Combat Alley (2007) (16 page)

This is an entirely different situation, Marvesky informed him. We are in complete charge of the countryside where we operate, and even have some of the Afghans as our friends. They are part of our group.

That's much better than it was in the 1980s.

Of course. However, it is very important that you learn how to ride a horse, Marvesky informed him.

I already know how to ride a horse, Andy said, instantly regretting blurting the information out. He really needed more practice when it came to being an undercover operative.

Marvesky gave him a hard look. Where in the hell did you learn how to ride a horse in Moscow?

Andy thought very quickly, then spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. I used to work at a riding stable in the suburbs. He forced a laugh. Mostly I shoveled shit in the stables, but one day I asked my boss if I could learn to ride. He thought it would be a good idea since I could help out with the kids' classes.

That is very fortunate, Marvesky said. Who were the people using the stables?

The nobodniks, Andy answered.

Marvesky frowned. I do not believe I am familiar with the term.

Those are the newly rich of the Russian Federation, Andy explained. Most of them were former bureaucrats under Communism who signed government property over to themselves. They usually sold it for inflated prices, or used the land to start businesses. But now there are other emerging entrepreneurs who are making the big rubles. And dollars, and deutschmarks and francs too. They all thought owning horses and going riding like the nobility in the Czar's days was the 'in' thing to do. They have many trendy attitudes.

I have been here in Tajikistan since I was a boy, Marvesky said. My father was a bureaucrat. He frowned. But he was too much of a damned drunk to do himself or us any good after the Soviet system fell.

Bad luck, Andy said.

I must warn you about something, Mikhail Andreovich, Marvesky said. When you arrive in our organization, you will be tested. By that, the other men will want to see what you're made of. Do you understand?

Andy nodded. Certainly. It is like hazing in the Army when the older soldiers bully the new recruits.

It will be worse, Marvesky warned him. All these men were confined in a military prison. And most had been there for many long years.

Alright, Andy said. Thanks for the warning, Pavel Dimitrovich.

.

DOLIROD

1300 HOURS

THEY reached the small town of Dolirod after turning off the main highway. Marvesky pointed out the window. You will find this a handy place to visit, he explained to Andy. It is a market center with a few shops to purchase necessities and there are a couple of blacksmiths and artisans who manufacture iron and leather goods. Most of the fellows at Logovishchyeh purchased leather bandoleers here to hold the magazines for their assault rifles.

Andy glanced around as they rolled through the little hamlet. I see there are some trucks parked by that gasoline station.

Yes, Marvesky said. The drivers can also get simple meals to fill their bellies at the restaurant inside. He chuckled. There is also a bordello. If you do not end up with a woman, you will no doubt visit the place with the boys from time to time.

What are the women in there like?

Marvesky now emitted a loud burst of laughter. Look at the place. What do you think?

Andy grinned. Better than nothing, hey?

.

LOGOVISHCHYEH

1330 HOURS

ANDREI Rogorov went up the narrow rutted road like it was a modern highway in Europe. The Mercedes's shocks contracted and expanded violently as the tires went in and out of the deep furrows worn in the dirt. Andy Malachenko was tempted to bellow at the driver to slow down, but decided silence was best since Pavel Marvesky didn't seem to notice anything untoward about his chauffeur's driving.

They were in a narrow valley with high sides, and Andy's finely honed military instincts gave him the distinct impression that they were being watched from the heights. No doubt the automobile was recognized by those standing watch among the boulders above, thus its arrival on the scene was not challenged. After ten minutes of the rough ride, they emerged into an open area where a small log settlement was located. The journey smoothed out at that point and they slowed down to a crawl.

Andy took in the view around him, and it reminded him of illustrations and photos he had seen in old Russian books his parents had. The place looked like a farming village from bygone days, with the sturdy structures that obviously served as homes and storage buildings. There were also children of mixed blood playing soccer in an open area.

Several men, clad in a combination of civilian attire and bits and parts of Army uniforms, nodded politely at the car as it crawled by. Andy saw evidence of many gymnastiorki the pullover shirt-tunics that were traditional military attire based on old peasant shirts. These garments had high military collars, cuffs, and loops on the shoulders on which to fasten epaulets indicating insignia of rank. Andy had one at home that had belonged to his great-grandfather, who had served in the Czar's Army during World War I. It was a simple olive-green item of clothing with epaulets of the same color that bore the two stripes of a mladshi unteroficier that was the equivalent in rank to a modern corporal.

Then he spotted a couple of women. They carried jugs on their heads, walking with slight sways under the load. When he saw some water slosh out of one of the containers, it was obvious there was a complete lack of plumbing in the community. No doubt the females just visited a communal well. Andy was surprised that they were Pashtuns, and he wondered what they might be doing in this place with nothing but European men. Surely their male relatives would have objected to their presence in the place, but the females seemed unfazed by their surroundings.

The car came to a halt in front of a building that was larger than the rest. Marvesky used a nod of his head to indicate that Andy was supposed to unass the automobile. He grabbed his backpack and got out to be led to the door. They stepped inside a narrow hall or foyer Andy wasn't sure which it was and Marvesky knocked on the door.

A young and plump Pashtun girl responded to the summons. She seemed to recognize Marvesky and stated, V'stupate, inviting them to enter.

