Chapter 21 Almaty Kazastan
home
Robert was not one of those people who believe in having embassies. He believed they encouraged wholesale spying by those who had the best espionage teams or the most money. They were targets for terrorist and foreign nationalists, for every extreme political group or faction who would attack an embassy of a nation somewhere in the world at some point. The Americans have had their fair share of attacked embassies. If you don’t like the politics of a country don’t go there, don’t like the faith, don’t go there, don’t like the culture don’t go there. That was his viewpoint. The British go to places they don’t like then create compounds that make the locals look like tramps and then call them blind for being dirty foreigners and then the government stick embassies there to sort out the trouble. It was unbelievable. The tourist police in Thailand was the obvious one. You have to have police to stop them locking tourists up for longer for being pissed up twats. It all can down to repression. People used to go to football matches and have a punch up but can’t do that any more so they went to raves and danced it off but they can’t do that any more either so they go aboard and get pissed, take drugs and sleep with hookers. Repression, there’s always going to be people who aren’t that bright and who need nannying. Robert finishes his rant to himself and started concentrating on the road. He still had three hundred miles to drive and didn’t want any more trouble. He needed to pull over and fix the pilots arm though. He had attended medical college and had passed with a high grade and had a medical doctorate but wasn’t a practicing doctor. His parents were furious with him; they had pushed him all the way through his studies. He wasn’t that good though because he didn’t care about the people he was treating. He had wanted to be a surgeon but didn’t have quite what it took. His disappointment had made him somewhat cynical. As with all intelligent people, disappointment at failing to achieve ones own personal goals feels worse than anything else. The road on his side was full of shrubs he could use for cover if he needed to. He could see roughly how the arm had broken and searched the car for anything to use to splint it. There was a standard first aid kit with mostly plasters and one small bandage. There were several hard backed books and a magazine. He made a splint from the magazine and books and bandaged the arm into the correct position, immobilizing it successfully. The pilot was still unconscious and Robert used the opportunity to clean up the wounds on his head and put plasters over them. They could do with a few stitches but would have to wait. Robert thought the pilot might have a concussion but couldn’t tell yet. As he finished dressing the pilots wounds Robert heard a plane engine getting closer. He looked around and spotted a light aircraft flying overhead. It was a private plane with unmarked nationality and was definitely searching the area. He decided he would wait for it to pass. It could be supported by ground forces and he was in no shape to fight an army. He lay low in the scrubland, himself, passenger and car well hidden. An hour passed before the steady droning decreased and finally moved away towards Almaty and the British embassy. They must have run short of fuel. He suddenly saw why embassies were useful! He could get new papers, diplomatic plates and information processed and relayed to London quickly, maybe even a nice first class flight. Spirits higher than before, he continued along the road until he spotted a barricade in the road making a rough but effective road block. It wasn’t put up by soldiers or police; must be bandits he thought. He was in the middle of nowhere where the terrain was plagued with crime and the people plagued by poverty. He knew he wasn’t going to get through the block carrying a uniformed soldier in his van. It wasn’t obvious that the man was British but he did look like a soldier. Robert turned off the road and headed across the open plains, side stepping the road block. His action hadn’t gone unnoticed and one of the trucks that had been parked alongside the barricade was following. Through his rear view mirror Robert could see it contained four men, each heavily armed with automatic weapons. As he looked in consternation they let off an ear splitting barrage of gunfire. With a pounding heart he realised that they had only fired warning shots into the air to make him stop. Robert saw his fuel tank was nearly empty. He needed to stop and he needed the truck his pursuers were driving. The only question was should he pay for it or steal it? He would try and barter he thought, he didn’t really want to cause a scene. On top of this the plane was heading towards them again, refueling presumably complete. At this moment the pilot stirred, obviously swimming up from unconsciousness. He looked uncomprehendingly at Robert before extending his hand towards him.
“Mark Wright, pleased to meet you,” he said politely.
“I’m afraid there isn’t time for pleasantries as we are about to be accosted by bandits,” Robert explained, pointing to the truck following tem before handing a pistol to the pilot. Robert stowed pistols in various areas of his body before taking some gold sovereigns from his pocket and pulling over as close as he could to the truck. The assault rifles were only an advantage to the bandits from a distance. Robert got out quickly and walked over before they could all get out.
“My friend, you have come to talk business” Robert said smilingly in perfect Turkish, “I have brought money for my protection and to pay safe passage of course,” Robert noticed the driver sported a crucifix in the vee of his open shirt. He would be in luck if the man was a Christian. He would probably have fewer objections to his very white friend in the car to whom Robert had taken an instant liking.
