After ten minutes of waiting for the Sarnev International jet to arrive, Bardzecki spoke to his men in English. He was trying to get his speech transitioned from Russian for the upcoming meeting.
“You know vhat to do if I do not return?” he asked them.
Gise answered, “Da, glavny” (boss).
Klopov just nodded his head.
“Gud, dat is gud,” Bardzecki answered.
The inside of the car returned to silence. Bardzecki’s mind bounced from one thought to another. He feared two men only, Joseph Lehan and his father, Leontiy Bardzecki, the head of the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood. He knew his father may forgive him, not without a price, but Lehan may not. If he did, his price would be higher than his father’s.
A few minutes later to the south, the lights of an approaching plane could be seen in the distance. This airport was not used very often for commercial passenger flights, so air traffic was light. All three men assumed it was the Sarnev jet, a Cessna Citation Sovereign. As it got closer, they knew they were right.
The plane touched down on the runway; it made a 180-degree turn at its end and moved toward the side tarmac where the Pobeda was parked. It taxied to within fifty feet of the waiting car and kept its engines running. The stairs came down, and a man in a pilot’s uniform stepped out and waved at them.
Both Gise and Klopov got out first. Gise opened the back door for Bardzecki, and he moved his body slowly out of the vehicle. He looked at his men.
“Vit luck, I see you bot in few days.”
He turned and walked slowly to the plane. Tomac, the copilot, gave him a hand up as he struggled up the steps.
Bardzecki entered the cabin and greeted Simon Percy, the head of the London Division, the only other occupant in the nine-seat compartment.
“Simon, it gud to see you, my frund.”
“It’s been a while,” Simon responded as he looked up from his laptop.
“Da, very long,” Viktor said.
Tomac closed the cabin hatch and told Viktor that Eric Mackey was the pilot today.
“There is no attendant on this flight, so when we get in the air and the captain gives the okay, you’ll find the galley is freshly stocked, so help yourself.”
Viktor nodded as he sat down in one of the larger seats at the back of the cabin. “Thank you,” he said.
The jet was quickly able to get back on the runway and start its takeoff. When it was in the air, it banked and headed west. Its next stop was Bern, Switzerland. It got to cruising altitude quickly. Mackey told his passengers they were free to move about the cabin.
Bardzecki got up and moved forward to the planes galley. There were K-Cups for coffee and fresh pastries. Viktor opened several cabinets until he found what he was looking for, the bar stock.
He made a cup of coffee pulled out a miniature Absolut twisted its cap and poured it into the cup.
As he was returning to his seat, Simon remarked, “A little early, is it not?”
Viktor just said, “I’m Russian. It’s never too early for wadka.”
After Viktor was seated, Simon spoke again, “So, Viktor, rumor has it that your personal security detail was responsible—”
He got cut off. Viktor held up his hand to stop him. “Enough of rumors. I not care ’bout dem. Please, I am tired.” Viktor had dismissed the conversation, and Simon went back to his laptop and his writing.
Viktor sipped his coffee and stared out the window. He could only see clouds, but it was better than conversing with a man he barely knew and probably would detest.
Hours later, they landed in Bern. The plane needed to refuel. Mackey stepped out of the cockpit and told his two passengers, “If you want to get out and stretch, it would be a good opportunity.”
Their next landing would be at Kindley Field across the Atlantic in Bermuda. Simon got up and deplaned, along with Tomac and Mackey. Viktor remained on board.
A new passenger boarded, Fredrick Haus, the head of the Bern division.
All three had been ordered, along with every other Sarnev Division head to attend the first company meeting since the disappearance of Andre Sarnev. They were all a bit nervous Joseph Lehan was known as a ruthless operator. They were uncertain what was coming, especially Bardzecki. He knew there was unfinished business between him and Lehan, business that would not bode well for him.
Chapter 2
The fall season would be short-lived in Anchorage. Winter came in fast and cold and ended the summer warmth with quick temperature transitions. It was a mere thirty degrees as Dave Banner (alias Dan Mercer) ran along the Tony Knowles bike trail that was on the outskirts of the Ted Stevens Airport. His warm breath was turning into small ice droplets on his red beard as he pushed down the path.
His pace was steady as he ran the course. He tried to get on it four days a week. Keeping up his strength and endurance was drilled into him in the Army, and he enjoyed the challenge. His route started on Float Plane Drive, which ran into Lakeshore, then a quick cut through on Helio Place brought him onto the bike trail.
He liked the course because it quickly got him into what he liked to call his natural setting, away from the constant activity of planes, pilots, and mechanics coming and going with aircraft taking off and landing on Lake Hood. Normally, the run would clear his head. He would focus on his pace, his breathing, and the landscape around him, but this morning, it was different.
His thoughts were consumed by his mentor and friend Jason Orr, now known as Alan Ames. The past months had been filled with high intensity and adventure. His life had been turned 360 degrees, but it was a good turn. He was in a good place, with good friends, whom he could count on to have his back, as he had theirs.
Jason had saved his life, and Dan had saved Jason’s; it was a bond that was hard to explain if you had never experienced it yourself. Dan had learned a lot under Jason’s guidance, which, in turn, gave him the confidence he now had. There was much more he hoped to learn, but that he foresaw for another day.
Now he was facing the inevitable. Jason was moving on, and Dan knew he was moving in a direction that would certainly bring him into danger, and with that danger, possibly death. As he ran, he considered all that had happened the past months, but what bothered him the most, he would not be there for him. Who would have Jason’s back?
But again, he knew Jason’s skills. That gave him comfort.
October 3, 1600 hours, it was a balmy forty-eight degrees as Dave Banner was taking advantage of the warm afternoon, checking the fluid levels in my dear friend Bo Cavanaugh’s Cessna Caravan. Bo had insisted on flying me all the way to Port Angeles, Washington, from his base field here in Anchorage. We would depart the next day, early about 0600 hours.
I walked across the deeply cracked asphalt between Bo’s office residence to the hangar, where the Cessna was being maintained. Dave was on a metal five-step ladder. Deep in his preflight inspection, as I walked up on him, he didn’t notice my approach. He was engrossed in the inspection.
“Mr. Mercer,” I called out.
Dave almost fell as he turned toward my voice. “You scared the crap out of me,” he said.
“Sorry, just like I did on the roof in Bermuda.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
There was a moment of silence as we both reflected on that moment when both of our lives had changed dramatically.
“So you all packed?” he asked me.
“Yeah, got it all