He left the question undecided, while he bound and gagged the woman. He secured her arms to a support with a generous loop of rough twine he found nearby. Then he sat her down and made sure she was comfortable.

  She seemed to understand what he was doing, and why. He smiled reassuringly, and she smiled tentatively back. He vanished from the storage area. Two minutes later he was back at the walkway above the mine workings.

  Hendrik gave him the thumbs up signal. The explosives were in place. Russo nodded when he questioned her, sending an all-clear sign. There’d been nothing from the central passage.

  There was no sign of Mosha. It was unlikely he would be long. He knew how tight they were for time, just as much as Maric did.

  The sounds of a brutal firefight, amplified in the closed space, shattered the silence.

  The massive thumps and tortured screeches of superdense metal gouging rock had to be a PR7, amplified in a confined space. The rapid bursts of small-caliber ammunition that followed were a Spetsnaz reply.

  Probably the Izhmash assault rifles that had replaced the Kalashnikovs in the 1990s, thought Maric. He was hearing nothing that sounded like the KS-23 yet. The rifled shotgun was a favorite Spetsnaz close-quarters weapon. It could do considerable damage, even through body armor. Maric figured the Spetsnaz didn’t carry them in the mine. They wouldn’t expect serious trouble from Iban hunters and workers.

  The eruption of noise was coming from the left-hand corridor, the one Mosha had ventured down. Maric signed a sharp negative when Russo lifted the grenade launcher. She was ready to move down the tunnel and provide backup.

  Maric had fought alongside Mosha before. His friend’s experience would lead him to the conclusion Maric had already reached. The squad didn’t want to get bogged down in a firefight in the tunnels. They needed to free the prisoners first.

  Mosha would do better to hit them hard and beat a hasty retreat.

  Seconds later the SAS man appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, taking care he didn’t leave footprints in sandy patches. Let them guess how many they’d met.

  Maric smiled. The Spetsnaz wouldn’t have known what hit them.

  Mosha’s little effort had pushed the Count’s security forces back, and bought the squad time. The PR7s would have shocked the hell out of them. That would make them supremely cautious in future encounters.

  But they were professionals. They’d regroup and come on. Maric figured they’d probably rouse the mercenaries, and put them at the front of the next wave.

  Mosha made signs he’d fired on four Spetsnaz, putting one down for good and leaving one too injured to fight. They were wearing body Armour., but the heavy PR7 bullets had gone through it.

  The Russian special ops soldiers must have been alerted by something. Maybe the early morning domestic staff had seen one of the recon team. If the Spetsnaz were coming down the corridors toward the mines, it reduced the options left for the squad. He hoped they could free the prisoners before they were forced into a defensive position.

  It was 0426 hours. Anderson and Hoist would be opening up on the main entrance in four minutes. Maric wished he’d brought them forward a few minutes, but planning was always a guessing game.

  He signed a ‘single file’ command, and led the squad up the right-hand corridor. When they were through the first cave and into the long natural gallery he deployed them as an ambush force. There was reasonable cover for Russo and the grenade launcher behind a rock outcrop on one side, and the squad could retreat down the T-junction further in if they couldn’t hold there.

  He signed for Hendrik to detonate the explosives when the security forces reached the walkway. Then he set him opposite Russo. What else could he do to slow the Spetsnaz advance?

  Maric was hoping the rearguard defenses would give him time to free the prisoners. He set Mosha at the junction to listen for an attack from the left-hand branch of the corridor.

  Then he disappeared down the right-hand corridor of the junction. Everything now relied on the map in his head provided by the Iban woman.

  In the corridors he had the disadvantage of lighting. It meant he could be seen as easily as he could see. The faint sounds of running feet echoed from somewhere in the distance. He guessed the mercenaries were being mobilized.

  The remaining Spetsnaz would also be converging on the mines. They’d have known at the first shot what was happening. Special forces could be at combat readiness in minutes.

