Dark Winter

by Anthony J. Tata

  “She got the drop on me, boss,” O’Malley said. “I was focused on the computers.”

  “I always said the best way to kill was to strangle someone . . . or something,” Draganova said. “But guns are necessary, too.” She was in the dark recesses of the Manaslu facility aiming a pistol at O’Malley.

  The ManaLoop portal ended in a small foyer with two elevator doors. A stairwell door and maintenance doors were on the opposite side. Draganova stood with her arms cinching a garrote around Ranger’s neck. The wolfhound was hobbling on her two hind legs, neck fully exposed, forward legs pawing at air as if trying to swim. Draganova’s arms were flexed upward, holding the opposing ends of the rope. Ranger’s movements made the pistol jump wildly in Draganova’s hand. The wolfhound yelped again, gasping for air.

  “Konstantin wants his dog back.” Draganova tightened the rope, the pistol angling to the side.

  Mahegan felt for his knife, folded and tucked into his cargo pocket. Maybe a one second drill to retrieve, open and throw, but she could snap Ranger’s neck in that amount of time. It had always been a risk to integrate Spartak/Draganova in the operation, but she had saved them from being shot out of the sky and had proved crucial on the conventional front, helping to stop progress in Iran and North Korea.

  Russian spy made sense. Her goal was to advance Russia’s purpose. She had passed the background check that O’Malley had performed, but that was a contrived database.

  Mahegan looked over his shoulder at Gorham, still lying inert. It was unclear if she had seen Gorham’s unconscious body on the floor. To what extent did she love him or was she just using him also? Was someone like her even capable of love?

  That was Mahegan’s only angle. “We’ve got less than six minutes. No time to waste. Put Ranger down. You’re hurting her.”

  “I’ve watched you bond. I know your history with animals. The red wolves of your North Carolina. You want this dog. I want the missiles to destroy your country. You’ll kill a man, but not a dog. This much I know. I’m going to keep her alive, barely, and when the launch has started, she can run to you. My mission will be complete. So we just wait, no? There is no way to stop anything now. The chamber is fifty miles away.”

  Did Draganova not know about the ManaLoop? Perhaps she figured Mahegan had driven back.

  Mahegan considered his options. Go for the knife and get the money shot on Draganova. Rush her and stymie her decision-making through action. Or have O’Malley divert her.

  Killing Ranger wasn’t an option, but it certainly was a potential byproduct of what he was about to do.

  O’Malley acted first, perhaps reading Mahegan’s mind. “You’re right. There’s nothing we can do, Belina. Why don’t we sit down and take the rope off Ranger’s neck?”

  Draganova cocked her head. “You love this dog, too?”

  O’Malley shrugged. “Of course.”

  Mahegan continued. “I just don’t want her hurt. And what’s the point? As you said, the game is over. Your missiles are coming here. Gorham was supposed to activate the THAAD, but sadly he’s incapacitated.”

  Draganova’s countenance changed from confidence to confusion. “How can you know about Ian?”

  “Because I just kicked his ass. He dies if we don’t help him.” Mahegan stepped aside, putting Gorham’s body in plain view.

  Draganova dropped Ranger and raced to Gorham’s side, brushing past Mahegan.

  She loved him.

  Ranger limped toward Mahegan and nuzzled him. He ran his hand over Ranger’s throat, massaging where the garrote had been then said, “Let’s go.”

  They entered the ManaLoop vessel where Draganova had knelt next to Gorham and was brushing his hair.

  “What did you do to him?” she snapped.

  Mahegan powered up the ManaLoop vessel. The door closed. They hit Mach One. During transit, he used flex-cuffs to bind Draganova’s hands and removed a small pistol from her body. “Where’d she get this?” he asked O’Malley.

  “Must have been where she went when she disappeared for a couple of minutes,” O’Malley said.

  Draganova remained focused on Gorham, lightly stroking his face. “We are all going to die, anyway,” she said. “There is nothing we can do to stop the attack.”

  The ManaLoop vessel slowed. Mahegan led them out of the tunnel into the command center, having just traveled fifty miles.

