A bomb for the President

By EDGARS AUZINS

A dangerous terrorist nicknamed Azer has escaped from a Norwegian psychiatric hospital. The search for the criminal is entrusted to the German Taleev Special Task Force. The fighters realise that this escape is not accidental. Someone is planning to use Azer to carry out a large-scale terrorist attack. But where and when will it happen? The investigation leads Taleyev's team to a northern city, where the dismantling of a nuclear submarine reactor is in full swing in the harbour. It seems that a deadly action is planned here.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EDGARS AUZINS
• Release date: Apr 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224168330

EDGARS AUZINS

Dzimis 1989. gada 22. decembrī. Absolvējis Rīgas Juridisko koledžu. Profesijā nav strādājis, bet apguvis programmēšanas prasmes un pašlaik ar to nodarbojas. Kopš 2022. gada ir personīgā uzņēmuma vadītājs, kas nodarbojas ar transporta pārvadājumiem, kā arī programmēšanu. Dzīvnieku, īpaši suņu, mīļotājs. Born 22 December 1989. Graduated from Riga College of Law. Has not worked in the profession, but has acquired programming skills and is currently working in it. Since 2022 he has been the CEO of his own company, which deals with transport transport as well as programming. Lover of animals, especially dogs.

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Prologue

The small building made of dirty gray stone—four stories high around the courtyard—was virtually invisible. It was no different from others built in the fifties and sixties of the same type. A casual passerby would never look at him again.

Just random passersby were never here. They simply could not be on a small closed island located five miles from the west coast of Norway, which is part of the Fruan group of islands. It did not have its own name.

Three times a week, boats with the emblem of the Ministry of Health approached the island. If a fishing boat that had strayed due to constant fog or was not working tried to land on the island, it was greeted with polite smiles and cold glances by men dressed in khaki color. Therefore, no one on the outside could see the four guard towers and the three-meter-long electrified fence surrounding the strange institution.

Although what could be strange in the fact that in every way in an unremarkable psychiatric hospital there were people with a disassembled consciousness and an unbalanced psyche? Nothing! If only the previous life of each of its inhabitants did not contain ominous traces of the bloodiest atrocities - murders, violence, robberies, robberies.

It was a special psychiatric hospital for particularly dangerous criminals, who, quite naturally, needed to be kept in a specially guarded place. Here all possible risks are minimized. Medical and service personnel were thoroughly tested, and constant video and audio surveillance provided a reliable guarantee against possible escape and unrest.

However, for several decades of existence of the clinic, no one has managed to escape in this way. Although two three clumsy attempts were still recorded. But the riots never happened. And, of course, the main merit in this regard was the forms and methods of treatment used. Of course, there was electric shock and extreme thermal procedures, but they were used only in exceptional cases, in no case more often than in any ordinary psychiatric hospital. The main direction of treatment was medication, and the main concern of the institution was not about the peace of mind of patients, but about calming them down. Therefore, drugs were widely used here, the effect of which on the human mind was not yet fully understood, and the consequences were not always predictable. And about the doses...

With the first dose of medication, apathy, slowness and inertia set in. The gaze became cloudy and distracted, the gait became slow and clumsy, the movements relaxed and poorly coordinated. These phenomena completely coincided with the observations of people who take antipsychotic drugs for a long time, and in the clinic they were perceived as something completely natural.

Not a single patient has yet left the clinic cured.

THE SLIDING DOOR OF room 2C slowly opened, and the patient stood at the entrance and waited for the orderlies to approach. Another routine procedure: the carpenter will take him to the medication collection point. To move over such short distances, they did not even put on a special belt, which remotely acted as a powerful electrical dispenser. Months of taking tranquilizers and antidepressants completely suppressed the patient's will. A jet of saliva flowed from the corner of his mouth to his chin, his head lowered and trembling lightly. The only strange thing was the short, tenacious gaze from the bottom of his eyebrows, which instantly went out. But who could have noticed that?

In the paramedic's open office, a patient received three pills from his hands from a shouldered, middle-aged man in a white medical coat. He swallowed the medicine and then opened his mouth to show that he hadn't hidden it under his tongue or behind his cheek. At that moment, the paramedic, standing with his back to the surveillance camera and covering the patient's body of a security guard who was in a small hallway on a chair opposite the open door of the lazarette, tucked a chip card. his shirt and barely whispered:

After half an hour. About the signal.

The patient spent this time lying on a hard ramp in bed in the paramedics' office, completely motionless, staring at the ceiling with a vitreous gaze. He was ready...

