- Oct 3, 2018
- 3,165
The house sat in the shadows of the distant foothills, a decaying structure that had long been abandoned by its original owners. Inside, the faint rustling of the wind outside seemed a whisper to the men of the Alfa Group as they crept through the darkness.
Stanislav Rostovtsev led the team, his eyes darting over the crumbling interior. His black gloves gripped his rifle tightly, the only sound his steady breathing beneath the hood of his balaclava. His sharp gaze swept over the area, and without a word, the team moved into position.
The Alfa Commandos crept up the rotten wooden steps of the house. The soft glow of green light from their night vision googles. Elie Petrovich nodded toward the narrow porch. He signaled to Zhenya as he slipped into the next room. Zhenya’s eyes narrowed. The flashbang grenade detonated with a blinding flash, throwing the night into chaos for a split second.
With a clear and practiced command, Stas raised his hands signaling orders to his team. They poured into the house with lethal efficiency, securing every door and window. Rasim Yurievich and Ivan Tarasovich were already sweeping the main room, scanning for any sign of life or hidden threats. Rasim's eyes scanned the room as he crouched low, checking behind furniture and within the walls.
Vanya moved in with Rasim, his hand moving to open a cupboard beneath a broken table. He paused for a second, and there, hidden in plain sight among old clothes, was a stack of papers. He held it up, and the rest of the team gathered around. The papers were covered in Arabic script, ink faded from use. The markings were unmistakable—a map of London with specific locations circled in red ink and the faintest traces of fingerprints in black smudges.
"Is it Al-Qaeda?" Zhenya whispered, his voice low. Rasim nodded, his fingers brushing over the pages. “Looks like it.” He said as he gazed down at the map. “Looks like it is other targets than last month's London attacks. Buckingham Palace…” he made out from the map. “Coveant Garden…” he said as he pushed his head closer to the map. He moved them around, seeing other cities underneath them. "It's not just Al-Qaeda. Look, some Russian scribbles.” He said, pointing to the map of Washington D.C.
Zinoviy Denisovich stepped forward, a low growl escaping from his throat. "This isn’t good.” Zinoviy chimed in as he took a look at the map. “Christ. Moscow as well.” Zinovy said, looking at the map of Moscow’s theaters, subways, and foreign consulates. “We need to get this to command ASAP.”
Stas motioned to the others. "Search the other rooms." He said as he ordered his teams to clear the other rooms. The operatives moved immediately. Zhenya moved into the next room, his rifle at the ready. His boots made little sound against the rotting floorboards as he swept the area, eyes darting from one shadow to the next. He opened a door to the right, revealing a small, dimly lit room. Dust choked the air.
He scanned the corners, watching for anything out of place. The room was bare, save for a few crates and bags strewn across the floor. He turned on the flashlight barrelled under his rifle, shining it into the crates, and his eyes caught a flicker of something. He knelt down, lifting the lid of one of the crates and pulling out a bundle of old, weathered books.
Meanwhile, Bolotnikov and Andrusha had moved into the room next door. Bolotnikov motioned to Andrusha, signaling him to check the corners while he started going through the drawers. A moment later, he pulled out a small stack of photographs and laid them on the table. Most of them were blurry, but there were a few showing groups of men in the mountains.
Andrusha, meanwhile, had found a hidden compartment beneath the floorboards. He pulled it open, revealing several rolled-up maps, their edges frayed. His hands were steady as he unrolled one, revealing a detailed map of London. Red circles marked key locations, and in the margins, handwritten notes in Pashto.
Outside, the sounds of the operation continued as the rest of the team cleared the remaining rooms. Tomas and Kostya entered the farthest room, a bedroom. Tomas quickly pulled aside a moth-eaten blanket, revealing a metal box beneath the bed. He knelt down, prying it open to reveal a stack of papers. They were all in Russian, with cryptic phrases and diagrams outlining plans for sabotage along Russia’s southern border. Kostya glanced over his shoulder, eyes scanning the hall for any movement. "Nothing else here," he said, speaking into the comlink as he slid the papers into his bag.
The team reconvened in the hallway after sweeping the final rooms. Stas stood in the center, his eyes hard as he checked his watch. "Gather everything. Let's move."
Zhenya came back to the group, his bag now heavier with the books he'd found. "These might be useful," he said, glancing at Stas. Bolotnikov tossed the photographs onto the floor in front of Stas. “I can recognize some of them from the intel brief on Chechnya. The sure as hell look Russia. But the place looks like Kabul," he said, looking at the arid terrain similar to photos his grandfather showed him.
Stas glanced at the documents, his brow furrowing. He stood still for a moment, processing everything. "Take what we need. Secure it all.” The team quickly began securing their findings. Zhenya slid the books into a larger satchel while Bolotnikov packed the photographs into a folder. Tomas and Andrusha worked together, making sure the maps and plans were carefully folded and secured. Kostya stood at the door, his rifle at the ready, keeping watch as the others worked. Downstairs in the basement, squad two moved under the slow fall of dust from squad one’s movements upstairs.
Zinoviy found the computers in the basement. His fingers brushed the edge of his vest for the encrypted USB drive. "Copy.” They reached the door, and Rashid signaled. He moved in first, crouching low as the door creaks open. The faint glow from a single bulb flickers inside, casting long shadows on the walls.
"Base clear. Zero tangos. I'm on the terminal." Vanya kept watch, his rifle at the ready. "Check the corners. This place smells like a trap." Zinoviy approached a steel desk in the corner, opening a case. He plugged the encrypted USB into the terminal and waited, fingers poised over the keyboard. muttering to himself as the system boots up. "Come on, come on…”
Zinoviy’s fingers tapped faster now as the system hummed to life, revealing encrypted files. "Got it. Files transferring." In another room, Klavdiy pulled a small laptop from his pack and began scanning the area. He accessed the nearest computer, breaking into the files. A series of encrypted messages flashed across the screen, broken only by a photo that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was grainy, a photo of smiling bearded men in an arid terrain.
"Look at this," Klavdiy muttered, flipping the image toward the others. "This was taken in Kabul.” He said, looking at the image origin files.
Ilya “Ilik” Gruzinsky, who had been scanning the room for hidden compartments, raised his hand, signaling he’d found something. He pushed a bookshelf away from the floor, revealing a hole behind it with a small metal case. He pulled it out, opening it slowly. Inside, there were photographs, carefully stashed away—more images of the same insurgents, but this time with even more damning evidence: blueprints of a terror cell operation in Dagestan and hideouts across Central Asia.
"These are plans for something big," Ilik said, his voice rough. Gorbunkov Gerasim gripped the edge of the table and looked over the contents. His eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "This isn't just about hitting Western targets. They’re positioning themselves around Russia, too. Look here." He said, pointing to several targets in Moscow and in Dagestan and Chechnya.
Stas took a deep breath hearing what was said down below, surveying the scene, his mind racing. There were too many targets: London, Washington, Kabul, and now, Southern Russia. The network was sprawling. "Pack it up. We’ve got what we need," Stas ordered.
Each team member secured the documents and photographs, making sure no trace of evidence would be left behind. They left the house the way they had entered—silently and quickly. As the team members moved back to their vehicles, they silently drove back, hoping to get the intelligence back to Russian intelligence as soon as possible.
