The Kremlin Device (19 page)

For a long time that night I couldn't go to sleep. My mind kept returning to the tunnel, to the hollow we'd made in the brickwork, right under the wall of the Kremlin, and to the chaos that would follow if we'd been rumbled. Arrest? Gaol? Deportation? International incident? Should the whole team do a runner while the going was good?

No matter which way my thoughts turned, they were anything but soothing.

EIGHT

Through my sleep I heard a hammering on our door, and in burst Johnny, shouting, ‘Geordie, get up! There's a panic on.'

For a moment I thought, Christ, the search has started already. They're turning us out of bed. But at least they can't search the Embassy – so sod them.

Across the room Whinger protested from under his pillow, and I groaned, ‘For fuck's sake – what time is it?'

‘Six-fifteen,' said Johnny. ‘It's Sasha. He's desperate to see you.'

‘Where is he?'

‘Here. In the passage.'

‘Bring him in. Sasha!' I shouted, rolling out of bed. ‘What the hell are you doing?'

Sasha appeared in his DPMs, writhing with embarrassment at having crashed into our preserve and finding me naked.

‘Zheordie, I am sorry . . .'

‘Forget it. What's the problem?'

‘We need your help.'

‘Now?'

‘Immediately.'

‘Tell me, then.'

I began pulling on clothes as Sasha spilled his story: how a ‘beeg Mafia feesh', self-styled Keet, the Killer Whale, who normally ruled the roost in Chechnya, had been sighted in Moscow. He and his two brothers, known as Akula (Shark) and Barrakuda, were the godfathers of the Chechen Mafia. Now Keet had been traced to an apartment which belonged to another known criminal in a new, sixteen-storey block in the suburb of Lianozovo, on the northern fringes of the city. His presence in the capital, reported by a tout, offered the authorities a rare chance of getting at him on their own ground.

Senior officers in Omon were anxious to take him out, but they were nervous of the firepower he commanded. Not only did he have a team of four bodyguards armed with sub-machine guns for close-protection; the apartment block in which he'd holed up was equipped with the latest security systems, including closed-circuit television, remote-controlled locks and so on. The whole block was under Mafia control, from the team running the security on the ground floor to the janitors who passed out information about people's comings and goings. In other words, any attempt to storm the building would inevitably end in a major gun battle, probably with a load of casualties, and certainly with more publicity than anyone wanted.

All this Sasha poured out in a rush.

‘So I come here,' he ended. ‘And why? Because Omon ask, can the British experts of the SAS help?'

‘Help? How?'

‘Make the plan of attack. Give advice.'

‘Well . . . it's not what we're here for.'

‘Zheordie, I know. But this is special problem.'

Poor Sasha looked so anxious that I almost laughed. I turned to look at Whinger, who had come round far enough to prop himself on one elbow.

‘Hear that, Whinge? They're needing assistance. What d'you reckon?'

‘We could look at it. No harm taking a shufti.'

Pavarotti, who was hanging into the room round the door, raised his eyebrows. ‘For fuck's sake don't get involved,' he said. ‘Christ knows what it could lead to.'

‘What about the course?' I said. ‘It's an EMOE day, isn't it? You can sort them on that, Pav. Wait a minute, though. Sasha – are you planning to use some of the students on this?'

‘
Konechno
. You have teached them well.'

‘They're only half-trained at the minute . . .'

‘All the same, it is best. We want to make attack quickly.'

At the back of my mind I heard the voice of the CO in Hereford, warning me that on no account should we get involved with any live operation. And I heard myself solemnly promising that we'd steer well clear. Then I thought, Ah, bollocks! Easy to say that from a distance. Still, I'd told the boss we'd keep our hands clean . . .

But I heard myself saying, ‘OK, we'll come.'

With a big smile Sasha went, ‘
Zdorovo!
Breelliant!'

‘How many guys d'you need?'

‘You say.'

‘Two teams of four? That means Whinger, myself and six more. You choose them.'

‘I do that now. You and Vuinzha, please prepare immediately. It is important you start planning.'

‘What about Anna? Does she know about this?'

