Revenge of the Phoenix: Scorpion One, #5

By Lawrence Hebb

Drugged and abandoned in a sinking car in the middle of a frozen Russian lake, Alexei Serkhov should be dead! But he's very much alive.

And out for revenge!

Having escaped from the British MI6 and having made his way back to Russia, the Phoenix organisation think he's too much of a liability, so they think they've killed him.

But he's alive and wants revenge, not just on MI6 for what they've done to him, but on the organisation that he was working for! Phoenix wanted him dead!

MI6 knows that whatever happens one thing is sure. He's coming for them and won't stop until he's been stopped. But how do you stop a man when you don't know where he is?

Follow the bodies! Join Scorpion One as they track him down, but with a difference, he's also hunting them!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lawrence Hebb
• Release date: Jul 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223572091

Lawrence Hebb

Hi there! Lawrence Here. Just taking a moment to say a big hello and that I hope you enjoy the book. I love a good yarn, and I think this is a great one. A lot of the book is based around my experience as both a Soldier in the British Army and my experience in Iraq as an aid worker in the nineties, and I'll let you into a secret, this nearly did happen (but don't tell the wife PLEASE!)

Book preview

A spy, like a writer, lives outside the mainstream population. He steals his experience through bribes, and reconstructs it.

John LeCarré

You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall—you need me on that wall.

Col Jessup (From the movie ‘A few good men’)

Dedication

To all those men and women, ‘on that wall’

Thank you.

Revenge of the Phoenix

A Scorpion one novel

Chapter 1

St Petersburg, Russia

The car arrived early . But he didn’t see that as an issue. Alexei liked it when people were early. It meant that whoever it was thought the other person was important enough to make sure that they were ready for them. In his line of work, that was always good. It was always better to be over-prepared than under. Being under-prepared would get you killed in his line of work.

Not that it was likely to happen today. This car journey was only to the airport. But it was the start of a much bigger journey, one that he was looking forward to. It was the start of his revenge!

It has been good to see you again Alexei, the man standing with him on the steps of the mansion spoke as they exited out of the main door. He turned and looked at the car, but there’s work for you to do the man held a glass out to Serkhov, before you leave, for good luck, a final toast as the English say

Serkhov took the glass. It was  Stolichnaya, a traditional Russian Vodka. Not his favourite, but still a good vodka. And it was appropriate for the situation. He swilled the drink back in one gulp, then turned and put the glass down on the tray that a servant was holding. These were antique crystal glasses, and too valuable for the traditional Russian way of ending a toast. Turning to his host, Alexei Serkhov  said, "Spasibo ‘’ or ‘thank you' in Russian, then walked down the steps and into the back of the waiting Mercedes. The driver had been holding the rear door open. The driver closed it as soon as he was in the car, then he walked around to his side and climbed in.

The host watched as the limousine slowly made its way down the driveway. As soon as he saw the massive wrought-iron gates closed, he dismissed the servant who’d been standing there, and then went inside.

The mansion had been built in the early eighteenth century. One of the many palatial structures built to house the courtiers of Czar Peter the Great, the builder of the city that was once known as Leningrad, after a famous son, but now bears the name of its founder once again.

The mansion was ten kilometres or six miles south of the city. It was perfectly placed for what they had needed. Close enough to international access for business, both the legal and more lucrative kinds. But it was also discrete enough that people couldn’t pry into his affairs, and with his guests, that was a good thing, though a wanted fugitive like Alexei Serkhov wasn’t an issue. The police were kept well enough paid for that. His other guests though, were a whole different ballgame. They valued their privacy, even when a meeting like this was called.

There were five of them, three men and two women. All wealthy enough to regard a billionaire as being poor, and all paranoid about keeping their location secret.

Did we have to meet in person? one of the ladies, an Asian-looking woman in her early fifties, asked?

She was Asian, but the accent was the East Coast of the United States and almost flawless  English, but with a New York accent.

The host remembered ‘Madam Wang’ (a code name. No one used real names here. Everyone had a handle or code name they used, and Madam Wang was just that. Her real name was Li, but no one there knew it). She had studied in the USA for years. She wasn’t from there but she had extensive business there, although most of hers were in Southeast Asia and she had bases somewhere out there, though none of them revealed exactly where their base was, just like his base wasn’t this house.

