“I’m sorry, sir.” The portly sergeant shivered at the reprimand. “I didn’t think…”

  “Don’t let it happen again.” Aesop strolled forward and slapped his wad of papers on the sergeant’s desk. “I need transport for my unit and their gear. I saw a Typhoon out there that should do the job.” He leaned forward. “Is it in good mechanical condition?”

  “It has been carefully maintained.” The sergeant bit his lower lip—he’d wanted to keep the nearly-new Ural vehicle here, available for whatever sort of outing his superiors might want to use it for. Orders are orders, he told himself. And I am not going to argue with a Spetsnaz officer! He picked up the paperwork, glanced through it. “When do you need it?”

  “Right now.” Aesop smiled. “At least as soon as you can fuel it up and hang a few extra gas cans on the sides.”

  “I have no men here…”

  “You have Corporal Ovetchkin and, unless your officer is a fool, one or two other guards to act as his relief.”

  “I’m not supposed to use guards for…”

  “Sergeant,” the big lieutenant said, and stared at the portly NCO. “I will give you ten minutes to have the vehicle fueled and ready for the field.” He glanced at his watch. “At the end of that time I will contact your commanding officer and inform him of your failure.” He leaned forward. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes sir.” Normakov picked up the phone on his desk. “I understand, sir.”

  It took less than two minutes for him to turn out the other men scattered around the motor pool—and five minutes longer to gas up the big Typhoon and hang ten big jerry cans of fuel on external hard points.

  Exactly ten minutes from the time Aesop gave his order, Flame was driving the big vehicle through the front gate of the motor pool.

  Ovetchkin held the gate open and saluted smartly as they passed through.

  ***

  “Well,” Dana sighed. “They were able to acquire a vehicle without any trouble.”

  “Your operational plan was a good one.” The admiral nodded and sipped his drink. “Barring unforeseen difficulties, they should be just fine.”

  “It’s those unforeseen difficulties I’m concerned about.” Dana looked into her friend and mentor’s eyes. “They’re hundreds of miles behind the Russian lines…”

  “Dana.” The admiral reached out and touched her shoulder. “I know it shouldn’t be your problem, but we—I—need those journalists to get out safely.” He leaned back. “Along with their material.”

  “What material is that?”

  “If my information is correct, the German crew will have a few hangers-on when they return. People we very badly need to interview.”

  “Extra people?” Dana shook her head. “Flame and Aesop should have been briefed.”

  “They’ll be okay.” The admiral sipped his drink. “Every decent vehicle in that motor pool was capable of carrying at least ten people…”

  “So you knew about this all along.” Dana nodded and glared at the older man. “You just didn’t bother to tell me.”

  “Dana…”

  “Flame and I don’t mind doing your dirty work—it lets us stay in the game.” She stood up. “But by now you should trust us enough to give us all the intel.” She stepped away from the table. “I doubt it would have changed our minds about whether or not to take the job.”

  She turned and headed for the door, leaving the admiral quietly sipping his drink.

  ***

  Flame turned as Karin’s head popped through the little window behind the Typhoon’s cab. “Heat doesn’t work in this thing.” She smiled. “It’s a good thing the temperature’s around ten degrees Celsius.”

  “We’re lucky it runs as well as it does.” Aesop pointed at the control panel. “That sergeant in the motor pool told us this thing had been ‘carefully maintained’ but half these instruments don’t work.” He shook his head. “It’s a piece of shit!”

  “Most Russian vehicles are crap.” Karin shook her head. “I once had a boyfriend who purchased a Lada Samara to show how urbane and civilized he was.”

  “How was it?”

  “It broke down at least once a week—and servicing it was a nightmare.” She smiled. “It was in the garage again when we broke up—I had to take the metro to get back to my own apartment.”

  “Let’s hope this thing holds together long enough to get us to Istanbul.” Flame patted the steering wheel. “After that,” he said, grinning, “it can be some Turk’s problem.”

