Once satisfied the CD was also gathering the information he took the time to observe. The group were obviously satisfied because they had gone upstairs to the room at the top of the stairs, where they sat on hard back chairs against the walls. It appeared as if they were waiting for someone else to arrive, but there was not chitchat, and no banter-taking place. The first thing that struck him was the ranks of the fighting men, a captain and two light colonels, not even Staff rank! The war was obviously improving prospects for promotion, because they seemed a little on the young side to be of those ranks. But then again, he thought, talented young officers often hold more advanced rank, if serving with elite units.
Things were looking decidedly sinister, he finally decided with a sigh.
They hadn’t driven far from the storage site when Svetlana had stopped and changed the cars registration plates with another set from the trunk, before moving off again.
The curfew came into force at 9pm, and there were many people still rushing home after that time had passed. Whilst there were other people out and about they were relatively safe, but the roads were virtually clear apart from themselves by the time the suburbs of Pushkino had fallen behind.
If the Russian girl was concerned about her ability to talk her way past any police or militia attentions they might receive, she did not show it. Caroline on the other hand was trying to keep her anxiety under control, not wanting to let the side down. She had already made the mistake of asking about weapons, but Svetlana had shaken her head.
“If we get into something where we need a gun, a pistol, or even two won’t be enough to help us..… .if we are searched and they find a gun, then its game over Caroline.”
The American felt the outline of the pistol in the coat pocket, given her by Constantine before leaving Scotland after he had made her promise to look out for Svetlana, without the other girl’s knowledge. She now wondered if she would have time to open the window and throw it out, if they saw a checkpoint ahead. However she said nothing about the pistol to the Russian, and just hoped that the journey remained uneventful.
They reached the pine forests within which the rich and powerful had their retreats, the Russian girl turned off the M8, the main route onto a utility road, which she followed for several minutes before leaving the surfaced road. Caroline wasn’t sure what was going on when the car stopped, and then reversed, leaving the road at an angle before disappearing beneath the trees, the frozen ground below the inch or so covering of snow, crackled and snapped under the cars weight.
“Any car travelling the same way we did along the road would see straight away that a someone had left the road back there if I had simply pulled off under here.” The pilot wasn’t a woodsman, and she had to admit to herself that she wouldn’t have thought of that.
“Okay, we are out of site here, and I want you to stay in the car while I’m gone. Just watch the time, and if I am not back before ten forty-five, just leave. Don’t go giving me an extra few minutes, just drive.” She reached up to the visor, and took down a road map, showing the American where they were and where ‘home’ was. She checked her watch and then opened the door. “I’ve got to hustle now… don’t worry, it’ll be fine.” Giving a brief smile she climbed out, closing the door behind her and vanished into the forest darkness.
Moving with confidence the Russian reached the clearing after a few minutes’ walk, little had changed in that aspect since she had last made the same journey years before, perhaps the meeting itself would be though.
Rather than walk right in to a possible ambush she took a few basic precautions, because both she and Constantine had to have accumulated quite a bounty on their scalps.
The woods about the clearing were empty of anyone lying in wait, although a car sat close to the dacha’s covered porch, unoccupied but the engine was still warm. She checked that a power light was showing on her Walkman but left the earpiece draped over her shoulders, and then studied the ground around the car. Not one, but four sets of footprints led out across the snow from the car to the buildings door, and Svetlana felt a thrill run through her as she too headed for the dacha.
Timoskova’s patience was rewarded when the general answered his door, smiling in greeting to the young lady who stepped across the freshold, kissing her hand and offering something to take away the chill of the night. As he brought her over to the fireplace she removed her fur hat, and a glorious mass of hair tumbled free. She exchanged the headwear for a shot glass proffered by her host, which she knocked back in one go before returning it, and then removed the sable coat she wore, and Timoskova let out an appreciative whistle. She was without doubt a rare beauty, and what she wore beneath the fur left little to the imagination.
She knelt before the burning logs, holding out her hands to soak in the warmth whilst the general put on some music to set the mood, and ruining the audio reception arriving at the annex in central Moscow.
Timoskova was not greatly concerned; he had programs that could identify and isolate any frequency, allowing conversations to be listened to with clarity, but something odd was happening at the other dacha.
The previously clear images in the open windows upon his screen were being affected by some kind of interference. It started on the hallway monitor and then seemed to spread outwards from there, the audio reception was being glitched too. Timoskova ran a fault finding program for his own system, not expecting to find anything though because the general’s windows still held clear images. That would leave the cause as being either pretty sophisticated jamming, or a line fault somewhere between his console and the receiver, which picked up the short-range transmissions from the dacha and sent them down the landline.
As expected, his computer was running perfectly, so dialling the telephone exchange he ordered them to test the line. He would have to check that the lines in his own building were operating correctly, so after taking a look at events in the general’s home he elected not to walk around the console to check the sockets where the feeds were arriving, the soldier and the beautiful whore were still discussing money but the action could begin at any moment. Of greater importance was the problem of finding what was screwing up his reception, if it wasn’t a fault on the line then he would eventually be able to cleanse the downloads of any jamming interference.
Leaning full length across the work surface he reached down, using his fingertips to probe for the cables and trace them to the sockets he could just about reach, but couldn’t see, intending to check that none had come loose.
He heard the bottle of illegal beverage fall on its side when he inadvertently knocked against the monitor, its contents gushed out, finding the vents that allowed heat to dissipate from the unit, and the electrical circuitry within. There was a loud bang and the monitors screen went dark.
Timoskova scrambled upright, grabbing at the bottle but the damage had been done. With an oath he banged the side of the dead device, realising he was going to be in deep shit if he wasn’t careful. Swapping the piece of drowned equipment wasn’t a problem; there were several unlocked and unattended offices on this floor with identical monitors at workstations there. The system was still downloading the feeds, unaffected by the mishap that had befallen one of its peripheral devices, but simply plugging it into his terminal wouldn’t make it work, the computer would need to be restarted first for that to happen. He would have no option but to report the strange gathering, and if the data had a big chunk missing, caused by a restart then drinking on duty would be the least of his worries, they might suspect him of collusion. His best hope was for the line to be faulty, but then the telephone rang and the exchange supervisor dashed that same hope on the rocks.