Chapter 14 - The Siberian Express
The private cargo plane shuddered violently as it descended through a massive, swirling blizzard over the unforgiving Siberian wilderness.
I had traded the remaining cryptocurrency for a highly illegal, undocumented flight on an old Soviet-era Antonov transport jet used by local smugglers.
The temperature inside the unpressurized cabin was brutally cold, turning my breath into thick white plumes.
I sat strapped to a metal bench, checking the action on my customized assault rifle for the fourth time.
The bullet wound in my shoulder throbbed with a dull, constant ache, but the combat stimulants running through my system kept my mind razor-sharp.
Below us, the endless expanse of jagged, ice-covered mountains offered no signs of human life.
The pilot, a gruff Belarusian who asked no questions, signaled from the cockpit that we were approaching the drop zone.
There was no runway, only a flat expanse of frozen tundra three miles away from the target coordinates.
The plane wouldn't land; I had to jump.
I secured my heavy parachute rig, pulled my thermal mask over my face, and stepped toward the rear cargo ramp as it slowly lowered into the roaring, sub-zero wind.
The noise was absolutely deafening.
I gave the pilot a sharp nod and threw myself out into the void.
The freezing air hit me like a solid wall of concrete.
I free-fell through the blinding snow, relying entirely on my altimeter watch to judge the distance in the zero-visibility conditions.
I pulled the ripcord at exactly two thousand feet, the massive parachute deploying with a bone-jarring snap that severely tested my wounded shoulder.
I navigated the violent crosswinds, steering myself toward a cluster of dark, jagged rocks breaking through the white landscape.
I hit the deep snow hard, executing a perfect combat roll to distribute the impact.
I quickly buried the parachute under a layer of ice, leaving no trace of my arrival.
I activated my thermal imaging goggles and stared through the relentless blizzard.
Two miles ahead, nestled deep inside a massive granite ravine, was a heavily fortified compound.
It looked like an abandoned Soviet gulag, completely surrounded by high electrified fences, concrete guard towers, and armed patrols accompanied by vicious attack dogs.
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This was the terminus of the cartel's money, the dark heart of the conspiracy, and the place where my best friend had been hiding for three years.
I checked my weapon, tightened the straps on my gear, and began the grueling, freezing trek toward the heavily guarded perimeter, ready to burn the entire facility to the ground to get the answers I deserved.