  “Two minutes,” O’Malley said, still carrying his MacBook. “Still connected to the Web. There’s the chamber.” He set up in one of the vacant cubes near the chamber as Draganova remained in the ManaLoop vessel with Gorham.

  Mahegan walked to the glassed-in walkway and knelt next to Ranger, the Borzoi—Russian wolfhound. He knew the breed was trainable over time and assumed that Khilkov had done everything he needed to do to ensure Ranger could walk through the biometric chamber. Her eyes were focused, her breathing shallow and rapid. In addition to having been shot, she had nearly been strangled to death.

  Mahegan continued rubbing her neck and stroking the full length of her back. “You know what to do, girl.” He used one hand to find the chip and massaged that area directly behind her head.

  Her eyes changed from confused to determined. She locked eyes with Mahegan then turned and looked at the biometric chamber. Recognizing the entrance, she moved in the direction of the opening.

  “Be strong.” Mahegan was most concerned about the gait recognition.

  He heard the noise a fraction too late. He had been in the zone connecting with Ranger, preparing her to walk the chamber. His guess was that she was the biometric key and Khilkov had somehow spoofed the system. O’Malley was poised to take control of the Russian nuclear arsenal once the biometric key opened the portal, provided Mahegan was right about Ranger.

  He heard the scrape of a pistol being lifted. Turning, he saw Draganova as she shouted, “Stop!”

  She had stepped from the Loop portal and was standing just inside the command center. She must have found a pistol hidden on Stasovich’s body.

  She shifted the aim of the pistol from Mahegan to Ranger, who was poised in front of the mouth of the chamber, ten feet away from Mahegan. He saw the fury in Draganova’s eyes and knew she was going to pull the trigger.

  Already kneeling in a modified runners start as if he were in the starting blocks, Mahegan leapt to block the shot from Stasovich’s pistol, which Draganova handled with expert precision. The pistol fired, the round snapped from the bore, and Mahegan’s body caught the bullet.

  Ranger stepped into the biometric chamber and began walking along the path toward the scanning platform. Mahegan returned fire with the Ruger he had secured from Draganova, firing six rounds at Draganova. Turned out that was five too many, as the first one caught her in the forehead, but that didn’t stop O’Malley from firing almost in perfect tandem with Mahegan another six rounds.

  Draganova was dead.

  Ranger was going through the biometric process.

  “One minute,” O’Malley said.

  Savage called from the airplane. “Status.”

  “Working it,” Mahegan said.

  “Work harder,” Savage replied.

  Mahegan knelt and checked his wound. Right pectoral. The bullet was still lodged inside him. He needed a doctor, but not before they completed the mission.

  Ranger got the Q-tip swab. She barked. The eye scanner lowered for her and blinked across her eyes. She pressed her nose against the handprint scanner. Mahegan knew a dog’s nose print was as unique as a person’s handprint.

  Green boxes with check marks appeared, until the computerized female voice said, “Serena. Approved.”

  “Okay, Sean. You’re open. Get in there.”

  O’Malley’s fingers clicked across the keyboard. “In,” he said. “Working it.” His brow was furrowed as he focused.

  Two thousand nukes. Hundreds of targets. Less than thirty seconds.

  “Not working,” O’Malley said.

  “You’re in, man. What’s diff
erent?”

  “They’re playing defense. I need some code word to get past the final layer. Every time I think I’m through, something is there blocking me, asking to authenticate.”

  Mahegan thought about Draganova, Gorham, and Khilkov. It was Khilkov’s system.

  “Fifteen seconds. Special intelligence is counting over eighteen hundred nukes. One thousand, eight hundred, and ten to be exact. All smoking in their silos,” Savage reported from the command and control aircraft on the Idaho Falls runway.

  “Try Serena,” Mahegan said. He had not known Ranger’s real name, but if Khilkov was in charge of the system, his beloved animal’s name might be the code word O’Malley needed.

  “Worked,” O’Malley said, fingers still flying across the keyboard. “Shutting down by grid. Nine grids. Roughly two hundred nukes per grid. Grid one, down. Grid two, down. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.”

  And Mahegan knew they were out of time.

  “We’re showing launch from Vladivostok,” Savage said. “Just ten nukes, but they’re headed our way.”