The front passenger beckoned imperiously for Robert to come closer before taking the coins from his hand. He bit the coin and nodded in satisfaction at the result.
“Gold sovereigns, he smiled knowing he may be able to milk Robert for more.
“Yes and no questions asked,” Robert spoke calmly, “If you like my car maybe we trade vehicles as well?”
“I’m all ears and open hands,” the bandit laughed.
He did indeed manage to trade the truck for the car which wasn’t as comfy but it had a nearly full tank of petrol. It had cost him five sovereigns, a small fortune. He had been very lucky the man was a Christian in a predominately Muslim country. They weren’t that far from Afghanistan, close enough for the bandits to have family in any of the adjacent countries that had been invaded in the name of foreign policy. Back on the road Robert was instantly aware of the plane that was flying around their location. Although there was no way the airborne pilot could know they that they were in the in a truck now and there were several other cars on the road the plane stayed with them. He could hear the sound of gunfire in the background. From behind him Robert heard the blasts of huge explosions and saw a plume of black smoke rise high into the sky from his rear view mirror. His pursuers must have found the road block and chosen not to pay for protection. This left him in the position of travelling in a very slow truck and no doubt the bandit would eventually talk about the vehicle swap. He put his foot to the floor he as approaching the city, desperate to lose his pursuers. The plane had peeled off at last; appearing to be following signs for an airport which meant he only needed to watch for a tail on the ground. Robert noticed a large rail yard; a train might be a good probability: Mark had lapsed back into semi consciousness. Robert shook his arm with his free hand.
“Mark, Mark, wake up!”
“Sorry I must have dosed off,” Mark replied sleepily.
“How do you feel?” Robert asked.
“I feel tired and there’s some pain from this arm but I can still fight,” Mark replied, heaving himself upright as if to prove his fitness.
Robert unstrapped the utility belt he had taken earlier from the winch man. He had forgotten about it after wresting with it for some time the pouch came undone and he found it contained some strong pain killers in the form of little prepacked needles.
“We can’t go into a train station looking like this,” Robert said, suddenly aware they were both in tattered dirty clothing and that Mark had a deathly pallor, “ let me know if you see a market or something similar.”
“Or we could just go over there,” Mark said, pointing to a washing line hanging in an empty looking courtyard.
“Only if we get desperate. Have you any gold sovereigns,”
“Yes, here,” Mark replied, passing over a small handful and wincing in pain from the movement.
“I’ll give you some of this pain killer as soon as we’re on a train safely, I need you to stay with it till then,” Robert said sympathetically. He could see the other man was trying not to show how much pain he was suffering.
They drove round for a good hour before eventually finding a small trading market where he bought the largest burkah he could find. He though Mark would make a good wife. He traded a sovereign for new clothes for himself as well and traded the other sovereigns for some Turkish currency. This made buying food easy but also drew the attention of some local gangs who were harassing the stall keeper for his sovereigns. Robert made a quick exit and drove to a secluded side street were they both changed into their new outfits. Mark complained bitterly about the burkah but he had stood out like a sore thumb before. From here on they would be on foot. They weren’t too far from the train station and Marks injury and their equipment were nicely hidden behind the burkah. The train journey would take a good eleven hours so they would both get some rest Robert hoped. At the train station Mark immediately recognized the guard from the compound hovering around as if waiting for them. Fortunately their disguises held up and they got tickets and boarded the train without incident. The police were everywhere, armed with machine guns and pistols. They too must have had orders because of the bandits on the road. With a series of jarring jolts the train powered up and then they were off on their journey to Almaty. Robert was trying to find out why they seemed to have been tracked so accurately across the country. He thought he might be bugged but that he could sort it on the train. They had booked an overnight cabin to Almaty, a journey with very few scheduled stops. They soon reached the cabin where he helped Mark into his seat and shut the door. He administered some of the morphine into Marks arm and watched him drift gratefully into a happy place. Robert was starving and, with Mark safely fast asleep, went to find a buffet carriage or some food of any description. Robert lost his appetite almost immediately when he saw that the men were on the train. He quickly returned to the small safe compartment and checked all the equipment he had taken from the unknown spy. He went meticulously through everything. He even checked his hair. He would get a real bollocking and be pushing paper for a living if he took a bug back to the British embassy. There were thing he could do about this but he thought the information was more important than the bug problem. Six months before he could have just gone to a cyber café or hijacked some computer and emailed it to London but nothing was safe any more. He let Mark sleep in before he woke him gently and put him on guard whilst he had a good sleep. When Mark woke him in the early hours of the morning he saw they were on the outskirts of the city of Almaty. They quickly prepared themselves, jumping from the train unnoticed as pulled up for a minute at red lights in the suburbs.
