He could see why this had been chosen as a cache point, even if it was a little extreme. Nobody was likely to stumble onto it. Since turning off the paved road that forked into this one, they hadn’t seen a soul. Only a few closed gates clearly marked with NO TRESPASSING signs. Isolated from prying eyes, but less than an hour from Interstate 80. Once on the interstate, they could be in any major city on the East Coast within six to seven hours or most Midwest cities within eight to nine hours.
That said, he didn’t anticipate them staying here for long. This was more of an equipment run than anything.
They’d grab all the gear they might need and wait until night to shuttle it back to the two RVs parked at a campground closer to the interstate. None of the sites available at the campground had been entirely private. Transferring a dozen or so overstuffed nylon duffel bags from the Jeeps to the RVs was a sight he’d rather keep concealed from the public. From there, they’d wait for further instructions, possibly relocating to a more private site.
He hadn’t been provided with their next destination, which either meant Pichugin was releasing the information in stages for security reasons or that they didn’t have a location on the team’s target. He got the impression from Pichugin’s proxy that it was the latter.
“I see something,” said Oleg, slowing the Jeep to a crawl.
He’d worked with Oleg for a number of years now, mostly in Europe and Asia, where Pichugin needed them the most. Like Felix, he spoke fluent English, with no hint of an accent, which had made him a shoo-in for this trip. Similarly, he was former Russian Federation Spetsnaz. Along with Valerie and Oksana, who drove the Jeep behind them, they made up the core direct-action element of his team.
Ksenia, their electronic surveillance specialist, and Lashev, a police-trained sniper, had remained behind with the RVs. Maybe not the best decision, given that they spoke only broken, heavily Russian-accented English, but he needed his best people on the cache mission—just in case the location had been compromised.
“We should be right on top of the entrance,” said Felix, putting down the phone.
“Looks like a break in the trees . . . and a gate,” said Oleg, pulling as far over to the left side of the road as possible to make room for the tight turn.
He cut the wheel sharply to the right and pointed them directly at a rickety wood gate partially overgrown with thin, new growth from the adjacent bushes. Felix hopped out of the Jeep and approached the gate, which turned out to be significantly more solid and secure than it appeared. The dilapidated-looking wood had been affixed to a thick steel barrier, which was latched to a metal post. The latch was secured in place by a fist-size, heavy-duty combination lock. He reached over the gate and lifted the lock so he could align the four numbers to match the code he’d received.
With the lock open, he pushed the gate inward, surprised that it moved almost effortlessly. He waved the Jeeps through and locked the gate behind them before getting back into his seat for the rest of the journey, which he had been told spanned about seven hundred yards on a hardened 4×4 trail. The trip from the gate to the cabin turned out to be smoother than the ride up Bear Creek Mountain Road. At several points along the gently twisting dirt road, he saw evidence of recently chainsawed trees, which had likely fallen during a recent storm and blocked the approach. The cache location was obviously well maintained.
The road opened into a football field–size, slightly overgrown clearing, a modest two-story log cabin with a green metal roof standing in its center. Solar panels lined the south side of the roof. A sizable metal shed sat about ten yards from the house. It looked large enough to house a pair of ATVs, possibly more. An exhaust vent poking through its sloped roofline suggested it might contain a generator.
“Pull up to the front porch,” he said, rolling his window down and motioning for the other Jeep to do the same.
He got out and approached the long porch, stopping short of the stairs and putting his hands on his hips. The rest of the team gathered around him.
“Looks self-contained,” said Valerie. “Kind of elaborate for some kind of Soviet-era weapons cache.”
“It was probably just a concrete cellar at one point,” said Felix. “More like an underground shelter than anything else.”
“A Pichugin upgrade,” said Oleg. “In the middle of Pennsylvania.”
“Yeah. And his proxy said we had access to more of these around the country, if needed, along with an unlimited travel budget. Whatever he’s up to here must be serious,” said Felix. “We need to keep that in mind moving forward. I’d like to be around to spend the money he’s paying us.”