A Journey Begun - Chapter 12 - Catch Him With His Pants Down
#16 of Saga the First - Book One - A Journey Begun
Part two of the Russian arc!
"Peter Ivanovich. Russian mobster and known arms dealer. Works out of Moscow, selling weapons, drugs and what have you to whoever pays him the most. Recently expanded his territories to include the little village where our man Victor hails from, that's how he's got the squeeze on him. Victor says he's been flying for the guy for five years, hasn't heard a peep from his folks ever since he started."
Brandon paced the conference room. The team was seated and notes were being taken, although I knew all this already. After we'd concluded our interview with Victor and left the airfield, Brandon had phoned Max to get him to find out everything he could about Ivanovich. Turns out the cocksucker was responsible for numerous mob-related killings in the past, including several families of those that refused to work for him or pay him. A real dipshit, one that just had to go down. As Brandon brought the rest of the team up to speed of our investigations in Nebraska, I let myself daydream. Thoughts ran through my head, unfocused and disconnected, mostly about the case, but some about life. I tried to sort out my thoughts about the case, find some way to pin this guy down. Obviously we knew about the connection between Victor and Ivanovich, but we needed evidence. Victor wasn't willing to do anything until we'd dealt with Ivan, so we were still on our own. Then Nina came up with a brilliant idea.
"Why not follow him?"
"Follow him where?" Liddell.
"To Russia. When he takes a plane over there, I'm assuming its to collect product that the Russians need transporting. While Victor wastes time in Moscow, the mob outfit his plane with hidden compartments and so on to smuggle the loot. Then he takes the plane to the States, unaware of the modifications, and voila, the perfect smuggler. I'm suggesting that we tail him on one of these flights, find out who it is that he meets in America, then figuring out his destination in Russia."
"We can extract that information from the mob's man here in America. So as long as we catch him with his pants down." Brandon.
"Sounds like a plan guys. Let's start getting on it."
I stood and dismissed the team, but as I gathered my paperwork Nina stopped me.
"Say, Anderson, another suggestion: why not let me handle drawing out the Russian's man?"
"But Victor could do that just fine."
"To lure him out of the shadows, yes, but how about getting the information out of him, hmm? I think force isn't required in that area, but a little more feminine persuation would be helpful, right luv?"
A little was an understatement, but I agreed with her logic.
"Alright Nina, you're on. Looks like you're coming with us to Nebraska again."
We arrived at the airfield, second time in a week, but this time with Nina in tow. I already had a plan in mind, but this needed Victor's cooperation. With Nina and Brandon behind me, I went up to the office again and knocked. Victor greeted me and smiled.
"Agent Anderson, a pleasure."
"Pleasure's all mine, Victor. Listen, how would you like to be a part of a little...thing we have going against the mob?"
"A...thing?"
"We're going to put the hurt on the man at the top of this whole operation, but we need your help the most to bring him down. You game?"
He got nervous real quick.
"B-but I..."
Nina approached him. She rested a hand gently on his shoulder and another on his chest.
"But you must help us, Victor, if not for our sakes, for your family's sake. Remember who you're doing all this for, Victor, and if you want to make life for them, and yourself, good again, you'll help us. Please?"
I would've melted if I were in his position, but she had her ways. Victor nodded meekly and looked at me again.
"What do I do?"
We waited in town for a long while. Our plan was simple: whenever Victor was needed for mob work, he was always called from a payphone or a disposable cell phone. The man would be told to leave the airfield for a day or two, then he would come back to a new plane sitting on the runway, with a man standing by it. This man would give him a small package that he always claimed contained entry and exit papers that would guarantee his safe travel into and out of Moscow International, then would give him a piece of paper detailing a flight route and the hangar to enter upon his arrival in Russia. Victor always followed these instructions to the letter. This mystery man was our way forward into the unknown, and securing him was our top priority. We simply camped out and waited for his call.
Then one day he alerted us that he had a job. He was to remain in town for two days, after which he'd have a new plane on his tarmac. I told him to wait alone, because being with us drew too much negative attention. So we waited the two days, then discreetly followed behind him as he went back to the airfield. We hid in our vehicle as Victor approached his new ride, a stark white plane only the required information painted on its sides and nothing else. The man that stood next to it was gruff, a brute if I ever saw one, but I knew he had wiles under the muscle. He gave Victor a package and a slip of paper, just like clockwork, and Victor checked them as he went into the plane. Now the rest was up to us.