... ABOUT TWO MONTHS AGO in Trondheim, two strangers appeared at the paramedic's house. The paramedic lived alone: his wife died ten years ago, and his twenty-year-old daughter studied at a French university in the modern profession of a landscape designer. Stupid girl! Or maybe it was the Parisian air and the dizzying sense of freedom that turned the little white head on the inexperienced Norwegian province?! My daughter madly fell in love with a beautiful black-haired Arab from a parallel faculty. They even came together to visit their father in Trondheim for several days, melted the heart of an elderly widower with their fervent love, and received a paternal blessing. In addition, the daughter was already six months pregnant and soon gave birth to charming twin boys. The newly-made grandfather was in seventh heaven and agreed without hesitation that it was better for a young mother and newborns to live in his father's homeland, in the warm climate of the Mediterranean Sea, than in the foggy and cool north of Norway.

And now from there, from the Libyan Tripoli, these terrible strangers appeared in his house. They demonstrated dozens of photos of a happy family and calmly reported that the future of his grandchildren and daughter without clouds, and even their own lives, depended entirely on the unconditional fulfillment of their orders. For the sake of his only loved ones, the paramedic was ready for anything.

So he became a reliable thread of communication for the patient from the ward No.2C with the outside world. In addition, the paramedic received several packs of tablets, which had to be given to the patient in the clinic instead of the prescribed ones. The pills did wonders: the prisoner's mind cleared, his mood improved, he felt lighter and came to life. Now he had to pretend: to imitate a severe hissing gait, to scold, to pretend to be a person under the influence of an antipsychotic drug. And the occupant of ward 5A - an old man with severe heart disease and repeated seizures, the paramedic had to give another pill at the strictly appointed time. Today it's time...

Patient No. 2C constantly imagined each subsequent step, thanks to the instructions received through sanitary, and did not react in any way to the iridescent signal that was heard from the speakers and the voice message: Code 3-4, Central Portal, Room 5. The statement was made several more times. The patient felt that on his shoulder he was resting angrily neatly. He opened his eyes and slowly stood up. According to the instructions of the authority, after such an order, the free inpatients had to immediately apply to the designated place, and all patients should be taken to their rooms and remain there under the direct protection of the accompanying hospitals.

The slow journey ended at the door of the camera. No.2C was currently the only inhabitant in the small West Wing Chamber.

-Come in!

The patient swayed to the hallway on unstable legs, and the carter automatically stretched out his hand to support him, and then, with a light kick, sent him to the camera, as he had done more than once. This time, however, the patient unexpectedly pulled his outstretched arm sharply and forcefully. Confusion and panic were reflected in the cardman's face: the prisoner, inflated with drugs and barely dragging his feet, suddenly showed a violent act – what happened? The very next moment, however, the patient's knee hit him forcefully into his lower abdomen, and a powerful kick from two clenched hands fell down the exposed nape. The unconscious carpenter collapsed heavily on the plastic-covered floor.

The prisoner quickly changed into a gray shirt and trousers, attached a badge, covering the photo with the pocket flap of the shirt. He pulled the carpenter's body into the ward and made a well-calibrated kick through the carotid artery with the edge of his wrist. Now he will no longer raise the alarm. Never. The patient listened: nothing disturbed the internal silence of the ward, but the noise of the rotors of an approaching helicopter was barely audible outside. So there were less than three minutes left. The prisoner rushed to the exit from the ward, and then turned left, to the back, to the work, stairwell. He opened the way to this with a chip card he received from a paramedic.

An elderly patient in ward No.5A did indeed have an attack. Doctors of the clinic, who examined him on the spot, found a general deterioration in his condition and the development of signs of cardiac arrhythmia. In such cases, the patient was supposed to be taken to the intensive care unit, that is, evacuated from the island. They immediately contacted the Central Clinical Hospital and requested a helicopter or boat. The weather in these latitudes was extremely unstable, so doctors did not have much hope for a rotorcraft. But this time, a transport ambulance helicopter with insignia of the Ministry of Health appeared surprisingly quickly. The loading of the sick old man on the ship was organized without observing many bureaucratic procedures: the patient became worse before his eyes, and serious fears for his life arose. So let it happen in the Central Clinic. Five minutes later, the helicopter took off up, turned sharply toward the sea, and quickly disappeared into an endless series of shattered low clouds and thick gray fog.

Chapter 1

German Taleev slowly drove along a recently paved road to his summer cottage near Moscow, located on the edge of a small forest. He was rare here. Much less often than we would like. Despite the obvious publicity of his profession - Talyev was a journalist - he loved silence and loneliness. Maybe he liked fishing too, but in recent years he hadn't had the opportunity to check if he had this passion more than once. A few hours spent in a deep, soft chair by a flaming fireplace with cognac and a cigar in his hands were usually enough for him. Without books, TV and computer.

