“Obey their orders until we can execute the contingency plan.”
Kozhin closed his eyes, tossing his head back as he gripped the doorframe, the plane finally leveling out. The contingency plan was insanity, and it had never occurred to him that they might actually need it. If he had, he never would have agreed to it, and demanded another plan.
But now, here they were, stuck.
“There they are!”
The pilot pointed slightly to their left and Kozhin stepped closer, peering out the cockpit window as four dots screamed toward them, the refueling aircraft banking away. Kozhin slammed his fist into the back of the copilot’s seat.
“Shit! How are we for fuel?”
The copilot checked the gauge and shook his head. “If we want to get back to Russia, we have to leave now.”
Suddenly the pilot cursed, and all their jaws dropped.
Apocalypta watched in shock and awe as a missile streaked from the weapons pod of the lead Sukhoi, the air-to-air weapon leaving a trail of spent fuel behind as it rapidly closed in on its target. She activated her comm as she watched the tanker bank away from the incoming missile, chaff erupting from its defense pods as it tried to escape the incoming certainty of death.
And it worked.
The missile veered left, slamming into the false heat signature and exploding, the shockwave pulsing through the air in all directions. But the reprieve was short-lived, two more missiles already tearing across the crisp blue sky.
“Let’s back off some more. We don’t want any of those missiles getting confused and locking on to us.” She slowly banked away, doubling the distance, before leveling out so she could watch the show, the tanker continuing to turn, continuing to deploy chaff, when suddenly the decoys stopped.
They must be out.
Two missiles closed the gap, the massive tanker helpless, and Apocalypta silently said a prayer for its crew, whoever they were, as the missiles slammed into the fuselage. It erupted into a massive fireball, larger than anything she had ever seen, the 300,000 pounds of fuel on board putting on a display that would rival anything Hollywood could imagine.
“They’re bugging out!”
Apocalypta checked her scope to confirm what she had just heard, then turned to see if she had missed the destruction of the focus of their attention.
It was still there.
I wonder why they left them alive.
57
Conference Room 212, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Leroux sat in the briefing room, watching the video feeds from the assets monitoring the Russian attack, the wreckage of the tanker still collapsing toward the Atlantic far below. The Russians hadn’t kept their word—they hadn’t given any. But they had heeded the request to leave the plane carrying Konstantin Kozhin untouched.
They’d get it back eventually.
Perhaps.
It now all depended upon what Kozhin would do. He had limited options. His fuel would be getting low, so he’d have to make a decision soon. The Pentagon was estimating that he had barely enough fuel left to return to Russian territory if he took a polar route. But Leroux had a hunch that wasn’t his plan, and probably never was. Returning to Russia would mean certain imprisonment, perhaps even an “accidental” death, since the Russians now knew what was going on, and when this was all over, and things were made public, the use of their military assets would result in embarrassment for the Kremlin. Perhaps if Kozhin had never been discovered, things might be different, but he still had a feeling Kozhin had never intended on setting foot on Russian soil—it was too dangerous.
He had his suspicions, and had voiced them to Morrison, though there was no way to confirm them until it was too late. Though there was one way it wouldn’t matter, but they needed to force Kozhin into the only decision that could nullify any contingency plan he might have.
“We’re ready, Mr. President.”
Leroux snapped out of his reverie, staring at the screens at the front of the room, President Starling adjusting his tie.
“Make the call.”
58
Somewhere over the Atlantic
“They’re leaving!”
Kozhin breathed an audible sigh of relief as high fives were exchanged in the cockpit and the cabin, where the rest of the major’s team were gathered near the door, listening to the proceedings.
Former Major Anokhin killed the mood. “Without the tanker, we need to land as quickly as possible.”
Kozhin frowned, but nodded. “Unfortunately, you’re right. We still have the contingency plan for this possibility, so I guess we’ll have to use it.”
“Agreed. The question is where.”
