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Chapter 3
The sun and the moon testimony
Tyraspol, Moldova (UTC+2)
17th of February 2022, 2312 hrs
A stream of bright light from the flashlight illuminated the guard's surprised face. He squinted eyes, covering his face with one hand. It took him a few seconds to understand what was happening. The rifle pointed straight at him, made his hand automatically go up in a defensive position. He wasn't paid enough for such shit and for sure not enough to be killed protecting the stash.
Opening his eyelids slightly, he noticed a few silhouettes standing in the darkness of the night. Black as tar uniforms blended in with the surroundings, and if not their source of light he wouldn't even notice them.
"Forțe speciale, urcă la sol!"
The voice was tense, although no fear could be heard. Special forces? What did they want from such an old guy? Muttering swear words under his breath, he obeyed the order, kneeling down. The grip on his wrist, pulling his hands together was unpleasant, but not painful. He was really grateful for the soldier for at least trying to be gentle.
"Tu ești singur?" this time the voice got softer than earlier. The fact that he surrendered without resisting definitely lowered the tension.
"Da." The man answered truthfully. He was the only person present around. Usual night shift. Four laps around the whole complex, one every two hours. Equipped with flashlight, pepper spray and a teaser, 61 years old Gözlük Horvat had been spending his Friday night as always. Retired policeman didn't complain about the excess money so a side job as a watchman at an old hangar was a perfect way to repair his house budget.
Right now he swore in his mind, thinking about what shit he accidentally got caught in. Judging by the fact that special ops just raided his workplace, he expected the worst. Maybe Gözlük's wife was right, and he should have run a more precise background check on the company owning the complex. The boss was hesitant to express the details about what he had kept in the building. But as always, Horvat just assumed that it was none of his business. Well, well, well, wasn't that the consequence of his own actions?
"It might have been a stupid move to allow you to get me handcuffed before asking that, but could I see your badge and warrant?" the man let out a slight chuckle, realizing how dumb he was. Though again- he hadn't been paid enough to risk being shot for not surrendering.
"Strigorii Security Group." Tall man, with face hidden behind black balaclava, waved his badge in front of the guard's face. He could barely see anything, but the name Strigorii rang a bell. Squinting his eyes, the letter became more clear, forming the name Sergiu Ivanov.
"Co-working with the police, huh?"
"Da. We have a search warrant for this hangar." the soldier muttered, rolling his eyes. Straightening up, he called another operator by the movement of his hand. "Soarele! Take the boys and split up. Stay on high alert in case of any other tangos. We're looking for the containers with the serial numbers starting with SG93."
"Copy, captain." Soarele nodded his head, moving towards the entrance of the hangar.
Group of the soldiers lined along the wall. Single pat on the shoulder of the person at the front, made all of them move, as cogs in the perfect machine, one by one disappearing into the building. Gözlük in silence admired the precise movement of the operators. Their silhouettes, barely illuminated by the moon, caused a shiver to go down his spine. He would lie, saying that he never wanted to join special forces. But instead, he ended up being stuck as a police officer.
"Take him to the car. The old man will get some rest." the man patted Horvat's shoulder, when the other soldier led him towards a military vehicle in matted gray color. On their way there, a tall, well-built person passed them. He, on the other hand, was heading towards the Captain. He looked truly bizarre. For a second Gözlük thought that he was seeing things. But no, the soldier was really there, holding a Soviet, almost antique DP27, with a Maska-1SCh helmet on his head.
The man stopped in front of the Captain, crossing his arms.
"Ah, good kids. They would fit well in Rainbow." low, deep voice echoed in the silence of the night.
"You want to take my kids away, Sashka?" Sergiu burst into laughter, crossing his arms.
"Maybe." A smirk appeared on the Russian's face. "Working like real CTU soldiers. I see that they were trained by professionals."
Taking off his helmet, he sent the friend a warm smile.
"Obviously. Why do you think people don't want to mess with my team?" Ivanov teased, giving him a playful look. There was no other thing in the world that the Moldavian was as proud of as his team. Strigorii Security Group, small unit for special actions, such as this raid.
Sergiu's face expressed sincere surprise when he picked up a phone call from the old Spetznas's soldier. His confusion got even greater when he heard the two words. White Masks. The terrorists' name itself seemed abstract, but when Aleksandr mentioned Moldavia, stuff got just more messed up.
"Because you're mercenaries." Tachanka snapped.
"Private Military Company."
"No difference."
The man rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. It was time for his long monologue. He knew that Aleksandr was just teasing him, but if there were two things that Ivanov hated being called, the mercenary was first of them.