‘She's in control room already.'

The time was 6.40 a.m.

Pavarotti had gone off to the washroom in disgust, and was shaving when I poked my head round the door. ‘Sorry, mate,' I told him, ‘we're going to have a crack at it. You'll have to take charge of the course today.'

‘You're nuts, Geordie.'

‘I dunno. All good for international relations.'

In the kitchen the lads already had a brew on, so Whinger and I got some tea and a piece of bread down us, picked up our personal weapons and a few bits and pieces, and were ready for the off.

Sasha had come in some different car, newer and more powerful than either of ours, with a driver in DPMs. We piled in and set off at speed through the dawn, first towards the city centre, then right-handed into the northern suburbs, crossing one main thoroughfare after another. In less than quarter of an hour we were pulling up at the gate of another barracks, where the sentry took one look at Sasha's card and whipped up the barrier pole. Next stop was a briefing room full of men in black Omon uniform, grouped round a large-scale plan spread out on a table.

At first I thought the guys from the course must have moved like shit off a shovel, because they were there ahead of us. Then I realised that Sasha had probably detailed them already, before speaking to us. I recognised Sergei Tri, Volodya, and one other. As we entered there was a bit of muttering in Russian, and a few smiles were beamed in our direction.

Introductions to the top brass were perfunctory, but I cottoned on to the fact that the guy in charge, a major, was called Ivan – a heavily built, swarthy fellow of about my age, with dense black hair cut short into a kind of point, like a little roof over his head, and mean, yellow eyes that put me in mind of a bear. He spoke some English, but didn't understand much of what I said.

Anna glided in, her normal, suave self, quite at home in a room full of men. Staring at her, I kept asking silently, What the hell were you doing with our computer, woman? But when she caught me looking at her she gave a terrific smile, and entered into the business of the day with infectious enthusiasm.

It seemed that Keet, the target, had been reported arriving at the block in the early hours of the morning, and had gone up in the lift to apartment number 128 on the twelfth floor. Omon's information was that a meeting between him and other godfathers was due to take place in the flat at nine that evening. It seemed there'd been an argument over whether the security forces should go straight in, to make sure of arresting one man, or wait and hope to catch several.

To Whinger and myself, the plan for seizing Keet seemed amateurish in the extreme. The proposal was for an assault group to drive up to the ground floor, shoot their way in through the main entrance, secure the lifts and staircases, and then blast their way into the flat.

‘It's a fucking shambles,' I muttered to Whinger. ‘The guards on the door downstairs will raise the alarm with mobile phones or bleepers, and the villains will disappear from the flat like rats down holes before anyone gets near them. The assaulters'll end up killing half the people in the block; there'll be civilian casualties too, and a tidal wave of bad publicity.'

When Ivan the Bear asked my opinion of the plan, I said tactfully, ‘I'm sure your basic idea's right, but maybe we can refine it a bit. Let's think this thing through.'

Ivan told us that his men had the block under surveillance, and that armed guys were posted in cars along the boulevard leading to it. If Keet did try to make a getaway they could always have a go at gunning him down. But his bullet-proof Mercedes might save him, and they didn't want to run any risk of losing him.

‘Even so, you surely want to wait for tonight's meeting,' I suggested. ‘Even if he goes out somewhere during the day, he'll come back. To catch four or five of them together would be fantastic.'

He agreed, and asked, ‘So – what do you suggest?'

‘Surprise is what you need,' I told him. ‘The element of surprise. It would be much better to come down on the apartment from above.'

‘From the roof?'

‘Yes.'

He nodded and said something in Russian, which Sasha translated as, ‘We land from helicopter.'

‘Too noisy.' I shook my head. ‘Too obvious. Everyone in the building would hear us coming. Immediately Keet and his party would know something was happening. They might go and hole up in other flats. You'd lose the advantage of surprise.'

At Ivan's shoulder was a tall, cadaverous fellow with a thin, long, rather grey face, a big mouth and unusually red lips. If Ivan was a bear, this guy was a wolf. I wasn't sure of his status, but he seemed to be the second-in-command. Although I couldn't understand many of his words I got the gist of them clearly enough: ‘For Christ's sake let's go in and shoot the bastards,' he was saying. ‘Let's not ponce about with these pissy British ideas . . .'

