by Tom Clancy
“Sir, this is Remus,” called Voeckler. “Still no uplink with the satellite but I’ve just reestablished contact with the Florida.”
Another data window opened in Brent’s HUD. Commander Andreas stood on the submarine’s bridge, rubbing his chin in thought. “Captain Brent, are you there? I’m afraid I’ve only got audio contact on my end. Video is breaking up.”
“I’m here, sir, and sir? I could use a favor.”
“Better make it a quick one. We’re being called out of the strait.”
“All right, here’s what I have in mind ...”
The Snow Maiden marched forward with Chen Yi to her right, another of his special forces sergeants to her left. They moved directly toward Haussler, who was approaching with a trio of his own troops, their weapons leveled on her.
“Stop right there,” she told him. “Take off your helmet.”
“Why, Viktoria, what is this? Don’t you trust me?”
She shook her head.
He grinned.
And Lucifer himself had taught Haussler how to smile.
As he removed his helmet, she did the same, and Chen Yi looked at her. The gas canisters that had been ignited by the Americans were still billowing, but they were at the far end of the tunnel. The air was still clean, but not for much longer.
She moved toward Haussler, reached him, grabbed him by the back of the head, and kissed him deeply while reaching around and grabbing his ass. She shoved her tongue down his throat, and the German responded in kind, groaning softly.
Then, as quickly, she ripped herself away. “You get the rest later. For now, you come with me in my trucks. I want all your men. There will be a ship waiting for us at Mina Jebel Ali, far south side of the port. Order your drivers to head back to the airport.” She checked her watch. “In about ten minutes a Chinese cargo plane will touch down. You have them drive right onto the plane. I’ll make sure it’s all arranged.”
Haussler chuckled under his breath. “Viktoria, it sounds like you have been planning this all along.”
“You always plan two escape routes,” she said with a smirk. “What I didn’t plan on was you.”
At that moment, she whirled, and knowing exactly where to aim, she put a bullet in Chen Yi’s neck and another in the sergeant’s. Both men dropped, gasping.
Haussler’s men confiscated their weapons.
She spun back to face the German. “Tell your men to kill the rest of them when they’re finished loading.”
“So you prove your loyalty.”
“And you prove yours. It’s me and you. No one else, okay?” She raised a brow.
He grabbed her once more and kissed her again, his breath quickening.
She pulled away. “Let’s go.”
Without warning the concrete floor began to rumble, and what sounded like a violent earthquake began to rip through the tunnel. A crack splintered up the wall ahead, growing into multiple veins and arteries, and then chunks of rock began falling away even as Haussler cried out to his men and all of them sprinted on wobbly legs.
A pair of thunderclaps struck, followed by another pair, and then she realized what was happening.
Brent, Lakota, Juma, and the Javelin guy, who had since abandoned his weapon, had reached the entrance to the Silver Tower’s parking garage—all of ten seconds before the first pair of Tomahawk missiles struck the Goldcrest tower, blasting off huge sections that came raining down in a horrific storm of glass, concrete, insulation, and support struts.
The men in the BTR below never saw it coming.
And as they vanished beneath the massive pile of debris, a second pair of Tomahawks struck the Lake Terrace Tower rising just north of the Almas. The missiles hammered into the skyscraper about two-thirds of the way up and exploded with such force that a portion of the remaining third simply fell away.
And all the while Voeckler was talking to the crew aboard Florida as he watched via the team’s exterior sticky cams. Because they were all tied into the same tactical network for situational awareness, Voeckler had been able to stream his video of the targets back to the sub’s control room. With Park and Noboru’s help, he’d passed along four critical points on the buildings that would result in the desired effects.
“That’s two, we got two,” he told them. “They’re buried good; outstanding work, gentlemen!”
The south and north parking entrances to the Almas Tower were now successfully blocked, and two of the six BTRs had been taken out of the fight, buried beneath tons of debris. That was no cause for a victory party, but Brent was damned pleased.
Juma, on the other hand, was outraged.
“I told you I would help you capture this woman and protect my nation’s gold, but I did not give you permission to destroy our buildings!”
A half dozen glib remarks came to mind, but Brent softened his tone and said, “I’m sorry, Juma. Better to do everything we can to save the gold, right? The buildings can be repaired. It was the best I could do. Now, can you back us up with a couple of squads? I can’t do it without you. Here come my guys now.”
Juma didn’t look happy, but he finally nodded and turned away to call his men.
Brent waved Daugherty, Copeland, Heston, Park, and Noboru into the parking garage. They gathered around him.
“Destroy the other exits,” he ordered. “If she tries to come out through this tower, I want this to be her only way out.”
“Have C-4, will travel,” said Heston. “We’re on it, sir.”
“She’s still got two other exits via Almas,” Lakota pointed out.
“Yeah, but those mystery troops are keeping the BTR crews busy over there,” said Brent. He faced Daugherty. “You figure out who they are?”
“I got in close enough to examine one of their dead, pulled his mask, took a picture. But there’s still no uplink to run his ID ...”
“All right, we’ll get to that later. But for now, we’ll take all the free help we can get.”
