with just
The question was how long that process would take. Depending on the lock, it could happen almost immediately … or it might take as long as twenty minutes.
“You might want to hurry things up,” Klein told him. “We have an officer of the guard coming up to the front of your building. He’s looking around, shining his flashlight. He’s looking for the missing guards.”
“Just freaking great,” Dean subvocalized. He didn’t want to interrupt the process. Moving the device affixed to the door meant the internal picture would be rearranged when he tried again, and he would have to start over from the beginning.
“He’s trying the front door,” Klein said. “He’s coming inside.”
Dean glanced up at Akulinin, whose face was illuminated by the glow from the computer monitor. “Watch the front office door,” he said softly. Akulinin nodded, shut down the computer, and slipped out of the inner office.
More minutes passed. “I can hear him in the hallway,” Akulinin’s voice said over the link. “He’s rattling doorknobs and calling names.”
“You’ll want to take him out,” Klein said. “If he can’t find them and sounds an alarm—”
“Wait one,” Akulinin whispered. “He’s outside …”
At that moment, the LED stopped blinking, indicating that the computations were complete. The alphanumeric R27 appeared on the one-line window. Dean turned the knob to the indicated setting and pressed the button. A second alphanumeric, L84, appeared, and after another button-press it was R36. He twisted the handle, and the safe opened easily with a soft thunk.
“I’m in,” Dean said quietly. He pulled the sonic cracker off the door and slipped it back into the bag. He shone his light into the interior and saw the briefcase, tucked in beside a sheaf of file folders and numerous papers.
In the outer office, the door opened.
The call was abruptly cut short by a heavy thud.
“One bad guy down,” Akulinin’s voice said a moment later.
“It’s clear outside,” Klein told them. “If he doesn’t report in after his rounds, there may be an alarm.”
Dean pulled the briefcase out of the safe. The scanner turned up no indication of an electronic defensive system or lock — it didn’t even have a combination lock on it. There was a key-type lock, and no key, but a small pry bar from the bag snapped the hasp open with a single sharp ping.
Papers … sheets of something that looked like bank bonds … and a computer CD in a plastic jewel case. “Jackpot,” he said.
“I’ve got our friend out here zip-stripped and hidden in the office supply cupboard,” Akulinin said. “Let’s get the hell out of Dodge.”
Getting out proved to be easier than getting in, anticlimactic even. Akulinin retrieved the micro cameras on the way out. There was no sense in leaving obvious clues to the burglary of Vasilyev’s office. The guards at the front gate waved them through and didn’t even seem interested in recording their departure in a log.
They turned east on the Hissar Road south of the airport and drove five miles to the intersection with the A384, the main highway leading south. A broad, modern bridge spanned the river — it was the Kafirnigan here, the Varzob having joined it a few miles upriver, just south of Dushanbe. There was a roadblock at the north end of the bridge, with several bored-looking militiamen stopping and checking each car. At just past five in the morning, there was little traffic, and the short line of cars and trucks in front of the bridge appeared to be moving through quickly.
“Masha,” Dean told the woman in the backseat, “it looks like they’re not checking the cars thoroughly — just looking at IDs. Get down on the floor again and cover up.”
“With the guns?” The two AKMs they’d taken from the guards were on the floor now, under the dark blanket.
“Yup. Just don’t fire one by accident.”
“Okay, Charlie. I must say you boys
Dean glanced back to be sure she was completely covered. The various reports out were for either a man and a woman or
The vehicle ahead, a battered red pickup truck piled high with baskets, moved on across the bridge. Dean eased the Hunter forward and smiled as the guard with a slung rifle shone a flashlight at his face. A second man stood with an AK-74 at port arms in front of the vehicle; two more, Dean noticed, were standing off to the side, caught in the glare of the headlights, watching, weapons ready.
“Identification,” the first man said. He leaned forward, placing his left hand on the Hunter’s door. Dean watched him remove his hand and look at it curiously, rubbing the fingers with his thumb. The tacky spray, Dean thought, must still feel sticky.
“That should be ‘Identification,
“Sir!” the militia soldier said, the stickiness of the car door forgotten. He straightened up, fumbling with the flashlight, attempting a salute with the wrong hand. “Yes,
Dean showed him the IDs, the new ones sent over from the embassy, since the old were compromised by now. “Have you seen anything suspicious at this checkpoint, soldier?” Dean asked.
“No, sir! But we heard on the radio earlier that the saboteurs have been sighted on the M34 well north of the city … north of Anzob.” The man’s Russian was atrocious, but he seemed most eager to please. Police militia would be poorly trained locals working under the orders of either the Dushanbe government or, possibly, the Russians. They would be more terrified of an angry Russian officer than even of the possibility of terrorists.
“Very good,” Dean told him. “We are checking out a report from the south. We’ll let you know if we hear anything.”
“Yes,
“Sometimes,” Akulinin said, grinning as Dean accelerated onto the long bridge, “all it takes is an attitude. Step on the other guy’s toes until he apologizes.”
“That or frightening him half to death. I think the poor SOB’s trousers turned a darker shade of brown when you barked at him.”
“Whatever works! We’re in the clear now, and Afghanistan, here we come!” He reached back and patted the blanket on the floor behind him. “Come on out, sweetie. It’s safe!”
“Afghanistan?” she said uncertainly.
“Afghanistan and a NATO flight out of here!”
“Unless they turn up something for us to track,” Dean added. “We’re still waiting on satellite data, remember.”
He wasn’t going to get excited about the end of the journey just yet. Afghanistan was still a hundred to a hundred fifty miles ahead, depending on how you measured the route, at least a three-hour drive, and perhaps more depending on the condition of the road.
He would be a lot happier when they were across the border and safely inside Afghanistan. An
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