Stephanie paused the dialing and put her phone on the table like a peace offering. Harry pointed at the men working in the room. ‘These are my guys, but they’re here privately, OK? If I bring my business direct to the Oval Office, half my clients will melt away.’
‘You brief the President as Harry Lucas, chief executive of—’ She stopped as she momentarily forgot the name of his company. Harry let her struggle for a few seconds, half-amused that she had been caught out. Stephanie picked up. ‘Your reputation speaks for itself. Just do it, for Christ’s sake.’
‘You do it.’
‘I can’t, I’m British.’
‘The way this is going down, you might as well be a Mongolian pagan dancer.’
Stephanie didn’t mean to, but triggered by the tension and the outlandish image conjured up by Harry, she laughed, a real belly laugh. It had been the pattern of their marriage; where his mood hardened, she would react, and at the height of their anger, he would come up with a ridiculous line that cracked her up.
‘Sorry. Yeah. I forgot,’ said Harry, chuckling too. ‘We’re not married anymore so we don’t have to yell at each other.’
‘You’ve still got your cute side.’ She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘If all this fails, Swain, me and Slater are the scapegoats. It’s not right, but you know how these things work. No one will know you’re involved.’
His face opened, resistance gone. ‘OK. You win. I’ll do it, and tell Matt to get Frank Ciszewski over from Langley.’
Good. She had won him round. They understood enough of each other’s minds to know that this was far bigger than the two of them. But as Harry was unhooking his coat from a stand by the door, he announced a counter-deal. ‘I need something from you.’ He put on his coat, keeping his eyes on Stephanie. It wasn’t a sexual look, as he used to give her. He was studying her, measuring her, playing a thought through his mind, until deciding what to do with it. He handed her a phone. ‘Afterward, try Sergey Grizlov on this. It’s registered to Narva on the Russia–Estonia border. He won’t know it’s you, so he’ll likely pick up.’
‘But—’
‘No buts, Steph. Like you say, just do it. I know it wasn’t just one night with him, Steph. It was a full-blown affair. He’ll tell you more than he’ll tell anyone else. When you speak to him, just ask him outright what the fuck is going on.’
His suggestion was simple and brilliant. For some inexplicable reason, as she wondered what she would say and why Grizlov should reveal anything to her, Stephanie felt her heart pound. Harry was reading her mind. ‘I’ve been tracking him. For what it’s worth, I know he still holds a candle for you.’
THIRTY
The White House, Washington, DC
A smell of coffee and pizza hung in the Oval Office. Suits were crumpled, faces unshaven, eyes red and focused. By the time Harry and Stephanie arrived everyone, including Holland, was there and Swain was ending a call with the Chinese President. ‘He’s refusing to condemn the Russian occupation of Little Diomede,’ he said to the room. ‘He referred to it as a routine border dispute and raised our issue with them over the South China Sea.’
‘We could take out their South China Sea positions in half an hour,’ said Holland.
‘Then what?’ said Swain dismissively. ‘Fight wars on two fronts?’ He addressed Stephanie. ‘New Jersey was a work of art, Ambassador. I must ask the Prime Minister to lend me your speech writer.’
‘That would be him, sir, and he’s on his way to London now.’
‘So, is Europe with us?’
‘Depends how many more aircraft get shot down. It’ll hold for a day or two. After that, as always, Europe will fracture.’
Swain turned his attention to Harry. ‘Good to see you, Harry. What’ve you got for us?’
Harry told it exactly as he had to Stephanie: the convoy, the Japanese agent, the camera catching the white forearm, the missile scientist Dmitri Alverov. He ended with Stephanie’s question: whether the team wanted to be spotted and if so, why?
Swain gave nothing away. No anger. No apprehension. No surprise. He drank from a plastic bottle of water, and his gaze shifted to two of his trusted security principals, the lean and alert Mike Pacolli from Defense and the rotund and avuncular CIA director Frank Ciszewski. He asked what either of them had that added to or contradicted Harry’s analysis.
