there first.
“Aim for the smoke,” he told the pilot. “Fast!”
They’d been flying parallel to the valley at the foot of the Puy de Tourrettes. Now the helicopter banked hard to the right as the pilot changed course and began his descent. They were heading directly for the smoke when it was obliterated by an explosion that launched a fireball into the sky in an eruption of twisting, bubbling, rocketing flame.
Platon spat a string of Russian expletives into his headset microphone, then twisted in his seat so that he was facing the five men in the passenger compartment behind him. They were all wearing bulletproof vests and carrying automatic weapons equipped with bulbous silencers. These were Platon’s best men, hardened veterans who had fought with him in Afghanistan, or served in the savage campaigns against the guerrillas of Chechnya.
“We’ll be there in thirty seconds. You two, out first, find cover, and be ready to lay down covering fire. The rest of you, come with me.”
The pilot slowed down as he approached the house, looking for somewhere to land his machine, nervously skirting the fire and smoke that had engulfed the house. Close up, Platon could see that a gigantic bite had been taken from the rear of the building, where the explosion must have taken place. He could see only three people, two women and a man, scattered across the ground at the front of the house, not far from a four-wheel-drive SUV.
The man was crouched over one of the women, shaking her shoulders. He seemed completely unaware of the helicopter’s approach. Finally, when it was barely two yards above the ground and thirty yards away from him, he turned his head, screwing up his eyes, and jerking his mustachioed face from side to side. He got to his feet, but made no attempt to run away. He looked bemused by everything going on around him.
The Dauphin had come in with its cockpit pointing toward the building and the nose wheel touching the ground. Because the land fell away so steeply, the pilot had kept the rotors turning, half hovering, so that his craft remained completely horizontal, with the rear wheels off the ground.
The first two men jumped down from the sliding passenger door and ran across the ground at a crouch before flinging themselves flat, their guns pointing toward the man. Their three comrades followed, moving forward up the hill to the nose of the helicopter, covering Platon as he got out of the copilot’s door. Then all four walked forward toward the man, the front three holding their guns at their shoulders, ready to fire.
The man up ahead wasn’t carrying a weapon. Yet they could see now that the woman beside him was dead, shot in the throat and head. She was naked but for a pair of panties. The other woman, who seemed as oblivious to their arrival as the man had been, was wearing a bikini. The man had on nothing but a pair of jeans. He looked at them for a few seconds, blearily, as if he could barely focus, and then, quite unexpectedly, he bent forward, put his head in his hands, and began to sob.
“Mother of God…” muttered Platon, whose years of exposure to the effects of combat had not made him any less disgusted by those who fell apart under pressure. Now that he was close to the blubbering wreck he could see that he answered to Bagrat Baladze’s description. So this sniveling wretch was supposed to be a gang leader. No wonder he’d been such an easy target. He’d given up easily, too. Someone had given his head a good beating, but aside from that, there wasn’t a scratch on him.
Platon grabbed him by the throat.
“Are you Baladze?” he asked.
The Georgian gave him a blank stare, then frowned and tried to shrug his shoulders.
Platon slapped him across the face.
“Are… you… Baladze?” he repeated, his voice tensing with anger.
Panic returned to his captive’s eyes. He raised his forefingers to his ears and shook his head.
“Can’t hear…” he whimpered, and then, “I think I killed her. But I don’t know how… I don’t know… oh, God…”
He began weeping again, his face crumpled in Platon’s hands, as tearful and snot-ridden as a little child’s.
When Baladze had raised his hands, Platon had noticed the cuff still attached to his left wrist, with its chain hanging loosely down his arm. He grabbed the chain and yanked it upward, bringing the wrist with it. He had to get it within inches of Baladze’s nose before the Georgian could see it.
Platon gave the chain a shake. His unspoken question was obvious.
“It’s gone,” said Baladze. “Someone took it. Didn’t see him. Couldn’t see… couldn’t hear… so loud…”
Platon gave an order to one of his men.
“Ask the bitch. Maybe she saw what happened.”
The brown-haired woman was no more use than her boss: just as deaf, just as blind. When she realized her blond friend was dead, she started wailing, too.
Next, Platon turned his attention to the four-by-four. It had left a clear trail behind it, showing that it had come downhill at speed, turned hard, and then slewed to a standstill. Whoever had driven it must have taken Baladze by surprise: He would not have expected an attack from uphill, inside his own property.
Platon realized that the attacker must have used a stun grenade to disable Baladze and the two women while he took whatever had been attached to that handcuff: a case of some kind, presumably. If Baladze had cared about it enough to chain it to his body, its contents must have been valuable. That document Zhukovskaya wanted had to have been in there. Platon would get to that in a moment, but not before he had secured the rest of the property. The first two men out of the helicopter were still in position. Platon signaled to them with quick hand movements, indicating that he wanted them to flank around the side of the house and report back what they found. Then he focused on Baladze again.
The effects of the grenade should be wearing off by now. He put his mouth close to the Georgian’s ear and then shouted: “Can you hear me?”
Baladze tried to look blank and uncomprehending, but a flicker in his eyes, an involuntary admission that he’d understood Platon’s words, gave him away.
“Thought so,” said Platon. “So… what was in the case?”
