Avery allowed himself to relax now, as the pilot aligned the Antonov with the runway and began a steady descent into the familiar sight of Dushanbe International. To the pilot’s relief, Avery finally lowered the pistol and took a seat in the cabin, but he stayed near the open cockpit. Glancing through a window, Avery saw numerous vehicles spread out across the taxiway. In addition to the emergency services vehicles, with lights flashing, there were black SUVs from the American embassy and additional Tajik military vehicles.
The Antonov’s wheels touched and skittered along the runway. The pilot stabilized the plane, applied the air brakes, cutting speed, and steered the aircraft off the runway onto the open exit taxiway. All eyes on the tarmac and in the control tower watched intently with bated breath, as if expecting the lumbering jet to cartwheel out of control or explode at any moment.
Avery turned around to face Aleksa. Her face showed both relief and disbelief that they’d actually made it, and, at least for a little while, she’d finally stopped thinking about Yuri. Avery shared the sentiment, though he felt like shit. He was battered, broken, and sore, the closest in his life he’d ever come to being completely beaten.
Once the Antonov came to a complete stop, while the pilots were still in the process of shutting down the engines and systems, Avery got up, and, taking Aleksa with him, crossed the passenger cabin, went through the hatchway into the cargo hold, and lowered the aft ramp. He exited the aircraft with Aleksa, never thinking he’d be so happy to step foot again on Tajik soil.
About fifty yards away, separated by a line of ambulances and fire trucks with flashing lights and sirens blaring, Avery spotted the black Forerunner, with Poacher and Gerald Rashid standing nearby. The former pointed in Avery’s direction as he spoke to the latter.
Uniformed Tajik police officers, soldiers, and medics with gurneys converged on the plane. Two men in interior ministry uniforms stopped Avery and Aleksa as they started across the tarmac and yelled at them, first in Tajik, then in Russian when they didn’t respond. Avery didn’t know what they were so riled up about until one of them pointed at his handcuffs and gave him an earful of Russian and Tajik-Farsi.
Tajik troops swarmed past them, thinking they were going to board the plane. But the Russian pilots stopped midway down the ramp and waved their arms and shouted at them, trying to keep them back. Safely on the ground and alive, the pilots were concerned now about the consequences of losing Litvin’s cargo and having it seized by the Tajiks or, worse, the publicity of the incident. Both parties started yelling at each other, and the officer who had stopped Avery and Aleksa became distracted and joined the confrontation.
“The pilot is telling them that the aircraft is Russian property, and carrying sensitive materials. He told them he cannot permit them onboard,” Aleksa quietly told Avery as they walked away. Aleksa had taken off her jacket and lowered it in front of her, concealing, her handcuffs, and Avery stayed behind her to hide his. “He is demanding to speak to someone from the Russian embassy.”
Avery didn’t blame the pilot. The Tajiks wouldn’t like a plane full of HEU and dead bodies making an emergency landing and disrupting flight ops at their airport. Worse for the pilot, he’d have a lot of explaining to do to Litvin.
Avery looked back and saw the pilot pointing at him as he explained something to the Tajiks.
“Come on,” Avery said and gave gently prodded Aleksa forward as he picked up his pace.
A couple Tajiks then moved to cut them off as they made their way across the tarmac to the American embassy vehicles, some forty yards away.
“Excuse me, sir and ma’am, we need to speak with you,” one of the Tajiks said in accented English as he and his partner intercepted Avery and Aleksa. “I am Captain Arash Mehrzad of the Ministry for Internal Affairs. We will need to detain you for questioning until the Russian authorities arrive.”
Avery weighed his options. After everything they’d just endured, he was not about to get arrested by the damn GKNB. Sure, Gerald and Culler would be able to get him out, eventually. But what about Aleksa? The Tajiks could hold her indefinitely or give her to the Russians. He couldn’t allow that, and he wasn’t going to stand here arguing with them.
Avery looked around.
Everyone else was pretty preoccupied at the moment and paid no attention to the confrontation. Avery came around in front of Aleksa and yelled at her to run as he pushed past the Tajiks, knocking one off his feet, and bee-lined toward the Forerunners. The Tajik officers shouted for help and started to run after them, but tires screeched as a black Forerunner appeared out of nowhere and braked sharply in front of the Tajiks, stopping just short of running them down.
When he stole a quick glance over his shoulder, Avery caught a glimpse of Flounder behind the SUV’s wheel. Flounder lifted his foot off the brake, rolling the Forerunner forward a couple feet and blocking the Tajiks’ path as they attempted to maneuver around the front of the vehicle. One of them shouted and slammed his fist against the hood.
With Aleksa in tow, Avery quickly maneuvered behind the nearby lines of ambulances and fire trucks. Amidst the confusion and panic, with everyone’s attention fixated on the jet, no one had noticed a thing.
“What the hell’s going on?” Poacher demanded as he caught up with them. He did a double take when he saw Avery. “You look like complete shit.”
“You should see the other guy.”
Poacher eyed Aleksa, seeming to notice her for the first time, and frowned. “And who the hell is she?”
Avery looked around, searching for those Tajiks who were after them. “Not out here. GKNB’s looking for us.”
He continued walking, Aleksa close by, and slipped into the back seat of one of the parked Forerunners. Poacher jumped in after them, with Gerald Rashid, looking flustered, suddenly showing up right behind them.
“Somebody better explain to me what the hell is happening around here,” Rashid ordered, sounding the most authoritative Avery had ever heard him. Avery imagined that Gerald had been grilling Poacher for the past hour and became quickly frustrated when Poacher was unable to answer any of his questions
“That plane’s carrying highly enriched uranium bound for the Taliban,” Avery explained. “They have their own processing facility, possibly here in Tajikistan. We can’t let that plane leave.”
Gerald exchanged looks with Poacher, cleared his throat, and said, “Whether or not that is the case, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Colonel Ghazan is on scene. He told us that his forces are watching over the aircraft until the Russians arrive to secure it. He emphasized that his government and the Russian Federation will regard any interference as hostile action and will react accordingly.”
“Hostile action?” Avery practically jumped out of his seat at the absurdity of the statement. “They killed two of our people and are smuggling weapons grade material!”
But Gerald, who seemed not to hear Avery, continued talking calmly over him. “The Tajik interior ministry has likewise given the same message to our ambassador, who understandably wishes to avoid creating an international incident with Moscow.”
Avery gave up. He was too exhausted to argue.
“When are the Russians coming?” Poacher asked.
In answer to his question, they heard rotor wash overhead, and a large shadow fluttered across the tarmac. Moments later, a Mi-8 helicopter painted with Russian air force insignia set down on its wheels and disgorged a squad of troops armed with AK-12s.
Poacher lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes and watched the activity. After a few seconds, he handed the binos to Avery in time for him to see Oleg Ramzin climb down from the helicopter. Seconds later, Colonel Sergei Ghazan from GKNB caught up with the Russians. He pointed from the Antonov to the direction of the American embassy vehicles, while Ramzin listened and nodded. Meanwhile, the Russian soldiers spread out, formed a perimeter around the Antonov, and ordered the Tajiks away. Ramzin stepped away from Ghazan and produced his cell phone.