  “Only another couple of miles to the ferry landing.” Aesop turned to Karin. “Don’t show yourselves until we’re safely on the other side.”

  “I’ll make sure everyone is quiet.” She slid the window shut as she returned to her seat in the vehicle's modular rear compartment.

  “Get the papers ready,” Flame told his partner. “I’ll act dumb—like any normal Russian driver—while you do the talking.”

  “Good plan.” Aesop dug the travel papers out of his jacket. They were the last of the forgeries Bivens had manufactured for the mission. “Let’s hope these are as good as the others our boy forged.” The big man smiled. “I really don’t want to have to shoot my way through.”

  “The admiral would have our asses if we did that.” Flame turned onto the single-lane road that led to the ferry. “He made that clear enough to Dana.”

  “Okay.” Aesop looked out of his window. “Pity we don’t have time to visit the memorial—I’d love to see it.”

  “I’ll bite,” Flame said, and glanced at his friend. “Which memorial are you talking about?”

  “During the second World War, the Adzhimushkay catacombs—that’s a series of mines just outside the city—were the headquarters for guerrilla warfare against the occupying Nazis.” Aesop’s tone became professorial. “Thousands of soldiers who’d separated from their units joined the refugees who found shelter inside—all were involved in various counterattacks.” He glanced at Flame. “Many of them were killed in the mines, some say by Nazi poison gas attacks.”

  He glanced at the ferry piers just ahead. “They put up the memorial in 2010—built it right on top of the mine entrances.”

  “Fascinating.” Flame pumped the woefully underpowered brakes several times to slow the Typhoon. “We’ll have to check it out next time we’re in the neighborhood.”

  The vehicle rolled to a stop at what appeared to be a hurriedly built roadside checkpoint. A young lieutenant stepped out, saluting as he saw Aesop’s shoulder tabs and Spetsnaz flashes.

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Lieutenant.” Aesop handed the young man the packet of papers. “Please tell me that this is the proper ferry to get me and my driver back to Mother Russia?” He glanced at Flame who kept his face blank. “The sergeant here seemed somewhat unsure of the route.”

  “You have the right place, sir.” The young man smiled in response to Aesop’s raised eyebrow. “And you are in luck—the next ferry leaves in less than ten minutes.” He glanced through the papers. “Is it just you and the Sergeant?”

  “Da.” Aesop nodded. “Just the two of us.”

  “Then please,” the lieutenant said as he passed the papers back, “enjoy your trip home.” His smile spread. “And give my regards to your family in Moscow.”

  “Is my accent that obvious?” Aesop shook his head. “I keep trying to soften it.”

  “It’s a fine accent, sir,” the young man told him. “One to be proud of.” He waved them forward, signaling to the man guarding the ferry port to allow the vehicle through.

  Ten minutes later, miraculously on time, the ferry pushed away from the dock. Destination: Krasnodar, Russia.

  ***

  Viktor Rankin had been a lieutenant for nearly ten years—and knew he would never better that rank no matter how long he remained in the army. It is my own fault. I should have watched my subordinates more closely. He had, upon gaining his first command, made the mistake of delegating authority to his senior NCO—just as he had been taught to do at the St. Petersburg Military Engineering-Technical University.

  Senior Sergeant Kopeykin had been quick to take advantage of the rookie error in judgment. I still don’t know how much he sold through the black market.Rankin shook his head. I don’t think he knew himself.

  Kopeykin had been caught, of course, and sent to a military gulag where he would spend the rest of his life.

  Rankin had very nearly joined him—only Sergeant’s Kopeykin's own testimony, and the lieutenant’s bank accounts—convinced the court martial that he was guilty of nothing more than stupidity. He was allowed to stay in the army, even allowed to keep his rank.

  But he would never advance, never be promoted.

  Rankin had learned his lesson—he never again trusted anyone under his command. Now, as he marched through the motor pool that was his current responsibility, his eyes were constantly on the move, inspecting, counting…

  He noted an empty spot in the first row of vehicles and frowned as he opened the door to the tiny unit office. “Sergeant,” he spat out. “We seem to be missing something.”