I believe we needed to, Madam Wang, the host began. The damage done to us in the last few weeks has been significant, and it’s time to take stock of things, as well as,

Plan our revenge? one of the others, this time a European-looking male in his early sixties. The accent suggested either Dutch or Belgian.

I would say more like deal with the problem, the host replied. Our minions tried a revenge tactic, and it backfired, but that’s not to say we can’t enjoy dealing with the issue! He met each gaze with a smile. What I’m thinking of requires a little more finesse, but first we have a few things to deal with. He paused as he took his seat at the head of the table.

The conference table could take twelve around it, with one at the head. His seat was at the head.

"Just what exactly are you thinking?’’ The Belgian went by the name of Eric, and even in his legal business, he was known for being ruthless.

Well, now that you ask, their host began. He’d sat down at the table with a folder in front of him. He opened the folder and scanned it. Only after scanning the pages did he begin his reply.

We were concerned that the fiasco in England had compromised our organisation, but after the meeting with Alexei, he turned the page in the folder, I’m now confident that any damage done is repairable, and even the damage there is minimal. MI6 didn’t get any of the key players,

Except Alexei Serkhov Madam Wang replied.

Yes, that was unfortunate, the host replied, but he’s not indispensable. He may have built that network, but it’s time to hand it over. he shrugged as he said it.

Something was wrong . Alexei just knew it. He’d not long woken up, but within minutes of getting into the vehicle, he started feeling drowsy. The brain was wide awake. It was the muscles that weren’t obeying what the brain was telling them. At least that’s what he was trying to portray. It was also why he hadn’t drunk the full amount in the glass, but had managed to pour at least half of it away while the host had been distracted.

The brain, or at least the conscious part, was telling the eyelids to stay open, but they refused and gravity was taking over, even the small amount of the drink that he had imbibed was having at least some effect, though not nearly as much as the planners, his assassins hasd wanted. Gravity was pulling them shut. His brain  was also telling the voice to scream, but nothing was coming out. A few seconds later, he slipped into unconsciousness. Or at least that’s what he wanted them to think. He’d suspected they might try something, and it looked like he was right.

St Petersburg is just over sixty miles, or a hundred kilometres from the Russian/Finnish border. The land of a thousand lakes.

Rzhevka Airport is situated just north of the city, between the city and the Finnish border, with Lake Ladoga a few miles to the East.

The intersection was a T junction with a sign for the airport to the left, the lake to the right. They went right, and his suspicions were confirmed.

Half an hour later, they were running along the side of the lake. The road ran along the top of an embankment. One side was a forest, and the other was a ten-foot drop.

Two kilometres down the road was a small layby. A small hatchback car sat in the layby, engine running, the driver sat waiting.

The limo driver brought the car to a stop as the hatchback driver got out. Without a word spoken, both drivers got out of their cars, opened the rear door of the Mercedes, and started manhandling the seemingly unconscious Serkhov out of the car.

Five minutes later, he was strapped into the driver’s seat of the hatchback with all the windows rolled down.

Still sleeping like a baby? The hatchback driver asked.

Should be, the reply came back. There was enough tranquilliser to knock a horse out. He’s breathing shallow and rapidly. It won’t be long even without the water.

They made sure all the windows were down. There was no danger of Serkhov waking up, so that didn’t matter, it would just speed things up.

The hatchback driver took something small out of the trunk of the car. It looked like a small package, tightly wrapped in cellophane. He pressed a small button on the top, a tiny red light came on, then he threw it through the passenger side window. It bounced off the seat and rolled onto the floor.

pre-set timer, he said as they both moved around the back of the vehicle, six minutes and there’ll be no evidence of anything,

The Mercedes driver grunted. He’d wondered how they were going to hide the body. This answered it. There wouldn’t be enough left to identify, and they pushed as the car rolled forward towards the cliff edge, before going over nose first.

The car hit the ice nose first smashing through and into the water below before sinking. It went down quickly. Sinking like a brick. The last part disappeared in a flurry of bubbles as the car went beneath the surface.

