Читать книгу Perilous Cargo - Don Pendleton - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

The city of Yangon, which had been the capital of Myanmar until the early years of the new millennium, was a mix of the old and the new. Temples and shrines in gold and silver and white upheld the glory of years past, while the city center itself contained both colonial and modern buildings—most of which were tied to the government in one way or another. Much of the hidden work of the regional government was still done in this city, rather than the new capital. The media, including television, radio and the internet, were all tightly controlled, and access to technology was expensive. It was an unhappy place in many ways, despite the charming landscape. Tourists came here and saw nothing of how the population was segmented, keeping to their own areas and minding their own affairs, trying not to be noticed by the oppressive government. Citizens sat on the streets, drinking tea praying at the temples or selling tokens to travelers.

Nizar Vitaly despised the city with a true passion. His mother was Russian, and he never truly felt at home anywhere else.

Like most government buildings in the area, the Russian Consulate was an older colonial brick building, left behind from when the British ruled the nation. And the heat was as oppressive as any ruler had ever been, too, Vitaly thought as he walked into the main entrance. He was a big man, six foot four, and a solid mass of two hundred and twenty pounds, but he moved like a panther—and he knew it. Vitaly was a man completely aware of himself and his own place in the universe.

He passed the main desk and climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor. He followed a short hallway down to the consul’s office and managed to contain his surprise when he saw Anisim Grigori, the head of Russian Intelligence, sitting behind the consul’s desk. Vitaly closed the door behind him but noted two other ways to get out of the office if this meeting did not go in his favor for some as yet unknown reason. Certainly, he would not be the first operative killed by his own agency. Being aware of one’s own place in the universe meant being aware of one’s own mortality, first and foremost.

“Vitaly, it’s good to see you,” Grigori said, rising to his feet. They shook hands formally. “You are missed in Moscow.”

“Yes, sir, thank you,” he replied. “I am surprised to see you, I admit. What brings you to Myanmar?”

“There is a problem that I would like you to deal with.”

Vitaly kept his peace and waited.

“You are aware, I think, of our...interests in Kathmandu?” Grigori raised a bushy eyebrow.

“You know I am, sir. I recommended changes to the facility’s security systems months ago, but my report was filed away.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the report and I’ve seen to it that those who chose to file it rather than share it with the chain of command are seeing their future in a very different light. A very different light, indeed.”

“What has happened?” Vitaly asked. “It must be serious to bring you all the way from Moscow.”

“Please, sit,” Grigori said, gesturing to the nearest chair. “There is no need to be quite so formal.”

Vitaly sat, watching the man who had built the new Russian Intelligence of the internet age with interest. He was dangerous, yes, but he could be a very powerful ally. Vitaly had no interest in doing field work for the rest of his life, and Grigori could secure his future—or destroy it—with a few simple words.

“So, as you say, the matter is serious,” Grigori continued. “One of the weapons was stolen and taken into Tibet.”

“Do we know who the thief is?”

“No, the identity is uncertain. You will retrieve it and remove all trace of the facility’s existence.”

Vitaly nodded. “It will be done. In fact, we have options here in Myanmar that are suitable for relocation, and the government is very cooperative.”

“I will leave all of that in your hands, Vitaly. Just secure the weapon and wipe the Kathmandu facility off the map. Send me your needs by this evening and I will see to it that you have everything you require.”

Vitaly considered the situation. “Once I have the weapon, we’ll still have a personnel problem in the region. Too many people know about Kathmandu—especially now. That many will never stay silent.”

“I am sure you have heard the phrase, ‘dead men tell no tales’?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do I need to say more?”

“No, sir.”

“And one more thing, Vitaly. I do not hold any doubts that the Americans may be behind this, or possibly the Chinese. I should not have to tell you how delicate this is for our country. We cannot afford to lose our bargaining position now. Make certain that anyone who knows about the weapon or the facility is removed from the equation.”

Vitaly smiled. It was the kind of fieldwork he enjoyed most, and it was much better than skulking around Yangon. What was most important was controlling the information Moscow received. After all, the black market paid far better than the government, though he enjoyed the power and income from both sources. “It will be as you command. No witness will be left alive.”