  Maric passed through another lava cave, closer to the area that was supposed to house the prisoners. Two Iban workers turned a corner just ahead of him. He had nowhere to hide.

  His sudden appearance, and his military attire, froze them in place. That made his job a little easier. He dropped them both at the same time, each with a sharp tap under the ear. They fell without a sound.

  Then he was in the corridor he needed. He could only hope the prisoners were still there.

  There were no guards. The Spetsnaz would have thought binding and tethering the prisoners was enough. Certainly this deep inside the dome. Still, it would only be a matter of time before someone connected the attack on the dome to the prisoners, and came to investigate.

  Maric moved swiftly along the corridor, looking for the storage rooms he’d seen elsewhere. It turned out there was only one lava cave. He came to a halt beside the entrance.

  The corridor had the usual hanging bulb, producing a weak light. The room did not. He paused for a moment, but couldn’t hear anything from the cave. Then clothing rustled as someone moved.

  Maric figured Jinks and Bert would be awake, maybe Menan too. The sounds of Mosha’s confrontation with the Spetsnaz would have alerted the prisoners. Even this far away.

  He slipped through the opening, one of Bert’s throwing knives in his right hand. In the light from the corridor he could make out three shapes tethered to a bench along the far wall. Their hands and feet were bound.

  Bert and Jinks slowly levered themselves upright. Maric was pleased to see they could move under their own steam. The dark smudges of bruises showed on their faces, and blood stained their clothing.

  Jinks did a double take as he realized who it was, and nudged Bert with his elbow. Maric looked to the right. Menan was face down on the end of the bench, and seemed in a bad way. One leg was roughly bandaged above the knee, and blood had crusted over a long scrape on his back.

  Maric pointed to Menan, and Jinks signed that his injuries were extensive. Then he made the sign they’d agreed on for Iban, and Maric understood. The Iban hunters had beaten the Kayan brutally, doubtless to settle old scores.

  Maric came forward with the throwing knife to cut Jinks’ bonds. He’d finished with Jinks, and was freeing Bert’s hands, when he stopped in his tracks. A rough voice, speaking accented English, spoke from the corridor.

  “Throw your weapons out, or we frag the room. Your choice,” it barked.

  CHAPTER 23

  ________________

  Maric realized the Spetsnaz had been waiting. They’d set an ambush in case the attack on the dome included a rescue attempt. Maric felt a grudging respect for the planning abilities of their commander.

  “Don’t try it,” said a voice in almost unrecognizable English on the other side of the opening. “You’re covered from both sides.”

  Maric hadn’t been thinking of trying anything. ‘Get the facts before you act’ was a rule he’d learned early in his SAS career. He wanted to know how many of them there were, where they were standing, and what state of mind they were in. Maybe then he’d think about doing something.

  Bert and Jinks shrugged resignedly and sat back on the bench. Maric saw them disguise the fact their hands were now free, and dipped his head briefly in approval. He slid his PR7, pistol and knives out into the corridor.

  “Very good,” said the first voice.

  Two Spetsnaz stepped into the room. One was a grizzled veteran, who Maric figured was a captain from the markings on his clothes. The other was younger. The easy camaraderie between them suggested they’d been through many tours of duty together.

  He sized them up. He had ten years on them, at least. They were in good condition, but maybe his reflexes were a split-second faster. He hoped so. Every little advantage helped.

  “Who are you?” said the older veteran, as the other patted Maric down.

  “gray operation,” said Maric, “like you.”

  The Spetsnaz captain looked unsure.

  “Off the radar, unofficial,” said Maric, and that seemed to do the trick.

  “Ah,” said the veteran. “Your government won’t stand up for you.”

  He smiled, but there was no warmth in the smile. “So your goose – this is the right word? – is cooked.”

  Maric nodded. They were at the mercy of the Spetsnaz. They were expendable.

  The rattle of gunfire echoed along the corridor. The Count’s security forces had run into the rearguard Maric had set for them.

