Marnie caught Rashid by the elbow. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s leave them finish up here.”
King called after Rashid as the door swung closed. “Billy Idol called, he wants his look back…”
“Too young to know who he is, old timer…” came the reply as the door shut behind him.
63
The two men were wrapped in silver foil space blankets, the clever amalgamation of plastic and foil reflecting their heat back towards them. Rechencovitch had ordered the rocket specialist to get two gas stoves running to warm the pop-up survival tent, while he fed them both hot chicken soup from self-heating packets of rations. A simple foil packet that when opened, mixed two chemicals in the outer lining, heating the contents in a few minutes. Both men were subdued. One man found it difficult to breathe from a ruptured larynx and the other nursed a broken jaw. They were bruised and broken, but they had lived through their ordeal. Both men wanted revenge, but that would have to wait until they warmed through and got their strength back. Rechencovitch warmed his hands on the gas stove in front of him. Within the confines of the tent the air temperature had risen quickly. It was now so warm, he had undone the zip of his jacket a good few inches.
He had already administered glucose drinks with some cocaine and codeine that he poured in from a homemade silver foil sachet. He had used this before and called it Marching Juice. What soldiers needed to maintain their pace, to lose their fear and inhibitions, and to ignore ankle twists or blisters until the mission was over. He could see an improvement in both men and as they warmed through, they would be faced with superficial injuries, nothing more than his soldiers usually sustained through a weekend of R&R and vodka. The next drink of marching juice would give them the courage to take on the man who did this to them. And win.
“He may have drowned, as well,” the man said. He had contemptuously sneered at his bested companions. He hoped it would stand him in good stead with the colonel.
The sniper shook his head and rasped, “No, I don’t think so. Who else would have taken our clothes? No, the woman drowned, and he stole our kit.”
The other man mirrored his expression. “I started to come around, I had the medical pack,” he said. “I tried to get up, but the blood went to my head and I…”
“Fainted?” the other man mocked him, glancing at the colonel.
“Passed out…” he glared. “When you got to us, when I came around, the medical pack had gone.”
“Who do you think he was?” Rechencovitch asked.
The man shrugged, winced as he did so, his jaw causing him some discomfort. “One of us,” he said. “The same line of work. An ex-soldier, I would guess. Someone used to fighting, someone with good situational awareness.”
“Better than yours, at least.” The other man goaded.
The colonel held up a hand. “Do not interrupt again,” he said.
The rocket specialist shrugged and picked up his own ration pack of chicken soup. He creased the corner and started to drink it down.
“I think he is British intelligence. Meeting the woman from the power plant would be my guess,” the man said. He rubbed his jaw soothingly. “He was fast.” He shrugged. “I guess five years doing security, I’m not as fast as I thought I was.”
“You can say that…” The man was cut short as Rechencovitch chopped him in the throat. He clasped his neck, fell to the ground and started to gag.
“I warned you…” Rechencovitch said coldly. “And perhaps your situational awareness isn’t what it used to be either?”
The man’s two comrades smiled. He did not look in a hurry to get back up. His soup had spilled over him and his expression was sheepish, his cheeks blushing.
The sniper said, “The woman was возбудитель,” he rasped. “Goading us about hunting. She was either situationally unaware, or just provocative.” He rubbed his throat and said, “I suspect she doesn’t know how to back down.”
The colonel shrugged. “Then we will have to force her hand,” he said. “And the man, too. Drink your soup, change your clothes and we will go and see this man and woman. And we will make them pay for their audacity.” He held out a hand for the man laying on the floor. The man took it and the colonel pulled him to his feet. He handed him his own carton of soup and said, “We have a job to do. As a team. We have lost a member, and we shall avenge him. They have given us a bloody nose, but we will cut their hearts out and watch them die. We will kill this traitor of the Motherland. We will kill her for taking secrets. And we will kill anybody standing in our way.”
64
“And you haven’t gone in to see her since?”
“No. The information from Porton Down has hampered us, somewhat,” Ramsay said matter-of-factly. “Be my guest if you want.”
“For god’s sake, Neil,” King said sharply. “She’s got no food, needs a change of clothes and we have to start a debrief. Porton Down have said how this virus works, but we don’t know, have no reason even, to suspect she’s infected.”
“I understand, but…”
“Neil, Alex is right,” Caroline said. “It’s bloody well hell on earth out there. She’s nothing short of a miracle to get that far across the terrain, and being hunted by mercenaries…”
“If we can assume they were mercenaries,” Rashid interrupted. “If they are official Russian forces, then we have to get the hell out of Dodge.”
“With you,” said King. “Any