  “A Ural Typhoon configured for reconnaissance,” Sergeant Normakov replied, paperwork in hand. “It was requisitioned by a very large Spetsnaz lieutenant.” Normakov shivered. “Biggest man I have ever seen!”

  “And what did this Spetsnaz officer want with one of my vehicles?” Rankin held out his hand, gestured for the papers. “He should have had his own transport available.” He took the papers, glanced at them. “These seem in order,” he commented as he shuffled through them. “But I’ll be damned if I allow these Special Forces bastards to just waltz in and take my gear.” He strode to his desk, jammed into the rear corner of the little office. “Get me the commanding officer of the…” he glanced at the orders. “The 14th Spetsnaz Brigade.”

  “Sir, are you sure…”

  “Put the call through, Sergeant.” Rankin sat back to wait. “I want to give this man a piece of my mind!”

  ***

  “They made it out.” Bivens’ screen showed the heat traces that he believed to be Flame and Aesop pulling away from the Crimean shore. “Now all they have to do is drive six hundred or so miles through Eastern Russia and Georgia before crossing the border into Turkey.” He leaned back. “Piece of cake.”

  “Can we follow their progress?”

  “No chance.” Bivens shook his head. “NSA has this bird dedicated to the Crimean Peninsula. If I try to move it…” He shrugged.

  “So they’re on their own?”

  “Completely.” Dana and Bivens watched as the image he had been following faded off the eastern side of his screen.

  ***

  Flame drove the big Typhoon off the ferry and pulled to his right. The army had set up a fueling station there and he took advantage of the situation to top off his fuel tank. Finished, he maneuvered onto the M-25 where he put the pedal down and began to burn up the kilometers.

  “Aesop.” He nudged his companion, who had fallen into a light nap. “Hey, Aesop!”

  “Yeah.” The big man’s eyes flicked open. “What’s up?”

  “This piece of shit is configured for reconnaissance, right?” He waited for Aesop’s nod, then: “So it should have a radio set-up—shouldn’t it?”

  “Be in the back.” Aesop gestured. “I’ll ask Karin.” He smiled. “You know, you really ought to tell her about your ‘commitment’ to Kimberly.”

  “Aesop, I…”

  “I know man, I’m just shitting,” the big man smiled. “I won’t say anything to anyone about anything…”

  “Say anything about what?” The window separating the two men from the back compartment had opened, unnoticed, while Aesop was speaking.

  “Nothing.” Aesop chuckled. “Nothing at all.”

  “Karin,” Flame said as he glanced at her over his shoulder. “Is there a radio set back there?”

  “Big one,” she nodded. “Mounted on the front wall right next to me.”

  “Can you turn it on? See if it works?”

  “I’m sure Leni can.” Karin turned back into the modular cabin and motioned the other girl forward. “She’s quite a competent engineer.”

  It turned out that Leni did know how to turn on the Russian radio and find the active military channels. She also found a way to send the signal through a speaker in the vehicle’s cab…

  “Just scan the channels, Ms. Pfeuffer.” Aesop nodded as he heard bursts of static begin to sound over the speaker. “If you hear anything that sounds like a voice, hold on that channel."

  “I understand,” the girl’s voice came through the open window. “You want to see if anyone is looking for us, nicht war?

  “That’s exactly what I want to know.”

  “Herr Tytla and I will scan the radio waves. If we come on something important, we will relay it to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It is no problem.” The girl’s voice held a touch of amusement. “I was getting bored back here!”

  “Good thought, Flame.” Karin was still at the window. “We will have warning if the Russians get too close.”

  “Yeah.” Flame nodded. “But what can we do with that warning?” He glanced at Aesop. “It’s not as if we can shoot our way through them.” He pushed a little harder on the gas pedal, getting the big vehicle up to nearly forty miles an hour. “We just have to avoid getting caught.”

