Payback (17 page)

Just ten minutes later the Cessna was heading northwest, away from Sochi, and climbing smoothly through ten thousand feet.

Wilson waited until Vassily had switched on the autopilot before he went back to the cockpit. ‘There’s been a change of plan,’ he said firmly. ‘We’re not going to
either Moscow or Kiev. Turn this aircraft round immediately and take up a heading of one nine zero.’

For a moment Vassily seemed to think Wilson was joking, but his smile faded rapidly when the American produced a semi-automatic pistol. The weapon surprised and shocked the Russian, but he was
completely stunned by the sight of Dawson standing behind Wilson in the cockpit doorway, complexion ashen and looking ghastly, but smiling and clearly
compos mentis
.

Wilson smiled too. ‘It’s amazing how bad a couple of pieces of cordite can make you look and feel.’ Chewing cordite produces a grey complexion, nausea and vomiting, and was a
dodge used by nineteenth-century British soldiers and sailors as a way of getting undeserved sick leave, or even a discharge. The effect starts within about thirty minutes of ingestion, and can
last for some hours, depending on how much is swallowed.

‘Right,’ Wilson continued, ‘it’s facts-of-life time. Don’t even think about making a radio broadcast or altering your transponder settings. I promise you I’ll
notice – and then I’ll kill you. Our new destination is Cairo.’

Vassily shook his head desperately. ‘It doesn’t have the range—’ he began, but Wilson interrupted.

‘Don’t try and take me for a fool. A Cessna three four zero has a range of just over two thousand six hundred kilometres cruising at one hundred and seventy knots. Your tanks were
full on take-off. I checked. From Sochi to Cairo is about sixteen hundred kilometres. That means you can get there and about halfway back with what you’ve got in your tanks right now.

‘And before you come out with any other stupid remarks, my friend and I are both qualified pilots and could fly this aircraft to Cairo without the slightest difficulty. Whether you live or
die is now up to you, but I would prefer your cooperation. If I get it you’ll live to walk away from this. OK?’

Vassily stared at the gun in Wilson’s hand. ‘OK,’ he said hoarsely. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘First, start the turn. Inform Sochi that the patient’s condition has worsened, and we’re diverting to the Ain Shams University Specialized Hospital at Abbassia. Tell them that
you’re altering course for Cairo, and request that they advise the Turkish and Egyptian authorities.’

‘What about a flight plan?’

‘There’s nothing to stop you filing an en-route plan if either the Turks or the Egyptians insist, but they probably won’t. After you’ve talked with Sochi, contact Turkish
Air Traffic Control. You’ll be entering their airspace between Samsun and Trabzon, so you should call Ruzgar for clearance. Their initial contact frequency is one two three decimal one.
They’ll hand you on to Yayla and Gazi as we transit across the mainland.’

Vassily stared at Wilson. ‘You’ve worked all this out, haven’t you?’

Wilson grinned at him. ‘You’d better believe it. OK, it’s your choice. Make the calls and play it straight, and you’ll get to land this aircraft at Cairo, and keep the
money we’ve paid you, and live. If you don’t, you’ll be taking a long dive into the Black Sea.’

Volgograd, Russia

The first responses Litvinoff received were negative. As far as the police could ascertain, no two Americans had stayed in any of the hotels in Astrakhan or Groznyy. The
reports from Adler and Sochi took longer to arrive, but proved worth the wait. As soon as he read the response from a hotel manager in Adler, Litvinoff knew he had the Americans cornered.

The town lies close to the Turkish border, but not that close – the frontier is actually four hundred kilometres away – and Litvinoff was confident he could end the pursuit long
before his quarry could escape in that direction. His first call was to the Adler police station.

‘You have two Americans named Johnson and Hughes staying in your town. They’re using false passports and are wanted for the theft of military equipment from a base near Moscow. They
should be considered armed and dangerous. Put a squad together immediately and arrest them. Under no circumstances are they to be allowed to leave Adler.’

When the inspector replied his tone was apologetic. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Investigator Litvinoff.’

‘Why not? I have the necessary authority to order this operation.’

‘No, it’s not that, sir. About half an hour ago we were advised that an ambulance would be collecting a critically ill guest named Hughes from his hotel. He was suffering from
meningitis or encephalitis, and an air ambulance had already been arranged. In fact, we provided a police escort for part of the ambulance’s journey.’