  Just ten nukes. When did anyone decide that was a good result? Mahegan wondered.

  “Anything you do can in flight? Like Draganova did to the MiG pilots? Got to be something, right?” Mahegan asked Sean.

  “I’m trying. I’m in and can see the missiles in the system. They each have a manual override, but they know I’m in the Russian sensitive information network now. I can’t find a way to control the nukes. Working it.”

  To Savage, Mahegan asked, “Where are we on our nukes? Anything? We need to work our own defenses. Shut down all but the last ten.”

  “The morons in STRATCOM say they need more time,” Savage said.

  “Well they’ve got about forty minutes, I guess,” Mahegan said, referencing the flight time of a nuclear missile from eastern Russia to the United States. “Send a car for us so we can get to the airplane. Want to get back en route to Cassie. This thing is over except for those ten nukes and I think I know where they’re going.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Just send a car to the HQ.”

  Mahegan walked into the biometric chamber and nudged Ranger. Her wide eyes looked up at him for approval. “Yes, girl, you did exactly right. Time to go.”

  At Mahegan’s “Go,” Ranger began following him and O’Malley. Mahegan led them into the ManaLoop again. Gorham was still unconscious. Stasovich and Draganova were dead.

  “What’s the azimuth on those nukes?”

  As O’Malley worked the keyboard, the ManaLoop shot them fifty miles back to the Manaslu headquarters in Idaho Falls. A Humvee with a nervous looking sergeant was waiting for them.

  “How did you know?” O’Malley said as they headed to the airport.

  “Gorham was never acting alone. He had Draganova working him. Shayne mentioned Baeppler was Gorham’s mentor. Draganova had lots of travel between Portland and Idaho Falls and all the other places she and Gorham met. She seduced him. Khilkov probably realizes by now that Draganova was working more for Baeppler than Russia. The two places we don’t want to be are Portland, Oregon and Idaho Falls. Five nukes each. Am I right?”

  “No. Six here. Four Portland.”

  At the airfield, The XC-17 was blowing hot jet wash on them as they raced up the open ramp. Mahegan made sure Ranger was walking okay. She still had a limp, but was growing stronger.

  Savage greeted them by saying, “I think we’ve got THAAD working along the west coast.”

  Sitting in the command pod as the XC-17 began taxiing, Mahegan’s phone rang. “Line unsecured,” he answered.

  “I want my dog back,” President Khilkov said.

  “She’s mine. And by the way, your spy, Draganova, took twelve bullets to the head.”

  “Overkill, don’t you think?”

  “A little like two thousand nukes?”

  “Touché, Mr. Mahegan. Now what do I have to do to get Serena back?”

  “There’s no price on her, Mr. President. Besides, we just found the chip you put in Draganova. We’re downloading it and I’m sure it will have all of her communications to you. UN Security Council should be interested in that.”

  “Will prove nothing.”

  “Shut down those missiles in flight and we’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

  Khilkov paused.

  Mahegan had guessed the only way that Khilkov could have known what was happening at the moment was because the chip in Ranger’s neck communicated back to Russia in a way similar to that of a nanoradio. He’d assumed—apparently correctly—that Draganova was similarly up-fitted.

  Khilkov bit on Mahegan’s bluff. “Take good care of Serena and don’t hurt her when you remove the chip. Any man willing to fight for Serena is a man I trust to take care of her.”

  “Deal.” Mahegan hung up and said to his team in the command pod, “Okay. Let’s go to Iran.” Turning to General Savage, he asked, “Status?”

  “Well, the Fulda Gap finally happened. And we won. Our systems coming back online have stopped the Russians. Stalemate or progress in all three theaters. Not bad for three days and a cold start.”

  Mahegan said nothing. His focus was now completely on Cassie. Perhaps always had been.

  “And good job, son,” Savage said.

  As they flew, night fell on the third day of World War III.

  Perhaps over before anyone realized it happened, Mahegan thought. He stared out of the small oval window of the aircraft. Small lightning bursts appeared in the sky. He counted five. Maybe there was one on the other side of the plane. He hoped so. Those bursts were THAAD missile intercepts or Khilkov making good on his promise to destroy the nukes before reaching their targets.

