She lowered the spyglasses and armed one of the missiles, as she’d been shown how on the afternoon the missiles had arrived by a nameless advisor who’d come and gone like a ghost. She hadn’t cared who the man was or asked any questions. It was unimportant. She was doing her duty, following orders – that was all she needed to know.
The missile had an infrared guidance system that would home in on the heat signal of one of the pair of jets that powered the plane. She’d been assured that a direct hit at low altitude would result in, at the very least, a catastrophic failure of the aircraft’s fuel, hydraulic, and propulsion systems, resulting in a fatal crash if she was lucky or a badly damaged crash landing if not – the latter still enough to accomplish the outcome on the world stage; although, as the advisor had stressed, not as favorable as a messy crash with hundreds of casualties.
She shouldered the launch tube, peering through the sights at the tiny blip that was the airfield. Yulia didn’t need the binoculars to see with better definition any longer. There was only one plane taking off in the next few seconds and flying overhead. There could be no mistaking it.
Yulia held her breath as the blip began moving, and then it was airborne, clawing its way into the night sky with a distant roar. She’d been told to fire as it approached, the aircraft’s altitude likely in the two thousand meter range, giving her ample opportunity for a second shot if the first failed for any reason. With a ceiling of three thousand meters, the missile was relatively accurate, and in this case, against a civilian aircraft, would likely be deadly.
The underside of the onrushing plane was stark white against the dark backdrop as it approached, and when it was nearly overhead, she squeezed the trigger. The missile launched with a hiss of smoke, trailing a tail of flame, and streaked toward the jet. Yulia watched in disbelief as it passed just behind the wings and continued harmlessly into the night.
She scrambled for the second tube, armed the missile, and adjusted her position, the plane now past her.
Pavel’s voice called from the truck. “What happened?”
Yulia didn’t answer, maintaining her concentration as she took aim and loosed the second missile. She followed its course using the launcher sights and swore as it too failed to lock onto the jet and streaked wide.
Pavel came running, his breathing a rasp. “What the hell?”
“Something went wrong. Both almost hit it, but they didn’t home in.” She eyed the spent launchers. “The infrared didn’t work.”
“Damaged?”
“Both of them, in the exact same way? Hard to imagine.” She paused. “More likely they were defective from the factory, or…sabotaged.”
“We’ve had them under lock and key the entire time.”
Yulia nodded. “And the advisor checked them. He verified they were fine. I don’t understand…” Her voice trailed off as she remembered Sandra – the mystery woman who’d helped her escape from Russia. They’d discovered that she’d broken into the armory, but only taken a few trivial items.
Could she have disarmed the weapons?
It was the only answer that made sense.
And yet…why?
Yulia considered the question as she and Pavel ran for the Pathfinder, the wail of distant sirens from the city signaling that the missiles had been spotted on radar. Sandra must have figured out that there was only one logical reason for the Ukraine to source Russian antiaircraft missiles, and had taken steps to render them harmless.
Why she would have risked her life to do so when she’d been trying to escape the camp was the real mystery. Yulia threw herself into the Nissan as Pavel started the engine, her focus turning to the convoy of vehicles racing their way and the flashing lights of a military helicopter on the horizon.
“Keep the headlights off and drive like the wind,” she said, buckling up, painfully aware that without the chaos of a downed plane, her odds were low of surviving the night. She also knew that capture wasn’t an option – her group had to be kept out of the public eye under all circumstances, and exposure in this case could well bring down the puppet government.
Her fingers brushed the butt of her pistol and she steeled herself for the chase to come, furious with herself that she’d underestimated Sandra – an oversight for which she would likely pay with her life.
Chapter 59
Campulung Moldovenesc, Romania