In that instant, Litvinoff realized exactly how the Americans had planned to get themselves and the stolen nuclear weapon out of Russia, and he swore under his breath.

‘Where did the aircraft depart from? Which airport?’

‘Sochi. It’s about twenty kilometres from here.’

‘Has the flight already taken off? If not, hold it on the ground.’

‘Stand by and I’ll check.’ Litvinoff heard background noises, raised voices, and then the inspector came back on the line. ‘It got airborne ten minutes ago. It seems the
pilot didn’t file a flight plan because it was a medical emergency, but he told Sochi that he would be landing at either Kiev or Moscow.’

‘Right,’ Litvinoff snarled, and slammed down the phone.

For a few moments he just sat there. One thing was certain: the two places he could guarantee the air ambulance would not be landing were Moscow or Kiev. By now, the Americans would have pulled
a gun on the pilot, and the hijacked aircraft would be heading south for Turkey.

He’d been cleverly outmanoeuvred, but there was, he hoped, still time to stop them. What he needed now was an aircraft – an armed fighter aircraft, to be exact – and he thought
he knew where he could get one.

Within the North Caucasus MD there are numerous military airfields. Litvinoff’s immediate problem was that he didn’t have the authority to contact one directly to request the
launching of an interceptor. In fact, he wasn’t sure he had sufficient authority even to approach the Military District headquarters in Rostov. But if he hadn’t, the FSB headquarters in
Moscow at
Lubyanskaya ploshchad
certainly would have, and fortunately he’d already briefed a succession of duty officers there on his progress – or lack of it – in
apprehending these Americans.

Before contacting Moscow, he called the Sochi Airport control tower. The information he gleaned was unwelcome, but not unexpected. Litvinoff briefly thanked the controller, then called
Moscow.

‘You want a what?’

‘A fighter interceptor,’ Litvinoff insisted. ‘The Americans have managed to organize an air ambulance to fly them out of Russia. The only way to stop them is to shoot it
down.’

‘How do you know they’re leaving the country? Perhaps this American is genuinely sick and they are heading for a hospital.’

‘I very much doubt that. I’ve just talked to one of the controllers at Sochi Airport, and the aircraft is now heading south, towards Turkey. The pilot advised the controllers that
the American’s condition had worsened, and they’d decided to fly him to a hospital in Egypt.’

‘And how do you know that isn’t true?’

‘Three reasons,’ the investigator replied, with as much patience as he could muster. ‘First, Egyptian medical care is no better than you can find in our Russian hospitals, and
it will take them even longer to reach Cairo than get to Moscow. Second, the pilot wouldn’t risk his licence by flying outside Russian airspace without first filing an international flight
plan.’

‘And the other reason?’

‘The third reason,’ Litvinoff almost shouted, ‘is that the fucking aircraft has a stolen nuclear weapon on board. Now, do I get a fighter or not?’

‘Very well. I’ll make the call.’

Wednesday
Cessna 340 air ambulance, callsign Romeo Charlie Three Six

Wilson was pleased: Vassily was doing exactly what he was told but, despite his own earlier assurances, the biggest problem they now had was fuel. The Cessna was flying at
around twenty-two thousand feet, but they’d increased speed to just over two hundred knots, and that would have reduced the Cessna’s range significantly.

The other worry was that the Sochi controller – who hadn’t approved their change of route, but merely acknowledged the pilot’s transmission – might have alerted a Russian
fighter base, and a couple of MiGs could be heading towards them right at that moment. If that happened, neither American was under any illusions about the outcome. Even at the Cessna’s
maximum speed, it stood no chance of out-running a Mach 2 interceptor.

Sheraton Hotel, Manama, Bahrain

Before leaving London, Richter had drawn an Enigma T-301 mobile phone, a unit that offers military-level encryption as long as both parties are using compatible
equipment.

He first checked into his room, then took the Enigma outside the building. He had absolutely no reason to believe that the hotel might contain surveillance devices, but Richter never trusted
anyone, and he certainly didn’t want his conversation with Simpson to be overheard. It took only a few seconds before he heard the less than amiable tones of his superior.