Today's visit to this shelter of the blessed bachelor turned out to be a surprise for Taleyev himself: he received a call from a man whose very polite request was a strict command to Hera. Not so much because of official subordination, but because of a deep respect for the personal qualities of the caller. Never for many years had acquaintances gradually grown into friendships, they had met in public. This was required by the strictest secrecy, which was absolutely necessary in the case to which Taleev devoted the best qualities of his unusual nature. And it wasn't journalism!

German Taleev was one of the direct commanders of a mysterious and mysterious organization, which its members themselves simply called the squad. She had no other name. And who might need it?! No document confirmed the reality of its existence. There are no orders or instructions, reports on the work done or payslips. There wasn't even an approved internal structure. Of only a dozen full-time employees, it would be difficult to single out three commanders who had direct contact with the curator. They received tasks from him, and their further freedom of activity was not limited by practically anything. However, despite such an apparent external illusory, the tasks solved by the Team were quite realistic and vitally necessary. The team acted where the official powers of the government and security structures ended. In addition, she used methods that often came into conflict with the official doctrine of the state, and even in some cases declared moral and ethical principles.

In general, all state power worked for the Team. She had the resources of all law enforcement agencies at her disposal. The operations carried out by it involved employees of any department, without even realizing it. Most often, such newcomers were absolutely sure that they worked for the benefit of the allied forces - the FSB, the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the GRU - especially since orders to recruit always came from such heights of the Kremlin's power stratospheric where no one was. dares to seek clarification or approval.

Only two people knew about the existence of the Team. Moreover, the First never interfered in his work, but only recognized and supported the need for the presence of this unit in such a still turbulent world. It was the president of Russia.

Second... This was the curator. Vladimir Viktorovich Aleksakhin, permanent assistant to the President of the Russian Federation. The man with whom the journalist Taleev was now going to meet in his house.

GERA DUG INTO THE GLOVE compartment: there was always the key to the entrance gate to the cottage. This time, he couldn't be found. He tried to remember the last time he attended his rural retreat. It seems three months ago, along with Seryoga Redin. Or was it Gjulchatay who persuaded him to relax in nature's lap? Oh, anyway. It will be necessary to get out of the car, go inside the house and pick up the spare key hanging on the nail.

There were not a single top-secret locks in Talyev's summer cottage, but a reliable alarm was installed with video cameras and motion sensors connected to the remote control of a four-kilometer remote police fortress. The alert will also be activated in the navigator of his car, connected to the satellite tracking system. Rarely could anyone boast such bells and whistles. Well, journalist Taleev is not the first with whom he meets. Of the entire team, he was the only one with the official face. Moreover, one that shone at all levels of government. He had permanent accreditation in the Kremlin, accompanied the country's top officials on their state visits around the world, and interviews were not refused to him by most media and private individuals.

Hera got out of the car at an inconspicuous gate. The dacha fence was solid and quite high, but even here, on the road, a strong smell of freshly fried meat, the aroma of spices and the bluish smoke of the campfire penetrated. The journalist coughed loudly and opened the unsealed gate. About 45-50 years old, a tall man in light, worn jeans and a tiny baseball cap with a long visor on short-cropped gray hair, turned to him from the grill to the left of the house.

By my calculations, you should have been here 12 minutes ago, the greeter's voice was quiet but very clear, I guess you waited around the corner for the kebab to be ready, dirty hands?

– I just did not want to deprive you, Vladimir Viktorovich, of all the joy of being introduced to the high culinary arts. Where you are, behind your multi-toothed wall, you will see a living light, choke on smoke...

The assistant actually coughed, spat and shook his fist for Taleev:

He's scribbling, too! "He rubbed his eyes with his palm. - Drive the car - and please come to the table, sir!

Under Taleev's large oak was a long wooden table with excavated benches. Now the whole table was sown with bunches of various greens and lined with bottles with colored labels. Hera shook her head dismissively.

"But you still don't let me show truly Russian hospitality and welcome the guest of honor in the territory...

Vladimir Viktorovich interrupted:

Yes, yes, yes, your personal territory! I probably made a mistake by appearing here, but I really wanted it all. – The guest gestured broadly through the clearing in front of the house. And I'm taking all the precautions. You don't see anyone here, and you didn't notice anyone on the way.

Taleev knew very well that the curator never moves without proper guards and escort vehicles. He did not consider himself the right to change the established order for high-ranking officials. But Hera really didn't respect the guards.

Well, let's indulge in the deadly sin of gluttony!

