Free Salby (Book 2): Salby Evolution by Ian D. Moore

we’ll jump. If we’re found when this ship makes its entry to dry land, we’re screwed. I can’t explain our circumstances to me, let alone a seriously pissed-off Russian. Go, now! Let’s get out of here,” I barked.
    Without so much as a look, Barbie ceased her actions, turned and began to run aft. I followed close behind, reliant on her awareness of the layout. The ship began to groan and creak as the hull met the bedrock of the harbour. It writhed, rolled, and juddered in dying throes as the rocks carved deep rifts through the steel. Explosions from the bow, followed by loud, resonant cracking sounds, which resulted in a trail of debris in the ship’s wake, accompanied the high-pitched wail of a claxon from the shore—a warning to anyone in the immediate vicinity of the imminent impact. In the hazy hue of the harbour lights, between drifting clouds of thick smoke, I could distinguish scurrying figures in fearful flight.
    We stared momentarily at what looked like a three-storey drop to the icy, engine-churned waters of the Barents Sea. The oily, rainbow-coloured kaleidoscope patterns, formed by excess diesel floating on the surface of the waters, didn’t exactly appeal to my inner swimmer.
    “Sir, I can’t swim,” Barbie panicked.
    “We have to go, Barbie, now! I’ve got you, okay? Just don’t let go of my hand, and we’ll be fine. It’s now or not at all, we need to be clear of those props or we’ll get cut to shreds, you got me?” I shouted.
    “But—” Barbie started.
    “Wait! Where’s the backpack?” I snapped.
    “It’s in the hold. You’ll not have time to get it now, though,” Barbie shouted after me.
    After a couple of wrong turns and with the violent shaking of the vessel beneath my feet, I made it to the hold to retrieve the backpack. A promise is a promise, even if only to myself. Just a few minutes later I was back beside Barbie, the bag securely fastened to my back, faced with the prospect of a very chilly bath.
    “Ready?” I asked as I positioned myself for the inevitable.
    We couldn’t wait any longer. I clamped her hand in mine and pulled her over the side.

11 - Dobro pozhalovat
    (Welcome)
    Port of Murmansk, Russia, present day.
    The two black-suited goons walked as if the ground were on fire. Even by military standards, the yomp took quite a pace. They had to be, Nathan thought. A Eurocopter EC155 helicopter rested inside the hangar. Owned by the authorities and hidden in plain sight, this military installation was simply disguised as a maintenance and repair depot. The aircraft, with blacked out screens save for the pilot’s, was already in the process of being loaded by numerous ground crew. Nathan noticed the lack of identifying markings, not even a tail number callsign.
    “Wait here,” Gladstone instructed.
    The three of them took a moment to check out the environment. The hangar, set out with a degree of precision and immaculately clean, was a veritable hive of activity and yet impossible to distinguish just exactly which government organisation held the purse strings.
    “What do you think, love? Military intelligence?”
    “It’ll be something to do with them, yes. Charles is well connected, and given what we’re potentially up against, he would want to keep a lid on this,” Evie stated.
    “Stewey, what do you reckon, spooks?” Nathan queried.
    “I’d put money on it. High-end, well-financed ops. We’re about to find out.” Stewey cocked his head to the left at the approaching man.
    The cheesy-white smile, which displayed near perfect teeth, reminded Nathan of a car salesman—someone not to be trusted. As the man approached, his well-rounded frame belied someone more accustomed to sitting at a desk than operational missions.
    “The name’s Hicks. I am the field operations director here in Tenerife. Our destination is Murmansk, Russia, and you will leave as soon as loading is complete, estimated one hour. If you would care to follow my associate,