  “And we won’t do that by outrunning the pursuit.” Aesop gestured out the window where other traffic was passing them as if they were standing still. “This thing is way too slow for one of those movie car chases.” He glanced at Karin. “Although I hear you know all about those…”

  ***

  “…And that is when I contacted you, sir.” Lieutenant Rankin stood in front of the desk of Colonel Dimitri Anosov, commander of the 45th Detached Reconnaissance Regiment—a unit that included Rankin’s own motor pool. “Captain Ulyanov of the 22nd Spetsnaz Brigade assures me that none of his men were given orders to return to Russia and certainly weren’t given the papers needed to requisition one of our vehicles, even though…” He produced the papers Aesop had given his sergeant. “These certainly appear genuine.” He looked at the colonel, his eyes serious. “Is there something happening I am not meant to know about? Should I write the vehicle off?”

  “Do not write the vehicle off.” Anosov studied the papers. “I do not think Captain Ulyanov is hiding anything.” He pressed a button on his desk, bringing his aide on the run. “Fetisov, get Major Rogov in here.” He held up the sheaf of requisition forms. “I need him to check out the signatures on this paperwork.”

  “Sir.” The man disappeared into his own office.

  “Rankin.” The colonel turned to the man standing in front of his desk. “You have done well to bring this to me,” he said, and nodded toward the office door. “Thank you.”

  Rankin saluted and silently exited the commander’s office. They’re not going to tell me anything, he realized. After all, he thought with a sting of bitterness, I am only a damned junior Lieutenant.

  He shook his head and returned to his motor pool.

  ***

  “Listen!” Leni turned up the volume on the Ural’s military radio. “I think…”

  “Вниманиевсеподразделения!—Attention all Units!” echoed through the cab. “Be on the lookout for an Army Typhoon reconnaissance vehicle, serial number 1157213. I repeat, Typhoon reconnaissance vehicle, serial 1157213.”

  “I guess they know we stole this hunk of shit.” Aesop noted.

  “Shhh!” Karin was listening intently.

  “Why are you shushing me?” Aesop glanced at Karin. “You don’t understand the language.”

  “I get one word in five.” Karin glared at him. “If I concentrate!”

  “So they know we took the thing.” Flame shrugged. “They have no idea where we are—how are they going to find us?”

  “We have to cross into Georgia.” Karin nodded slowly. “They will have this on record at the checkpoint.”

  “What makes you think we were planning to use the regular crossing?” Flame was unfazed. “We’ll be okay.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Karin knew what Flame was capable of—and was certainly willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I really do…”

  ***

  An hour later, after they had made the switch from the M-27 to the E-97, Flame pulled off the highway and into a screen of trees. It was time to fill up the gas tank.

  “The rest of you stretch your legs and use the facilities.” He gestured toward the bushes and trees that surrounded them. “Aesop and I need a few minutes to refuel.”

  He unhooked one of the jerry cans of gasoline from its external mounting and prepared to do just that when:

  “You’re going to get us all killed!” Eric snarled from the rear gate of the Ural. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Eric.” Flame shook his head wearily. “If you don’t like it, just leave. I’m sure you can find a nice Russian who’ll give you a lift to the local KGB station.”

  “There’s an international airport in Krasnodar! Karin, Leni and I could have flown home!”

  “You have a visa to enter Russia?” Flame raised an eyebrow. “You’ll certainly need one to get out.”

  “We could show them our press credentials…”

  “You could have done that in the Crimea.” Flame grinned. “It might have worked as well as it did in Iraq…”

  ‘This is different.” Eric’s face reddened. “We’re in a civilized country…”

  “Krasnodar, the summer of 1943…” Aesop, who had remained silent until now, spoke as he lifted a second can of gasoline. “The Soviets began trials of their own citizens for collusion with the Nazis and participation in war crimes.” He smiled at Eric. “The war wasn’t over yet and they were already laying blame.

  “I don’t…”