The Project 05 - The Tesla Secret

that," Elizabeth said.
    "Like I said, a test."
    Elizabeth and Stephanie looked at each other.
    "Good," Elizabeth said.

CHAPTER FIFTY- EIGHT

    The Russians were all Special Forces, hard men. Captain Ilya Zhukov was second in command after Korov. Senior Sergeant Bukharin was recognizable in any army as a career non com. Sergeant Ivanesky was the third man. Korov made the introductions. Ivanesky gave Nick a hard look and walked away with a few words to Korov. Selena's voice sounded in Nick's ear.
    "Someone is unhappy with you. He says he will do his job but he doesn't have to like any of you. He said he's going to check on the chutes."
    Nick coughed.
    "You must excuse Sergeant Ivanesky," Korov said. "His father was a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. One of your stinger missiles killed him."
    "He doesn't like us. Can we trust him?"
    Korov bristled. "He is Spetsnaz. He will obey orders without question. Ivanesky is one of my best men."
    The Americans were dressed as the others, in gray and black and white camouflage uniforms and black jump boots and berets. Nick wore the rank markings of a Major. Anyone looking at the group would have seen nothing out of order. A small group of soldiers going somewhere. Ronnie could have been from the Siberian steppes. The only thing unusual was Lamont's skin color. People would guess he was from one of the former Soviet Republics in the south. Unusual, but not unknown.
    Korov had provided AK-47 carbines for their primary weapon.
    "I thought about the new AN-94," he said, as he handed Nick a rifle. "It's accurate, but trouble in the field."
    "How so? I thought the 94 was replacing the AKs."
    "They're supposed to. But they're too complicated. Expensive. Very good for accurate, high rate of fire but difficult to maintain. They jam, they catch on your clothes. I don't like them. We stick with these. Besides, you are familiar with them."
    "Half the world is familiar with them," Nick said. Half the world was, usually the half that hated America.
    Their ride was an Antonov AN-72, nicknamed the Cheburashka by the Russians after a popular cartoon character. The name came from the unusual engine configuration, two huge jets mounted forward on the tops of the wings like giant ears. The plane had been in production since the 80s. A large cargo door in the rear made it ideal for their purpose. Thinking about a jump at low altitude at night made Nick's back ache in anticipation.
    The air crew ignored the Americans, assuming they were Russian, though they'd given Lamont odd looks. As long as everyone kept their mouth shut, they'd be all right. They all knew a few Russian phrases and words. An airman brought Nick a cup of steaming black tea and he thanked him in Russian. The man nodded and returned forward.
    Each man had a small pack in addition to his parachute. The Russian parachutes were their newest stealth model, almost invisible from the ground, similar to the American design. Korov had gone over the differences with them. Still the same procedure. Jump. Pull cord. Land. Assuming the chute opened. They almost always did.
    Ronnie, Nick and Lamont sat on one side. The fuselage was lined with strap benches, just like in the states. When you came down to it, the military forces of the world were much the same everywhere. What was different was the degree of professionalism. The Russian elite forces had that in spades.
    Korov and his men sat on the opposite side of the plane. Nick was too wired to doze off. Ronnie turned his jish over in his fingers, reciting a Navajo prayer to himself. His lips moved silently. Lamont sat with his eyes half closed. Sergeant Ivanesky stared at them. When Ivanseky saw Nick notice him, he looked away.
    "We'd better keep an eye on that one," Nick said to Lamont.
    "Yeah. I noticed. He doesn't like us much."
    "Selena said one of our missiles got his father. In Afghanistan."
    "Explains it. I wouldn't like us much either."
    Korov spoke into his headset, listened. He got up and came over to Nick.
    "We are ten minutes away. Get ready. We jump together. I will lead, you come last."
    "Got it."
    "There is little wind. Snow on the ground, it will show tracks. We are coming in at 2000 feet."
    The cargo door dropped open and the engines slowed. The plane lost altitude and speed. The inside of the cabin turned freezing cold as the wind sucked all the heat into the Russian night. They formed up. The engines maintained a steady beat. The light over the open door changed from red to