Man on Ice

by Humphrey Hawksley

  ‘Steph, we need to brief the President,’ said Prusak, opening an adjoining door to the Oval Office. Stephanie desperately wanted to freshen up, splash some water on her face, but that would have to wait. She combed her fingers through her hair and followed Prusak in. Harry was there, unshaven and still wearing the same clothes. She counted twenty-two people, Pacolli, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, others she recognized, including Holland, who was by the window looking subdued and thoughtful. The conversation halted and Prusak signaled Stephanie to speak. She ran through the call recounting the demand that Ozenna surrender and the US troops remain on standby. She ended on Vitruk’s warning about a critical stage. ‘Does anyone know what he means?’ said Swain.

  ‘Obviously, it’s the transition,’ said Holland. ‘Six hours from now, they’ll be dealing with a new President.’

  ‘He said we are at a critical stage, not about to go into a critical stage,’ said Stephanie.

  ‘It has to be the North Korea play. That’s why he needed to communicate directly with the White House,’ said Harry. ‘He was saying that he knows we know about it, the first step of negotiation.’

  ‘We don’t negotiate,’ said Holland. ‘Kennedy didn’t with Khrushchev when they tried to put missiles in Cuba. I’m damned if I’ll negotiate now.’

  Wrong, thought Stephanie. Swain caught her eye and she kept quiet. History lessons must wait. Prusak tapped her elbow, and she guessed from his expectant expression that they were thinking the same thing. She nodded. Prusak reminded the room that Stephanie had received a call from Sergey Grizlov, speaker of the Russian Duma. Would it be worth her trying again to get through to him?

  ‘To ask him what?’ said Holland.

  ‘Ask him straight,’ said Stephanie. ‘Is Russia planning an imminent missile strike against the United States?’

  ‘Would he know?’ said Holland.

  ‘We can judge a lot through voice analysis,’ said Prusak.

  ‘Do we have his whereabouts?’ said Swain.

  ‘He went into the Kremlin an hour ago,’ said Prusak. ‘He may be with Lagutov.’

  ‘Ask the question and add in nuclear, an imminent nuclear-missile strike,’ said Swain.

  ‘Once it’s asked, they will know we’re on to them,’ said Harry.

  ‘Your point?’ said Holland.

  ‘The question might be the catalyst to a launch, depending how ready they are.’

  ‘They’re not going to launch if they want to negotiate,’ said Swain.

  ‘That could hinge on who is actually running the Kremlin,’ said Stephanie.

  ‘Is Ozenna still bound by the deadline, sir?’ said Pacolli, who was lining up airstrikes less than four hours from now.

  ‘Nothing substantive has changed.’

  The finality of Swain’s statement abruptly ended the quick-fire conversation. Stephanie understood Swain’s thinking. Obliterating the base before Holland took office threw down a marker to stop hostilities before the world was plunged into all-out war. It also gave Holland a choice. He could continue his plans to strike the Russian mainland and North Korea or he could sue for peace. Swain was giving him a clean plate.

  ‘I’ll ask about an imminent nuclear strike against the United States and its allies,’ said Stephanie. ‘That would cover Japan and South Korea.’

  Swain nodded. Harry said, ‘Use the Narva registered phone.’

  Swain looked quizzical and Harry explained about the phone registered to the city in Estonia that was mainly populated by ethnic Russians. But Stephanie disagreed. Why should Grizlov answer a direct call from a stranger in Estonia when he might not from her? ‘I’ll try mine first, then the Narva phone,’ she said.

  Harry said nothing. No one spoke. She scrolled to the last call from Grizlov and dialed. It rang three times and went to voicemail, a woman’s voice asking callers to leave a message for Chairman Grizlov. She cut the line. ‘Should I leave a message? “Call me” – something like that?’

  ‘No,’ said Swain. ‘But try again.’

  Stephanie switched phones, punched in the number, and gave it a full minute. No one moved. The silence in the Oval Office was oppressive. Prusak put his finger to his earpiece for the intercept. She pressed Call and caught Harry’s gaze of approval as the first ring sparked up, then two more and she heard her former lover’s voice. ‘Speaker Grizlov, can I help you?’ His voice was friendly, full of charm and confidence. She detected no background noise, no traffic, no hotel lobby music, no muttering of other voices.