* * *

ONCE HE ARRIVED at Andrews Field, Bolan changed into tactical clothing, then headed to the hangar where he found Nischal already waiting for him.

She, too, had switched clothing, and he noticed that she’d chosen appropriately for the mission and the terrain. She nodded as he approached. “Good to see you made it on time, Colonel.”

Bolan nodded a curt greeting.

“Look, let’s clear something up,” Nischal said. “The truth is that I don’t usually work with anyone else, either, so I’m probably just as prickly about it as you are. If you think you can’t handle it, I’m happy to take the mission on myself.”

Bolan allowed himself a smile and a chuckle. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. We may not like working with others, but when the President gives an order, we follow it. On that much, we can agree. Let’s get this show on the road. Wherever that nuclear missile is, it won’t find itself.”

They carried their gear aboard the Spirit of Kitty Hawk. The pilot and mission commander were already in the cockpit. The intercom system pinged on. “Good evening, Colonel Stone, Ms. Nischal. I’m Major Gage, and your pilot is Lt. Colonel Elliot.”

“Gentleman, thanks for the lift. We’re ready to go whenever you are. Do you have a specific drop zone in mind at this point?”

“No, sir,” the major replied. “All I’ve got is Tibet. I was told that Ms. Nischal would be providing the drop information en route.”

Bolan looked a question at her. “I’ve got the map data uploaded to my smartphone,” she said. “I’ll shoot it to them once we’re in the air.”

“Fine,” he said. “Major, we’re all set. Let’s hit it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The intercom system pinged off and Bolan turned back to Nischal. “It’s your map and region, so let’s hear what you’ve got in mind.”

She took out her phone and tapped the keys, bringing up a map of Tibet, then zooming in. “Take a look at this,” she said. “This is the village of Nyalam—sort of a crossroads village about twenty miles north of the border with Nepal and about sixty miles west of Mount Everest as the crow flies.”

“Okay,” he said. “Why there?”

“Well, we know the nuke was headed north, and there aren’t very many roads. Most are little more than goat paths or dirt tracks that lead to monasteries. There’s only one major highway, and anyone who wants to get anywhere has to use it. This isn’t exactly the easiest terrain in the world. If you know the area it’s easy to disappear, but a truck that size has to go somewhere. And wherever it goes, someone will see it.”

“So, you’re thinking whoever took the weapon had to pass through Nyalam. In other words, we have a place to start looking.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And if makes you feel better, Nyalam used to be called the Gate of Hell because the old trail was so treacherous. No one is moving fast through there, even on the Friendship Highway.”

Bolan studied the map a minute more, then nodded, impressed. “That all sounds fine to me. You obviously know the area.”

“Like the back of my hand,” she said.

“Here’s what I want to know,” Bolan said. “Tibet is a whole lot of empty. Even the capital has less than a million people in it, and most of them are too focused on tourists, religion or dealing with China to be worried about stealing a nuke. Where would someone be taking a weapon like that, given how much they would stick out?”

She shook her head. “On that score, I don’t know. If they wanted to disappear, they’d get off the highway and use the mountains as cover. There are hundreds of places to hole up—if you can get to them. There’s the plateau region, but it’s wide-open. Our eyes in the sky would pick them up before we landed. So, that leaves the road or the mountains. As far as who would take it...that’s really the bigger question. This isn’t a region that’s known for trading in weapons, but I suppose that there’s a first time for everything.”

The jet began to taxi out of the hangar and the major suggested that they get buckled in, which they did. The seats, such as they were, promised a long, uncomfortable flight. Nischal leaned back and shut her eyes. “Let’s just hope someone spotted them before they disappeared, or that they’re stuck on the highway in some bad weather traffic jam.”

“Somehow, I have my doubts,” Bolan said, stretching his legs out.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because that would mean we’d been incredibly lucky. My missions don’t tend to run along those lines. Usually, it’s just the opposite.”

“Same with mine,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t know anyone whose missions run perfectly smoothly. They don’t usually call people like you and me when things can be handled with a simple stop.”

Bolan knew the long flight would only be made longer by worry. Still, he couldn’t help but think that anyone willing to steal a nuclear warhead and head into Tibet was either crazy or really smart—and knew exactly what they were doing. That was a serious cause for concern.