Free The Increment by Chris Ryan Page A

sophisticated. It's no good just fighting them with muscle. We need brains as well. You two should make a good team.'
I might not want this job, but at least the view will be good.
At the press of the button, the monitors sprang to life. Matt settled back into his chair. Orlena had high cheekbones, and thick black hair that was cut in a sharp, straight line just below the bottom of her slim neck: she had the classical, sculpted beauty of an Eastern European. Her skin was as white as snow, unmarked by a single blemish. Her lips were thick and red, a jagged line of crimson lipstick smeared across them. And her bright blue eyes lit up the room.
Belarus, realised Matt, looking at the map that had just appeared on the screens. The country was like a small rectangle, suddenly squashed out of shape. Matt knew its reputation from his time back in the regiment: the most criminal, lawless, vicious, chaotic and dangerous of all the former Soviet republics.
The Wild East. A bunch of mafia psychos, retired KGB officers and stray nukes.
'Belarus,' said Orlena, tapping at the monitor with a burgundy-varnished fingernail. 'One of the many republics that broke away from Russia during the break-up of the Soviet Union.'
'We can skip the geography lesson,' said Matt.
Lacrierre glanced first at Matt, then at Orlena. 'He's a soldier, Orlena,' he said, his voice dropping to a low whisper that could not quite hide his irritation. 'From an elite regiment.'
Matt smiled. 'I know where Belarus is, and I also know that anyone who was thinking straight would keep well clear of it.'
Orlena turned back to the monitor, ignoring him and pressing a button on the desk. She was dressed in a thick black skirt that stopped just below her knee, and a crisp, starched white blouse that was buttoned up all the way to her neck. It was the most staid, businesslike outfit you could imagine. But somehow she managed to make it provocative.
A fresh series of images jumped on to the screen: a pile of brightly coloured pills, and a series of maps. 'In the last five years, Belarus has become the centre of the world trade in counterfeit medicines. When it was part of the Soviet Union, it was designated the hub of the pharmaceuticals industry under the old five-year plans. The result? There are lots of factories that can manufacture drugs to a reasonable standard. And there are lots of biochemists with time on their hands and no money.'
Matt admired the slender curve of her thigh as she swivelled to point at a different set of maps.
'A series of Tocah's most profitable heart-disease and cancer drugs have been targeted by the gangs. They know the formulas of our drugs, because we have to file them with the patent office. They can unlock the manufacturing process. They are using factories in Belarus to manufacture fake copies. Then they smuggle them into the West. They sell them to wholesalers, at a fraction of the real price, and they end up in the pharmacies. When you get your prescription filled, you don't know whether you are getting the real medicine or a fake. Tocah loses a sale, and the gangsters make huge profits.'
Lacrierre leant forward on the desk, looking directly at Matt. 'We estimate it's costing us a million a year, maybe a million and half, in lost profits.'
'So,' said Matt, 'what do you want me to do about it? 'I'm not a chemist.'
'But you are a soldier,' said Orlena.
'I believe Mr Luttrell has already told you we want you to take out the factory,' said Lacrierre. 'That's the only way of beating these people. It's no use talking to the politicians or the police in Belarus, they are all in the pay of the gangsters, as you know. The whole country is completely corrupt. So if we are to stop this, we need to stop it at source.'
'We need a small team of men,' says Orlena. 'I have contacts in Kiev who can put together some ex-Red Army men for back-up. But they need leadership, and military expertise. That's your job.'
Getting out of the bloody country alive, thought