The line clicked. There was static, then another series of clicks. Finally, a ring. Then another, and another.
“Ferguson,” said a voice at last.
“Mr. Ferguson. Where the hell are you?” Corrine asked.
“Yeah, good question,” he told her. “According to the map, the town we’re near is called Vedona, except that I think there’s supposed to be a diphthong in there somewhere. I saw a sign, but the letters were upside down. Whatever its name is, the Russians burned it to shit a year ago, so we’re more here than there.”
“Why are you in Chechnya?”
“Same reason you’re in Kyrgyzstan,” he told her.
“I want you to set up some surveillance along the border area.”
“Can’t,” he told her. His voice was so cheerful he could have been talking about a ski holiday. “Following a couple of leads with a promising source.”
“What source would that be?”
“You don’t really want to know,” said Ferg.
“Tell me now.”
“Daruyev.”
It took her a few moments to remember who he was talking about.
“The Chechen the Russians arrested for the dirty bomb plot? You spoke to him in jail?”
“Kinda.”
“You went to a Russian prison? They’re cooperating?”
“That would probably be an overstatement,” said Ferguson.
“You didn’t break him out of jail, did you?”
“You know, Counselor, I’m a little tied up at the moment.”
“You were not authorized to do that. You weren’t even supposed to be in Chechnya.”
“Look, I have a mission,” said Ferguson. “The way this works is, I do my job until Slott tells me to stop. How I execute is up to me.”
“I’m in charge now, not Slott.”
“So?”
“I’m in charge now,” she repeated.
“My original orders haven’t been rescinded.”
“Consider them rescinded,” she told him. “You can’t just go off on your own.”
“Look, there’s no way you could have approved this, right? Because you’re a lawyer. I just did us a massive favor,” Ferguson told her.
“Bullshit, Ferguson. Bullshit.”
“I have three possible sites where these bastards may be putting together bombs, and I’m going to check them out. Then Van is going to pick me up and take me home.”
“No. I want you to check the border.”
“Fine. Then you explain why we didn’t check the sites two weeks from now when the bomb’s used.”
“We’ll order satellite photos and survey the sites.”
“I don’t know where they are yet. Besides, these people aren’t stupid. They’re checking the overflights. They probably have telescopes watching everything in the sky. Goddamn satellite tracks are posted on the Internet for Christsake. Come on, Alston. Get up to speed. You’re in the big leagues now.”
She glanced at Rankin. He was frowning, but his eyes were pasted on the road.
“How long will it take you to find out where the sites are?”
“I don’t know. My informant’s a bit cagey. We should be near the first one soon. It’s just about dark. Couple of hours. He says the other two are pretty far west. Couple of days.”
“That’s too long. I want you watching the roads. They’ll take you to the right site.”
“OK,” said Ferguson. “What am I looking for?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Then my way’s better, right?”
“Check out the damn sites,” said Corrine, realizing it was. She couldn’t let a pissing match over who was in charge cloud her judgment.
She’d have to take care of that later on.
“Thanks,” said Ferg. The line died.
She hit the end transmit button and threw the phone at her bag on the floor.
“He’s an asshole,” said Rankin.
“You can say that again.”
3
As Ferguson turned up the road toward the mountains, an eight-wheeled Russian armored personnel carrier lumbered across the road, blocking the path ahead. Two Russian soldiers hopped from the back of the vehicle, guns ready.
“Moment of truth, Dad,” Ferg said. “Don’t talk too much.”
“Uh-huh,” grunted Conners.
Ferg slowed to a stop. He’d printed himself a set of papers indicating that they were authorized to travel to an outpost at Gora Cobolgo, which was near the border farther south. The papers included a document from the interior ministry, which would suggest to the soldiers that Ferg and Conners were FSB. Daruyev, of course, was clearly Chechen, though the implication would be that he was an informer.
“Heya,” said Ferg, rolling down the window as the soldiers approached. The nearest man aimed his rifle point-blank at Ferg’s face.
“What’s your business here?” demanded the soldier.
“I have a pass,” Ferg told him in Russian, though he made no effort to show it to the soldier.
The turret on the armored personnel carrier swiveled in their direction. The APC was a BTR-70, battered by hard use in the Caucasus. The soldier pointed at Daruyev and sneered, calling him a dirty slime. It was hardly the worst thing he could say, though Ferg could feel Daruyev tensing.
“Let’s move,” Ferg said. “It’s getting dark. I don’t want to be on the road too long.”
The soldier laughed at him, shaking his head. He brought up the assault rifle quickly, aiming it at Daruyev’s head. Ferg smelled vodka on the soldier’s breath, and for a split second thought the idiot might actually shoot.
He did, but only after pulling the gun upward. Then the soldier laughed again and waved at the APC, which moved back to let them through.
“Calls himself a soldier,” grumbled Conners. “He didn’t even look at your papers.”
“The soldiers here become quite hardened quickly,” said Daruyev. “They quickly become less than soldiers.”
“That’s no excuse,” said Conners.
The road narrowed as they continued upward, until gradually it was just wide enough for the KAMAZ. They started downhill after a sharp turn, and Ferg had to jab at the brakes, barely managing to control the truck on the loose gravel at the side of the road.
“Beyond this curve,” said Daruyev, pointing ahead.
The pass was not marked on the map, and at first it looked more like a creek bed than a roadway. But within a few yards it widened slightly, and while not exactly a highway, was easy enough to drive.
Ferg and Conners had agreed that the Chechen might be bringing them into an ambush, and while that seemed less likely with Russians nearby, they’d already decided to stop well short of the village area so they could first scout the access the Chechen had pointed out. Ferguson found a flat area to park about a mile up from the Russian checkpoint; according to the map and Daruyev’s directions, the village sat about two miles over the ridge