“You take this spy stuff seriously don’t you,” Mark said.
“The people following us are on the train. They’ve followed me since I left the compound and they are the ones who shot down your chopper,” Robert said.
“No, that would be the yanks that shot us down, friendly fire stuff. It happens all the while,” Mark protested.
“I know when I’m being followed,” Robert disagreed amicably as he smashed a car window in order to jack it.
Mark climbed in as Robert expertly hot wired the vehicle. Once in the city they abandoned the borrowed car in favour of a taxi.
“They’re behind us already,” Robert explained.
“Can I take this stupid thing off?” Mark muttered tensely, “I refuse to be killed looking like this.”
“Yes,” Robert said laughing.
The driver gave them a strange look as Mark struggled red faced out of the burkah. Robert took out a gold sovereign and explained it was the drivers for the simple task of asking no questions. The driver smiled happily and spoke not a word. They were within sight of the embassy when a hail of bullets burst from a pursuing car. The driver swayed everywhere. He was screaming and shouting at his passengers in angry, frightened and incomprehensible Turkish.
Robert calmly put a gun to the drivers head. “Keep driving, keep driving and I will handle the situation,” he said quietly. The driver shook with terror but renewed his concentration on the road, driving as if all the demons in hell were behind him, reaching for his soul.
“Mark, keep the gun on the driver and he’ll keep driving” Robert ordered. They had been lucky so far; the first round of bullets hadn’t injured anyone in the car although several bystanders had been hit. Robert took out two pistols and fired all the bullets in quick succession. Their pursuers dropped back in surprise, obviously not expecting retaliation. Shooting on the move was impossible however. Robert shouted for the driver to pull over and looked questioningly at Mark.
“Ready? Time to make a stand,”
Mark nodded and both men kicked their doors open before the car stopped. Both wanted the edge on the first shot to make them count. It was over in seconds they shot two of the men following them before they had the chance to even get out of the car. Their bullets didn’t stop until they ran out. They quickly jumped back into the cab as the distraught taxi drive drove them the few hundred feet to the embassy. They could hear the sirens wailing. There were embassies all along this road and someone must have phoned in quickly, very quickly. They ran to the gate where a British solider challenged them. They laid their weapons on the ground and asked for sanctuary. The police were running towards them, unholstering their guns as they ran, but they were ushered inside the grounds before any shots rang out. Four armed gate guards searched them and escorted them inside where they were cuffed and locked in a room, waiting for an official to deal with them.
A suited gentleman came into the room and sat down with a pen and paper and a quizzical expression.
“I’m Nigel Porter. I’m told you are British citizens. From what situation are you requesting sanctuary?” Nigel asked.
“I’m Robert Midford, MI6. I was working in Uzbekistan and this is Captain Mark Wright who was flying me out of a hot zone to report in. I have urgent information for MI6 headquarters. I need a passport, identification, weapons and I think I might be bugged so I need a sweeper team to clean me out ASAP,” Robert said.
“I’m afraid MI6 doesn’t exist anymore but I will report your presence to the British authorities and confirm your identity if possible. My colleague here will take your details and find you food, clean clothes and medical attention for your wounds,” Nigel announced as he left the room.
Robert and Mark were well cared for. Marks arm was x-rayed, set properly and he had stitches in his eyelid. They were given clean casual clothes and a good meal. Four hours or so went by while Robert wondered what had happened to MI6 and why they hadn’t checked his DNA to confirm his story. Every embassy had a DNA scanner to check the people who came through the doors.
Eventually Nigel came back with a suitcase and sat in the lounge with the two men and a solemn looking guard.
“Please forgive the wait, I have checked who you both are and I’ve received orders for you both.”
“That’s great but what happened to MI6?” Robert asked.
“I need to report to my unit,” Mark said.
“You both do as you’re told! Now listen: MI6 was overrun by Simpathes and now doesn’t exist. There are hundreds, possibly even thousands, dead all over the world as well,” Nigel said.
“Gone, what dead?” Robert stuttered, shocked and confused.
“Yes, I don’t know the details, but it was taken over from the inside,” Nigel said.
“They are Simpathes. I’ve been in their laboratory and that’s the information I need to pass on,” Robert said emotionally out of character.
&nb
sp; “We don’t know who the Simpathes are I’m afraid. You are to be flown from here to the airport where euro fighters will fly you into the East Midlands airport. Your contact will meet there. Here’s his phone number, here’s your passports and money. Your contact will provide you with everything else,” Nigel said.
“My last ride got shot down,” Robert sounded dubious.
“I know, we lost five agents like that but it’s not safe here anymore,” Nigel said sadly.