Page 39 of Dead Fall

“Zira,” she said, shaking it. “I heard about the attack. What happened to your escort?”

“One didn’t make it and the other is in the hospital.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“Did you know them?” he asked.

She shook her head. “The GUR is a large organization. But regardless, I am saddened every time I hear someone has been killed or injured. The operative in the hospital, is he expected to make it?”

“He is,” Harvath replied.

“Good,” said Zira, removing some money and paying for their coffees. “We should get moving. Do you have any bags?”

With his Galil slung across his shoulder, Harvath patted the rest of the gear he was carrying and said, “This is all I have.”

The GUR woman gathered up her change and asked, “What about your papers? You won’t get very far without them.”

Knowing that if he had to hurriedly grab his equipment he might not be coming back, Harvath had wisely tucked his important documents, as well as the cash and some other items, into the zippered compartment of his chest rig. Removing his orders, he showed them to her.

Satisfied, she folded the papers and handed them back to him. “I’m parked outside,” she said. “Follow me.”

Her vehicle was a beat-up, forest-green Toyota Land Cruiser from the late 1990s. It had been outfitted with a snorkel, a bully bar, and a roof rack, as well as a dual jerry can holder, which at the moment only had one gas can in it.

The interior wasn’t much to look at, either. Rips in the stained cloth seats had been mended with different colors and types of tape. The header was torn and the rear left passenger door panel cover was missing. It smelled like stale cigarettes and spilled diesel. Letting his rifle hang in front of him, Harvath cracked the window as soon as he got in and shut his door.

“Hungry?” she asked as she pulled out of the lot and reached behind her seat for a greasy paper bag.

“What is it?”

“Varenyky,” she replied. “Dumplings. They’re probably not very warm, but they’re still good. There’s also bottled water in back.”

Harvath thanked her, grabbed a bottle of water, and helped himself to a couple of the dumplings.

The filling tasted like it was made from liver and fried onions. He had eaten much, much worse in his career and was grateful for the sustenance.

As they left the city center, he noticed that they were headed to the north. “I thought we were supposed to head east to meet the team.”

“There’s been a change of plans,” she replied. “The base where they were waiting has taken heavy shelling. We believe it’s still under observation and not safe. They’re going to meet us at a safe house outside the city instead.”

The woman exhibited a small facial cue that he had been taught to pick up on. Under duress, such as when lying, people revealed certain microexpressions.Was she lying?

He couldn’t be sure. In war,everyonewas under duress. And that duress often lived on as PTSD. Nevertheless, his Spidey sense was awake and tingling. As they drove, he remained on guard.

What he saw through the windshield was unbelievable. The amount of destruction Kharkiv had suffered was next level. Peshkov had thrown everything he had at the city. From hypersonic missiles to flesh-melting “thermite rain” bombs, he hadn’t held anything back.

Building after building had been reduced to rubble and the streets were lined with the blackened husks of burned-out cars. It looked like something out of a postapocalyptic zombie movie.

But then, for every razed apartment block or those with their façades sheared away, exposing the dwellings inside like some macabre, life-sized dollhouse, there were other structures that had survived without a scratch, completely intact. There was absolutely no rhyme or reason to it. Just pure luck.

And as bad as the inside of the Land Cruiser smelled, the outside—through Harvath’s open window—was even worse. The air smelled like fire and death and despair. In short, it smelled like war.

As they got to the outskirts of the city, the ruins of Russian tanks and armored personnel carriers could be seen, reminders of Moscow’s countless attempts to take the city. Ukraine’s ability to repel the invaders again and again was a testament to both their spirit and the Kremlin’s pathological hubris.

Though Kharkiv boasted one and a half million inhabitants, it went from urban to rural very quickly.

Before Harvath knew it, they had left the paved city behind and were driving down a forested dirt road. The breeze coming through his window was much cleaner, fresher.

The woman hadn’t said much. She didn’t use her phone, nor had she turned on the radio. Despite the current front lines being less than a hundred miles away, there were no checkpoints, no stepped-up security presence, at least nothing that was visible. The city and its environs seemedto be experiencing a respite. How long it would last was anyone’s guess. They rode in silence.

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