  “Got nine of ten,” Savage said. “One got through onto Baeppler’s compound about twenty miles outside of Portland. Direct hit, but his airplane took off five minutes before that, so I’m guessing the weasel escaped.”

  “Will give me something to do when we’ve got Cassie back.”

  O’Malley looked up at Mahegan, then looked away.

  “What?” Mahegan growled.

  “It’s not looking good, Jake.”

  EPILOGUE

  THE XC-17 HAD LANDED IN JAPAN TO PICK UP OWENS, HOBART, AND Van Dreeves. China, which was still attempting to figure out its best play given all that had transpired, afforded Savage’s transport plane safe passage over its territory and into Afghanistan where Mahegan and team spent a few minutes on the ground getting supplies such as parachutes and ammunition.

  The airplane took off again and flew under the escort of F-35 stealth fighters that had been rekeyed. Their missiles were accurate and radar precise. A few explosions burst bright into the night sky as the pilots bore toward Yazd.

  Leave no soldier behind.

  With Ranger lying at his feet on the floor of the aircraft, Mahegan stared out of the window, caught in his conflict between war and peace. He thought of the uncertainty and danger of combat versus the stability and grounding of family. Peace was as elusive for the world as it was for him and he figured that as long as there were missions to be completed, he would be in the mix.

  The air force loadmaster tapped Mahegan on the shoulder. “Ten minutes, sir.”

  Mahegan nodded.

  For all the high-tech wizardry in the world, nothing could replace the human domain. Weapons could become more lethal and accurate and automated, but it was the human spirit that made everything worth fighting—and living—for.

  The estimates were not good. The analysts were saying it was a total wipeout. Mahegan’s team was expecting heavy combat when they jumped in. Mahegan had opted for a straight in mission instead of a fancy jump off the B-2 Bomber because it was going to take the air force a while to get them an aircraft. They had the XC-17 and they were less than ten minutes from the drop zone.

  The plane rattled and dipped. As it avoided enemy fire, Mahegan presumed. Tracers arced past the windows in neon orange and green colors.

  He hooked up hi
s parachute with O’Malley, Owens, Hobart, and Van Dreeves behind him. The door opened. The green light flickered.

  Mahegan shouted over his shoulder, “Follow me.”

  He jumped into the night, parachute harness pulling tight around his crotch. He immediately began scanning the ground. Enemy were everywhere, shooting up at them. The F-35s were doing their job. Bombs exploded. Machine guns spat. Fire billowed high in smoky plumes.

  Mahegan landed, put his weapon into operation. Saw his teammates and linked up. With a fury he hadn’t felt in a long time, he stepped into the fire that was raging.

  His team fanned out in an inverted V as they moved, shot, and communicated their way across the landing zone where Cassie and the Jordanian special forces had last been seen. Across the drop zone were the burning hulks of two MH-64 helicopters.

  Iranian infantry fired from protected positions, but every time they shot, either the F-35s were on top of them or one of Mahegan’s teammates suppressed the fire. They gained a foothold on a ridge and had the high ground. From there, they systematically killed the enemy. By Mahegan’s count it was a thirty man rifle platoon holding the drop zone until further Iranian reinforcements could arrive.

  The fire had diminished sufficiently.

  Mahegan said, “Let’s move.” He had a GPS coordinate based upon the last satellite shot that O’Malley had been able to take.

  After twenty minutes of climbing and lowering through rocky crevices, they came to the flat area where the Jordanians had chosen their pickup zone. Or perhaps Cassie had picked it because it was about five miles away from their original drop zone three days ago.

  He saw Jordanians lying dead in their perimeter, some with eyes still open. They were positioned behind their rucksacks and had been defending, waiting for the Ranger rescue that had been caught in a hailstorm of bullets.

  Mahegan flipped every soldier over, checking their faces. When he had searched the entire perimeter, he still hadn’t found Cassie. He knelt in the rocks, staring at the cold, dead face of a bearded man wearing captain’s rank. Perhaps the commander of the team.

  So far he had only seen Jordanian soldiers and he knew that Mossad operatives had been on the mission as well.