Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  Justin flipped his cellphone shut. Before he could say another word, Magnus leaned toward Justin.

  “Hey, move back.” Anna shoved her pistol into Magnus’s side.

  Magnus sat up straight.

  “It’s OK,” Justin said. “I think he wanted to whisper in my ear.”

  “I want a deal,” Magnus said, his voice low and unsteady. “Don’t hand me over to the Danish troops, whoever they may be.”

  “What do you want?” Justin held Magnus’s eyes. Panic had begun to replace the courage in the man’s heart.

  “Political asylum and a new identity. Both for me and Valgerda.”

  “That’s a steep price. Your secrets are really worth that much?”

  “They are. Trust me, you’re the one getting a deal here. I’ll give you everything about the Arctic Wargame, the players, the story, everything.”

  “Start talking.”

  “Do I have your word?”

  “A lot of people will have to sign off on this, but as far I am concerned, I’ll do my best to get it done.”

  “That’s good enough for me, I guess,” Magnus agreed with a deep sigh.

  “OK, I’m listening,” Justin said.

  “No, you said it yourself that talk is cheap, and I know you’re a difficult man to convince. Find me a computer, and I’ll show you everything. E-mails, photos, plans, coordinates. Everything.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Arctic Bay, Canada

  April 14, 1:13 p.m.

  Magnus’s watch looked like any other wristwatch. Its only remarkable feature was the black dial, which had four yellow dots representing the numbers three, six, nine, and twelve. There was nothing special about its leather band either. But as Magnus flipped over the watch, Justin noticed a small clasp in the casing, right next to the switch for setting the time. Magnus inserted the tip of his fingernail underneath the clasp, popping out the pin of a USB connector.

  “It’s a jump drive,” Justin said. “What a great idea.”

  Magnus shrugged as he handed his watch to Justin. “Its capacity is 64 GB. I keep it as a backup for confidential materials. In this case, it turned out to be my insurance policy.”

  Justin turned on the desktop computer and looked out of the living room’s small windows. Ned had allowed them to use his old Compaq.

  “What’s in there?” Anna asked, pacing around the desk, waiting for the computer screen to light up.

  Justin was sitting in the only chair in the room, in front of the monitor, while Magnus stood to the right of Justin, his back against the wall.

  “You’ll see. Pictures, maps, names, numbers. The entire Arctic Wargame operation at your fingertips.”

  “So you just happened to be carrying around the operation’s database?” Justin asked, fumbling with the keyboard. The computer was still going through the stage of scanning the hard drive for startup errors.

  “No, of course not. I planned it well in advance. I sensed at some point things were not as they seemed in this operation. I had this unsettling feeling that Gunter was not telling me everything, and that I was being set up. Maybe he needed someone to blame in case things went wrong, like they did. I know Gunter is very close to our Defense Minister. Then, just before the beginning of our mission, I saw . . .”

  Justin looked up at Magnus. “What did you see?”

  Magnus remained silent. He wanted to tell Justin how he saw Yuliya kill in cold blood one of the recruits, how he ran a background search on her but could not find a record of a Yuliya Novikov ever working in the Danish Defense Intelligence Service or anywhere else in the security establishments of Denmark, about Yuliya’s slight trace of a foreign accent, and how Gunter was not really in charge of the Arctic Wargame. But Magnus did not trust the Canadians. Not yet. After all the paperwork was signed and he received his new identity, he would tell Justin everything he knew.

  “Magnus, what did you see?” Justin asked again.

  “Eh . . . I realized that . . . that most likely, things were going to turn ugly . . . We had very few soldiers and, against my better judgment, I still went on with this mission.”

  Justin thought over Magnus’s reply for a few seconds. “Here. It’s working.” He pointed to the screen lit up by a Caribbean sunset picture set as the wallpaper.

  “Once I began to feel uneasy about the whole deal,” Magnus said, “I began backing up anything I could get my hands on. I figured the information might come in handy if my survival was at stake. If not, it was hidden so well that your own men missed it.”

