Enemy of My Enemy (Brannigan's Blackhearts Book 8) by Peter Nealen

Author:Peter Nealen [Nealen, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

It was still dark when the Mi-17 touched down back at Makhachkala. It had been a long, loud, brutal trip, and Brannigan felt like he’d been shaken half to pieces along the way. He and the rest of the Blackhearts got off the ancient Russian helicopter—that Brannigan suspected had been built when Russia had still been the Soviet Union—with considerable relief.

The bird had touched down not far from the small compound where they’d planned and prepped. A half-dozen kitted-out Spetsnaz were waiting just off the HLZ, their A-545 rifles slung but ready. Brannigan felt a jolt of adrenaline as he saw them, and looking around the inside of the helo, as dark as it was, he could see that the rest of the Blackhearts—except for Jenkins, who’d apparently fallen asleep—were also up and ready, facing the rear of the bird, though Santelli was still watching Krivov and Dmitri up by the cockpit.

But the Russians stayed where they were, waiting, looking fairly relaxed. Almost bored.

Of course, they don’t have to storm the bird if they want to take us. We’re on their turf.

He was probably being paranoid, but under the circumstances he couldn’t imagine approaching the situation any other way. True, there was little reason to turn on them at this point in the game, but they’d grabbed Akbarov, and he could well see that being the extent of their usefulness to the Russians.

They’d have to be on their toes every step of the way.

Krivov stood and grabbed Akbarov off the jump seat, where he’d been sitting blindfolded and flex-cuffed for the entire flight. Even in the dark of the inside of the fuselage, Brannigan could see that the Azeri gangster was shaking, and he caught a sharp whiff of urine as Krivov frog-marched the man off the ramp.

“You want me to go with them, Colonel?” Javakhishvili didn’t sound especially eager, but he was also keeping his voice low so the Russians wouldn’t overhear as the high-pitched whine of the engines spooled down.

He didn’t really want to ask it. Javakhishvili’s antipathy for the Russians wasn’t just random prejudice. He had a history, if one somewhat more removed by circumstance than some of his countrymen. If any of them had a reason to distrust Russians, it was Herc.

But they needed to learn everything about this situation they could, and he didn’t exactly trust Krivov or Pichugin to pass any intel they got. At least not all of it.

“If you can stay awake.” They were all hurting; they’d been up for over twenty-four hours at that point, and none of them except Hank were especially young men anymore. “If Krivov gives you static, I’ll step in as best I can.” It wasn’t as if they had a lot of leverage, but he’d do what he could.

Javakhishvili chuckled. “That won’t be a problem. I brought plenty of ‘uppers.’” At Brannigan’s frown, more felt than seen in the dim light coming in the scratched and pitted Plexiglas windows, he waved any objections away. “No meth or anything like that.

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