The Siberian Incident 2 Read online

  He knew that Colin could hold his own on the sled. His dad Tim owned snowmobiles, and he'd ridden them since before Scott was alive. Still, with Maddock and him on that sled, they were topping out at a significantly slower speed, and Scott was losing them. It didn't matter, he'd get to the extraction point and get everything prepared for their arrival. The one thing that now concerned him was the ability of the Fulton Recovery System to pull up two people. All three men weighed about the same, so who would pair up with Colin was the question. He felt that leaving Colin behind to reap the consequences of his bad behavior was an acceptable solution. Still, he knew that Maddock wouldn't let him do that.

  His thoughts and concentration were broken when a massive form thundered past overhead. It was the Mi24 Hind helicopter that had dropped off Strovenyevich's soldiers. It must have landed and waited for the mercenaries to complete their mission. The time for their extraction was evidently over, and now it was on a seek and destroy mission to find Strovenyevich's escaped target, Colin Crossfield.

  The helicopter flew low over the trees and swooped high into the air to make a 180 and perform what would surely be a deadly strafing run, even if they hit only the sleds, all three of them would die out here. There was no way to hide from the thermal optics and lock-on targeting systems of the helicopter. The only surprise was that the pilot had chosen to scare them with the low pass before killing them.

  Colin felt Maddock moving around behind him.

  "Keep going!" Maddock yelled as he stood on the back of the sled, leaning back on the storage compartment.

  The shift in weight caused the track to dig into the snow and the skis to lift up, making the sled less responsive to Colin's steering inputs.

  "What are you doing? Sit back down! I can't steer!" Colin shouted, desperately trying to follow Scott, knowing that the helicopter was on its way back to unleash deadly ordinance on them.

  Maddock produced the paratrooper's RPG-7, it was broken in half to make it easier to carry and had to be reassembled for use. He had limited training on the weapon years ago. He attempted to recall the steps needed to launch the rocket-propelled grenade. It was their only chance to live through this attack. He quickly screwed the propelling charge into the missile and loaded the full projectile into the weapon. He then slung the RPG over his shoulder and pointed it toward the sky as Colin continued ripping the snowmobile through the woods.

  "What are you doing? Don't hit me with the backblast on that!" Colin screamed.

  "Do you think I am an idiot!" Maddock said, attempting to balance on the back of the sled as they rounded a tight corner.

  The helicopter waited for them to get a clear shot, it's opportunity would come as they turned onto a long straight stretch ahead of them. It hovered in an optimal position to line up with the straight area on the trail.

  Maddock would only get one shot. He clicked the weapon together, then pulled down the hammer mechanism. Pushing the safety, he waited. The Hind began its strafing run. As they came around the corner, he could fire the weapon, and its backblast would go safely into the woods, he quickly lined up the sights and depressed the trigger. The RPG blasted from the launcher, Maddock saw it's fins expand. The helicopter reacted too late, it was fixated on firing at Scott. He saw a few rounds flash from the massive cannon in front of the aircraft before the RPG impacted with the cockpit. An enormous explosion separated the rotors from the rest of the craft, and they came spinning toward the sled. The forward momentum of the helicopter dropped it right on the trail only yards from where Colin and Maddock had just been. Maddock felt the heat of the secondary explosion as the fuel and ordinance in the helicopter exploded. He watched as pieces of the helicopter rotors tumbled in the snow, threatening to become deadly spinning blades before the snowmobile outpaced them, and they came to rest on the frozen trail.

  Maddock looked forward, Scott's parka showed a charred area near his left scapulae, and a small blood spot was forming. Before Maddock could be concerned about it, the trail opened up into a large clearing. Two crates were hidden from the air by white camouflage netting.

  Scott limped off his sled holding his arm.

  "What happened?" Maddock questioned.

  "The chopper, those were high explosive rounds," Scott said.

  The helicopter's cannon did not directly hit Scott's sled, but the explosive rounds had spread shrapnel, which had hit him in the back. Maddock checked the wound, a large chunk of metal protruded from Scott's back.

  "No time to worry about it now," Scott said, his breathing labored.