"Oh, yes, there is a difference. Mercenaries are just idiots killing for money. Being PMC is an art of strategy and-..."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." Senaviev waved him off, taking out a pack of cigarettes and by the movement of his hand suggested one.
"I thought that you guys had good relationships with PMC's." Sergiu said, puffing on the cigarette.
Hearing those words, Tachanka shrugged, opening up.
"We had, that's the key word. Let's say that Nighthaven fucked us." seeing Sergiu's surprised look, he continued. "Well, we had a few misunderstandings between us and it ended up in NH leaving Rainbow with new recruits…"
"Damn, bratan Fuck those traitors. If loyalty doesn't matter to them, they aren't real soldiers."
"Lera left. With Shukhrat."
Ivanov dropped the cigarette. His eyes widened as he looked at his friend. Alex was known from his stupid jokes, but it seemed that this one time he was 100% serious.
"Wait, Kessikbayev left the team? With Finka? Dumnezeule…"
"He was a good kid. But apparently Nighthaven had something that Rainbow couldn't offer him. However, they can't even keep their eyes on their toys. We found their equipment during the hostage crisis in Birmingham, a few months back."
"Don't feel bad about this, Sashka. It wasn't your fault that they left. You treated all of them like your family."
Aleksandr shook his head, offering another cigarette, but this time the Captain declined. "Well… since Lera is not around anymore, now I have to drink on my own." The Russian chuckled awkwardly. The friends were looking at each other in silence for a longer moment. Smoke from Senaviev's cigarette disappeared into the dark night air. Dropping a butt on the ground, the man trampled the still slightly glowing object.
"Hey, Sergiu… thanks for your assistance." Aleksandr spoke up, raising his eyebrows. He really appreciated that the Moldavian Captain agreed to help him with this case.
"No problem. I'm glad that I could contribute to Rainbow and international security. I owe you for Saint Petersburg anyways." Ivanov rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up at least a little.
Mentioning the city name, made Senaviev chuckle. "Ah, Petersburg… good old times as they say…"
"We found it, Captain!" a voice snapped them both from the conversation. The soldier looked at the man, calling them to come into the hangar.
The building felt even bigger from the inside. Tall shelves with boxes packed up from the floor almost to the ceiling. In the back a row filled with shipping containers. Turning into one of the aisles created by the shelves the team stopped in front of eight crates placed one on another.
"You're positive that it's what we are looking for?"
"Yes, sir. The weight is different from the registered one. According to records sent by the company, those containers don't exist here."
"Great." the Captain smiled satisfied, rubbing his hands "Sashka, give me a hand, could you?"
QCR.
"Sasha?"
The crates, painted in dark gray, with well-known logos. Too well-known for Aleksandr.
"It's QCR equipment."
"QCR?" Sergiu raised his eyebrows, trying to figure out what his friend had in mind. "Oh, right, Quantum Concepts and Robotics. What about that?"
"It's Nighthaven's supplier. Which they own, by the way." the man said, laying his hand down on the logo painted on the crate.
"Well, they should work on their background check. Selling weapons to the terrorists, is a big no no, isn't it?"
"It is indeed." Tachanka sighed heavily. "Let's secure it. Rainbow will take care of it."
"Call the police, they need to lock down the guard and search the place. I'm sure they'll find a lot of other interesting things."
Strigorii soldier nodded his head, radioing. "They're on their way, sir."
Senaviev silently nodded his head, looking at the crates, feeling like it was just a bad dream, one big mystification. What the hell was going on…?
Tyraspol, Moldova (UTC+2)
18th of February 2022, 0012 hrs
"Bună seara, officers. Sergiu Ivanov, Strigorii Security Group." the man said, showing the documents to the policemen. "One guard, handcuffed. No shot was made, only things we touched inside were those eight containers. They are being secured by Team Rainbow, they'll send a report later."
Two police vans rolled on the action side just a few minutes ago. The police officers seemed not pleased with the soldiers' presence. Another man took the guard to custody, locking him up in the car.
"We can't let them take anything from the warehouse." the officer pointed at Strigorii soldiers bringing the last crate to their vehicle.
"That's alright." he turned over his shoulder, calling out to the operators. "Sashka! Show them the badge and the warrant!" facing the police officers again, he added. "We're working for the government. Rainbow has their own investigation, and they're allowed to conduct the actions at Moldovan grounds. Just call the authorities, they will authorize the whole operation. Though, I thought you had been informed." he shrugged.
"We can't let them take anything from the warehouse." The officer repeated the phrase like a mantra.
"Listen, it's NATO's operation. Call your boss or somethin-..."
