CHAPTER SEVEN
A military flight delivered Storm to a U.S. base in Germany, where he boarded a privately owned aircraft chartered by the CIA. It took him to an airfield in Kazakhstan. Although the Kazakhstan government denied that it allowed U.S. flights to operate within its borders, a backroom deal had been cut to allow the CIA to use specific airstrips for its covert operations in return for U.S. foreign aid, and this was one of those operations.
Storm found a late model Range Rover waiting at the Kazakhstan airfield, with a woman standing next to it. From the photograph that Jones had shown him, he knew it was Dilya.
“Welcome to Kazakhstan,” she said, extending her hand. Storm estimated she was five feet, five inches tall and about 120 pounds. She had short black hair and a firm, no-nonsense grip. Even though she was a native of Uzbekistan, she spoke with a proper British accent.
“Grab your gear and get in,” she said. “I’ll drive you to our staging area, to where the others are waiting.”
“Did you study in England?” he asked as they were driving from the airfield.
“The Soviets didn’t allow us to travel when I was a child. But all of our schools relied on English textbooks. That is why we speak with an accent. The audiotapes we heard were from London. I speak three other languages, and there is not a trace of a British accent in my voice then. Only when I speak English do I sound British.”
She glanced at him and said, “You will stick out when we go into remote mountain areas. You don’t look like men here. People will think you are a Russian, and everyone here hates Russians because they tortured us for decades.”
“I’ll wave an American flag.”
“Tell them you are from American television. We love American TV here. If you want to get women excited, tell them you are from Dancing with the Stars and are thinking about making a dance competition in Uzbekistan. You will be a hero!”
“Thanks for the pointers,” he said. He noticed the scar that cut across her cheek. It was illuminated by the dash lights as they drove through the night’s blackness. She noticed that he was looking at it.
“What do you think of my decoration?” she asked. “A little memento. Here they always cut a woman on her face. That way, every day when she looks in the mirror, it reminds her of what they can do, of their power. And everyone who sees her knows that it is dangerous to associate with her.” The car hit a bump that caused them both to bounce in their seat as Dilya turned off the main highway onto what looked to Storm like a cow path that would guide them up a mountain.
She said, “You’ve never been tortured?”
“Only by former girlfriends”
The Range Rover arrived at a one-room farmhouse with rough stone walls and a wooden roof. It was completely isolated from any neighbors. Dilya parked and explained, “The American inside is called Casper and the Russian is called Oscar. I will introduce you.” He followed her through the wooden front door.
A bespectacled man glanced up from a table where he was studying a map. Storm recognized him as Oscar. On the other side of the room, sitting on the edge of a bed, smoking a cigarette, was Casper.
Oscar stood, Casper didn’t. Oscar spoke. Casper glared.
“You must be Steve,” the ex-Soviet geologist said.
“Nice to meet you, Oscar,” Storm replied. He glanced at Casper and said, “We meet again.”
“Hello, Stevie,” said Casper, accenting his name in manner that was clearly meant to belittle.
The last time they had met, Casper had had black hair. Now it was completely white and pulled back into a ponytail. He’d added a new tattoo to his collection. This one was on his right arm and showed a skull with a snake coming out of one eye and a knife jabbed into the other.
“Thought you got killed in Tangiers,” Casper said, ignoring Jedidiah Jones’s rules about revealing anything about past missions.
“Disappointed?”
Casper sneered. “All I know is that Tangiers went bad and I heard you were the reason.”
“It did go bad,” Storm replied, “and I was thinking that you might have had something to do with that.”
Casper rose from the bed, and Storm saw a U.S. Marine Corps Ka-Bar knife on his belt. The two men locked eyes as Storm readied himself for a fight.
“I lost good people in Tangiers,” Casper said. “Good men who shouldn’t have died.”
“I ended up on the floor with my gut riddled with bullets, while you were miles away sitting in a bar nursing a beer,” Storm replied, “so don’t lecture me about casualties.”
“This really isn’t the time or place for you two to argue,” Oscar said in a quiet voice.
Dilya stepped between Casper and Storm and in a belittling tone said, “We wouldn’t have been chosen for this assignment if Jedidiah Jones didn’t trust us. You need to be professional. You can resolve your personal disputes after we find the gold.”
“Scarface is right,” Casper grunted. “We’ll settle our personal score later, Stevie boy.”
Storm couldn’t imagine why Jones had paired him with Casper. He only knew that he’d have to watch his back when it came to him. As for the other two: Dilya seemed trustworthy. He wasn’t certain about Oscar. Did Jones have some reason-besides the fact that they were all officially “dead or disappeared”-for putting them on the same team?
“Everyone gather around,” Dilya said, assuming command.
They each took a position on one side of the square table. “We are here at the base of these mountains,” she said, placing her finger on the map. “We will drive as far as possible tomorrow morning up into the mountains, and then we will hike across the border into Uzbekistan. Our orders were to go this way.” She swept her hand across the map to where she had marked a bright red X. “That is where the gold is hidden. However, we are being diverted.”
“What are you talking about?” Oscar said.
“Yeah,” Casper said suspiciously. “Why the last-minute change in plans?”
“As you know, there is no way for us to contact Langley from the base of this mountain, but while I was at the airport, I received an urgent call from Jones. He gave me additional orders.”
“I don’t like the smell of this,” Casper grumbled.
“I was with Jones yesterday, and he didn’t say anything to me about a change in plans,” Storm added.
“You have been flying with orders to stay off the air since you left Germany,” she reminded him. “It seems that a friend of yours has been kidnapped in England.”
“Agent Showers?” Storm exclaimed. “Kidnapped! How’s that possible? She’s in a hospital recovering from a gunshot wound.”
“She was in a hospital in Oxford, but she was kidnapped while she was being driven to an English air base to fly back to the States.”
“Whose got her? Where is she now?”
“According to Jones, she is being flown to Jizzakh, a city not far from our original destination in the Molguzar Mountains,” Dilya said. “He has ordered us to go to Jizzakh and rescue her.”
“What?” Oscar said indignantly. “I’m a geologist. I’m not risking my neck because some careless FBI agent got herself kidnapped.”
In a move that surprised even himself, Storm grabbed the front of Oscar’s shirt, jerking him off his feet and slamming his head down on the map.
“You’re talking about a partner of mine,” he said. “And she is not careless and we will go rescue her, is that clear?”
“Please release Oscar,” Dilya said in a matter-of-fact voice.
Storm turned him loose, and the Russian stood, clearly angry. “Touch me again, and I will kill you,” he sputtered.
“With what?” Casper said. “A rock?” Reaching down, he pulled his knife from its scabbard and flipped it in the air, causing it to turn over so that he could catch it by its blade. “I can loan you this, if you think you can take him.”
Oscar looked at the extended knife and then at Storm.
“Huh, just like I thought,” Casper said, expertly returning the blade to his belt. “I didn’t think you had the
