Beneath the Dark Ice by Greig Beck Read Free Book Online

information to the United Nations was a waste of time; either the UN would take six months to come up with an angry letter or the Americans would simply state they were doing research just the same as the 4,000 other scientists that worked down in their nationally marked-out zones. It would be much better for Russia if no one obtained the oil in the Antarctic or even knew about it.
    This job needed something a little more arm’s length; something that didn’t involve the Russians directly. Until they were publicly exposed the Americans would deny all knowledge of the secret mission in the Antarctic; “plausible deniability” the Americans called it. Well, if the Americans could deny all knowledge of the existence of their secret team, then Petrov would ensure it really didn’t exist. He knew a man who was very good at making things cease to exist—and knew exactly what to tell him to ensure he got results immediately.
    Chechnya, Outskirts of Grozny
    Uli Borshov walked from the little hut, wiping his bloody hands on a piece of torn Chechen dress fabric. As expected, it hadn’t taken him long to learn everything he needed to know from his victim and he was preparing to rejoin his Special Forces team so he could upload the rebel base information.
    Borshov was an imposing sight, standing more than six and a half feet tall, with a flat Slavic face that betrayed no emotion. He and his entire squad were made up of handpicked ex-Spetsnaz personnel who had displayed some form of special skill or ruthlessness that made them ideal for jobs that were either extremely dangerous ordistasteful to the Russian public or sometimes for roles that broke the very laws of humanity.
    His unit, known as the Krofskoya, or blood people, were not necessarily the first into combat, but they always infiltrated behind enemy lines. More assassins than soldiers, they were selected for the worst of the worst assignments. There were six of them—none were friends and all knew they were expendable. The pay was non-existent, food terrible and unless on special assignment, weapons were only upgraded from the bodies of their enemies. However, the main attraction was that they were allowed to kill, and torture, and do it often. Never could a more suitable job be found for a psychopathic profile.
    Borshov’s GSM communication unit pinged once softly; he frowned, there was less than a handful of people worldwide who had this number and all knew only to call in extreme emergencies. The global system for mobile communications meant he could be contacted anywhere in the world via satellite; it also meant he could be pinpointed via the same technology, and there were a dozen nations who would like to see Borshov obliterated. He hunkered down beside a ruined car, plugged in the earpiece and spoke one word:
“Da.”
    On the other end of the line, Viktor Petrov did not bother with a greeting. Borshov listened as the Russian politician briefly outlined his new assignment, his rules of engagement, and gave him one final piece of information. “You may be interested to know, comrade Borshov, that Captain Alex Hunter, the ghost you said you killed, is not only walking around, but leading the American team on this mission.” Borshov tightened his grip on the small communication device and a low rumbling could be heard from deep within his chest.
    Petrov continued the needling. “Doesn’t he have somethingof yours? Something in his head, I believe. What are you shooting these days, Borshov, peas?”
    Alex Hunter still alive was an insult to Borshov’s skills and reputation as an efficient killer and assassin. It had been nearly three years since they had faced off not far from where he was now. Borshov had beaten Hunter senseless and when he wouldn’t give away any information, had shot him in the head and walked away. He saw the bullet hole; how could he have survived?
    Borshov hung up on Petrov and stood motionless in the cold Chechen air for several seconds,