How far back should we be? The Mercedes driver asked.

The shock-wave is going to be like an old depth charge, probably be okay on the surface though. The ice will take the brunt of the force,  but we don’t need to wait around. He quickly glanced at his companion before turning and heading for the Mercedes.

Why?

I built it myself. It’s as reliable as a Swiss watch, Hatchback said as they both climbed into the big German car.

Chapter 2

Lake Lagonda, St Petersburg, Russia

Freezing. Shit, I’m in trouble, was the first thing Alexei thought as the car began going under the water.

He’d been suspicious from the moment he got the summons to the mansion. Especially when the girl wasn’t delivered. He knew something was wrong, and he knew the thugs in charge would take drastic measures, but this was extreme!

The girl hadn’t turned up. The pricks of the British SAS had pulled off a rescue, and the proverbial shit was hitting the fan.

He wasn’t stupid. The moment he realised the girl was rescued, he knew his days would be numbered. It was only a matter of time before someone thought him surplus to requirements, or even worse, a liability.

No time to feel sorry for yourself, time to get moving, he thought as he began fumbling with the seat belt. The two dipsticks who’d been given the job of finishing him off were so convinced he’d drunk the poison they didn’t bother with any more restraints. That had worked in his favour.

One quick press of the release button on the seatbelt and he was free. The car was already underwater. It had been for about fifteen seconds and was already coming to rest on the bottom. The lake wasn’t that deep. He figured he was about five metres, fifteen to twenty feet underwater. He didn’t have much time.

Reaching under his seat he found the lever that moved the seat backwards. He pulled the lever and pushed with his feet. The seat moved slowly at first; he pushed it back harder.

Next, he reached under the steering wheel and found the catch that allowed the wheel to be pushed forward. He released the catch and moved it forward. It moved slowly at first, the pressure of the water fighting against him. Ten seconds later, he had the steering wheel moved to where he needed it.

As soon as those two were out of the way, he pushed up with his feet and twisted his body. Reaching up, he took hold of the roof and pulled himself up through the open window. The window that the idiots had left open. They didn’t know it, but they’d made his escape much easier. A few seconds later, he was free and heading to the surface.

Six metres, about twenty feet underwater, is a long way down. At the surface, the water pressure is roughly the same as atmospheric pressure. Fourteen pounds per square inch. But as soon as you get below the surface, it increases and does so dramatically. At six metres the pressure was nearly twice that at the surface. He’d need to take the ascent slowly, otherwise he would get problems from the ‘bends’ or excess nitrogen in his bloodstream.

‘Ouch,’ he hit something with his head. Something hard and freezing. He tried lifting his arms to feel what it was. His arms were sluggish, and there wasn’t any sensation of feeling in the fingers. He knew he was losing feeling because of the extreme cold, but all he had to go on was what the arms were telling him.

‘Ice’, he figured. ‘I must be near the surface.’ He started trying to feel where the edge of the ice was, where the car had broken through.

Serkhov knew he had little time. Another minute at the most before his body succumbed to hypothermia. He was using not just his KGB training, but all the tricks he’d learned growing up in the Russian far north. If he didn’t reach the surface in the next forty-five seconds, he was a goner.

He found the edge and pulled himself towards it. Hands numb, he couldn’t even grasp anything. Then he cleared the ice and began ascending again.

HUUUP breaking free of the surface, he took a huge gulp of air. Without even thinking, he reached out with an arm, thrashed it down on the ice and used the momentum to help launch himself free. Even then, it was a struggle, but at least he was free. The cold would still get him within minutes if he didn’t find warmth, but now he had minutes and not seconds to live.

As soon as he was out of the water, he was trying to get to his feet, but ended up crawling and looking around. He was near the edge, but the ground rose sharply from the edge and there was a ten-foot cliff, but at least he could see a light about three hundred yards to his right, it looked like a farmer’s hut with just a small light from a window. He had to get clear, and quickly, he knew something was thrown into the car just before it began rolling, and didn’t like what he thought it might be. He made it just in time.