  ‘Sergey, it’s Stephanie. I need to know—’

  There was a click, the same bouncing electronic silence, the same voicemail. Stephanie cut the line. Was that her one shot? He had declined her call on her known number, picked up the unknown one, heard her voice, and run away? Or was it a bad place to talk? Too risky? In which case, would he call back? An atmosphere of disappointment enveloped the room, then Holland asked, ‘How would we take out this Toksong missile base?’

  Pacolli answered. ‘A GBU-57 bomb dropped from the B-2 stealth will drill down into the bunker before exploding. That’s a fifty three hundred-pound warhead which would destroy everything at that launch site.’

  ‘What would be the radiation leak levels?’ asked Swain.

  ‘Limited, sir. Secondary aircraft could deliver foam sealant to the strike site that would hold long enough for ground forces to get there—’

  ‘Whose ground forces?’ asked Holland.

  ‘They would be North Korean or Chinese,’ said Pacolli.

  ‘They would have to be ours,’ said Holland.

  ‘That would be impossible in the time frame.’

  ‘How long to do that strike?’ said Holland.

  ‘Fourteen hours from the order, sir,’ said Pacolli. ‘They’re at Whiteman’s Air Force Base in Missouri. Or we could be there in three hours out of Osan, South Korea with the HVPW and F-35s. That’s a smaller, more versatile version of the bomb, but it could work.’

  ‘I don’t like the word “could”,’ said Holland. ‘It has to be a single strike. Where is our closest nuclear launch?’

  ‘USS Florida,’ said Pacolli. ‘She’s in the Sea of Japan and carries nuclear armed cruise missiles. That would be a strike within a couple of hours.’

  ‘And is that “could” or “would” destroy?’

  ‘Guaranteed, sir. A conventional strike with a GBU-57 out of Missouri or a nuclear strike from the USS Florida are certainties. The F-35s from Osan – their payload might not have the explosive power to do the business.’

  ‘I recommend the nuclear,’ said Holland. ‘North Korea’s been a live unexploded mine from another era for too long. To protect America, we need to get rid of it and move on.’

  Harry spoke up. ‘Sir, if we collapse the North Korean regime, it would take a hundred thousand troops two months to secure all of its nuclear arsenal during which time renegade generals will be hawking nuclear material to terror groups around the world. It will take another two hundred fifty thousand troops to stabilize the country, and the humanitarian crisis would make the Middle East look like a school picnic outing. And to get anything done we would have to work closely with the Chinese and the Russians.’

  Harry had nailed it again. There was another pause. Stephanie kept coming back to the same question. Is it just Vitruk? Is it Russia? Is it Russia and China?

  ‘The economy, Tom?’ Swain asked Treasury Secretary Thomas Grant, who was also the temporary Federal Reserve chair. Grant spoke slowly and with confidence. ‘A conventional single strike will wobble the markets, but they will hold, depending on the response. Nuclear would create panic that could rupture the global economy into deep recession.’

  ‘But worse if that Topol-M with a nuclear warhead hits Hawaii or California,’ said Holland.

  ‘Strangely, sir, not. It would have less of an economic impact.’

  Holland’s brow creased with suspicion. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

  ‘This is not a time for kidding, sir.
The United States is stronger and more versatile than either Russia or China. If we strike first, the markets will see it as the world’s biggest economy becoming unpredictable and out of control.’

  ‘There is no love lost between China and Russia,’ said Stephanie. ‘The deep mistrust is exactly what Nixon exploited in his 1974 visit. If we get China onside—’

  ‘Screw the Chinese. They let that damn missile across into North Korea,’ said Holland. ‘We used nuclear weapons on Japan in 1945 to save lives and bring peace. That is what we will be doing here.’

  Power was shifting away from Swain. In a few hours, Swain, Prusak, Pacolli, and others would be gone. At some stage, Stephanie would have to speak to Slater, mid-Atlantic on his way to London, but not yet. She had another idea. It wasn’t that it would work, or even change things. But it bought time and offered an alternative to the world’s first nuclear strike since 1945. ‘Why don’t we comply with Vitruk’s wishes?’ she said.