Kozhin turned to the pilot. “Where do we have enough fuel to reach?”
The pilot double-checked the gauge. “Barely enough to make it back to Russia.”
Kozhin waved his hand. “No way are we going there. As soon as we’re over Russian airspace, they’ll probably shoot us down.”
Anokhin grunted. “They’ll wait until we’re on the ground.”
Kozhin’s eyes narrowed and he glanced over his shoulder at Anokhin. “Why?”
“They’ll want to save the plane. It’s expensive.”
Kozhin chuckled. “You’re probably right. Either way, we’re dead.” He turned back to the pilot. “Where else?”
“Iceland, Greenland?”
Anokhin dismissed the suggestions. “We may escape the plane, but we’ll never get off the islands. We don’t have any contacts there.”
Kozhin hated that the man was right.
“Most of Europe.”
Anokhin nodded. “Probably our best bet.”
The pilot disagreed. “My money’s on Canada or the United States. Preferably Canada.”
Kozhin’s eyebrows shot up. “United States? Are you kidding? We’ve been holding them over a barrel for hours.”
“Which is why I said preferably Canada. The contingency requires you to get on the ground and disappear. Canada is sparsely populated, especially compared to the east coast of the United States. The moment your feet hit the ground in the US, there’ll be a hundred guns pointed at each of your heads. If we execute our plan in Canada, you might just get away.”
Kozhin’s head slowly bobbed. The pilot was right. Europe was extremely densely populated—there was no escaping there. The United States, at least where they could reach, was the same. But Canada? From his understanding, most of the east coast was barely populated, perhaps a couple of million people over hundreds of thousands of square miles.
His decision was made.
He turned to Anokhin. “Make the arrangements.”
“Yes, sir.”
One of his men appeared. “Sir, there’s an incoming call.”
Kozhin’s eyebrows shot up. “Who? General Gorokhin is dead. It’s not those idiots in the Azores, is it?”
“No, sir. It’s coming over a Russian Air Force frequency, but he claims to be the President of the United States.”
Kozhin cursed. “I guess the Kremlin is cooperating. Let’s see what he has to say, and let him think we’re cooperating.” He followed Anokhin’s man to the communications center and fit the headphones over his ears. “Mr. President, may I say it’s an honor.”
“Likewise, Mr. Kozhin.”
Kozhin frowned, his identity no longer a secret, probably revealed before General Gorokhin’s death. “So you know who I am.”
“Indeed. And my people tell me you are running out of fuel.”
Kozhin smiled. “You are well informed, Mr. President. But something tells me you didn’t call just to chitchat.”
“No, I didn’t. I called to tell you that if you detonate any other cables, I have given my pilots permission to remove you from the sky.”
Kozhin smiled. “I would expect no less, now that I have no options.”
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
“We do, Mr. President. I suppose there is no possibility
of negotiating for leniency?”
“Land, hand yourself over to the authorities, and we’ll discuss it.”
Kozhin chuckled. “Mr. President, I do believe that’s the first time you’ve lied to me.”
59
Conference Room 212, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
“Mr. President, the plane is changing heading. It looks like they’re now tracking toward the east coast.”
Cheers and clapping erupted around the room, and Leroux suppressed a smile. While this was a minor victory, it wasn’t as if some global disaster had been averted, or thousands of lives had been saved. Some technology had been saved. And money. But it wasn’t as if the money would have been lost. It simply would have been spent on things that hadn’t been planned for. The companies that laid the cables would be given juicy contracts to repair them, then more would be eventually laid to increase redundancies in the system. Profits would be made, taxes paid on those profits. New jobs would be created, income taxes paid on those salaries. The governments would get their money back.
Morrison cleared his throat, leaning forward at the boardroom table. “Mr. President, I think it’s time we implement that contingency plan Mr. Leroux suggested.”
President Starling nodded. “Do it.”
