.
Her tree was still there, bending in the gale but holding firm. It was incredible that those scrawny roots could cling to the rocks. It steeled her resolve. Whatever her captors could throw at her, she would take it. The scraping sound of a key in the lock surprised her, and she moved back against the far wall.