  He uncovered the crates and retrieved the equipment for the Fulton recovery system.

  "There's only two," Colin remarked.

  "Yeah, they didn't expect you," Maddock said, "You go, I'm an old man, this is a fitting end to my adventures here."

  Then Colin surprised both Maddock and Scott by saying, "Look, I'll stay behind, all of this is because of me, Strovenyevich wants me dead, you guys go."

  Scott was already strapped into his harness when he said, "It can take both of you, it is rated to 500 pounds. All of us can go. I can't hang on to anyone though, you guys will have to go together."

  "Really?" Maddock said, "Alright, I have a couple of ropes and carabiners, you get in the harness Colin and I'll try to strap myself to you. Time Scott?"

  "Three minutes," Scott said, coughing as he spoke.

  Scott inflated a giant balloon that looked like a blimp and let it ascend into the sky. Colin and Maddock clipped themselves to the tether.

  "Well, hope this works, I've heard this thing has a tendency to decapitate people," Maddock said. His hearing was muffled. The silence was almost maddening as a high pitched tone rung in his ears from the gunfire, explosions, and snowmobile engine noise he'd been exposed to.

  "I don't think they've actually used this system since the '90s. They usually use Ospreys now," Scott said weakly.

  "Why didn't they send an Osprey for us?" Colin asked.

  "Can't fly something like that over Mother Russia," Maddock answered, "No way Russian air command doesn't see that. The plane we're on is supposed to be exporting vodka."

  "Hope there is actually some on it," Colin said before the sound of an airplane could be heard in the distance.

  Above the snowy landscape, Red Garrett saw his target. His co-pilot began to unstrap himself.

  "I'll be damned, looks like they made it," he said, Garrett only nodded.

  Pushing the talk button on his mic, he said, "Badger 4, Romeo 1 inbound."

  "Affirmative Romeo 1, we'll be extracting one extra," the reply seemed weak, and Garret was concerned about the agent he was now extracting.

  Garrett aimed at the blimp and connected with the tether beneath it. He felt the pull on the plane, he'd done his job, now he hoped his co-pilot could do the tricky task of reeling them in.

  On the ground, Maddock, Colin, and Scott saw the plane connect with the blimp and felt the system begin to hoist them into the air. It was a surprisingly gradual acceleration Maddock thought. Soon they were well over the trees and could see the Siberian landscape for miles. It was gorgeous Maddock thought, when people weren't shooting at you, and genetically engineered mutant yetis weren't trying to kill you.

  Usually, this was done with a C-130, but that was not an option in this scenario. A winch began spinning, drawing the three men towards the plane. The winch reeled them fully in and then lifted them up. The co-pilot, wearing nothing more than a strap attached to his waist, leaned out the plane and grabbed them, pulling Scott in first, then Maddock and Colin.

  "That was pretty uneventful. I haven't done this since the '90s," the man said seemingly surprised, as the three pulled their hoods back and their goggles off to try to get a look at their surroundings.

  "We got an injured man here," Maddock said, pointing to Scott.

  "Yeah, I got hit by shrapnel," Scott said.

  "Wow, we don't really have a medic on the plane, you'll have to wait until we get to Hickam. I got a first
aid kit and some vodka to pour on it?" the man suggested as he shut the side door.

  "Get yourself strapped in. We have a MiG coming up on us," Red Garrett said, coming over the loudspeaker.

  The co-pilot rushed back to his seat, and the three took their place in seats that faced backward from the cockpit. Headphones plugged into the armrests allowed them to hear Red Garrett and the co-pilot.

  "Why are we always sitting backward in these things?" Maddock questioned, looking back at crates marked "водка," "vodka."

  Small windows in the side of the aircraft allowed them to see the purple sky outside, the sun was setting over the icy landscape. The plane transitioned from flying over land and crossed over, now flying over a vast undulating body of water. The water was nearly black from the approaching darkness and contrasted with the bright orange and reds that were cast on the snow from the setting sun.

  Suddenly they saw a streak shoot past the right side of the aircraft, a loud boom was heard as a Russian Voice came over the intercom.

