Part 19 (1/2)

I was, too once I'd started.

”Khuyevo dye lo I said to myself.

”s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t!” and then I was on my way.

With a safety rope round my waist and belayed on to the guy next in line, I crawled forward, each knee on one sharp-edged rung at a time, hands clutching the side-rails with a grip like a Scotsman's on a five-pound note. The ladder swayed horribly as gusts of wind hit me. I tried not to look down, but far below and away to my left I couldn't help catching glimpses of cars that looked like toys. Half-way across I decided it was better to keep my eyes shut.

Even without seeing I could tell how far I'd got from the bend in the ladder. It flexed most when I was in the middle. Russian ladder, I kept thinking. Russian aluminium. I hope to h.e.l.l it doesn't break.

At last it began to stiffen again as I drew near to the far side. I opened my eyes and saw that I had only feet to go. A few more seconds and I was safe on the roof of Block B. As I scrambled on to the rough asphalt I was appalled to find that the ladder's overlap was more like a foot than a metre. The blocks were obviously slightly farther apart than the architects had prescribed. I watched, fascinated, as I saw the end of the ladder creeping in and out, and realised that the high buildings were swaying in the wind.

Igor came across next, and made it with no fuss. So did Nikolai, who hadn't even bothered with a safety rope. It was Misha who got into trouble. Exactly what happened, I'll never know. All the rest of us saw, as we crouched shoulder-to shoulder in the gale, was that he stopped half-way across the bridge. Whinger came up in my earpiece saying, ”Blue got a hold-up. Oh, for f.u.c.k's sake...” and then, ”Get on, yer twit.”

Obviously Whinger didn't shout. Even if he could have been heard it would probably have been counter-productive, because in that situation, if someone loses his nerve, yelling only intensifies the fright. But seconds were ticking away. From exchanges on the radio I knew that Black team were starting their final approach to the front of the building. We couldn't afford to lose time.

Another dark figure started crawling out on to the ladder.

With a double weight on it, the aluminium sagged horribly. The second man reached the feet of the stationary Misha, who was frozen in a face-down att.i.tude. The back-up guy began talking, first in a low voice, then louder. When b.o.l.l.o.c.kings had no effect, the newcomer turned physical. From the blurred movements it looked as though he had started thumping Misha with his fist on the backs of his knees.

Still there was no reaction.

The wind and rain were hitting our faces so hard that, even from close range, it was impossible to tell exactly what happened next. It looked to me as though the second guy had tried to crawl over Misha's prostrate body. He was right on top of him when there came a sudden eruption of movement. I saw a flurry of limbs, much faster than men crawling, as if the two were wrestling.

An instant later one of them was falling. Without a sound he dropped away into the dark.

Jesus! I thought. Too low for his chute. But of course he had no chute.

He went straight down, 150 feet on to concrete.

I grabbed the press el of my radio and hissed, ”Red leader. Wehave a casualty. One guy's fallen.”

”Roger,” came Anna's unemotional voice. She said something else in Russian. Then, ”Can you recover him?”

”Not a chance. He's gone right to the ground.”

”Proceed, then.”

”Roger.”

The guy who'd survived the mid-ladder encounter reached us.

Not Misha. It was Volodya from the Blue team. Misha was written off Peering over the edge of the roof, I could just make out a little dark heap splat ted on the deck. At least the controllers knew what had happened. It was up to them whether or not they made any move to help him. I was pretty certain there'd be no point. No way could he have survived that impact, especially with the weight of the weapon on his back, the ammunition in his pouches and all his other gear. All I could think, selfishly, was, I hope to h.e.l.l n.o.body saw him go past their window.

The rest of Blue team quickly came across, Whinger last. He gave me a strained look, but never said a word about the setback just a quick ”Idyomr to his guys, and they were gone, round the end of the lift-housing to the point where the emergency stairs reached the roof.

I led the two surviving members of Red team along the roof to the far end and round the corner, until we were positioned above the target windows. There we quickly laid out our ropes. We found ideal anchor-points in the form of a strong metal rail that skirted the raised top of the lift shaft, and in a couple of minutes we were ready to descend.

”Red leader,” I called.

”Can I have a sniper report on the windows? Are all curtains drawn?”

Anna instantly pa.s.sed the request. I heard Green come in: ”Da, da. Vsyo,” and in a second I got, ”Yes, all curtains closed.”

My watch said 9:24. ”Red leader,” I reported.

”Starting descent now.”

Abseiing down a building in the dark is never a picnic. Still less is it easy in a high wind. The longer your rope, the more you swing about, and the greater the danger of accidentally b.u.mping against a window. But it was no good p.i.s.sing about. I stuck my a.r.s.e into s.p.a.ce, walked backwards over the edge of the roof, and started down.

Luckily the shape of the building was kind to us. All the doors and windows were set back about a metre inside the balconies, so that as we came past each floor there was very little chance of any accidental contact with the inner wall of the building.

Inches at a time I tip-toed down the wall and dangled in s.p.a.ce above the top half of the first balcony. On down past the metal rails. Sixteen done. Fifteen the same. Slowly on past fourteen.

My two guys were doing OK, to the right and left of me.

Between fourteen and thirteen a terrific gust of wind swung us so violently that all three of us b.u.mped against each other.

Luckily the windows were closed and curtains drawn all the way down, courtesy of the wild night.

My boots touched the top rail of the twelfth-floor balcony. I eased myself down gently until my backside was on the rail, then got my feet on the floor of the balcony itself. I'd landed in front of Window Two. The greenish curtains were drawn tight, but light was s.h.i.+ning out round the edges.

The second I was out of my ropes I turned to guide Igor in.

By 9:28 all three of us were in our prearranged positions: myself crouching beside the door, Nikolai on my right, Igor on my left. Even in the relative shelter of the balcony the wind was bl.u.s.tering loudly, and there was no need to keep my voice down when I reported in.

”Red leader, on target. Blue, report your state.”

”Blue, preparing charge,” came Whinger's voice.

”Wait out.”

”Red, roger.” My heart was going like a hammer. I imagined Whinger deftly taping a length of det cord down the centre of the door. I glanced either way at the dark, helmeted faces beside me and gave a rea.s.suring twitch of my head. The lads had heard Whinger in their earpieces, but naturally hadn't understood what he said, so I made taping motions round our own doorway. Both got it, grinned back and nodded.

But I was wrong. Suddenly I heard Whinger say, ”Blue. We have a problem. I can see through a gla.s.s panel in the fire-escape door. There are two guards sitting outside the apartment, in the corridor. Wait one.”

I made an instant decision.

”Red. You'll have to drop them.

I'll use your shots as the signal to go.”

”OK,” said Whinger softly.

”Ready when you are.

”Red. Roger. Control is Black on schedule?”

”Da, da. Chyornii goto vi came Anna's voice. I could tell that the excitement was getting to her as well because for a moment she forgot to translate. Then she said, ”Yes. Black ready.”

”Red. Starting countdown now. Sixty, fifty, forty .. .” I imagined the Black team wagon speeding towards the Mafia entrance, silenced weapons at the ready. The gale was certainly going to help mask any noise they made.