Whump, the ice erupted as what felt like a huge pressure wave hit it, throwing pieces as big as his head into the air before crashing down. A hole about five feet across was created as water gushed a few feet into the air, he was clear of the blast, but only just.

Serkhov smiled, at least he tried to, but with the freezing cold he didn’t know if his face muscles were responding. It didn’t matter. He knew he would live, and that was all that counted. Revenge would be something to think about later.

Chapter 3

MI6 Headquarters, Vauxhall House, London

As soon as Sir Michael , better known among those at MI6 as ‘C’ walked in, he headed straight for his coffee pot. Officially, his day was just starting, but unofficially, the day never stopped.

The first head of MI6 was a man by the name of Sir Mansfield Smith-Cumming. A legend in the history of espionage and a man honoured by his service by the way they always give the head of the service the same designation that he always used, ‘C’.

His first job of the day was always making a coffee, mainly for himself. Not something he left to a subordinate. It was too important! As soon as the coffee was made, he took the cup, took a sip, and headed for his desk. Flicking the switch on the intercom he spoke to his new secretary.

Jenny, can you hold any calls for me for the next hour? C didn’t explain.

Very well sir, the voice came back, but I’m reminding you that you have a meeting with the Foreign Secretary regarding the replacement Ambassador for Ukraine at ten o’clock. She’s coming here for it.

Yes, thank you C replied, I’m aware she’s coming he clicked the intercom off, and sat thinking for a few seconds. The appointment of an ambassador was something that MI6 automatically had a say in, even though the public was never told that.

The Foreign Office thought the embassy bombing in Kyiv had been a terrorist attack, but what they didn’t know was who was behind it. Sure, they were aware it was Russian mobsters, but the report had gone out about Chechen rebels. No one wanted to know the actual truth, and the director of MI6 had no intention of telling them. Britain still needed to stay on good terms with the Russian government, even if they were hunting the mobsters, and those mobsters happened to be in cahoots with the Russian government.

He clicked the intercom off and moved around the desk with his coffee. He put the cup on his favourite coaster and sat down at his desk.

He reached over and clicked another button on the intercom.

Steve, as soon as our friends get here, come straight in.

They just arrived, we’ll come straight through, the line went quiet.

Seconds later, his main office door opened. Three people entered, two males, one female. There wasn’t any need for introductions. They’d worked together before.

Take a seat folks ‘C’ gestured to the chairs around the small conference table in his office. It wasn’t as big as the one in the conference room, but it only needed four seats. They each took a seat.

Help yourselves to refreshments, he said as he took his coffee and coaster. He walked to the seat at the head of the table and took his place.

This is a bit of a catch up, ‘C,’ began, But first let’s clear something up, he gazed around the group. But as of this moment, this meeting is classified top secret, is that understood? it wasn’t a request.

That normally made people nervous, but not Joey or Sandy. Sandy worked for MI6., and Joey was getting used to it.

Where are the rest of the team, boss? Joey asked. He was slightly uncomfortable, but for a different reason, he was the only one in the room who wasn’t MI6.

Back at Hereford, Mr Metcalfe, C replied, they’re keeping their skills sharp

Where I should be, Joey replied.

We need you here, C countered. You were given a task, and I haven’t changed it! He emphasised the point. He knew Joey and Sandy were an item. It was mostly against the rules, but in this instance, it was the best way forward. Both of them did dangerous things. They worked with danger every day, and the best way to keep his agents alive was to give them someone who’d move heaven and earth to keep each other safe. Both of them had shown that repeatedly. Besides, we might need your talents soon

That didn’t sound good. Joey only had one talent that he could think of, and that was violence, usually the extreme kind. He was good at its various forms, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed resorting to it. He leaned forward in his seat, took the coffee cup that Sandy had just placed in front of him, nodded a ‘thank you’ to her and asked, Okay boss, what gives?

As you all know ‘C’ started a reply, we’ve been monitoring Serkhov’s tracker he reached forward and took up what looked like a small pen, pointed one end towards a small rectangular box sitting in the middle of the table, he clicked a small red button on the ‘pen’. The box came to life. It was a projector. A map of Northeast Russia came up on the far wall.

"When he left Ukraine, he