“Ghost Lead, you better hurry,” said Schleck. “They’ve cleared the vault area. I think the last of the forklifts is in the elevator now.”
The boy was talking to him and crying, but Chopra could barely sense him through all the cold. There was no fear, only a growing sense of calm like a soft wind blowing in his ears. He reached out, took his father’s hand, and felt the calluses of a man who had toiled all his life. That was what love felt like. His father smiled, and there was pride in that grin.
Chopra smiled now at Hussein, who had made a promise to continue his father’s dream.
There was one more breath coming. One more.
Chopra took it.
When they reached the cargo trucks, the Snow Maiden nodded in satisfaction at the sight of the dead Chinese special forces troops. Haussler’s Spetsnaz had dispatched them with precision. Had there been any doubt? After all, Haussler’s men were Russians.
The bad news was that they’d lost two of Haussler’s vehicles. They still had the tank and the four remaining BTRs. She hesitated before climbing into the cab of one cargo truck loaded with gold. “You drive the lead truck. I pull up the rear,” she told Haussler. “I’ll tell you where to go.”
“As always,” he said with a sigh.
Just then he got a report from one of his troops: A missile had struck the tank. Now it was out of the fight, too. He cursed.
As did the Snow Maiden. Her original plan had two trucks going to the airport, two going to the ship. The idea was to split the gold so that any opponents would believe that one shipment was a diversion, when in fact both were hot and at least one should be able to escape. She’d never disclosed that to Patti, who, of course, wanted all of the gold, but fifty percent of something was better than nothing.
But, of course, they’d lost a truck and had overloaded the remaining three. The BTRs had room enough to carry the gold and were much better protected, but she feared that wasting any more time to make a transfer might result in their being trapped.
Were she an A
merican Special Forces leader, what would she assume? Well, the smart money had the gold inside the better-protected vehicles. So she had to hope that they’d go after the BTRs. That made sense. Thus, they’d send out the armor first. The cargo plane landing at the airport would also raise suspicions.
“Can you get the choppers outside to cover the BTRs when they leave?” she asked Haussler.
“Izotov has put me in direct contact with the Enforcers Corps commander,” he answered. “I’ve never seen such an efficient piece of blackmail.”
“Good. Do it.”
“I will, but first, I’m putting those Cheetahs on the entrances. Your old friends from the Green Brigade have become a wart on my ass.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for that image.”
“Anytime.”
With their rifles at the ready and targeting data streaming across their HUDs, Brent and his team hustled their way through the garage and down toward the main tunnel that would take them over to the Almas Tower.
Juma remained up top to meet the two squads he had called over.
When they were halfway through the tunnel, the warlord called to say that the choppers were gunning down the mystery fighters opposite the east and west entrances, and it seemed likely that Brent’s target would exit from one of those areas because the Cheetahs were clearing the path.
Brent could hear all the booming above and feel it in his legs. He told Juma to get as many vehicles as he could near those exits. Once the choppers neutralized the mystery force, only Juma’s men could slow down the Snow Maiden’s escape, while Brent and his Ghosts came in from behind.
Schleck and Voeckler checked in. They’d slipped into the main vault area for a quick recon, and Voeckler’s camera picked up a figure wearing an environment suit and kneeling over an old man whom Brent quickly recognized as Manoj Chopra. He used a finger gesture to widen the data box and watch as Voeckler confronted the figure, who turned out to be Hussein.
“We’re not here to hurt you,” said the Splinter Cell.
“I know,” answered the boy, his accent distinctly British. “Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace safe.”
“What about him?”
“We’ll come back when we can. Later ...”
“Get him through the Silver Tower,” Brent ordered. “I’m charging both of you with keeping him safe. That’s royalty right there. Do you guys read me?”
“Yes, sir,” said Voeckler.
“Don’t worry, Captain,” added Schleck. “This kid’s got the best bodyguards in town. Moving out now.”
“Brent, it’s Juma! The choppers are backing off and the BTRs are coming out! Four of them now, turning up toward the highway. Still small-arms fire from a few stragglers, but they’re getting away.”
“Schleck, did she load the gold onto the BTRs?” Brent asked the sniper.
“Sir, I’m not sure. She’s still got the three cargo trucks, but I’m trying to pinpoint their locations.”
“Brent, it’s Juma again. One of my teams up near the airport says a cargo plane just touched down. It’s military, unmarked.”
“She’s got the gold in the BTRs, and they’re heading to the airport. Everyone, turn around, we’re getting the hell out of here! We need to get back up top! Voeckler, is Florida still available?”
“Negative, sir.”
Brent cursed. “Lakota, still no uplink?”
“Nothing. I’ve got a loop set to alert us the second we break the jamming.”
“Brent, some of the Euro armor is now moving in behind the BTRs, escorting them, and they’ve got the choppers covering by air. That has to be her.”
“Juma, what do you have in between here and the airport? Anything that can stop her?”
“I’m sorry, Brent.”
“Can your guys at the airport at least attack the plane?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
A new window opened in Brent’s HUD: His laser-based radar system (LADAR) had detected movement behind them, about a thousand meters back. The image revealed three contacts growing more distinct: the cargo trucks. Whatever people she’d left behind were probably making their escape as well.
