Chapter 49
The view overlooking downtown Saint Petersburg was breathtaking, but Kestrel gathered his bearings. From where he was, he could see part of the Palace Square, but most important, all the buildings' roofs where the enemy snipers would most certainly take position.
So he assembled his Cheytac, put a special blanket upon the stone floor and lay on it. Then he covered himself entirely with another thin blanket, both of which were designed to mask his body heat signature, and would also protect him from the freezing cold and bitter winds blowing harder than upon the ground, some seventy meters under him. Then he started to wait, inwardly thanking Dr Collins of having cured him of his balance trouble when in heights. Without him he would have had a cardiac arrest for sure.
At 11 am, Kestrel waited for the huge bell of the Saint Isaac Cathedral to stop chiming, then addressed the team through his implants:
_ Kestrel, in position. All clear.
_ Briggs, in position, his teammate said a second later. All clear.
_ Good, Sam said in Kestrel's ears. We're looking for movements from our friends and enemies, but so far they're all at Voron headquarters, as far as we can tell. But we've got news from Kobin.
Sam fell silent, and Kestrel guessed the news were not good.
_ Fedorova's got a boat with indeed a hundred men aboard, and their supposed destination after the meeting with Kobin and the arms shipment is Turkey.
_ We can't let them destabilize the region, Briggs said immediately. It's already complicated with Syria and Lebanon, we don't need Turkey to be put to fire and the sword too.
_ I agree, Grim said. But first things first. We'll protect the president Terekhov, then we'll go to Vilyushinsk, and only after that will we take care of Fedorova's boat.
_ I'll be monitoring movements around you, Charlie said. If anyone approaches one of you, I'll let you know. Kestrel, you're well hidden, no problem. But Briggs, the satellite shows your feet sticking out of nowhere.
_ Shit, Briggs grumbled, and Kestrel laughed under his breath.
_ That's better, Charlie said. Now you've both disappeared from view.
_ Take advantage of the time you have, Sam advised his ops. Eat now and have a little nap, we'll wake you up at 12.30.
_ Roger that, Briggs said.
_ Copy, Kestrel said.
He reached in his backpack and pulled out a cold ration, eating it while deploring its lack of taste and deciding to cook something good the next day to make up for it. He drank large gulps of water then settled himself as best he could on the blanket, and within five minutes dozed off but staying on alert nevertheless.
At 12.30 he was shaken out of his slumber by Sam's voice.
_ Report, please.
_ Briggs, in position, all clear.
_ Kestrel, in position, all clear, he said with a rather hoarse voice.
_ Sounds like you had a real nap, Kestrel, Sam said with an amused tone. Good. We saw some movement at Voron's headquarters and around, the ops are moving and coming closer to you. Stay alert and report anything worthy of attention. Kossiak will contact us in an hour.
_ Copy, both ops said.
Kestrel took his rifle and shouldered it, using the telescopic sight to watch the scarce crowd on the ground and in the Palace Square. Tourists were milling around, snapping pictures, while the residents walked briskly, eager to get done with their things before retreating to a warm place with hot tea or vodka. The snow had started to fall in huge flakes, covering the streets and muffling the sounds, but the wind was still light.
In the center of the square, just at the foot of the Winter Palace, a huge stage had been erected and was swarming with people, techs and security agents. The president Terekhov wasn't due there until 6 pm, but the stage was double-checked, and carefully surveyed.
Just before one o'clock he spotted the Voron ops, looking strange in thick classic black suits and earpieces, Kossiak in the lead. Kestrel counted them, scanned the square and its surroundings, and smirked. For the first time in years, he was happy to be a former Voron ops, he knew exactly how his friends and targets alike would act.
_ Sam? he asked softly.
_ Listening, Kestrel.
_ Our friends have arrived, but they're tailed by four hostile ops.
_ Detail that, please.
_ In the square, Kossiak, Stepankova, Marinov, Jdan, Kniazev, Ivkin, Ieshevskiy and Remizov. Tailing them Beria, Dmitriev, Barychev and a woman I assume is Lebedeva. They're hiding in the four corners of the square.
_ Right, Sam said. It matches what we had on the satellite screen, but we don't know who is who. We'll ask Kossiak to call every member of his team to identify them, but for the enemies...
_ Lebedeva is in the south, Kestrel cut him softly. Beria is the one next to the Winter Palace, Dmitriev is in the far west, and I can't see Barychev anymore but he must be in the east corner.
_ Okay, Charlie said. These ones are marked.
_ No sign of snipers? Sam asked.
_ None, Kestrel said.
_ Don't see anyone on the rooftops, Briggs added.