Nina got out first and sauntered over to the tarmac. She was dressed casually enough, suggesting that she wanted to book a flight. She ambled up to the big man and they conversed, but it was apparent when the brute fell under her charms. She led him away with a soft touch on his arm and winked in our direction. That was our cue. We scrambled out of the car and snuck to the plane, leaving Nina and the mystery man behind. With bags in hand, we hopped inside and closed the door behind us. In a minute, the engines whined and soon we were in flight.
This was where our plan came down to the wire. Victor told us that usually the men from the mob came after he touched down, that he had time to leave the plane and vacate the premises before they showed up. Going from that, I guessed that they didn't travel to the airport in advance, attracted too much attention that way, and only made the journey when they were positive he was there. That meant Victor had to communicate with them in some way, and that way was a simple phone call, he told us. But the flight was going to be extremely long, and the travel bags we packed were for an extended stay. We'd be there for a while, until our business was finished and Victor was in the clear, then we'd head back, one way or another. By right, this was illegal, but we'd cleared our departure with both US and Russian customs a week before, told the authorities on the other side to expect us coming. Nina should have sent over news already. For now there was nothing to do, so we sat back and slept.
We awoke to the plane juddering in some minor turbulence. Victor saw us get up, apparently, because the first thing we heard was him greeting us.
"Good morning gentlemen. We touch down in roughly fifteen minutes. I suggest you freshen up and prepare to run soon."
He referred to part two of our plan. Once we touched down and parked in the designated hangar, we only had minutes to grab our gear and haul ass before the mob got there. We were to hide, preferably somewhere safe, and observe the rest of the meeting, then after we were done we'd tail the mob men in a transport vehicle hidden away nearby by our contact in Russia beforehand. Nina had to specially arrange that. We'd follow the men all the way to their boss, presumably, at his hideout. Once there, we were to take photos, evidence anything we could use to connect Ivan to the drug trade, then we'd take him in by force. He'd go to jail and Victor would live a free man. At least, that's what was written down. I knew written plans never quite went according to what was thought up, something always went inevitably wrong.
By the time we finished and were back in our seats, the plane touched down. One bumpy ride and we were in the hangar designated by the mob men. Brandon and I grabbed our things and made haste out of the plane, scurrying like rats to the back of the hangar, where Brandon found some metal sheeting we hid behind. We sat there on the cold metal for what seemed like an eternity, but it was only a few minutes later that several black cars rolled into the hangar. A whole load of men got out, armed to the teeth and menacing even to look at. The whole circus seemed to be under the finger of a man in the center, seemingly unarmed, dressed in a long fur coat and jeans. He talked to Victor for a while, I made out snatches of conversation in Russian, then he grabbed a package from Victor's hands and replaced it with an envelope, which I guessed was full of money. Victor was taken to one of the waiting cars and driven off while the rest of the men set to work on the plane. The fur man, who I assumed was the boss, waved off the rest of the workers, got into his own car and left. Which left us alone in a hangar full of men that would definitely kill us if they found us. We needed an exit.
"Well this is a spot we've gotten ourselves into, eh."
Brandon whispered at me from the confines of the sheet metal we were hiding behind. Right at the back of the hangar, we were masked mostly in shadow, but anyone looking hard enough would've seen the discrepancies. We weren't exactly the best at stealth.
I nodded to him and stared out from our hiding place. The Russians seemed preoccupied with taking the plane apart, one bolt at a time, so it almost seemed like we could make a clean getaway, but the fact that the hangar was crawling with them made it extremely hard, plus the fact that we had travel bags made trying the walking out approach even harder. We had to sneak this. There was only one entrance and exit: the front of the hangar. Timing was everything. Brandon and I waited until work on the plane had started proper, watching the men until every one of them was busy doing something. He bade me follow and I stuck behind him as we hugged the walls and moved from our spot, keeping in the dark as much as possible as we moved. Things were going fine almost the whole way, but as we reached the hangar door one of the Russians spotted us, but by then we were out and in the cold Moscow morning air. I shivered and withdrew my phone from my pocket. In it I had a message from Nina, sent to us before the whole op even started. She told us of a vehicle drop nearby in some brush, and I directed Brandon to the spot, where he pulled a tarp off a pair of dirt bikes. His face fell.
"Aw don't bloody tell me this is our ride outta here."
"Well unless you wanna walk, I suggest not complaining."
We straddled the bikes and tore out of the airport pronto. We had a mobster to catch and a man to save.