  "Cargoair 4612, turn back to Russia, you are in violation and carry unauthorized passengers. Land immediately at Kamchatsk airport."

  Garrett did not reply, but Maddock looked out the window and saw the silhouette of a fighter plane on their right wing. They had been intercepted by a MiG 35, Russia's most advanced fighter aircraft.

  "Cargoair 4612, reply immediately, we are authorized to shoot down your flight."

  Garrett again gave no reply. The three men looked at each other. No one had anything to say, there was no way to escape a MiG 35 with a cargo plane. The Russians knew about them. Strovenyevich's cronies in the government had been made aware of what happened in Siberia. Now they were dealing with the real Russian military. These were not paid mercenary hacks, and Scott's mission no longer operated under the veil of secrecy.

  The fighter jet disappeared, and suddenly, flashes of red bolts flew over the wings of the aircraft. The fighter jet was strafing them.

  "Those are warning shots Cargoair 4612, the next will sever the tail of your aircraft. You can turn back now or parachute into the Bering Sea where one of our Russian Naval vessels will extract you if you survive the icy waters. I can assure you, that you will be treated better at the airport. Turn now, you have 10 seconds to comply."

  "Fuck," uttered by Colin, was the only word over the otherwise deafening silence of the crackling comm.

  Suddenly, two large booms were heard, only three seconds after the pilot's warning. Colin let out a high pitched scream and began to shout.

  "No! No! He said, ten seconds!"

  "Shut up, Colin!" Maddock ordered as he looked out the window, the tone of concern had left his voice. He'd seen a streak go by in the opposite direction, close to the tail of the aircraft. It appeared as if something had buzzed the MiG that now tailed them.

  Then a voice that had a Texan accent came over the comms, "Russian fighter, you're in international waters harassing an American cargo plane. We're two F-22 Raptors, and we heard your MiG-35 was superior to our planes. So it's a little surprising you didn't notice us sneaking up on you. Want to test that out?"

  After a brief silence, the voice came back on the comm.

  "I didn't think so, have a nice night. Cargoair 4612, you seem to be in kind of a bad neighborhood here. We heard you're headed to Hawaii, want an escort over that way."

  "Affirmative," came Red Garrett's reply.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  4th of July

  SCOTT BRUBECK DROVE the rented Nissan Altima up the long driveway that led to Colin’s mansion. His flight from Columbus to Minneapolis had been as uneventful as holiday weekend travel could be. Even with the 4th of July falling on a Saturday, the crowds at the airport hadn’t been too bad, and the flight had a tailwind, which meant his Delta flight arrived 15 minutes early.

  He hadn’t been to Colin’s mansion in exactly 15 years. That was when Mason had brought him to Colin’s 2005, 4th of July party. He was a teenager then, and he’d been in awe of his cousins’ flashy symbols of wealth at the time. Colin had owned an H1 Hummer and also had a 360 Modena Ferrari. He had a Motorola Razr, and while Scott was there, Colin had talked to Brittany Murphy about setting up dinner the next time he was in California.

  Now all of those signs of his wealth were much more subdued. He still had the massive gothic mansion in Afton, Minnesota. However, a Tesla Model S was the only car parked in the driveway.

  What was different now was the heavy presence of Colin’s security team. Men with AR-15’s hanging at their sides on tactical slings greeted him at the gate. They looked much like secret service agents, and Scott wondered if they weren’t perhaps hired away from that agency.

  He was directed to park his car in front of the house by another armed guard who radioed to someone via his earpiece as Scott put the vehicle in park.

  “Welcome to the Crossfield Afton residence Mr. Brubeck,” the security guard said, opening the door for Scott. Another man nodded to the guard and got into Scott’s vehicle to be valet parked.

  A golf cart silently rolled up next to his car, and another guard motioned for him to sit in the seat next to him.

  “Party is on the East Lawn, Mr. Brockman, I’ll take you right there,” the driver of the golf cart.

  The cart moved down a path through a wooded area on Colin’s property that opened up into a courtyard. Several tables had been set up, and Scott recognized most of the celebrants, including his own mother and father, as well as Colin and Maddock.