  Anna nodded. “It’s very clever. Hidden, but still in plain sight. I would have never thought these things even existed.”

  “They do, and for a couple of hundred bucks these days you can get larger capacity models.”

  “OK, let’s see what secrets you actually have in here,” Justin said once the computer was ready. “Let’s start at the beginning.” Justin selected the oldest folder, “March 30.”

  Three other folders were stored inside it, named respectively “To Do,” “In Transit,” and “Completed.” A simple method of keeping records of the mission’s daily progress. He accessed the To Do folder. The screen was flooded with an abundance of files: JPEG and PDF files, as well as Word documents. The first picture he clicked on was a blown-up map of Cape Combermere in Ellesmere Island. There was another satellite picture, showing crystal-clear details of a rocky beach and a structure that looked familiar to Justin.

  “Do you know what that is?” Magnus asked.

  “A Sirius Patrol depot,” Anna replied.

  “Yes, very good,” Magnus said.

  “We were there—actually, right here.” Justin tapped the monitor with his index finger and pointed at the wooden hut. “The depot was pillaged by some of the locals, but we still found leftover items, evidence of your patrols landing and stashing weapons caches.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. We retrieved some of the looted Let Støttevåben. Come to think about it, we used your own weapons against you.”

  Magnus’s face grew pale, and he looked away.

  “What’s this one?” Justin asked.

  The image he was referring to was a topographical map of Ellesmere Island’s east coast. A series of red and green dots were scattered all over the area.

  “Green dots are possible locations for other Sirius Patrol depots. Red ones are places where we actually set up weapons and supplies caches.”

  Justin began to count the red dots.

  “There are seven,” Magnus said, “minus the one that was discovered. Once we learned that area was too hot, Nanisivik was suggested as an easier point of entry because of the deepwater port and its considerable distance from the hot area.”

  “Alisha suggested Nanisivik, didn’t she?” asked Anna.

  “Yes,” Magnus replied with a nod of defeat. “I guess you know everything about her.”

  “We do. But you changed your plans at the last moment and that threw us off,” Justin said.

  “Yes, we were worried because the Americans were sticking their noses into our business, as they usually do. So we didn’t want to send icebreakers, opting instead for an aerial assault. We left our Rasmussens anchored in Søndre Strømfjord.”

  Justin shook his head.

  “So are we worth the witness protection?”

  “Every byte of it,” Justin replied, pointing at the screen.

  “I’ve got a question,” Anna said. “Why are you so loyal to Valgerda?”

  “If you’re asking me if we’re lovers, the answer is no. Valgerda is an excellent agent, but after this mission, her career is over. Her life will be in danger, as well. I’m just doing my duty as her commanding officer and looking out for my teammates.”

  “What about the other survivors?” Anna said.

  “They’re all felons, and they didn’t keep their end of the deal. I have no obligations toward them. Jail them or deport them. It’s up to you.”

  A loud, rattling thunder
announced the helicopters’ arrival. A quick glance outside the windows and Justin recognized them as the Canadian Forces. “OK,” he said, getting up quickly. “You,” he said, pointing at Magnus, “you died during the fight. Valgerda, she’s dead too and, of course, your bodies will never be recovered.”

  Magnus nodded.

  “Joe will hide you both for now. Once the DND is gone, we’ll fly you to a safe place, after I make a few phone calls. Anna, call Ned and tell him to bring Valgerda here very discreetly. Give him a few details, but nothing they don’t know already. Something about her being a potential witness and that we need to take her into custody. That should be sufficient.”

  Anna nodded.

  “I’ve got to meet the military.” Justin leaned over the keyboard and closed all documents still open in the computer. He fastened Magnus’s watch to his left wrist. “We’ll make sure Magnus and Valgerda are all set,” he said to Anna. “Erase the history of this computer, and make sure there are no traces we ever used this station.”

