As tears go by

// 12 Moscow - 'Otel Terminus

A week later another transmission arrived to the small office. This time, Studenikin was on duty again, after three days of leave. He recognized the number, and was instantly in shock. He started to swear. How was it possible? They told him everything had ended, non more troubles. He sighed, picked up the phone from its rest and when the soft calm voice said "Da?" Studenikin told him the problem.

The soft-spoken voice lapsed into silence as the man disappeared in the air. Studenikin didn't dare to ask "You still there?", then the voice resurfaced. "You sure?"

Studenikin didn't know what to say, the tongue clung to his mouth.

"Call Belchin," said the soft-spoken voice after a couple of seconds of silence "put the data on a memory card; destroy the evidence in your computer like you did last time, and..."

"Nijkamu ni slova," threw in Studenikin, it was the Russian equivalent of the English saying "Mum's the word". As soon as he realized he stole the words from the mouth of the man, Studenikin stiffened as to resist the blow, but the voice laughed. "Perfect, captain, you got the lesson, nijkamu ni slova."

This time, Belchin had a helicopter ready to take off from a heliport about twenty minutes away, as the crow flies, from the coordinates of the call. A Eurocopter E135 took off immediately. It was a light utility helicopter. It was used in many ways: emergency medical services operation, air transport, law enforcement, military missions and training, offshore operations. It was reliable and spacious and most important for this operation a non nondescript one, being a common rotor-craft all over Europe. Last, the EC135 held the distinction of being the quietest helicopter in its class, featuring an anti-resonance system to dampen vibration from the main rotor.

The FSB rented it running the cover of an Italian Tour Operator, they usually used it when they needed to rent out vehicles in Europa without leaving a trace. The copter pilot was one of the most experienced pilots of the 18th Guards Military-Transport Aviation Division. He had to be, because the weather was a nightmare made of strong winds going up and down out of nowhere, and in their fall and fast ascent carried swirls of iced snow. The iced snowflakes stuck to the glazed surface like glue, blinding the pilots. It was not late, but being a February afternoon, it was already dark, and with that bad weather there was no light from the Moon or the stars, no landmarks as streets, crossroads, were visible. The sparse streets lamps were worthless. It was like flying in a pitch-black cloud with shut eyes, and on top of everything, whirling around like a ballerina.

Finally the wind dropped all at once and they realized they were over the spot. The target was a two story-sturdy rundown building with a sign reading 'OTEL NIGHT CLUB on one side. In front of it there was a parking lot with some cars stationary. All the details appeared clearly on the green screen of the night vision goggles donned by the pilot.

It took ten minutes to find the right spot to angle down, avoiding cables and sudden gushes of winds. They landed in a ploughed field one hundred yards from the back of the building, shaken and convulsed like they had travelled in a blender. The helo whirled off right away, noisy like a jackhammer.

The four SpN men ran like wolves towards the building. They were dressed like joggers. Black and orange tracksuits with high visibility strips. Balaclavas covered their faces. They travelled light: silenced handguns, tactical knifes, a couple of stun grenades, night goggles, very small backpacks. They sprinted until they found the building. They dashed around it, stopped behind the corner, took off the night goggles, and watched the area. There was a parking lot full of stationary cars lit by a street light so faint it seemed a candlelight. No men smoking a cig cussing the bad weather stood between them and the target. No shadows. Just some music oozing out from the underground night club. They were not worried, the club door was past the entrance of the hotel. They had to go to the hotel, and the hotel had been closed for years, no crowd around, perhaps rats and scorpions, but no human beings, except, at least they hoped so, their target. The readings of the tracker were sensitive within inches. They headed for the hotel entrance like a wolf pack. The door was unlocked. They pushed a crack in it and one of them rolled in – gun at the ready – and scanned the area. He saw a large room with a counter and two billiards tables. Some armchairs. No people at all. He beckoned the others to come in. They climbed the stairs up to the top floor. The landing opened up in a narrow shabby lobby. Ten doors each side. The frame of the doors were enshrouded in darkness. They checked all the rooms before finding a fast asleep man in the last bedroom at the end of the corridor. On SpN checked the bathroom. It was clear. Another operative knelt down and looked under the bed. The third one stared at the man's face and hands, ready to restrain him if necessary.