An hour later, they moved into the house full and contentedly and settled into the living room by the quietly crackling fireplace. Taleev set fire to his usual slender black cigar, and Assistant finally moved on to the main topic of the visit.

We haven't seen each other in a long time, and I didn't have the opportunity to share interesting news. After the events in Spitsbergen, you soon left with the President to Vienna and from there to South America. And the news itself was nothing to seriously worry about, but it piled up. And after a while, vague forebodings began to overwhelm me...

The intuition of the presidential assistant served as a city conversation throughout the government apparatus. For Taleev, who knew her firsthand, she has long been almost a standard measure.

– ... I will focus on the main news in chronological order. Do you remember, in the case of fascist treasures, Altair was mentioned in terrorist talks? Have you also suggested that this could be the base on one of the islands of the archipelago? The journalist nodded in agreement. - The Norwegians, with the help of NATO, then organized round-the-clock boat patrols in the area. The terrorists unfolded. Altair turned out to be more of a transit point and simply could not exist autonomously for a long time. The bandits decided to end the blockade of shipping. They most likely did not have accurate data on the number of block forces involved in the operation. Otherwise, they wouldn't have gotten into trouble! They were not even allowed to move far from their uninhabited island. Of the 25 people, 22 died on the spot. Three were captured. Two were sent to camp at Guantánamo Bay.

Vladimir Viktorovich slowly got up from the couch, stirred the drying firewood in the fireplace with poker, and poured himself cognac into a glass with his stomach. Returning to his place, he asked indifferently:

And who was the third, you don't care?

- I'm afraid to let you down, but no doubt I think.

– ?

- Maybe now I only have one 'familiar' living terrorist in the whole world. Not counting bin Laden, of course! And you wouldn't even ask about someone you don't know. So the third is Azerbaijani.

– Bravo for the deductive method of your beloved Sherlock Holmes!

The journalist bowed to all sides, and the assistant continued:

He turned out to be smarter than his lord Sallah, or perhaps more cowardly, and did not rush his head into the Grumant mines under bullets and explosions, but he managed to get to Altaire by circular roads, rightly relying on help, support and a ticket to Europe. It didn't work out. But I managed to survive and pretend to be schizophrenia. And, presumably, very talented. Because two or three councils of local psychiatric choirboys unanimously affirmed: yes, he is sick, severely and hopelessly. And they left him in a specialized prison clinic for especially dangerous criminals on some Norwegian island.

— You could at least write me a note in Vienna, or to Brazil and Venezuela. After all, he's almost my godson.

I couldn't, Hera. Because I learned about all this quite recently. Cursed this international mystery and political correctness!

"So they let the goat into the garden...

– However, you do not have a high opinion about special prisons in Europe.

- I have a pretty high opinion about azer abilities.

- Okay, let's skip events that are insignificant and uninteresting. Let's move on to the apotheosis. About a month ago, Azer managed to escape from this hospital.

Taleev made a gesture that can be unmistakably interpreted as I had no doubts!

- The Russian government was officially informed of this event.

- That's already an achievement!

- Don't be ironic. In this case, the details are very important, but they were simply missing! The Norwegian Vikings have always been quiet and restrained. Yesssss... What would we do without our good friends in Mossad?! Do you see in what circular ways it is necessary to get the truth?

And probably not cheap?

It's better if you don't know. So this prison has a very good reputation. No escapes! And Azer would never have been able to escape from there alone, if not for help from the outside. Interested people were found who carried out all the organizational work. They identified one employee with impeccable reputation and extensive work experience at the hospital from among the nursing staff. His adult daughter studied at the Sorbonne, married a student of Arab descent and gave birth to cute twins. Either the young parents themselves decided, or at this stage the interested parties intervened, but the young family went to their husband's homeland in Libya. Then it is a matter of technique: elementary and mutually beneficial blackmail with the health and life of the daughter and grandchildren. The paramedic undoubtedly fulfilled all the requirements: fed the patient with the necessary medications, handed over detailed instructions, etc. On day X, Azer was taken out of the hospital by helicopter of the Norwegian Ministry of Health, which, of course, belonged to the terrorists. and was several minutes ahead of what was sent to the clinic for the real thing.for seriously ill prisoners a real medical boat. No trace could be found except a helicopter abandoned on the coast. The hospital paramedic couldn't do anything to clean the picture and hung up a bull with the sleeves of his shirt.

- How elegant! And most importantly, it is plausible.

"I'm sorry, Hera, I just don't have time to discuss the nuances. This news worried me greatly, because I drew elementary conclusions. Azerbaijan is not Sallah, and on the scale of international terrorism this is a small number. Why did you have to make