Pacolli described a North Korean defector who claimed to have worked as an engineer at the Toksong missile site. ‘He says it’s been expanded a lot since the Trump presidency crisis. It’s a large, deep underground facility with four independent silos and launch pads and, from his description, it could have been redesigned to accommodate the Topol-M.’
‘Going back over our IMINT,’ said Ciszewski, glancing across to Stephanie. ‘That’s imagery intelligence, Ambassador Lucas. Examining vehicles from known armament factories and matching them with traffic going into Toksong, it is possible that between September 28th and October 7th dismantled parts of a mobile Topol-M were transported to North Korea. That would coincide with Alverov’s first visit. Nothing is concrete, sir. We’ve been at it for an hour. It’s a job that should take weeks.’
‘That was before the election,’ said Prusak. It was a salient observation. In October, a month before voting, the polls were neck and neck, meaning that Russia would have been making contingencies for this operation now regardless of who was in the White House.
‘We need to call Lagutov. Tell him to back off,’ said Holland.
Being President isn’t that simple, thought Stephanie. She caught Harry’s eye and checked her phone. It was filled with messages from everywhere, but nothing more from Sergey Grizlov. Prusak saw her, his eye questioning. She shook her head. ‘Where is Captain Ozenna?’ Swain asked.
‘Still alive, but Russian troops were closing in on him,’ said Pacolli. ‘Since then two have been killed.’
‘That man is lethal,’ said Holland.
‘It may not have been him. Radio traffic indicates that the shooter was the Eskimo tracker from Goose Creek Correctional, Don Ondola. He stole a snowmobile and escaped after guiding our men to Little Diomede.’
‘You mean without orders?’ Swain raised his eyebrow with a complex expression of anger and respect.
‘Essentially, yes,’ said Pacolli. ‘He’s an escaped civilian prisoner.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He may be with Ozenna.’
‘A damn stupid idea to use either of them,’ said Holland. ‘We need to get them back and under control.’
Swain ignored him. ‘Could they get to the Russian base, and do we still need them there?’
‘The base becomes irrelevant, if the North Korea play is real,’ said Pacolli.
‘It is real, because it’s moved into our frame,’ said Swain.
If Carrie was still alive, thought Stephanie, she would be at that base now, as were the mother, her baby, and two of her family. That made five American civilians. But would they be safer if Ozenna made it to the base, or if the base were left alone?
Harry spoke, half-answering her question. ‘The operation is being run by Alexander Vitruk and right now he is on that base, sir,’ he said. ‘We don’t know exactly what he’s doing, but I can tell you this: we can knock a North Korean missile out mid-flight, no problem. But with a Topol-M, we would be up against world’s finest long-range ballistic-weapons science in the world. It has a good chance of getting through. So, if we want to stop this, we need to stop Vitruk.’
Harry nailed it hard. In the jugular. Holland stiffened, his face reddening, mouth open but, like an actor who had suddenly forgotten his lines, unsure of what to say. Pacolli and Ciszewski stood with hands clasped, alert, ready, awaiting instructions. Harry bristled with purpose and confidence.
Instead of showing pressure, Swain’s face took on an extraordinary aura of calm. ‘The marine unit remains on standby on the north of the island,’ he instructed. ‘It only moves in if there is a real fear for the hostages in the scho
ol. Tell Ozenna, if you can reach him, that he has a window to complete his mission. If Ondola is with him, use him too.’
Holland found his voice. ‘You cannot do this without consultation. I will inherit your mess.’
‘You have no standing, Bob,’ Swain replied softly. ‘By calling Beijing, you undermined our national security in the middle of a crisis. But the presidency is bigger than one man, and to see something like this through, a President needs the full support of the American people. Therefore, you should step back and distance yourself from my decisions.’
‘But where are these decisions, Mr President?’ Holland’s tone was laced with sarcasm.
Swain checked his watch. ‘It is now just past two in the morning. I will give Ozenna an eight-hour window to get to that base. In that time, we need to establish the existence of the Topol-M and what’s going in Moscow. Ambassador, are you able to follow up on your message from Sergey Grizlov?’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll try,’ said Stephanie.
‘If we hear nothing from Ozenna and have made no progress by ten o’clock, two hours before the inauguration, I will assume the worst.’