Ivan, however, ignored him and asked me to carry on. When we looked at a large-scale plan of the site we saw that it comprised not a single tower block, but two structures set at right-angles to each other in the shape of an L, only a few feet apart at the inner corner. I'd noticed several pairs of buildings with this plan as we had driven around town on other days.

Now Whinger and I had the same idea at the same moment.

‘Cross from the other roof,' he said.

‘Exactly.' I knew that in Hong Kong he'd practised this very technique with the fire brigade, laddering across from one high-rise block to another and coming down on the target from above. Here, with the flat on the twelfth floor, five down from the roof, it would be child's play to abseil and come in through the windows, while another party stormed the door from the internal corridor.

I looked at Ivan and asked, ‘This other building. Is that Mafia as well, or is it clean?'

‘No Mafia,' Sasha answered. ‘No guards on door.'

I pointed at the plan. ‘How wide is this gap between the buildings?'

Ivan gave an off-hand shrug and said, ‘I don't know.'

‘It's important.'

‘Maybe ten metres.'

‘No more?'

‘
Nyet
.'

‘That's OK, isn't it?' I asked Whinger. ‘Forty feet?'

‘Piece of cake.'

I felt my adrenalin levels rising rapidly, and, almost before I knew what I was doing, I was outlining a complete new action plan.

‘Call them Block A and Block B,' I began. ‘Block A to the west, B just east of it. Keet's on the twelfth floor of Block A, facing west, right? We maintain surveillance on that block, as you're doing already, but to avoid arousing suspicion we keep well away from the entrance. Instead of a direct approach, two assault terms go up to the roof of Block B and ladder across to the roof of Block A. There we split. One party makes its way down the emergency stairs and comes out on the twelfth-floor corridor. The other abseils down the outside of the building. When both parties are in position, we blow the internal door and the windows simultaneously, come in from both sides with stun grenades, and overpower everybody inside.'

As Anna translated, I saw Ivan following my scenario with ever-growing incredulity.

‘All this is possible?' he asked.

‘Of course,' I replied confidently – but even as I did so I suddenly realised what I'd done. Carried away by my own excitement I'd been saying ‘we' when I should have been saying ‘you'.

Ivan was under fire from Wolf-face, but he shut him up again with an irritated wave, and showed that he hadn't missed the implication of my words with his next question: ‘So, you will lead the assault?'

‘No, no. We can't. We're not authorised for anything like that. We're here purely on a training mission.'

Ivan's dismay was painful to witness. ‘
Starshina
,' he pleaded, ‘Sergeant Major – we very much need your help. We do not have your experience in assaults of this kind.'

I looked at Whinger and saw that he was thinking the same as I was. If we did our hosts a good turn, it would ease our consciences. Besides, it would be a great gas to take part in an anti-Mafia hit. The idea was outrageous, of course – the Regiment would never sanction it. But would the Regiment ever
know
about it? Not until afterwards, if at all – provided we didn't say anything.

I looked at Whinger and said quietly, ‘What d'you reckon?'

‘All right by me.'

I turned back to Ivan and said, ‘
Yestj
. We'll help as much as we can. At least we can show you what to do.'

This led to knuckle-crunching handshakes and big grins all round.

But my decision shifted the initiative to myself and Whinger – and thereafter we had to make the running.

I'm bound to say that the Omon leaders pulled their fingers out: whatever we asked for they got, and fast.

The first things we needed were architectural plans of both apartment blocks. It looked as though the pair would be essentially the same, but we wanted to be sure. In particular, we needed to know the internal layout of the flat we were going to hit – the disposition of its rooms, and details like which way the doors opened. As the buildings were only three years old it should have been easy to find drawings, but when somebody phoned the construction firm who'd put the flats up the people there began making difficulties, claiming that their computers were down, and that without them they couldn't produce plans. I heard a good bollocking go down the line, and that seemed to produce results. ‘Half an hour,' was the eventual answer.