Not five seconds later they came under heavy small-arms fire as headlights wiped into view and reached up the tunnel toward them.
Lakota screamed to take cover.
Brent threw himself toward the wall, dropping down and rolling back up with his rifle to fire on the lead vehicle as it roared by with a man hanging out the cab window and firing a steady stream.
The second truck roared by, and Brent ordered the others to hold fire—
He was blinded for a moment by the truck’s headlights, and then his mouth fell open.
He’d just caught a glimpse of the third truck’s driver. She might be wearing a suit and helmet, but he recognized those eyes. He’d studied them for too many hours.
Perhaps the gold was being shipped out on the BTRs, but Viktoria Antsyforov, the Snow Maiden, had another escape route in mind.
“Get on!” he screamed.
He and Lakota raced behind the last truck and launched themselves into the air, groping futilely for some purchase. They both tumbled to the ground as the exhaust washed over them.
Lakota rolled up with a grenade, about to throw it, when Brent looked down and saw them.
Four more grenades rolling toward them like baseballs, lobbed by the men in the trucks.
It was all he could do to turn around and throw himself back when the explosions tore through the tunnel, and the blast wave lifted him from the ground.
Chen Yi’s men had not reported any more Americans in the tunnel, and the Snow Maiden had felt the breath escape her as they roared by. That Haussler’s Spetsnaz troops had dropped a handful of grenades before the Americans could throw theirs was just luck, and as the booms echoed and explosions flickered in her side mirror, she called up to Haussler and told him how lucky they were.
As they reached the uppermost level, he reported that all three exits had been sealed off by explosions and debris, and only one path was available; it would no doubt be defended.
“Call off one of the choppers,” she told him. “Wait, no. Don’t do that. Just blast on through.”
“Are you sure? One of my lieutenants says two squads outside. Looks like only small arms, but we will take a lot of fire, maybe an RPG.”
“You’re right. Stop here. Call the chopper. Put some fire on those guys outside. Clear us a path.”
He pulled to a screeching halt, as did the truck behind him. They were at the far end of the garage, ground level, and out in the darkness she saw the shadows move—militiamen waiting for them . . . or maybe even Green Brigade.
She glanced over at the Spetsnaz troop sitting beside her, a young, lean, dark-haired man with seemingly vacant eyes. “Where are you from?” she asked him in Russian.
He just frowned at her.
“Do I offend you?”
“We know who you are. You betrayed your country. Our job was to bring you in. Haussler has other plans. My orders are to follow him. So I do. But I do not have to like it, nor do I have to talk to you.”
“Get out.”
He looked at her.
“I said, get out!” She drew her pistol and shoved it into his neck, just below the helmet.
He opened the door, climbed out, jogged to the next truck, and was let inside.
“Okay, three more minutes,” Haussler finally said.
“Tell that pilot to hurry up!”
When Brent finally looked up, he saw most of his team lying on the concrete floor. Copeland was already tending to Daugherty and Heston, who’d been nearest to the blasts, their helmets scorched, shrapnel jutting from all over their suits. Noboru and Park were assisting him, but they too looked dazed, covered in shrapnel, some of which had clearly penetrated the more vulnerable sections of their suits.
“Brent, I’ll stay down here with them,” said Lakota. “That was her, wasn’t
it?”
“Yeah,” he gasped.
“Then you have to go after her. We’ll link up with Schleck and Voeckler.”
He nodded, “Juma, she’s coming your way! Three trucks!”
“I know, I know,” cried the warlord. “But here comes the chopper!”
Even as he spoke, Brent heard the powerful whomping in the background. Then gunfire. Explosions. Screams.
“Lakota, Copeland will stay with them. You come with me.”
She shrugged.
“I need you, girl.”
“We’re hurting, Brent. We’re hurting real bad. I don’t know if there’s anything else we can do.”
“There’s one thing,” he said. “We can try. Not give up. Not yet. Come on.”
They sprinted through the lingering smoke, rounded the next corner, then raced through the next leg of the tunnel, heading up to the deepest level of the parking garage. Somewhere above came the hum of idling engines.
Lakota slowed, stopped, then raised a finger to the ceiling. “Listen. They’ve stopped.”
He did. Nodded. Then urged her on, just as Juma’s voice broke over the channel. “My squads are dying out here, Brent. We have to pull out. Here come the trucks. They’re coming now!”
Brent tensed and picked up the pace. This was it. He was going to lose her. Again.
TWENTY-FIVE
Silver Tower
Business District, Dubai
Fires raged through the ground-floor windows of the building where the militiamen had holed up. Those pathetic dolts thought they had a perfect firing line on the Silver Tower’s remaining exit, but the Enforcers Corps chopper and its gunner had routinely ruined their plans.
Now Haussler, still at the wheel of the lead truck, hit the gas, and the Snow Maiden followed him. They bounced over the concrete curbing, left the garage, and rumbled onto the street, with the chopper still hovering above.
Within two minutes they were headed southwest along the desolate highway, bound for Mina Jebel Ali, guided by night vision and, well, to be blunt, vengeance and greed.