We reunited with Victor in a safe house in Moscow City, and we took a while to rest, with him showing us the usual sights: the Kremlin, the Red Square, so on. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of the whitest snow I'd ever seen, since snow in Manhattan is pretty rare these days what with all that global warming shit, I barely saw snowfall most parts of the winter, but here it snowed almost the whole year, even though it was the middle of spring. That night we sat together with a bottle of what the Russians call water, even though the label clearly said vodka, some sausages and rice, and I made a call to Nina.
"Hey there boys, settled in well?"
"As well as you'd expect, luv, now what's the plan?" Brandon.
"The plan is that we wait a while. I had my contact rig our boy's package with a tiny GPS transceiver, it's already transmitting its coordinates to me and your boys in New York. Once we get a secure lock, since the thing is still moving, we'll notify you and give you the location. You'll be provided with a driver who'll meet you tomorrow morning, it's terribly short notice for him."
"Is okay, Agent Nina. I drive." Victor piped up over a mouthful of rice.
"Don't worry Victor, my driver knows the roads very well and-"
"Yes yes, but does he know countryside well? Is he familiar with some, eh, shortcuts that we from the farms use?"
"I..."
"Then is settled. I drive men to location, end of story. I, too, want to see this through. Is my life, after all."
"Alright then, but you'll be taking a big risk going out there. You'll be a target, Victor."
"I know, madam, but frankly speaking, I am old, and I have seen enough of the world to last me a lifetime. If I die here, in home country, it won't be in vain."
She was silent for a while. I thought she'd disconnected the call until I heard her speak again.
"I'll have my driver drop you some supplies for the journey, boys. Then you're on your own. My boss in Interpol gives you the go ahead."
"Spasyiba."
"Oh, and boys? Try not to get killed."
"We know Nina, we know."
I killed the call and sat back. Victor looked at me and I returned his stare.
"How much do you know the back country, Victor?"
"I live here half my life and you ask me if I know the country? Is like asking fish if he can swim. Of course I know the country!"
He grinned, a smile born from years of experience and age, and I could feel the stress and worry in it. I knew he was worried about himself, about us. I ate my rice and felt sorry for him and myself, thinking about how similar our lives really were.
The next day we had a knock on the door. A young man stood there with a large duffel bag. He identified himself as Nina's contact and I let him in. Within his bag were winter clothes, much thicker than the ones we had, money, a map and three satellite phones, which he claimed were to contact them in case of emergency since the countryside had little cellphone reception. Underneath all that, though, there were guns. I pulled the rifle from beneath all the clutter and inspected it. Age old Russian tradition: if you need a good assault rifle, just go get an AK-47. Loud and powerful, this thing saw the Red Country through more than its fair share of conflict and was one of the most, if not the most famous rifle in the world, appearing everywhere from books to movies to video games. The rifle I held in my hand, though, looked like an AK but was smaller than one, more compact, with its wooden stock replaced with a foldable frame stock. The young man pointed out the calibre of the bullets were different too, 5.56 instead of the 7.62 you'd expect from an AK. I looked at him and raised a brow.
"These aren't your normal AK rifles, I'm guessing."
The young agent shook his head.
"Nyet. These are smaller, compact model. AK-74u, they are called. Used for close quarters combat since its so light and small. Moddable as well. Russian Spetznaz love to use these. Also..."
He pulled a pistol from the bag and gave it to me. It was light, alright, since I was used to the weight of my hand cannons, and was lightly polished to a shine. It didn't look like any pistol I knew though, even though it was shaped like one, but it felt right and it was lightweight. He pointed at the gun and explained.
"Czech made. CZ-95 pistol. Nine millimeter rounds, as usual, but the gun can be modded to fire at fully automatic, alongside the regular semi automatic. It also comes with a unique attachment."
He took out a magazine and attached a clip to its top, then clipped it to the underside of the barrel.
"Magazine clip. For convenience, if you need quick reload."
"You Europeans have some pretty ingenious weapon ideas, eh?"
"Better than any American gun company, I bet."
He chuckled and I couldn't help but smile. He was right, in a way. But the gear was here, and we had a hell of a fight coming up, so we had to be ready. Other than the rifles and pistols and bullets there wasn't anything else we really had. A GPS tracker for our car and a pair of binoculars were the last few things in the bag, and that was it. Nothing else. Our friend bid his farewells and left, leaving us for another long wait, enough time to formulate a game plan. First of all, I turned my attention to Victor. Setting one of the guns in front of him, I posed a simple question.
"Have you used one of these before?"
He stared at the piece and nodded after a brief moment.
