Arcadian Genesis by Greig Beck Read Free Book Online Page A

stepped in closer to him.
    ‘I reckon if I had something important to quit for.’ Alex thought of his own father and gritted his teeth. One minute we’re all happy family and the next Mom’s so broken down she won’t even talk about it . His face was blank. ‘Yeah, I could quit.’
    Stozer gripped his arm. ‘Let’s make ’em pay. C’mon.’
    He nodded and knelt beside the body, sliding back a panel on Bill Singer’s chest and entering a string of numbers into the small keypad. Immediately the suit began to smoke. Its camouflage effect ceased and the flesh inside began to shrivel.
    Alex stood and turned without a word, kicking a hanging board out of his path – all reason for stealth having been ripped away. Stozer waited for him.
    ‘Let’s go.’
    ***
     
    Bronson withdrew them a mile to the south, keeping them running at a solid pace, before raising a hand and pulling them into a tight circle. His HAWCs’ faces still showed commitment, impatience and plenty of anger, but no lack of clarity or frustration. Good , he thought .
    When they first regrouped, he had spoken a few words for Bill Singer. Was a good man , was about all he said. There’d be time for eulogies later. They all knew they needed to stay focused or they’d all end up anonymous bodies on some deserted Chechen road.
    He looked at Alex Hunter. His second in command was staring at the frozen soil; Bronson could tell he was still seething inside. Hunter was smart, unparalleled in combat, and had enough guts for ten HAWCs, but there was something inside him that was a little too turbulent. The man couldn’t let go. In the HAWCs you had to be cool and clinical, not some bloody avenging angel. He’d put it in his report and let Hammerson have a think about it when they got back.
    The packages were still in play, but now it seemed it might take a firefight to retrieve them. It also meant they were potentially a step behind the GRU. Tough bastards, but he knew they could go through them if need be. They’d taken a dent, but they were still fully functional. He looked at each of the HAWCs in turn as he spoke.
    ‘Listen up, people: the torture means they were seeking answers in a hurry. Means when the bad guys entered the property, they did not find what they were looking for. Package is still in play; mission is still go .’
    The team nodded.
    Bronson placed a small electronic tablet against a tree at head height and opened its map of the area, pulling the image back to a higher orbit.
    ‘This is where we are. Now, if I was Dr. Khamid, on the run and scared, where would I go?’ Bronson used a finger to move the map image to the left, and then drilled down on magnification. ‘I’d go home, of course.’
    Bronson used two fingers to open the image. A town even smaller than Urus-Martan was displayed. He tapped it and turned.
    ‘Katyr-Yurt – about ten miles west-northwest, and still four hours until sunup. Let’s move, double time.’
    ***
     
    Denichen Khamid lay flat under an oily canvas sheet in the back of the truck. The old Kamaz bounced over ruts and fissures in a road that was more a river of shallow mud.
    Yuri, the truck’s driver, made a guttural sound in the back of his throat loud enough for it to carry through the open window – it was not one Khamid wanted to hear. It meant he had either spilled his vodka or there was trouble. A whisper from the cabin resolved the question.
    ‘Roadblock – Russian.’
    Khamid’s stomach fluttered with fear and he tried to make himself as small as humanly possible.
    The old truck whined to a halt and a barking voice ordered Yuri from the cabin. Khamid lifted one edge of the canvas just a fraction. He saw two young Russian soldiers walk Yuri around the front of the truck and then came the impatient click of fingers followed by a single word –  identifikacija  – they wanted his papers.
    Yuri stepped back, felt in his pockets and pulled his wallet, making a show of dropping it. Khamid knew