Arctic Gold by Stephen Coonts Read Free Book Online

of the alley as Akulinin pocketed the empty clip from his weapon and snapped in a fresh magazine. Anybody waiting for us around the corner?
We’re not picking up any movement in the alley or near the car, Rockman voice replied. Hostiles are coming out of the warehouse now but cautiously.
They ducked into the entrance to the alley and made their way northeast, emerging again on Kozhevennaya Liniya. After a careful look up and down the street and at the staring, empty windows of the buildings towering around them, they crossed the street at a casual stroll to the parked white CitroICn. Lia climbed into the back while Akulinin slid in behind the wheel.
Damn!
he said.
What the matter? Rockman and Lia answered in almost perfect unison.
My toolbox, he said, glancing back across the street. I left it back there.
Leave it, Lia told him. The opposition is going to be all over that waterfront.
What left in the tool kit? Rockman asked.
The OVGN6, he said. Some rope and climbing gear. Some spare mags for the H and K. Some ground sensors. He hesitated. And the satcom.
That last was not good. The AN/PSC-12 com terminal with its two- foot folded satellite dish was a compact and extremely secret unit small enough to be carried in a small briefcaseor a workman toolbox. The black box attached to the terminal contained computer chips and encryption codes that the National Security Agency emphatically did not
want to fall into unfriendly hands.
Stupid! Akulinin told himself. Careless, sloppy, and stupid!
We’ve alerted your support team, Rockman voice said. They’ll try to make a recovery when things quiet down.
What the hell kept you anyway, Ilya? she demanded as he started the ignition and pulled out into the street.
Traffic inspector, Akulinin replied. He flagged me over just before the Exchange Bridge and demanded to see my papers. The bastard kept me there cooling my heels for half an hour before he finally agreed to accept a five- hundred- ruble fine for my, ah, violation.
Five hundred rubles, Lia said. About what twenty dollars at the current rate? I didn’t realize the local cops were such cheap dates.
Akulinin drove slowly up the road, passing the warehouse that had been the focus of Operation Magpie. A
number of shadowy figures were visible in the parking lot more than he’d seen originally exit the two cars on the wharf. An open- bed truck was parked on the road in front of the warehouse, suggesting that reinforcements had arrived. How many goons had he and Lia been facing, anyway?
He kept his eyes on the road ahead, not looking at them, and they, apparently, didn’t connect passing traffic on the street with their quarry. By deliberately driving at a sedate and unhurried pace toward, then past
the hunters, rather than pulling a U- turn in the middle of the street and rushing off in the opposite direction, Akulinin might throw off any would- be pursuit.
It was a bit of tradecraft Akulinin had learned only recently, during his induction into the secret ranks of Desk Three, and he didn’t yet entirely trust the psychology behind it. What if the opposition had people in some of the surrounding buildings, watching the street? What if they’d seen him and Lia emerge from the alley and get into the car? A quick call over a walkie- talkie from a hidden lookout and that whole pack of Russian gunmen could be swarming after them in an instant.
He drove with one hand, the other gripping the MP5K on his lap, out of sight but ready for action.
Several of the men glanced at the CitroICn as it cruised past, but there was no other reaction.
Okay, I guess they didn’t track us, he said.
They’re not pros, Lia said. All muscle, no brain.
He set his loaded weapon on the seat beside him, relaxing slightly but only slightly. Your fancy duds are in a bag on the floor of the backseat, he told her.
I see it.
For the next several blocks, Akulinin was treated to the sounds of tantalizing rustles, snapping elastic, and shifting
movements in the