The Doomsday Testament Read Online Free PDF Page A

taking home with them between three and twelve
million
artworks, depending on who you believed, including paintings by Botticelli and Van Dyck. Some of those artefacts were almost certainly not far from where he sat with his assault team, but tonight only one of them interested him. He looked at his watch. 01:55.
    ‘Get ready.’ He pulled a black ski mask over his head. The others followed suit, automatically checking their weapons and equipment.
    Dimitriy Yermolov stifled a yawn and struggled to keep his eyes open. Time to take another look around. If one of the supervisors came in – admittedly unlikely – and discovered him even half asleep he’d be out of a job by morning, and then who’d pay to put his wastrel son through university? He was getting too old for this night work, but what else could he do? The New Russia had been just as tough on Dimitriy as the Old Soviet Union had. That was the problem with being an honest man in a country where corruption was an essential element of any successful career. It didn’t matter whether it was turning a blind eye to some Mafia drug dealer from Kazakhstan or keeping your mouth shut about a party functionary selling off state alcohol, it was the same old stink. Trouble was, being a lowly security guard, even in one of Russia’s most prestigious museums, didn’t pay well and never had. And let’s face it, this was just a sideshow compared to the Hermitage across the water. Don’t get him wrong, the Menshikov Palace was impressive enough, a glorious Baroque mansion house overlooking the river in one of the world’s prime locations. It was probably the oldest surviving building in the best city in Russia. Forget Moscow, ‘Piotr’ had always been the capital and always would be, and he loved it, even if that bastard Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin had also been born here. But compared to the State Museum or the Winter Palace, the Menshikov was just a collection of pretty rooms really, with the odd Old Master here and there to give it a wafer-thin veneer of distinction. Nobody would rob
this
place.
    The leader looked at his watch again. ‘Two minutes.’ He’d put together a team of five Russian-speaking professionals carefully selected for their skills and ruthlessness and with ancestral DNA linking them to the mountain passes where the Kremlin’s conscript army fought their perpetual savage war against the mujahideen fighters and the Black Widows of Chechnya. Add a few shouted words of classroom Chechen and you’d created a terrorist smokescreen that would keep the investigators busy for months if things went wrong. They were all mercenaries, but each was a special forces veteran. Between them, the six men had served in Grenada , Panama, Iraq, Afghanistan and a few other places the world wasn’t supposed to know about.
    The security systems protecting the Menshikov Palace differed from those of the Hermitage only in scale. Each floor had its cameras, alarms and motion sensors, infrared and laser. The instant an alarm was triggered the whole building would go into lockdown and in less than ten minutes the place would be crawling with St Petersburg cops. The only weakness was during those vital minutes between alarm and response, when the museum’s security guards were expected to deal with any developing crisis. At the Hermitage, several dozen guards were on duty during the hours of darkness. At the Menshikov Palace, the men on the night shift numbered just six, and the red dots on the laptop in front of him showed him precisely where they were.
    Dimitriy used his radio to inform Yuri in the control room that he would be patrolling the lower floor and basement for the next fifteen minutes. He heard the other man’s knowing chuckle. ‘Sure, Dimi, see if you can shoot some of those fucking rats when you’re at it.’ Dimitriy smiled. This close to the river the black rats that swarmed from the sewers and culverts in summer were forever tripping the alarms or chewing