The Soviet Comeback by Jamie Smith (best ereader for academics TXT) 📕

His right cheek flat against the ground, he had nowhere to look other than the sky and saw the cloud moving determinedly. He had only about thirty seconds at the most. Easing his head slowly around to look towards the house, he saw the face still staring out and realised what he would have to do. Moving his hand under his body to his chest, he withdrew his nine-millimetre CZ-75 pistol and began commando-crawling forwards at pace, covering the distance expertly and rapidly. He kept his eyes firmly on the face in the window, as it continued to gaze absently into the distance. At a hundred yards, the moon began to peer through the thinning cloud and he had no choice but to stop and raise his weapon.

The shot was near impossible but he had no choice but to try and make it; his whole mission relied upon nobody knowing he had ever been there. Easier to hide the murder of a black servant than the US secretary of defense. Propping his elbow up, he aimed the pistol in his right hand and wrapped his left hand around his right wrist and the butt of the gun. He exhaled and as he began to pull the trigger, the curtains suddenly closed and the face vanished.

At that moment the entire expanse was again bathed in moonlight and his location clearly visible to anyone who should look. In one swift movement he leapt to his feet and began running powerfully towards the stables at the side of the house, careful to land gently and not alert anyone to his approach. This time he ran with the gun in his hand, ready to take a shot should anyone spot him. He lowered it briefly as he vaulted the low wooden fence, set up, Nikita imagined, to prevent cattle from straying too close to the home.

He felt his muscles bunching as he propelled himself forwards, but although his breathing was heavy as he reached the shadows at the side of the stables, he had scarcely broken a sweat.

He squatted down, and breathed deeply, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and prepare himself for the next move. He could feel a temptation to just walk away, and knew if he paused too long, he would give in to it.

Keeping low and to the shadows, Nikita made his way past the stables, keeping to the numerous blind spots of the security cameras, where he heard a horse whinny gently, but he didn’t stop and continued around to the front of the house. Due to the isolation of the ranch, he’d been unable to scope it out as completely as he would normally have preferred, forcing him to use his imagination to gain an entrance. But the isolation, and the rarity of the secretary’s presence there, had meant that security was minimal. Behind the stables a path led between a grassy verge and an elaborate flowerbed that had been carefully trimmed to keep back from the path. It felt oddly out of keeping with the barren landscape behind him.

All of his senses felt highly tuned, noticing the slightest buzz from a cricket or throaty croak from a toad. But he didn’t hear a sound from indoors. He checked his watch. It was eleven p.m. and from the dark windows, and the occasional glow from a room on the first and second floors, it looked like most of the Conlan ranch had headed to bed. No doubt he had his staff up early to prepare breakfast for him. How hard is it for a man to fix his own breakfast, Nikita thought, as he rounded the front of the huge house?

Huge sloping grass lawns and a curved driveway bordered by ornate hedges and statues led down to a road which snaked away through the desert towards the twinkling lights of Odessa in the distance.

So strange, Nikita thought, to put so much effort into the front of the house, and to leave the back of the house so open to the plains with little more than wooden fences to separate them.

He stepped behind the hedgerow set back from the white stone driveway, separated by a few metres of lawn. Eyes everywhere, he crouched next to a marble bird bath set in an alcove of the hedgerow, noticing as he did that the side hidden from the road was covered in moss and grime. Conlan seemed to only care about what the world could see of him and gave little care to what they couldn’t.

He gazed up at the front of the ranch, and realised that the word mansion would fit it better. Three floors up and ten rooms across, it was everything you would expect and more from a billionaire politician. Security cameras were mounted on either side of the building, but pointing inwards at a forty-five-degree angle, to cover the approach to the main entrance. He picked up a medium-sized stone from the ground next to him, and after moving further behind the hedge he tossed the stone onto the lawn in between the two sides of the driveway. He waited to see if the cameras were motion-sensored. Neither moved.

Always make sure. He groped around and found a thin tree branch, about three yards long. Again, he tossed it onto the lawn, this time a little closer to the front door. Again, there was no motion sensor.

Things felt a little too easy to be true, which made Nikita feel very nervous and he doubled his focus. Conlan was without doubt an arrogant man, but you could rarely make secretary of defense if you were stupid.

Casting his eyes over the mansion’s façade, he weighed up his entry options. The rear of the home would provide the easier access, but he assumed that the stairs to the first floor were at the front of the house. This would require him