  ‘Are you crazy, Ambassador?’ said Holland.

  ‘The troops are on standby anyway. We can’t contact Ozenna. We can comply and do nothing. We call him. Keep up the conversation.’

  The common sense of Stephanie’s suggestion rippled through the room. ‘Do it,’ said Swain. Stephanie flipped her phone over in her hand and dialed Vitruk again.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Big Diomede, Chukotka, the Russian Far East

  On a small table lay the phone on which Carrie had spoken to Stephanie Lucas. It was ringing, but Carrie couldn’t reach it. Her left hand was cuffed to a vertical metal rail, on the chair where Joan had sat. Vitruk was by the doorway, headset on, deep in conversation. When Vitruk had brought her in, she noticed a strained and concentrated atmosphere, and fewer than half a dozen men who had now left. In the hour she had been here, she had counted four helicopters taking off and three coming in. She guessed Vitruk was emptying the base because he expected a strike as soon as Holland was sworn in. Rake was somewhere out there, but she couldn’t imagine what he was doing, what he was thinking. She couldn’t place her fiancé in her mind because she wasn’t sure any more who he really was.

  The soldier who had been shot in the legs lay awake, staring, eyes wide open at the ceiling, occasionally mumbling to himself. The other man was silent and still. Akna slept. The corpse was gone from the bed across the ward. The pediatric surgeon had gone, too, and he had done a bad, rushed job. In the incubator, the baby wriggled, awake, mouth open, crying, but no sound came out. Iyaroak was badly positioned with the weight of her head on the wound. Blood clotted the bandage that needed changing. Bacterial meningitis and encephalitis were a real risk, and Carrie had no idea which antibiotics they were using, if any.

  Hailstones pounded loudly on the military canvas. She heard the slow throbbing of another helicopter starting up, ferrying men out of the base. It took off. The fifth. The phone ringing stopped, then the keyboard flashed with an incoming message. Vitruk could see it, but kept talking. Carrie stared at him, the cuff cold on her wrist.

  Vitruk listened to the measured argument of President Lagutov over the phone while watching Carrie, her expression thoughtful and angry. He had ordered an evacuation of the base and had only a skeleton of highly trusted men left.

  ‘The Americans are calling us constantly and we are stalling,’ said Lagutov, sounding resigned but determined. ‘Sergey Grizlov tells me to negotiate, but my faith remains in you, Alexander, to make this work for the Motherland.’ There was barely a cigarette paper between the success and failure of any military operation and Lagutov was giving Vitruk that one last high-risk shot.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Vitruk. ‘Sergey would make us Western puppets again.’

  ‘I have authorized you for Kavkaz,’ said Lagutov, referring to the Russian military communications system used for a nuclear-missile launch. ‘You will receive unlocked codes in the next five minutes. You are the only one with these.’

  As the line was disconnected, Vitruk looked across to the ring tone coming from the phone just out of Carrie’s reach. He would deal with it, but only after he had one more piece of information. An hour ago, General Dmitri Alverov was still thirty minutes out from North Korea’s Toksong missile-launch site. He had assured Vitruk that if the North Korean engineers had followed orders, they would be able to launch within an hour of his arrival. Vitruk called through again. Alverov had arrived and the team was at work. ‘It needs to be just after the inauguration,’ said Vitruk.

  ‘Without a warhead, we can,’ said Alverov. ‘The missile would be more accurate without it.’

  ‘The first from the silo will be unarmed,’ said Vitruk. ‘The second mobile launch will be armed.’

  ‘Armed?’ It wasn’t a question, more an exclamation of excitement, a departure from his usual scientific detachment. ‘That will be a great pleasure, sir.’

  ‘Is your team united?’

  ‘We cannot let the past years of humiliation go unpunished.’

  Vitruk was convinced that Alverov’s mood was being reflected throughout Russia. Once the Americans had hit this base, the Russian people would fall in behind him and Vitruk could push through a decisive victory. He had already decided that Pearl Harbor would be the most symbolic target. America could beat Japan, but never Russia.

