Cold Blood Read Free Page B

as ‘peacekeepers’.
    A ‘confidential’ 1998 agreement between Russia’s then Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin and Igor Smirnov, the self-appointed president of Transdniester, to share profits from the sale of 40,000 tons of ‘unnecessary’ arms and ammunition had made Lesukov and men like him very wealthy. However once a copy of this agreement had come into the hands of the Associated Press there had been protests in Washington and a scandal in the European media. Russia had denied the story as preposterous and Ukraine had condemned any potential arms dealing, stepping up the size of their border guards units.
    Lesukov was beginning to feel the pinch as he found it harder and harder to get his goods out of the country.
    Lesukov paused and refilled the glasses. “How many of the Orly still serve with you?” It was a question to Bull. Orly , the Russian for ‘eagles’, was not a regimental title but a traditional name used to signify fearless fighting men.
    “Of my Brigada, six, however since we have become freelance we have many more good men.”
    After leaving the Red Army Spetsnaz Bull had recruited other former ‘special forces’ soldiers from numerous Soviet Republics. These were some of the most highly trained soldiers in the world, yet had been discarded when the Union crumbled. He had bought their loyalty for little more than a few hundred dollars each, as a hero of Afghanistan he already had their respect. For the past fifteen years he had accumulated a reputation in several war zones as a ruthless leader, mercenary and a surprisingly good business facilitator. He had brokered arms deals with the Mujahedeen, rebels in Georgia’s breakaway Abkhazia region, and insurgents in Africa, to name but a few. Now it was only natural that one of the main suppliers of weapons should want his direct assistance.
    “What had you in mind, my old friend?” Bull asked.
    Lesukov smiled, raised his glass again. “To women.” The other two followed. It was not that they especially wanted to honour women, but a Soviet tradition for every third toast. He placed his hands flat on the metal desk.
    “The Ukrainians have their own group of Orly, called the ‘SOCOL’. They are a highly effective anti-smuggling and anti-organised-crime unit. This I could normally admire, however they have now turned their focus on my shipments. In the last two months alone they have intercepted three shipments…” His voice trailed off as he totted up on his large fingers how much he had lost, he then doubled it. “They have cost me almost three million American dollars in profit!” His face had grown red and any hint of levity had passed.
    He sighed and remembered the dusty mountains of Afghanistan some eighteen years before, and the young Spetsnaz captain who had fought next to him. “You were the best in Kabul, saved us all, now I ask you to save me again. I want you to stop this SOCOL team once and for good.”
    Oleg, who had quietly listened, let his tongue run along the outside of his top lip. He loved action and had grown weary of ‘business’. To take on a real target was what he lived for. He looked at his CO.
    Bull folded his arms and nodded. “It can be done, but of course there is a price.”
    Lesukov’s eyes glinted, he had anticipated this. “I will give you ten percent of each shipment that passes successfully into Ukraine.”
    “Thank you. Whilst that is a good offer, my friend, can I ask if you find it easy to export your ‘goods’ from Ukraine?”
    Lesukov paused and in that millisecond confirmed what Bull had expected. “They are squeezing me from both ends. At one end I have the SOCOL and at the other Border Guards, customs officials who will not accept payments and…”
    “Thirty percent, Ivan.”
    “What?”
    “Thirty percent and I take care of import into Ukraine and the export out of the territory.” Bull folded his arms.
    Lesukov scratched his nose. “My margins are not that high Tauras. I can