A creak of his radio, made the man immediately frown.
"0-0 to Strigorii One. Sorry for the waiting, but we had some emergency and the closest patrol had to take care of it. They're on their way now, ETA is 15 minutes. Over and out."
A single heartbeat was almost deafening. Right after that, a gunshot pierced the air.
The body dropped to the ground right before another bullet pierced the neck of Strigorii's soldier standing next to the stash entrance. The man touched the wound, almost as if he was surprised by the stream of warm blood flowing down his uniform, before hitting his back on the wall and sliding down on the dirt.
"Captain!"
"Sergiu!"
The barrels now were aimed at them. The Moldavian soldier reacted quickly, pulling Aleksandr down, moments before bullets cut the air.
"Blyat!" Tachanka swore, hitting the side of the car. "What the hell is happening?!"
"Two tangos!" the man muttered, holding his gun. "Strigorii One to 0-0, we are taking fire! I repeat, we're taking fire from the police officers!" he radioed, painfully clenching his hand on the device.
"0-0 to Strigorii One, can you repeat? I don't understand, copy."
"The police officers are fucking shooting at us!"
"0-0 to Strigorii One, what do you mean? The police officers haven't got to your location, yet. Who is shootin-..."
The Russian stopped listening to the radio. His pupils narrowed, as the object landed in front of his feet. An orange trail of smoke, turned into a growing cloud of suffocating gas. Aleksandr's heart skipping a beat, stung painfully. Gripping his hand on the man's shoulder, Tachanka pulled the soldier away from the bomb.
"What the fuck is this shit?!" Soarele coughed, dropping to his knees. His eyes red, watering, completely blurred his vision.
"Z-8! At all costs, don't breathe it in. Cover your mouth." the Russian ordered, looking around.
The situation was bad. In the reflection of the other car's mirror, he could see a group of ten enemies walking out of the back of the police vans, approaching their direction. Bright uniform-like clothes, tactical vests on top of them and the white masks covering their faces. The same white masks Tachanka had seen years ago.
A single curse burst out of his throat.
"Ten tangos, approaching from our one." Senaviev looked at the man, still trying to catch his breath. "I need you here, right now. What's your name?"
"Dima."
"Great, Dima. Pull your shit together. They're coming. Where is your SMG?"
Man rubbed his eyes. Hearing the question, he raised his head, as the hand went down to reach out for the weapon.
"Damn it! I dropped it, it's somewhere in the smoke..."
Before he finished, another bomb landed a few meters from them. Releasing an orange cloud, it rolled under the car. The night air had been pierced by one shot. Another and another one.
The reflection showed that the terrorists splitted up, probably getting into crossfire with other Strigorii's soldiers. With every step they took, Senaviev's heart was beating faster.
"Just two of them." he whispered, almost without making any sound. "Stay low. I'll take down the one on the right. Left one is yours. Aim at head level, single shot won't get through those vests, we need to save ammo."
Soarele nodded his head, raising his gun up.
Three, two… One.
As soon as the foot appeared next to the car's tire, a strong kick hit the knee of the enemy. The creak of the broken joint was louder than Aleksandr expected. The figure bent in half, falling to the ground, just to be confronted with a bullet right between their eyes. Second enemy didn't have time to react, getting downed by a single shot piercing their temple.
"Clear!"
"Clear. Take their guns. We can make use of them." The Russian muttered, quickly dragging the bodies behind the cover. Checking the magazine of the brand-new Commando 552, he realized one thing.
The wind was on their side. Blowing to the North, it started pushing the Z-8 in the opposite direction. At least one thing less to worry about for them. The shots in the background still arose, getting more intense. Calculating the situation in his mind, he leaned his back on the car. Heart still painfully pounding in his chest. He was sure that it'll be a miracle if he won't die in the next ten minutes from a cardiac attack.
"Too old for this shit." he snorted, slightly peeking out.
"Movement, our ten." Soarele's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Two tangos, moving in our direction. I'll take one down."
"Permission not granted. Don't act like fucking John Wick, you'll reveal our position. I doubt that it would be a hit from that distance in those conditions." Aleksandr muttered. "We come closer, then we kill them. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
They stayed down, moving along the van. Another shot was so loud as if it was fired right next to the Russian's ear. His head rang with pain, when something heavy bumped into him. The white uniform caused him to pull the trigger immediately.
He missed.
One more time, his finger pressing the cold metal.
But the bullet didn't come out from the barrel. Losing his balance and falling down to the ground, made him understand what happened. A stovepipe. A stupid stovepipe. Shell got stuck in the chamber.