  On the ice between the Diomede islands

  Driving pellets of hail smashed against Rake’s goggles as he stood between two men in the last stages of exhaustion. The power of the ice storm cut visibility to just a few feet. He couldn’t see Henry because of the swirl in front of him. But he could hear his voice, and Henry’s fury carried on the wind. When Rake cupped his hands protectively around his goggles, he could make out Don Ondola, silent, passive, a giant of a man, whom Henry would kill if he had the chance, but whom they all needed to stay alive.

  Henry was a level-headed man, except on the issue of Ondola. Henry had raised him like a son and saw his crimes as a personal betrayal. He had given evidence at the murder trial, framed in a way that would cause Ondola to be locked away for life without parole. Ondola had said he was sorry. He broke down in tears, but had meant it only because he was sober. As soon as he touched drink the monster in him would return. Henry had pledged that if his adopted son ever became a free man again, he would kill him.

  Rake and Ondola had found Henry in the cover of the ice wall, watching Joan walk out from the coastline. He had escaped the base with the barest of protection and was rigid with cold, scarcely able to move. They gave him a hide and warmed him. Ondola climbed the wall and set up his firing position with the aim of killing Vitruk. Only then did Henry reveal himself by running towards Joan. Rake and Henry brought Joan to safety as Ondola killed two Russian marksmen, but failed to hit Vitruk. He escaped after a field of lethal machine-gun fire cut the ice around him and left his polar-bear skin as a calling card not to mess with the Eskimos. Now, in the shelter of the wall, Joan brewed coffee and prepared military self-heating meals that Rake had taken from the Russians.

  Despite where they were, all they were up against, Henry stubbornly stuck to his pledge, even though Ondola had just saved his life, even though he knew he could never beat Ondola in a fight. Ondola had arrived back as the weather turned bad again, and Henry confronted him. Rake stepped in between them. The environment was at least as lethal as a human enemy, he said, and if they fought between themselves, the weather and the ice would take them all.

  Ondola beckoned Rake, who took a step towards him just as a whistling gust roared through. He almost slipped, but steadied himself in time. ‘You and Henry go to the base,’ shouted Ondola. ‘I’ll watch your back, keep Joan safe. I’ll handle Tuuq if he comes.’

  Rake pointed to Little Diomede. ‘Joan wants to go home. Can she make it alone?’

  ‘To the village, yes. She cannot get around to the Americans on the east side.’

  ‘Eat with us while we have cover,’ said Rake.

  Ondola shook his head. ‘Henry won’t—’

  ‘I’ll handle Henry.
’ Rake took his arm. ‘You need energy.’

  Like pushing into a tidal surge, Rake led them against the weather, noise drowning out everything. He sensed rather than saw Henry until he blocked their path, stopping only inches away. ‘Keep him away, Rake. I swear by God—’

  ‘We need him.’

  ‘We don’t.’

  ‘He’s sick in the head, Henry. He needs help.’

  ‘He murdered—’

  ‘Out here, Eskimo does not harm Eskimo, whatever the past,’ shouted Rake. ‘We will feed him, and when it’s over I will return him to the prison. You have my word.’

  ‘Or I’ll kill him.’

  ‘If it comes to that, I’ll kill him to save your hide.’

  Once behind the ice wall, the clatter of flying hail fell silent. The wind dropped, and they ate fast and hungrily and were done in minutes. Henry drew a plan of the base in the snow, explaining the hangars, the main building with the control room, and the field hospital tagged onto the back. ‘If Carrie is still there, she’ll be in the field hospital here, or in the room directly on the right inside the main door. This long room that runs into the hospital is the control center.’

  ‘Vitruk’s quarters?’ asked Rake.

  ‘None. It’s too small, too crowded.’

  ‘What about the bunker?’ said Ondola. ‘Deep, down a long staircase, where they kept Uncle Anik when he was arrested in 1988.’

  ‘I didn’t see it,’ said Henry.

  Anik, an obsessive hunter, had followed a herd of walrus into Russian waters. The cold war was full on, and he spent a month deep in an airless Soviet bunker on Big Diomede. Or so legend had it.

  ‘So how do we get in?’ asked Rake.

  Henry drew the pier and gun positions along the coastline. Ondola added the ice wall.