  The other veteran laughed.

  “We do a little ‘mopping up’, eh, and it is all over.”

  Maric had a little trouble with ‘moping goop’, but eventually figured it out.

  “Nice weapons,” said the captain, flicking the muzzle of his Izhmash assault rifle toward the corridor. “Where you get them?”

  “Made them in my garden shed,” said Maric, looking the captain straight in the eye.

  For a moment the captain didn’t understand, then he saw he was being made fun of. He roared in anger, and smashed Maric across the side of the head with the stock of his rifle. Maric collapsed onto his side, and made weak attempts to get up.

  Both the Spetsnaz laughed.

  The older one was about to repeat the question when there was a rolling wave of thunder, and the floor rocked under them. Hendrik had detonated the charges along the walkway in the mines.

  The Spetsnaz turned to look into the corridor. As soon as their attention was elsewhere, Maric struck.

  Wrapping a forearm lock round the captain’s ankles, he drove his left leg forward into the other Spetsnaz’ ankles. At the same time his right leg cannoned backward behind the man’s knees. The scissor effect slammed the Spetsnaz face first onto the rock floor. There was a sharp crack as bone gave way.

  The captain realized what was happening. He swung his rifle down to cover Maric, but the major moved lightning fast to pull himself up. He tucked the muzzle of the weapon under his arm. Grasping the weapon higher up he used the leverage to drive his fist into the captain’s groin. Twisting, he came to his feet as the man doubled over. He laid him out with a hand-edge blow across the back of his head.

  The two men lay sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

  “Was baiting the Spetsnaz just a little act?” said Jinks incredulously.

  “No,” said Maric, rubbing the side of his head, where blood was already seeping through his hair. “That bloody well hurt.

  “However,” he said, taking a little bow. “We try to entertain.”

  Bert held out her feet for the bindings to be cut. Maric walked back and picked up one of his throwing knives from the corridor. He returned and set her free.

  To his surprise, she took the knife from him. She walked over to where the second Spetsnaz was lying in a slowly spreading pool of blood.

  “Broken nose,” she commented icily. “Not good enough.” Before Maric could stop her, she rolled the man over and stabbed him under the rib cage. The knife went up and through his heart. He convulsed once and lay still.

  For a moment Maric didn’t know what to say, then opened his mouth to ask a question.

  “He was being a dick, with his dick,” she said flatly, forestalling him. “It was the violence that annoyed me. So I decided to do something permanent about him.

  “Now it’s over. Thanks for the opportunity to settle the score.”

  Maric guessed the prisoners had been interviewed separately. Maybe the Spetsnaz commander didn’t known what his underlings got up to. Maybe he didn’t care.

  It didn’t seem to matter now. It had sorted itself out.

  He raised an eyebrow in an ‘are you okay’ manner, and she laughed harshly.

  “I’m all right. I knew what I was getting into when I trained for this line of work. Some things have always been a possibility.

  “Don’t go soft on me, major, we’re just here to do a job. I’ll do mine fine if you get on and do yours.”

  Bert was coping. That was all Maric could ask of her right now.

  And she was right, they still had a job to do.

  He checked the time. It was 0435 hours. Anderson and Hoist would have been making the main entrance a ‘no go’ zone for five minutes now. He hoped it would take some of the pressure off the rearguard he’d put in place.

  It was likely the sniper team would be over-run in another ten minutes, and have to retreat to the main ridge. Then the full force of the Count’s military might would be concentrated on his four-man squad.

  Six-man squad now, he corrected himself. Plus Menan.

  Anderson focused his sniper rifle on the mine entrance one more time, and read off the telemetry. 714 meters. The new L96 had been designed for a first-round hit at 600m. He would have to do better than that.

  The stillness of the night was in his favor. As was the heavier 8.59mm bullet he preferred for the rifle. Less chance of a deflection in flight. And the large open area in front of the entrance gave him a clear shot.