‘Yes, Richter, what is it? Have you seen this man Holden?’

‘No. I’m in Bahrain, not Dubai.’

‘I know that. I sent you there, remember? I thought you might have seen him before you left the Emirates.’

‘There wasn’t time. Do you actually know why Six wanted me out here?’

‘They needed someone to run an identity check.’

‘Did they tell you who they think the subject is?’

‘No.’

‘Osama bin Laden.’

For a few moments there was silence. When Simpson spoke again, there was an angry edge to his voice. ‘No, they didn’t tell me that. The fucking idiots just requested one of our
operatives, and stated that a briefing would be given on-site.’

Richter explained why they thought the hospital patient might be the Saudi renegade.

‘That’s rubbish, and you and I both know it. There’s no way bin Laden could have got to Bahrain without somebody tipping off the intelligence services. There’s just too
much reward money involved.’

‘So what do you want me to do?’

‘Well, since you’re there, you might as well do what Six want. Go run the check, then get back to Dubai and see Holden. Meanwhile, I’ll have a quiet word with Vauxhall
Cross.’

Richter smiled as he ended the call. Simpson’s ‘quiet word’ would be the kind of debriefing that could end a man’s career.

960 IAP (Fighter Aviation Regiment), Primorsko-Akhtarsk, Krasnodar, Russia

The call from FSB headquarters didn’t produce the rapid results Litvinoff had hoped for. The colonel commanding the 960 IAP at Primorsko-Akhtarsk – the closest
airfield to Sochi that had fighters immediately available – hadn’t accepted the identity of the FSB officer, and had insisted on calling him back through the military telephone system
just to verify his location and authority to issue intercept instructions.

That had taken precious minutes. And, when the colonel had finally realized the genuine urgency of the matter, it had taken a further sixteen minutes before a MiG-29 aircraft and pilot had been
assigned and four R-60M air-to-air missiles loaded. Known in the West as the AA-8 (NATO reporting name Aphid), this weapon is a short-range Mach 2 missile designed for tactical air combat.

The colonel delivered the mission briefing personally over the telephone to the pilot, Lieutenant Viktor Beleshayov.

‘The target’s a Cessna three four zero air ambulance. It left Sochi and is now heading for Turkey. Once you’re airborne, we’ll pass you an accurate fix from the
air-defence system.’

‘And you want me to shoot it down? An air ambulance?’ Beleshayov was incredulous.

‘Yes,’ the colonel confirmed. ‘The orders from Moscow are absolutely specific. The target is to be intercepted and shot down. The aircraft has been hijacked by American spies
who have stolen an item of highly classified military equipment.’

‘What kind of equipment?’

For a few moments the colonel didn’t reply, wondering whether to divulge what the FSB officer had told him. Finally he decided it might be a good idea if his subordinate knew exactly how
serious the situation was.

‘Is there anyone near you? Anyone who can overhear?’

Beleshayov glanced round. ‘No, nobody.’

‘Right, this is for your ears only. The Americans have stolen a tactical-yield nuclear weapon. Now you know why it’s vital you stop that aircraft getting away.’

MiG-29 interceptor, callsign Zero Six Eight

Beleshayov held the Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-29C (NATO reporting name Fulcrum) on the toe brakes, pushed the throttles forward to run the Kilmov/Sarkisov RD-33 turbojets up to
full cold military power, then released the brakes and engaged the burners as the aircraft started its take-off roll. Ninety seconds later the interceptor was flying level at thirty-five thousand
feet, heading south and approaching twice the speed of sound.

‘Zero Six Eight, Primorsko. Vector one seven zero. Frequency change approved.’

‘Zero Six Eight chopping to operational.’

Moments later, Beleshayov had established contact with the air-defence radar unit. ‘Zero Six Eight, vector one seven five. Target bears one six zero, range four hundred.’

Beleshayov quickly did the calculations. His aircraft was now travelling at twice the speed of sound, still in afterburner, and on an intercept course with the Cessna four hundred kilometres
ahead of him. He should get a radar lock on it within about seven minutes, and reach the missile release point just four minutes after that – the R-60M is a very short-range weapon. But he
was going to have to come out of burner well before that, because his aircraft was travelling far too rapidly to engage such a slow-moving target.