Operation: Siberia

- 6 -

The inspection of the lab took up most of the day, with only a short break for coffee and sandwiches to break the monotony. Waterston and Volkov sparred verbally with each other all the way through, and the wolf watched Banks and his team with its unblinking blue stare. At least Wiggins and the Russians seemed to be getting on, judging by the laughter that echoed around the dome from the far end by the doorway, and Banks was looking forward to whatever report McCally and the private would bring him later.

But first, he had to endure an evening with the scientists. The whole squad was invited to join Volkov and his team for dinner, but Banks left McCally and Wiggins with their new friends, and the two men seemed more than happy with the arrangement. Hynd was less pleased.

“Come on, John. Let me go with the lads. You don’t need me.”

Banks laughed.

“And leave me on my lonesome with that lot? There’s no fear of that. You’re with me. And we’re staying dry. Chin up… it’s going to be a long night.”

Just as the day in the lab had appeared interminable, so too did the speeches and counter speeches that had to be endured before they even got to eat anything. Banks and Hynd had been relegated to the second table. While the English scientists were feted like royalty and Volkov lorded over the main table, the Scotsmen sat with four of the young Russian scientists, none of whom spoke a word of English or were inclined to try. Banks tried to catch snatches of the conversation between Volkov and Waterston, but although he could see that it was heated, almost argumentative, he could not get the gist of it. He began to regret his order to keep the night a dry one, for a few tall glasses of vodka would have eased the boredom.

He watched, almost envious, as the two younger English scientists shifted large quantities of the free booze; both of them excused themselves early, and the young Russians took the opportunity to take their leave at the same time. Hynd and Banks sat alone at their table, watching the argument between Volkov and Waterston grow ever more heated as the vodka started speaking for both of them. It looked like it might even come to blows, and Banks was considering getting up to separate them when McCally and Wiggins arrived in the doorway.

Both men looked the worse for drink—not as drunk as the two at the top table, but not too far off it. Wiggins wore a broad grin, but McCally looked serious, and waved for Banks to join them at the door.

“I told you this was a dry night,” Banks said.

“Sorry, sir,” McCally replied. “But it was the only way to get the Russians to talk to us.”

“Lovely vodka they have here, sir,” Wiggins said, slurring every word. McCally patted the private on the shoulder.

“Let me talk, Wiggo. You just concentrate on standing up straight.”

The corporal turned back to Banks and Hynd.

“We need to talk, sir. In private. There’s more going on here than you know.”

“I’d already guessed as much,” Banks replied. He turned to Hynd.

“Look after Wiggo. Get some coffee in him, strong and black. We need to be on our toes, not on our backs, drunk in bed. And don’t let the boffins start fighting. We’re on a protect and serve mission here. It’s time we started.”

Banks led McCally back to his suite, and made them both a cup of strong black coffee before settling at the breakfast bar to listen to the corporal’s story. It didn’t take long for Banks fears to be confirmed.

“Your wee Russian pal has been fucking things up here for years,” McCally said. His Highland accent came through stronger than usual, testament to the effects of the booze, but he was taking to the coffee well enough, and was certainly more sober than Wiggins had been.

“Tell me everything,” Banks said.

“You were right about them being worried,” McCally said. “Those three Russians were as spooked as a nun in a whorehouse. But they took to our fags easily, and Wiggo gave them some patter to butter them up, so we were all pals fast enough. And once they took us out the back to their wee shed and broke out the vodka, their tongues loosened. Their English is no’ that great, then again, neither is mine, so we muddled through fine.

“And the stories they can tell you… folk have died here, sir. A lot of folk. Yon big lion is responsible for a lot of them; they had it outside in an enclosure for a while, but it learned how to take down the fences and got into the deer, so they sent a squad of men in to fetch it out. Butchery was the word the Russians used a lot—and they weren’t just talking about the deaths of animals. Since then, they’ve kept the big cat inside, but they have to watch it closely.”

“But that’s not what’s got them spooked, is it?” Banks said quietly. “What have they got out the back that they’re not showing us?”

McCally shook his head.

“Even the vodka wasnae enough to get them to tell us that. But whatever it is, they’re right feert of it. I’m guessing another animal of some kind—and a bloody vicious one at that. And whatever it is, they keep it out the back there. We saw enough to know that it’s behind a big bloody steel door set in thick concrete, and it’s built into the hill. They keep a night guard at the door—one of the Russians stayed off the vodka because his shift was coming up.”

“And not a peep as to what it might be?”

McCally shook his head again.

“Just that the Russian lads told us we’d be better off buggering away home and forgetting we ever saw this place.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” Banks replied. “But the brass sent us here to watch the eggheads. So we’ll watch. But we’ll watch carefully. No more vodka, understood?”

McCally smiled ruefully.

“Message received and understood, sir.”

McCally headed off for an early bed, and Banks went out to the eating area. Wiggins stumbled past him, none too steadily, off to his room. Hynd stood over by the big viewing window, looking out into darkness and smoking a cigarette.

“Did Cally tell you the story about the lion?” the sergeant asked, and Banks nodded.

“Aye. That, and the fact that the wee man there is definitely hiding something from us.”

Hynd smiled thinly.

“Aye. And Professor Waterston knows it. They’ve been going at it hammer and tongs since you left.”

Volkov and Waterston were still sitting at the large table, still in heated discussion. There was a vodka bottle on the table between them, and the level of the liquid had fallen dramatically even in the short time Banks had been away.

“Do we need to split them up?” he asked.

Hynd laughed.

“It might be more fun to let them have at it—this has been the most boring night I’ve had since the wife’s knitting club came round for tea.”

Waterston’s raised voice echoed around the open space.

“You’ve been messing around with things that have never been approved. There’s a reason we’re considering sanctions, and you know it.”

Volkov went red in the face, and Banks saw that he needed to intervene. But he only took two steps toward the table when he was interrupted by something even louder.

An alarm, high pitched and strident, echoed and rang throughout the facility.