_ Too early, Kestrel said. If I were them, I'd wait for the sun to set, near 4 pm.
_ That's what I thought, Sam said, but stay sharp.
_ Copy, Briggs and Kestrel said.
Kestrel resumed his surveillance, following every movement. The square was being evacuated of its tourists for the coming meeting, and the public wouldn't enter before 5 pm. He saw Kossiak order his team to station at strategic places around the stage, while he himself would stay at the president's shoulder at all times. The snow was falling harder now, and a bitter wind was blowing from the sea, farther west.
At precisely 1.30 pm he saw Kossiak shoot furtive glances around him and raise a hand to his mouth, covering his words. And simultaneously he heard his voice in his ears.
_ Kossiak here. Do you copy?
_ We copy, Sam answered him. We see and hear you loud and clear.
_ I fear we're followed. Avilov clearly doesn't trust me anymore, he sent a lot of agents around the square.
_ We see four around you already, but no sign of the snipers yet.
_ Are they in position?
_ Here, Briggs said.
_ Here, Kestrel echoed.
_ Right, Kossiak said, pretending to rub his chin. We'll look out for external threats, and you'll watch our backs. I don't know where the off-duty ops will be, Avilov has done his thing alone.
_ Please relax, Sam told him. We'll cover you and your team, and the president. We need you to call your team to identify them and patch up with their earpieces, so we'll be able to communicate. And don't worry, no one will be able to hear anything.
_ Right. I'll call them by their codesign, they know you're listening. After that, silence unless there's an emergency.
_ Copy, Sam said. Good luck, Igor Kossiak.
_ Don't let us down, Sam Fisher.
Kossiak let his hand down and called in his earpiece, speaking Russian:
_ Kite?
_ Stepankova, in position.
_ Goshawk?
_ Marinov, in position.
_ Sparrowhawk?
_ Jdan, in position.
_ Hobby?
_ Kniazev, in position.
_ Merlin?
_ Ivkin, in position.
_ Caracara?
_ Ieshevskiy, in position.
_ Falconet?
_ Remizov, in position.
_ Right. Radio off.
Kestrel almost said something out of a long habit but restrained himself. He was no longer a Voron ops, even if he had kept his codesign, "Kestrel". He was truly like a bird of prey, atop his church and looking down from behind his sniper rifle, but he was a Fourth Echelon ops, an American ops. So he breathed deeply and called out softly:
_ Sam?
_ Here, Kestrel.
_ Nothing. Just...
His voice trailed off, and he slapped himself virtually. He was being stupid, he knew it. But he also knew Sam would understand. In his telescopic sight he suddenly saw two of his targets and smiled. He had something to say to his boss, after all.
_ Avilov's there. In front of the Saint Isaac Cathedral, holding a suitcase. Voronkov is with him, also with a suitcase.
_ Good, Sam said. Charlie is on them. Which one is Avilov?
_ The one on my right.
_ Got him, Charlie said. These two won't be able to escape us.
_ We still need to find Glazkov and Asthakova, Grim sobered him up.
_ Keep your eyes open, Sam said to his team. We're not there yet.
Kestrel watched Avilov through his telescopic sight with growing hatred. The Voron commander had always been a son of a bitch, but he was probably the murderer of Ivan Kossiak, and that, for Kestrel, was enough to give him a painful death. He knew he couldn't do it yet, but later that night... He smiled at himself. Yes, he thought, no matter what would happen, tonight would be the last night for Leonid Aleksandrovitch Avilov.
The afternoon passed by and the snow fell harder than ever. At some point the wind was blowing so loudly and violently Kestrel's blanket almost flew out of him, but he caught it and secured it tightly on him again. Briggs had spotted Diatlova and Muratov, Fedorova's bootlickers, at the foot of the Bronze Horseman, but they were staying out of the Palace Square, not threatening Kossiak and his team yet. Voronkov was in the Saint Isaac Cathedral, taking position, and Avilov was in the Hermitage museum, probably sipping a hot cup of tea while his team was freezing their asses outside, Kestrel thought.
At 5 pm, the gates opened and Terekhov's supporters invaded the square, undeterred by the snowstorm hovering above Saint Petersburg. Kestrel saw Kossiak running inside the Winter Palace, probably coming to Terekhov's side, while the rest of the team around the stage watched the crowd with a neutral expression. Kestrel knew the moment was approaching, and he sighed with anticipation.
Reaching 50 chapters! That's so awesome! Thanks for reading, and please, please, please write me a tiny review! I would like to know if all this work is worth it, please! So... chapter 50 coming soon!