Andy, well briefed in Pashtun etiquette, gave her only the quickest of glances, noting that she did not show the usual shyness displayed by the females of her culture while in the presence of unknown males. A Russian man who was smoking a pipe sat in a chair next to the hearth. He stood up and embraced Pavel Marvesky respectfully, then turned his attention to Andy.

Who is this fellow?

His name is Mikhail Andreovich Molotosky, Marveksy replied. He has come to join your band. He showed up in Khorugh looking for Gelshenov.

That bastard! the man said. He owed me some money. He glared at Andy. Are you related to him?

I do not know him, Andy replied. A cousin of his sent me down here to see him about work.

Marvesky looked at Andy. This man is Luka Ivanovich Yarkov. He is the chief of this group.

Andy shook hands with the other man.

Mikhail Andreovich is in big trouble with the Moscow police, Marvesky said. He served three years in the motorized infantry and can ride a horse. Akloschenko wants you to take him on.

We can use the help, Yarkov said, taking what the underboss said as Gospel. Tell me, Molotosky, why are the Moscow police looking for you?

Andy fell into his cover story, telling about shaking down kiosk owners and other petty crimes, then, when the police were closing in, grabbing the money from his gang's hideout. After that he hurried to Gelshenov's cousin to arrange for transport and a passport.

Marvesky laughed. They gave him one with a Polish name.

Yarkov chuckled. When one must move fast, one must sometimes take what is offered without argument or protest. He looked over at the Pashtun girl. Go fetch Surov and tell him to come here.

The girl left and now another one appeared. This one carried a tray of vodka and samosas. She set it down as Yarkov invited his guests to take seats. The new girl served the men, then withdrew. Marvesky took a deep drink, then spoke to Yarkov. I need to have a talk with you, Luka Ivanovich. But it can wait until Molotosky is situated.

Yarkov took a bite of a samosa. I have to find someone who can teach these women to cook in the Russian way. He rolled his eyes upward. Ah! I would die for the taste of some pancakes stuffed with sour cream. And sturgeon, herring and onions, eggplant, caviar, and He stopped speaking, looking a bit sad. Never mind. I torture myself.

At least you eat better than the fellows in the barracks, Marvesky reminded him. They have to fix their own meals or have it done by that little Pashtun queer.

They should get women, Yarkov said. I tell you the truth, Pavel Dimitrovich, I think some of them prefer the company of men.

Too many years in prison, Marvesky said. He grinned at Andy. Do you see what you have to look forward to in the barracks?

It is better than the Moscow jail, Andy said. At any rate, perhaps I can get a woman of my own. How does one arrange for a mistress?

The other two burst out laughing. Yarkov wiped the tears from his eyes when he settled down, saying, You steal her during a raid, young fellow. Or maybe buy one from another man.

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Valentin Surov. He was introduced to Andy, then told to take him to the barracks and get him settled in. Surov gazed at the newcomer, thinking, This is a tough guy who can take care of himself. After a nod to Yarkov and Marvesky, he gestured for Andy to follow him out of the house. Once more Andy grabbed the precious backpack.

The two walked from Yarkov's house, dodging running children a couple of times as they made their way through the hodgepodge of other buildings to a long structure. Surov came to a halt, pointing to it. That is the kazarma the barracks where the fellows without women live. It is a bit crowded but none have the desire to build a place of their own. I suppose after years of prison they prefer company.

Marvesky told me they're a pretty rough bunch, Andy remarked.

Surov nodded his head. You must keep in mind that many of them are murderers and under normal circumstances would have been shot long ago. The kapo is the toughest.

That is not surprising, Andy said. The barracks chiefs in the Army always were.

Be especially careful here, Surov warned him. Our kapo is a former Spetsnaz soldier. He murdered the husband of the woman he desired, then ended up murdering her too when he found out she had other lovers besides him.

A trigger-happy fellow, no doubt, Andy remarked casually.

He used a knife in both instances, Surov said. He took Andy into the building, moving toward the center where the stove was located. This was a typical arrangement; the toughest of tough had their beds near the source of heat in the winter, and far away from it during the warmest parts of the year. Igor Tchaikurov was in a partitioned-off area where he caught the full benefits of the stove. He stood up respectfully as Surov walked up to him with Andy in tow.

Tchaikurov greeted Surov politely as he gave Andy a baleful gaze. Hello, Valentin Danielovich. Who is this?

A new man, Surov replied. His name is Mikhail Andreiovich Molotosky. He is from Moscow. Find him a place and let him settle in. With the simple formalities taken care of, he turned and made an abrupt exit. In truth, Surov did not like visiting the barracks.

Tchaikurov grinned at Andy, then motioned to him to tag along as he walked down toward the end of the building. The SEAL was beginning to weary of being led from pillar to post, but he followed after the kapo as they threaded their way through the bunks. The men lounging around the barracks gave the newcomer their full attention. Andy noticed there was a semblance of neatness in the way the men had arranged their bunks, storage containers, and other belongings.

Clothing was hung up neatly on pegs driven in the wall and a few had made simple wardrobes to hold their attire. These were signs of military experience.

Tchaikurov stopped and pointed to a couple of empty bunks with locker boxes. Take your choice.

Thank you, Andy said.

Or, if you see another you prefer, feel free to take it from the present owner, Tchaikurov invited.

I am not the type of fellow who looks for trouble, Andy said.

Tchaikurov grinned humorlessly at him. We shall see to getting you some bedding later. And a weapon and ammunition too.