  “Yes, I’ll take care of that.”

  Justin extended his hand to Magnus, who readily shook it. “You made the right decision,” Justin said.

  Iqaluit, Canada

  April 15, 9:07 a.m.

  “Where did you get that?” Carrie muttered in a throaty voice, pointing at a box of chocolates Justin was holding in his left hand.

  “You weren’t supposed to see that, and the doctor said you should be sleeping.” Justin closed the sliding door of Carrie’s emergency room and sat on a low stool by her bed. Her left arm was connected to numerous intravenous tubes, while her right arm was completely wrapped in white gauze, from her wrist all the way to her shoulder.

  “When every inch of your body hurts like it has been run over twice by a train, it’s impossible to even close your eyes, let alone sleep.”

  “Do as you wish. You always do, anyway.”

  “Yes, and it works. Well, most of the time.”

  “It may work when it doesn’t involve jumping out of helicopters, you crazy nut job.”

  “Eh, jump, shjump,” Carrie said. She sighed and coughed a dry, deep hack.

  “You’re OK?” Justin leaned over her bed.

  “I’m . . . I’ll be fine. You know, I had another visitor earlier today.”

  “Who? Johnson?”

  “No. Mr. Carter Hall. Your dad.”

  “No, he didn’t . . .”

  “Yes, he did come to visit. He was actually looking for you.”

  Justin frowned. “I’m not really in the mood to argue with him.”

  “He’s worried sick about you. Your brother came with him too. You should talk to them both.”

  “Look, Carrie, if I want your advice—”

  “I know you don’t want it, but I’m giving it to you anyway. You need to make peace with your family, OK? Don’t let the past haunt you any longer.” Carrie looked deep into his eyes. “I know you want to see your old man again.”

  “What, you’re an oracle now?”

  “I’m just saying they’re staying at the Welcome Inn, in case you change your mind.”

  Justin nodded, then gave her a shrug.

  Carrie sighed. “Oh, I’m so tired. Everything hurts, and the doctor says it will not get better for a few more days.”

  “There’s no rush. Take your time and get your strength back. Our job is done.”

  “Kiawak told me a few things about what happened after the explosion, but his version was sketchy.”

  “You’re not going to believe what I have to tell you and show you,” Justin said, unfastening his wristwatch.

  “That’s new. Where did you get it? At the gift store?”

  “No. This watch belonged to Magnus Tornbjorn, the Danish Chief of Operations for Arctic Wargame.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, you heard me correctly. This watch is not what it seems. Actually, nothing in this story is as it seems.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Federal Security Service Headquarters, Moscow, Russia

  April 16, 8:15 a.m.

  Grigori Smirnov stared for a long time at Lubyanka Square. His weary eyes followed the black Mercedes, Porsches, and other expensive vehicles zooming around the traffic circle. A stream of pedestrians flowed from the Metro station, heading for their offices, braving the chilling breeze and the first snowflakes blanketing the streets.

  Smirnov sighed and frowned. His day had begun as chaotic as the traffic outside his office. It had been over twenty-four hours since he last communicated with Yuliya, just before the beginning of the Arctic Wargame. Smirnov hated silence. Silence meant bad news. Bad news meant mistakes, blame, and scapegoats. Especially since his superiors had started asking questions. Questions to which he had no answers. Or worse, questions he could not afford to answer.

  He allowed himself a small grin. Yuliya had disappeared and he wished she were dead or somehow incapacitated. She had become a liability. And so had Helma, the kidnapped wife of Gunter Madsen. The prick. Botching up a perfectly good operation.

  He sighed again. His breath fogged a small section of the window glass. The view became blurry, and the cars and the people disappeared from his sight. He turned around and walked to his desk, determined to erase all traces of his involvement in the Arctic Wargame, his brainchild, and cut all his ties to this operation.