Senaviev's chest throbbed with pain, when the terrorist body pressed him against the concrete. Using all the strength he had left, he tried to push the man off him, but bony hands clenched on his neck.
"Suka blyat!" his face got red, as he tried to catch a single breath. The vision became blurry once again, just like minutes ago.
He knew that feeling. Too well. The feeling when everything was going blank and the only thing that left was him and his thoughts. Was he scared? Not necessarily. At least that's what he thought.
Sinking into unconsciousness all he could see were his kids' faces. He loved little bastards more than anything. He hoped that he hadn't disappointed them. Aleksandr's divorce was tough. But it was the best that he could have done. Though right now, he could give anything to hug his ex-wife again, just one time. She was the way she was, but he missed her sometimes. Her soft skin, her pretty brown eyes…
"Sir!"
The voice brought him back to reality.
"Breathe, sir, please."
The Moldavian was holding Aleksandr's head, gently pulling it back. His throat felt burning with pain, every time the air flowed. Shifting his glance from Dima, he noticed the body laying on the ground. The man's neck almost ripped apart as if an animal attacked him. Blood covering his white uniform, mask and the concrete.
"What happened?" he croaked
"It was too risky to take a shot, so I slit his throat."
The answer truly surprised the Russian. He knew that Sergiu's guys were tough, but he didn't expect Soarele to throw himself at the enemy with just a knife. The man was definitely buffed but pushing off a fully geared up White Mask required a tremendous amount of force. Not that he was complaining, the soldier just saved his ass.
Getting back on his feet, he looked around. The place got weirdly quiet. Senaviev gave Dima a questioning look, but the man just shrugged.
Hesitantly standing up, he scanned their surroundings. At least a dozen bodies were scattered around, bathed in the pools of blood. Trying not to make any noise, Aleksandr slowly made his way towards the next van and peeked behind it. His eyes meet with the barrel of one of Strigorii's soldiers. They both lowered their guns, looking at each other in silence for a few seconds.
"Clear?" the man asked.
"Seems like this, but I'm not sure."
Another operator was sitting behind his teammate, having a makeshift tourniquet on his bleeding tight. This reminded Tachanka about one really important thing.
He immediately turned and looked at the place where the first shots were made. Rushing there, he dropped to his knees, checking the bodies.
"C'mon, c'mon… Sergiu, where are you…?" his breath became heavy as he nervously shook his head. The Captain was nowhere to be found. He ran his fingertips over the blood trail, covering the gray concrete. Squinting his eyes, Aleksandr slowly followed it.
"Hey, hey, wake up, you bastard." The Russian laid his hand on the man's shoulder, crouching in front of him.
Ivanov managed to crawl away from the scene and hide behind the corner of the building. Gasping for air, with a hole in his chest, the soldier was helplessly laying on the grass. His eyes looked at the bright, beautiful, full moon.
"I killed one motherfucker…" his hand slightly lifted, pointing at the shape, laying lifelessly. "Hope the bullets were tasty, bitch." he coughed.
"Yes, I see. Good job Sergiu. Now don't move, we'll get you to the hospital, comrade." Aleksandr's voice trembled. Pushing the wound, didn't seem to help much. The Moldavian Captain already had lost a lot of blood.
"Are the boys okay? Did any of them get shot? Oh my poor boys…" the man was mumbling, his head falling on his chest. "Take care of my boys, Sashka, I beg you. They're good kids, they would fit well in Rainbow, right?" the words merged into one.
The sirens in the background seemed to increase, announcing the arrival of law enforcement. Senaviev was sitting next to his friend's dead, cold body, staring at the sky, just like Sergiu did minutes earlier. The moon looked at them, filled with sorrowness. Soarele, who has been quiet all the time, decided to stand up.
"I'll go to explain to the police what happened."
"Miorița."
"Sorry?"
"Miorița. The legend about three shepherds, the sun and the moon. Soarele si Luna." the Russian picked himself from the ground. He took off his jacket, gently covering Ivanov's face with it. "The sun, the moon and their testimony." he whispered.
Nagoya, Japan (GTM+9)
18th of February 2022, 0703 hrs
Early streams of sunlight fell through the window into the apartment. Typical Japanese architecture looked very calm and quiet compared to the tension in the air between the two women.
"Breaking into my home… a good way to get yourself killed." Her hand steady, holding a P229 aimed at the hidden behind the mask face of the intruder.
"It's been some time, Yumiko." she sighed. "Mr Yahata has been…"
"I know, I've heard what happened."