Swain paused as if making sure the choice he had made was right and fully understood. Those receiving his orders were some of the most powerful men and women in the United States. They hung on his next words.
‘After the window closes, we will hit the Big Diomede base and, if necessary, risk and sacrifice the hostages in the school.’
THIRTY-ONE
Big Diomede, Chukotka, the Russian Far East
The first helicopter delivered casualties from the crash scene. Carrie flew in on the second one with Vitruk. Head down against driving snow, she walked quickly across to the base’s main building. Inside, icicles on her coat melted quickly against a blast of hot air from a wall heater just inside the door.
‘Why don’t you thank me for saving your life?’ Vitruk said, shaking with cold and anger as he took off his coat. Water dripped from his jacket sleeve and collar.
Carrie said nothing.
‘The Americans killed eleven of my men,’ said Vitruk. ‘Russia saved the lives of two Americans.’
‘You’ve said that before,’ said Carrie, pressing the skin of her face to check she had feeling everywhere. The skin exposed to cold was on her upper right jaw where her mask had ripped. Feeling was returning, which meant frostbite had not set in.
‘The baby is having the hydrocephalus operation now. Fuck you, Dr Walker. Fuck you and all your people.’
‘I need to treat the wounded,’ said Carrie dismissively. She was damned if she was going to rise to his rage.
‘We have our own doctors.’
A soldier came through the swing doors from the control room and handed Vitruk a piece of paper with a single line written on it. Vitruk pulled off his gloves. Melting snow and water pooled on the concrete floor. He spoke curtly, and the soldier went back inside. A heavy vibrating hum came from the apron outside, another helicopter taking off.
‘What do you know of Henry Ahkvaluk?’ asked Vitruk.
‘Nothing. I met him yesterday morning at the helipad.’ She lifted her medical bag onto a table and opened it. Everything was in place despite the crash.
‘What’s his relationship to the girl?’
‘Uncle or something. I don’t know.’
‘Why did he come over here?’
‘I wanted to come. Rake wouldn’t let me. Henry and Joan volunteered to accompany Akna.’
Two soldiers opened the control-room door. Vitruk walked in, instructing Carrie to follow. It was more crowded than before. Men were on edge, the light dimmer. Blue and green splayed from screens onto faces. She took in the television feeds – maps, anchors, the Fed building rubble, the Russian parliament, Little Diomede. She stepped through a short passageway of cold, then into the warmth of the field hospital.
Three beds were taken by soldiers. One was dead, his face covered with a sheet that wasn’t long enough to go over his boots. On the next, a nurse treated a man for a cut to the head and a gash on his right hand. He must have been the one who hit the ground to avoid the gunman. On the last bed, closest to the door, lay the one whose legs had been shot. He had curly dark hair and bit on a cotton pad against the pain, his young face contorted, eyes squeezed closed. He didn’t utter a sound.
On the other side of the hospital tent, a surgeon and nurse worked inside a sanitized area, screened off with translucent heavy-duty plastic. Little Iyaroak’s life must be hanging by a thread.
‘They’re finishing. The surgeon thinks it’s a success.’ Vitruk pointed to Joan Ahkvaluk, whom Carrie hadn’t noticed because she was obscured by the plastic screen on an upright chair against the wall. Vitruk’s expression was strained, his eyes immobile, fixed on Carrie. ‘Her husband has escaped. You need to speak to her.’
Carrie shivered at the thought of anyone being outside, alone and unprotected. Joan’s hands rested on her knees, her wrists handcuffed together, her eyes closed.
‘Joan, it’s Carrie.’
Joan looked up. Her face carried a confidence that Carrie rarely saw in a woman, total calm even though her husband would be in extreme danger.
‘I need to—’ Carrie began.
‘Don’t do their work.’ Joan lifted her arms to put a finger to her lips. ‘Henry has gone. That is all I know.’
‘I know,’ said Carrie. ‘But all this is out of our control.’
‘This is our land. It is in our control.’
Carrie squeezed her hand and walked back to Vitruk. ‘How did he get out?’
‘Our carelessness.’