  Against him was the fact he was shooting by starlight. The night goggles showed targets as fuzzy outlines when viewed through the 12X variable scope. His best chance of success would be when the target was moving. Then it took a more definite shape against the background.

  Hoist sat down heavily beside him, trying to quieten his breathing. The big man was still far from a hundred percent. Still, Anderson was able to watch his back. Working the sniper rifle took all his concentration.

  ‘Perimeter set’, signed Hoist, and Anderson felt better. At least they’d know if they were about to be outflanked. The Iban hunters were going to be the biggest problem.

  The forest was their home. The thought of poisoned darts whispering out of the darkness and into his skin made Anderson feel uneasy. As if the darts were an unfair advantage. All it took was a scratch in the neck, and you found you couldn’t stand up. If the Iban left you alone your breathing slowly shut down. If they cut your throat, breathing wasn’t going to be a problem.

  Give him something that went bang any day.

  He flicked the time function on his electronic tablet. 0429 hours. One more minute and he could open fire. He squinted carefully down the scope. He was trying to locate figures standing watch at the main entrance to the dome.

  A human form moved into the frame of the scope from his right. Probably a sentry returning from taking a leak in the forest. The outline of the figure was perfect in the scope.

  What the hell, it was close enough to 0430, reasoned Anderson. He squeezed off a shot, and the figure dropped to the ground. Then it levered itself up and staggered toward the entrance.

  Dammit! swore Anderson. He knew that had been a clean shot. The man must have been a Spetsnaz with a bulletproof vest.

  A figure moved quickly from the other side of the opening and took shelter just inside the cave entrance. Unfortunately it had given itself away. Anderson had a clear outline against the deeper darkness of the cave. He squeezed off another shot. The sentry dropped and stayed down.

  Mercenary, or Iban, muttered Anderson to himself.

  A squad of figures arrived from inside the main entrance at a run. It was a moment before the Spetsnaz inside the cave alerted them to the danger of sniper fire. Then they turned back, taking cover inside the cave.

  Anderson took his chance. He fired as fast as he dared, without losing accuracy. Two shots straight into the middle of the retreating group. Then at some figures that had moved away to the left of the entrance. One of his targets, then another, crumpled into an amorphous mass in the scope. They faded out of Anderson’s vision as they ceased to move.

  That was a result, thought Anderson with satisfaction. Anything that took pressure off Maric and the others inside.

  Now it got tricky. Anyone coming out of the entrance wasn’t going to be hanging around. Hitting running targets was more difficult. Still, he scanned the entrance repeatedly with the scope. He was rewarded with a shape on the edge of the forest, preparing to make a run for the entrance.

  The fuzzy green shadow had just launched itself forward when Anderson fired, but it crashed to the earth just the same. Bit lucky there, muttered Anderson to himself.

  Now the Spetsnaz were getting organized. Figures were leaving the entrance at staggered intervals, some heading left and some right, running as hard as they could.

  It was frustrating. Anderson stitched a pattern across the face of the entrance as fast as he could fire the arctic rifle with single shots. There were no hits, but the exodus of fighting men stopped for a few minutes.

  There were almost a dozen of them in the forest below him now. They’d already be looking for the source of the sniper fire. It wouldn’t be long before he and Hoist would have to retreat to the long ridge.

  Anderson took deep breaths, and mentally calmed himself. He needed his body to be as relaxed as possible. His heart as slow as possible. It was part of his training to fire between his heartbeats.

  It was hard to concentrate when his position would be over-run in a matter of minutes.

  Binding and gagging the Spetsnaz captain, Maric gave the man’s weapons to Bert. Jinks took the weapons of the dead man on the floor. Both of the Spetsnaz were a bit light on ammunition. Still, the two squad members felt more useful now they were carrying weapons.

  Maric handed Bert the second of the two throwing knives she’d made for him. He motioned for her to keep them both.

 

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