  There was a knock on his door. Smirnov grinned. He was expecting the man behind the door. The man who was going to fix all his problems. The man he should have sent in Yuliya’s place. “Come in, Vladimir.”

  A lean man in his late thirties entered his office. Vladimir was Smirnov’s assistant for overseas clandestine operations and the man who was personally involved in kidnapping Gunter’s wife.

  “Hello, boss,” he said and remained standing by the door.

  “Take a seat.”

  “OK.”

  “There’s bad news. Arctic Wargame failed. We need to pull the plug.”

  “OK.”

  One of the reasons why Smirnov loved Vladimir’s work was his complete disinterest in the motives. When he was told to do something, he got it done, no questions asked.

  “Yuliya Novikov has become a problem to this office and to our country,” Smirnov said.

  “Shall we eliminate her?”

  “She is most likely dead or out of the game. I need you to contact her family. Inform them in clear terms that if Yuliya is alive and starts singing, unfortunate events may take place in their lives.”

  Vladimir nodded.

  “If Yuliya is alive,” Smirnov said, “she’s probably in Canadian custody and highly protected. Difficult for us to put a hit on her. But we can ruin her reputation here, so if she says anything, no one will ever believe her. You know what to do.”

  Vladimir nodded.

  “Next issue, Helma. Can she make you or the other men?”

  “No, she can’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. We wore masks when we grabbed her and she was blindfolded most of the time.”

  “She can recognize your voice?”

  “Never talked to her.”

  “The voices of the other men?”

  “Perhaps. But they entered Denmark as tourists and ran into her at a market center. That’s not much evidence.”

  Smirnov frowned and thought about Vladimir’s words for a few seconds. “It’s still evidence. If the Danes or the Canadians begin to connect the dots, I don’t want anything tying those men to you or me.”

  “Shall we eliminate them?”

  Smirnov nodded. “Unfortunately, we have to.”

  Vladimir’s face remained void of emotions.

  “Clean up the apartment where you held her. Fingerprints, DNA, sanitize everything. Then let her go.”

  Vladimir’s left eyebrow curled up.

  “Yes, I don’t want her killed. The minister is on my tail and the Danish are already asking questions. No more dead civilians.”

  Vladimir nodded
.

  “Once you’re done with that, delete all files, communications, reports, any trace we had anything to do with the Arctic Wargame. Burn it all up.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Any questions?”

  “Just one.”

  “Yes?”

  “What did we do wrong?”

  “We, you and I, we did nothing wrong. The people we selected for this operation, they failed us. They let us down. They were unprepared or performed miserably. I’ve learned the Canadians mounted a great resistance. Maybe we should have had a larger force carry out the attack.” Smirnov paused and took a big breath. “In any case, this operation confirmed our initial suspicions. We can slip through their defenses with ease, but the Canadians are tougher than they seem. Next time, we’ll just use a sledgehammer approach. We’ll go in with professionals.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “That’s all.” Smirnov nodded toward the door. “Get it done.”

  “Right away, boss.”

  Epilogue

  Ottawa, Canada

  May 28, 08:30 a.m.

  The doctors had spent a lot of time to convince Carrie she was not ready to walk the five blocks from her apartment to the closest bus stop. They also prohibited her from driving her Nissan to work until the end of her six-week recovery period. Since her discharge from the Montfort Hospital two weeks ago, Justin had been taking Carrie to run errands, to the mall and grocery stores, to movie theatres and restaurants. On crutches, Carrie managed light chores around the house. Today, six weeks after the Arctic events, they were both on their way to the CIS headquarters on the outskirts of Ottawa.

  “Tell me, how did your date go last night?” Carrie asked.

  Justin, who was driving her blue Nissan, zoomed through an intersection as the traffic light switched from amber to red. “What date?”

  “The one with Anna, genius.”

  “Oh, that one. Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m a curious girl, but save me the gross details, if there were any . . . were there any?”

  Justin frowned but did not look at her.