Sokolov finished with the wound, first applying pressure to stop the bleeding, then cleansing it with peroxide and gauzing it up. Finally, he gave Petrov a shot of antibiotics and analgesics.
“Now, Lieutenant, if you could come up with a makeshift sling, your commander’s arm will be as good as new in no time.”
“Thanks, Major,” Petrov said.
“You’re welcome, Major. Try to reserve your stamina and be immobile as long as you’re comfortable. Sip water if you’re thirsty.”
Sokolov headed back to see the colonel, who was yelling over a satellite comms link.
“Requesting air transport urgently. Do you copy?… I repeat, we have three 200’s and a 300. Over.”
The figures came from Russian military jargon. Cargo-200 stood for “dead” and -300 for “injured.” Both dated back to the Afghan War, originating from the numbers of standard accompanying forms that had to be filled out to transport the respective casualties.
The colonel ended the connection and turned to Sokolov.
“How’s Petrov doing?”
“He won’t lose his arm but it doesn’t mean he can stay here for long. He needs to be properly diagnosed and treated in hospital. There’s still risk of contamination. He has a cavity in his arm that’s filling with clot, with tissue damage around it. If the bullet’s energy had fractured the humerus, then the antibiotics shot won’t be enough against bone infection.”
Grishin shook his head in disgust.
“I’ve already called for the plane to fly in, ahead of our estimated schedule. This whole damned mission is a failure. We’ve completed none of our objectives and lost personnel in the process! All we can do now is get the hell out of here quickly.” He muttered a string of obscenities.
Sokolov could hardly disagree.
“Well, Major Sokolov, I appreciate your involvement. I hope we aren’t going to suffer any more casualties, but I know you can be called upon. We will be setting out for the airfield once the advance team has secured it, so be ready for it.”
“Colonel, don’t you think that we should inspect the ruins of the barracks? There could still be survivors.”
Grishin’s face turned to a rigid mask.
“I strongly advise you against it, Sokolov. I pledged allegiance to my country and my men, so I will not allow you to put them in harm’s way. If you believe you will be able to find a live terrorist, I see no value in taking prisoners. Anyone appearing within sight of our position will be shot. Do whatever the hell you want if you’re looking for thrills, but don’t expect us to be acting as your personal bodyguards or searching for you if you go missing. I have enough trouble on my hands already.”
Sokolov knew that Grishin was right.
Grishin ended the conversation as if Sokolov weren’t there. He was busy coordinating the operation of Alpha units he deployed within the complex.
His radio squawked, the troops reporting as they cleared the buildings. They had found that of all the structures in Aralsk-7, only four research buildings had been set on fire along with the laboratory. A total of twelve other support facilities had been vandalized, stripped down to bare walls. All evidence of the compound’s recent activity had been destroyed.
When the Alpha men returned empty-handed, Grishin picked a group of ten men to take a BMD and head over to the airfield. Swiftly climbing inside or atop the vehicle, they drove off northwards.
Sokolov walked back, following the compound’s wall. The BMD left a trail of dust in its wake. Aralsk-7 was smoldering. Lonely clumps of desert grass swayed briefly in a wind carrying the stench of diesel, soot and blood.
Sokolov stared at the laboratory, its face charred by the flames and pockmarked by hundreds of rounds. Three rows of disfigured eye sockets only emitted smoke.
Out of frustration, Sokolov cursed aloud. He searched the surroundings again, but there was no need to confirm the sudden realization.
Asiyah was missing without a trace.
9
Slipping away unnoticed was easy enough, Sokolov concluded. All he had to do was follow the compound’s perimeter, disappearing behind the laboratory, and continue until he reached the other side. Then he simply walked off into the desert. As the assault team prepared to withdraw, no one had taken notice of his disappearance. And, Grishin had warned, it wouldn’t be soon until somebody did.
He went onward until he reached what had been the island’s eastern shore, now the edge of the mesa that sloped down to the bottom. From the vantage point of Renaissance he had a clear view of the waterless sea. Ahead, he saw a gigantic pool of white, spread over a pit in the sea floor like a frozen lake. It was a field of crystalized salt.
Scattered around the landscape were the hulls of sunken ships, eaten by rust. The Aral was their graveyard.
Sokolov jogged along the edge of the precipice, his eyes scanning the desert. The sun hung low in the gray evening sky, but the ground still gave off heat. He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. He figured the air temperature had finally dropped below thirty-five centigrade. Bearable enough.
In his mind, Asiyah had only one possible destination. All he had to do was pray he could find her before she made it.
Then he spotted her, marching in the distance, her stride determined. He broke into a run.
He caught up with her a kilometer away from the compound.
He shouted her name.
She stopped in her tracks and spun around aiming her handgun. Seeing it was him, she lowered it.
“Is he there, Asiyah? Your father is in Kantubek, right? Is that why you’re going there?”
She said nothing. Annoyance crossed her face. She hadn’t planned on him interfering with her actions.
“Why, Asiyah? What do you want?”
“He’s laughing at those idiots, you know. He’s conned all of you. He even made Alpha finish off the lab, destroying everything they’d come for. It was a clever ploy, giving up the complex. Now the Russians are leaving Renaissance willingly. But I’m the one who’s going to have the last laugh.”
“But how can your father be staying in a derelict village?”
“My father planned to have a reserve base in Kantubek. It’s his personal bunker, constructed beneath one of the buildings. He kept it so secret that I never knew if he had finished it, but I’m confident now.”
“You’ve never mentioned it before,” Sokolov said, incredulous.
“Why should I have, I had no proof it existed. There had always been speculation about an underground facility at Kantubek, some sources claiming it was as large as the town itself. We found nothing of the sort investigating the area, but the Soviets had put in some groundwork. At the time, it resembled an area for storage and air-raid protection, but it could be expandable. It was hard for me to judge. Besides, don’t forget we were dealing with Frolov. His objective was the complex. If his shock troops had succeeded, this information would be beside the point.”
“But now you’re going there alone? It’s dangerous,” Sokolov almost shouted.
“I have no choice, Eugene. I’m doomed. I couldn’t stay with the FSB team and I can’t go back now. I’m sure Grishin wants me to answer a few questions as to why I led his men into an ambush. My innocence won’t concern them. If he doesn’t execute me on the spot, I’ll disappear somewhere in the dungeons of Lubyanka. I have no future. But I have a chance of achieving my goal before I die.”
“We’d stand a better chance if I came with you.”
“Don’t you understand?” she said in exasperation. “The sentries would kill you the moment you showed up. I must go alone because they won’t dare hurt me. They would never take away that pleasure from their President. Stop trailing me. I don’t want you to sacrifice your life for naught. Go to back to Grishin’s men and fly to Moscow.”