"Da. But not much. I am familiar with make of Russian rifles, so this...small version quite familiar, but as to the handgun, I not so sure."
I picked up the pistol and gave him a basic run through of what it had; safety, magazine catch, slide. I showed him how to load a magazine, cock the gun by pulling back the slide, then flipping the safety on. I knew how important gun control was, since I'd heard stories from my colleagues of poor gun safety practices that had led to injuries, or worse. Hell, some of the more severe stories had ended up in the papers a few times. Now was a good a time as any to instil the safety rules into Victor as any. I showed him the same thing with the rifle, though he was mostly familiar with how it worked and all, just the fact that it was smaller threw him off a little, but once he got around to figuring out where all the essentials were, it was like he knew how to use the thing all along.
Now, the next thing: game plan. We knew the mobsters were heavily armed, as evidenced by what we saw in the hangar and intelligence from Nina. AK-47s, grenades, shotguns, and enough bullets to start a small war, plus what amounted to a tiny army's worth of men. All dedicated and all ruthless, since that was a requirement around these parts. We needed a plan to assault their compound without getting killed, while still inflicting as much damage as we could and achieving our main objective: capturing Peter Ivanovich. I had a whole bundle of zip ties for just that occasion, but until we had a GPS fix on their location, we had moot to go on. Between the three of us, me and Brandon threw around some general action plans, but just like I said, without any maps or anything to go on, these were just suggestions at this point, nothing concrete. We waited the better part of the rest of the day before we had contact back from Nina. The transceiver had stopped. They had a fix. It was a small farm compound some ways outside of Moscow. She sent me satellite images and I set my phone on the table as they came through. Victor took one look and he nodded as he saw them.
"Da, I know place. Is old farmhouses near my village, was used before when there was another village nearby, but they left it after the people moved into the city. I used to play there as child, with brothers and sisters. Fun in spring and summer, very cold in winter."
The compound wasn't huge, just a huge barn, a cottage nearby, along with two grain silos and a large field. The pictures became fuzzier as I zoomed in, but I could barely make out the blobs and forms of what I guessed were people. There were several all throughout the whole area, but it didn't seem like a tiny army. I guessed I overestimated how much men he had.
"Well, now that we have a map, we can make our game plan in earnest."
"Agreed." Brandon.
"If I can make suggestion?"
Victor piped up from the kitchen, where he emerged with a bottle and three glasses.
"I know printing shop, takes image files from phones, prints them into whatever size you want. I bring you there, make your phone image into paper, easier for you to plan?"
I grinned. He was getting into it quite earnestly.
"Excellent idea Victor. We'll go there now, then come back for drinks and we'll plan."
I pored over the map. The whole print covered Victor's entire dining table, and we'd spent the better part of three hours going over it and making plans. With the help of a few markers he had lying around, Brandon had labeled key points on the map that we should avoid: the barn, the silos and the field. For the first two, he reasoned that those two areas were too high risk, could contain forces lying in wait, especially the barn. The field was too open, and in this time of the year, too barren. Without crops of wheat or corn or some such to mask our approach, coming in from the field was a no no. That left only the back of the house, or the front driveway. One a suicide mission, one a possible giveaway. I knew that these guys weren't that smart, probably, and that the front driveway was guarded the heaviest, since that was, in theory, the first place anyone would put a heavy guard presence. Brandon confirmed it, and told us we should try to approach from the back of the house.
"Why?"
"Element of surprise, dear boy. If we approach from their blind spot, they won't see us coming. Granted, there will most likely be a patrol going around the perimeter of the house, but if we avoid them or take them out, we can infiltrate with ease. Hopefully."
The guns we had weren't silenced at all, and this wasn't Hollywood either; I knew that even if we had suppressors on these guns, the sound was still so loud it'd alert the other guards. Best option we had was to stick to hand-to-hand until we had our man, then shoot our way out.
We came up with a three prong approach. The first step would be to approach the compound without being spotted, an easy feat for Victor. We'd coast in, lights off, and Victor would drop us off in the main driveway, but a distance away from the house. Then Brandon would take the lead, circling round the left side of the house to get to its blind spot: a cellar door at the back. We'd gain entry there, then work our way upstairs to get to our man. Once we had him, we'd head back outside and run and gun our way to Victor's car, which would hopefully be parked and idling in the driveway once we had him. We'd bundle Ivan into the car, pacify him with force if we needed to, then we'd cart him off back to Moscow and into the waiting hands of Interpol. Problem solved, Victor would be free, and we'd be on our way back home.
I knew it wouldn't be so simple.