  The cart stopped, and Colin came to greet Scott extending his hand and welcoming him to the party. The two had not seen each other since they’d parted ways at Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii. “You made it, thanks for coming Scott!” Colin said it was the most pleasant and least conceited he’d ever heard the billionaire sound.

  “Wouldn’t miss it, thanks for the invite,” Scott answered.

  “Of course man, help yourself to some paté. Or the sushi chef can prepare some fresh sushi, I had fish shipped in this morning, so don’t worry about eating Midwest sushi today!”

  Of course, Colin was still ostentatious. Colin had been interrogated by agents from the NSA, CIA, and pretty much any other organization that dealt with foreign affairs. Scott had heard that he was humble and apologetic with the agents who interrogated him. Perhaps he had learned a lesson. That remained to be seen. He hadn’t been a part of any of that. Scott had been sent to surgery almost immediately after arriving at the Air Force Base. Then he had been sent back to Columbus after recuperating from surgery to remove the shrapnel stuck in his back.

  When he’d arrived back in Columbus, he was greeted by Agent Sandy Magdalena, who could now call herself Director Sandy Magdalena. She’d been promoted after Scott’s mission had uncovered Dimitry Strovenyevich’s network of Russian moles within the organization. They and those who had supported them had been rooted out through a clandestine cleaning operation that she led through arrests, firings, and in the case of Agent Collins, more direct means.

  Upon seeing Scott return, Director Magdalena pinned the Distinguished Intelligence Medal on his lapel. She also promoted him to her old position, and he was now the youngest agent to hold that position. The promotion had come with a great deal more responsibility. However, he was now able to keep his eye on Strovenyevich and the projects in Northeastern Siberia.

  After they’d left, the yeti preserve was put in the hands of a small team of Russian soldiers who patrolled the area, ensuring nothing got out. Rumors were that rare Siberian tigers were what was being kept on the preserve, but none of the soldiers really knew. The Magadan had become quiet. Scott’s access to spy satellite videos allowed him to see that the Snow Yetis continued on, and the two clans seemed to have grown apart. They could now live without the interference of men forcing them to fight with each other.

  After speaking to his parents and other cousins for a brief time and fixing himself a plate of food from Colin’s very fancy catered dinner, Scott felt a tap on his
shoulder.

  He turned around and saw Maddock standing in a suit. Colin had hired him as his Director of Security. It appeared that he’d used his connections to recruit and acquire the best trained executive protection force Colin’s money could buy.

  “Well, that looks a lot better on you than those baggy Russian snow fatigues. Is he making you work today?” Scott said smiling at his uncle.

  “No, this is just how I dress now. I’m here for the party. I am keeping an eye on things, though. I can tell you my guys don’t exactly care for fireworks when the VIP is around, you know?” Maddock said, pointing in Colin’s direction.

  Scott laughed, he didn’t particularly like fireworks anymore either, “Did you get your muskox mount?”

  “I did, I have it hanging in my living room. My new girlfriend doesn’t seem to like it a lot, but I told her it has a lot of meaning to me. The Savage 99 is mounted right beneath it.”

  “Right where it belongs, glad you got that back, Maddock,” Scott said, clasping Maddock on the shoulder.

  “Thank you for doing that Scott, you didn’t have to.”

  “No, I did,” Scott replied, “So no more mercenary work for you?” He asked.

  “I think I got what I wanted out of my system Scott. I’ve been on a lot of insane missions in my life Scott, but nothing will ever top that. I have to thank you for giving me the ultimate experience Scott. Without it, I’d probably be guarding some BP exec in Kuwait right now.”

  “So, you like this? You deal with this guy all the time now? How is that?”

  “Colin? Yeah, I’ve been able to work with him a little at refining his edge. We’re teaching him the word humility. I think he learned his lesson over there.”

  Just then, Colin popped the cork on a bottle of Cristal Champagne. As it began flowing uncontrollably from the bottle. Colin put his mouth over the top of the container, much to the dismay of those waiting to sample a glass of the expensive beverage.

  “Well, you should have seen what I started with,” Maddock said, shrugging his shoulders.