Imagawa has known Kana since college. The police academy, all those actions in the middle of busy Tokyo. Job in the Metropolitan Police Department was a tough business. Her modest way of being never really fit well in the unit. From the outside she seemed so sensitive and vulnerable, but Hibana more than once had experienced the strength of her spirit. Right now the suppressed power made itself known. Her voice sounded so different, almost like a predator getting ready for its hunt.
"Looks familiar?"
Yumiko caught the bullet. She didn't take her eyes off Kana for a longer moment. Knowing her skills and seeing her current state, Hibana felt a weird sense of danger. Giving a quick look at the object, her heart stopped, pupils narrowed. She was sure that her face expressed more than any words.
QCR.
"Help me find them. Help me get my revenge."
The fury visible in Kana's eyes scared Yumiko. She hadn't been the person she knew from their duty in Tokyo MPD. Not anymore. Clenching her fists in pure anger, every muscle in her body so tense that it could break like a string, at any moment.
Imagawa knew that Kana and Mister Yahata were close. But she never suspected that Azami would suffer so much after losing her employer.
"Kana…" her voice trembled. "Are you sure that the people who murdered Yahata used those bullets?"
"Yes. All of them."
Hibana sighed heavily, taking a seat on a wooden chair standing in the corner. Her mind was flooded with so many thoughts she couldn't even understand.
What was the chance that Nighthaven was responsible for Masayuki's death? Why the hell would they want to get rid of him? Breaking off from Rainbow had already tattered their opinion as the PMC. And now, their weapons were found twice at the scene. Firstly, in Birmingham and now- here, in Japan.
Could that be a coincidence? Very unlikely. What if someone had stolen the ordinances? That would explain some of the things… But how could that be possible? Nighthaven had huge almost enormous resources, so obviously they could afford some good fucking security, right?!
"I'm afraid that Yahata's murder is just a small part of a really serious problem. More serious than you can even imagine."
"Then count me in." the Japanese said without hesitation, almost as if it was the most obvious thing and it surprised Azami that Imagawa didn't think about it in the first place.
Yumiko raised her eyebrows. The women looked at each other in silence. The last thing she expected to happen was Fujiwara asking her to join Rainbow. Leaving the metropolitan police she promised to never go back to working for the government. But the rage filling her right now, seemed to change her mind.
"I'll call my friends. We'll examine the site of Yahata's death. I promise we'll find whoever did that."
"I have your word, Yumiko."
Tyraspol, Moldova (UTC+2)
18th of February 2022, 0446 hrs
Moving his finger across the screen, Aleksandr heavily sat down on a chair. As he leaned back the wood creaked, but the Russian didn't mind it.
"Senaviev, on the phone." he muttered. "Yeah, the equipment has been recovered."
"You don't sound happy." the American's voice felt oddly tense, as never. Thermite was one of those people who never seemed to be stressed. Angry, annoyed, pissed, yes, but not stressed.
That was one thing that Aleksandr really liked about him. Hot headed American was not only a good leader, but also a great friend. His tactical approach was always something that really surprised Senaviev, but on the other hand he couldn't help admiring it.
"Four KIA on our side. Motherfuckers pretended to be police officers, then opened fire. Captain and three other soldiers of Strigorii Security Group are dead."
A single sigh filled with exhaustion had broken a long silence on the other side. Now, the Russian was sure that something bad had happened across the ocean. Something he hadn't known about yet.
"You and Ivanov were friends, right? Sorry for your loss."
"Thanks, Jordan…." Tachanka took a deep breath. "There is one more thing you should know. The weapons we found at the place are QCR's."
"Son of a bitch! Son of a fucking bitch!" The immediate cursing filled the air, causing the man to move the phone away from his ear. Thermite swore a lot, always getting smacked by Eliza for that, but right now he sounded furious.
"You there, Trace?" He waited a few seconds after the screams went silent.
"Fuck! Yes, I'm listening, sorry… The thing is that we found QCR bullets at the murder site of the Yahata Data Security CEO's in Japan. Today."
"What the hell is Nighthaven up to…?"
"Can't be anything good. Get back to the HQ in Hereford as soon as possible." Jordan ordered.
"Ponyal. I might bring somebody with me."
"Who?"
"The sun itself." A slight smirk appeared on Aleksandr's face as he hung up the phone.
Translations:
Forțe speciale, urcă la sol!- (from romanian) Special forces, get on the ground!
Tu ești singur?- (from romanian) Are you alone?
Bratan [братан]- (from russian) Brother
Dumnezeule- (from romanian) Dear God
Song inspiration: "Soarele si Luna" by Pasha Parfeni, "Ashes on The Fire" by KOHTA YAMAMOTO