The Russia Strike by Eric Meyer

Author:Eric Meyer [Meyer, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Swordworks
Published: 2014-10-22T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

He calmed his racing pulse and forced himself to stay calm. He had to bring Lorak round to his way of thinking.

"Dragan's arrest, what was the charge?"

Lorak's voice was flat and unemotional, "They accused him of unlawful possession of a sniper rifle. He was carrying the VSS Vintorez, and they're saying he was planning an assassination. Stupid bastard, I told him this was all a waste of time."

So that's why he didn't turn up. Maybe we misjudged him, although he was stupid enough to get caught.

He explained their immediate situation. "If we don't get somewhere warm and dry mighty soon, we'll die out here. Two of our people were wounded, and they won't survive the cold for much longer."

"Where are you?"

Raider did his best to describe their location, and Lorak assured him he could find it.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Make it ten. People are dying out here."

"I'll do my best."

Eleven minutes later, a long wheelbase, black Mercedes S-class limo drew up fifty meters from the riverbank. Lorak emerged and waited while they went across to him. Raider was astonished. The man looked sicker than ever, and even his hair had started to fall out. He helped Elena into the car. She was shivering again, and her teeth sounded like castanets. At least it was from extreme cold, and not mortal terror. He gave Waite a hand with Joe next; the Vietnamese was lapsing in and out of consciousness.

"It's extreme shock," Waite explained, as they lifted him onto the rear seat of the limo, "He took that blow to his head, and he's too weak to withstand the bitter cold."

"What's that stench?" Lorak asked, as they turned back to help Al.

"We had to escape through a sewer."

He shuddered. "I can't think there's anything worse than a Moscow sewer."

"Dying's worse."

He nodded. "Tell me about it."

He drove away and put the heater on full blast. "I'm taking you to our Moscow distribution depot. It's empty at this time of night. You'll find what you need there, uniforms, hot food, you name it."

"Weapons?"

He hesitated only for a couple of seconds. "Plenty."

Something about Lorak's strange reply when he'd mentioned death came back to him. He recalled Dragan saying Lorak had been ill.

"Tell me, how bad are you? I gather you've got some illness."

"It's terminal."

"Shit, I'm sorry. Surely with Dragan's money, he can find a cure for whatever it is you have."

He shook his head but didn't elaborate further. They stopped outside a large, brick-built building with a steel shutter door. He took out a remote switch and pressed a button. The door opened, and they drove inside. They were in a vast warehouse stacked with crates. Lines of racking stood on one side, and on the other a number of doors that presumably led into the offices.

They started to explore, but Raider hung back with Lorak. He was curious.

"You were saying about this illness, there not being a cure."

"Not for this problem." He thought for a moment and seemed to come to a decision, "It's political.

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