‘She has no idea where he is.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘What is the point?’
Two soldiers lifted Joan from her seat and unlocked her cuffs.
‘We’re going out again,’ said Vitruk.
A dread of the dark, cold, and wind enveloped Carrie. Joan, a soldier each side, walked ahead, silent and composed. Water was still running down Carrie’s coat as she put it back on.
‘We won’t be long.’ Vitruk’s voice was empty, eyes dark with resolve.
A sub-zero wind tore across Carrie’s face as she stepped out. Her eyes streamed and she struggled to adjust her goggles. Six soldiers led them down a path beside the main building towards the shoreline. In less than a minute the wind died and there was clarity. A soft moon cast a grayish-white light over a landscape peppered with odd shapes. It was such a different one from the one Carrie had left not long ago. Without the wind, it was as if she could see for miles.
Some of the ice was smooth, polished, and reflecting light like globes. Other parts were jagged and black where dirty sea water had been thrown up by gusts and instantly frozen. The most dominant in front of her was a wall of ice about fifty meters from the shore. It must have been twelve-feet high and thirty-feet long. Rake had once explained how it would have built up over weeks from wind shear created by the island’s hills. A concrete pier jutted out towards it from the shore.
‘The Eskimo took advantage of our helicopter casualties,’ Vitruk shouted close to her right ear. ‘He offered help. We brought him out here. Fog hit and he escaped. The Eskimo woman will find him for us.’
A soldier unlocked Joan’s cuffs and pinned a GPS tracker to her coat. Another soldier walked out to the pier, laid down a white mat, then set a rifle on a bipod and adjusted its telescopic sight. Another did the same to the left of where they were. Two more snipers set up on the roof of the building behind them.
‘Mrs Ahkvaluk,’ said Vitruk. ‘You will walk out so your husband sees you. You will beckon him in. If he does not appear, one of my men will wound you, first in the arm, then in the leg. If he doesn’t come then, you will know he is not worthy to be your husband. We will collect you, and Dr Walker will treat your wounds. My men are skilled. You have nothing to fear except pain. Do you understand?’
‘You cannot do this!’ shouted Carrie.
‘Let him,’ said Jo
an. ‘He will not see me again.’
Vitruk signaled his men. Two took Joan’s arm and led her down the pier. She walked smoothly, her steps skillfully working the unevenness of the frozen surface. Seamlessly, the end of the pier became a boulder of ice. The soldiers let go her arms. Without looking back, Joan walked. Once she leant down, using her hands to lower herself from a rock. After that she kept going, looping to the left of the ice wall.
‘Henry Ahkvaluk knows the layout of this base,’ said Vitruk as they watched Joan’s figure get smaller and smaller. ‘I can’t afford to let him get to the other side.’
‘Then why bring him here?’ said Carrie. ‘Why bring any of us here?’
‘Take a look.’ Vitruk handed her his binoculars. They powerfully magnified Joan in an aura of black and green, defining her against the landscape.
‘Two o’clock to her right. Do you see?’
There was someone moving forward, right arm outstretched, breaking into a run. For sure it wasn’t Rake. He was too tall. It had to be Henry. Carrie remembered what Rake had said, that Joan and Henry were one of the few intact married couple on Little Diomede. Now, trying to meet on the ice, they were both running towards their own deaths.
‘Bring him in,’ she told Vitruk. ‘And watch over him properly this time. Do not shoot him.’
‘He’s too dangerous. He knows too much.’
‘Bullshit,’ screamed Carrie. A soldier grabbed her wrist and brought her left arm up hard behind her back, causing excruciating pain. The moon, low in the sky, cast a shadow from Joan, long and gray, that moved by her side. Bleak desolation stretched from horizon to horizon. There was none of Rake’s romance, only a terrifying deadness that killed those who challenged it.
Carrie wished Joan would vanish into one of the fog patches that floated around her. Instead, she stopped. She held up both hands like a traffic cop telling Henry to go back. Vitruk spoke to the closest sniper, lying a few yards from them. He gave orders in his radio.
‘No!’ yelled Carrie, her arms pinned to her side by a soldier.
Man on Ice Page 17