The image from the Oval Office went dark, and the meeting broke, the orders issued for the contingency plan by the Joint Chief. Leroux left the room with Morrison, and they headed back toward Morrison’s office.
“What does your gut tell you now?”
Leroux frowned. “The same as it did before. He’s got a way out of this, and there’s only one possibility I can think of.”
“I hope you’re wrong, otherwise our zero body count could go up.”
Leroux pursed his lips. “There was a crew on that tanker.”
“I don’t include bad guys in my body counts.”
Leroux chuckled. “Probably wise.” They reached Morrison’s outer office. “I’m going to return to the Ops Center and see if we can get a handle on who else was behind this.”
Morrison paused. “What do you mean?”
Leroux shrugged. “Somebody had to plant the bombs.”
60
East of the Azores, Atlantic Ocean
Thatcher sat in his cabin, pulling at his hair as he rocked back and forth. Everything was falling apart. Everything he had dreamed of was no more. Fleming had said he heard gunshots, which likely meant Spud and Tark were dead—they couldn’t reach either of their cellphones, and had stopped trying once they realized that perhaps the authorities had them and they could be traced.
And if that were the case, it was likely too late for him and his remaining crew.
He had already posted a message on a private Internet group to the other teams, telling them what was going on, and to go into hiding. Their website and anything else that might incriminate them was being removed, but it would at best delay their capture. They had never hidden who they were—after all, until these past few days, they had never done anything illegal. They were advocates, at worst agitators.
Yet they had crossed a line when this new plan had become possible. And they had done it willingly. They all agreed to the plan unanimously, and were all prepared to be arrested. The publicity surrounding it would have furthered their cause.
But now nothing had been accomplished, and they were all going to jail uselessly. They’d be labeled terrorists, and nobody would pay them any mind.
A gentle knock on his hatch had him wiping the tears that had run unnoticed down his cheeks. “Yeah?”
The door opened and Giselle stepped inside. Her eyes were red, her dark cheeks stained. “Can I come in?”
He nodded. “Yeah, misery loves company.”
She smiled weakly and closed the hatch, joining him on his cot. “What’s going to happen?”
He sighed, leaning against the bulkhead. “We’re going to be arrested and thrown in prison, and no one is going to have even heard our message.”
She pushed back against the wall then leaned on him, resting her head on his shoulder. “This sucks.”
He grunted. “Yeah, that’s the understatement of the year.”
She drew her legs up under her. “I’m going to miss you.”
He put his arm around her and squeezed. “I’m going to miss you too. Something tells me that after today, we’re never going to see each other again.”
She looked up at him. “Surely that can’t be true.”
He shrugged. “Prisons aren’t exactly coed. Maybe we’ll see each other at the trial, but after that…” He sighed. “You know, I always liked you.”
She squirmed closer. “I know.”
He chuckled. “You did?”
“You’re pretty easy to read.”
He frowned. “Oh, well, sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
She patted his leg. “If you had, I would have told you. You know me.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Why didn’t you ever make a move?”
He grunted. “I guess I was always intimidated by you.”
“Now it’s my turn to be sorry.” She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. “You know, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a woman.”
He smiled slightly at her, staring at her beautiful face. “I’ve only ever had eyes for you.”
Hers widened. “You mean you’ve been single for over seven years because you’ve had a thing for me, and you never acted on it?”
He blushed, turning away. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been a fool.” He felt her hand on his cheek, pulling his face back toward her.
“Yes, you have. All you had to do was ask.”
He stared into her eyes. “You were way out of my league. Still are.”
She smiled at him. “Always underestimating yourself. That’s one of the things I like about you.” She closed her eyes and leaned in, sending his heart pounding. He stared at her, unsure of what to do, then took the plunge.
He kissed her, and his heart raced faster as it grew more passionate, seven years of fantasies and built-up frustrations finally being realized and released. He didn’t care if she loved him like he loved her, all he cared about was that in this moment, they were together, doing what he had always dreamed of doing from the moment she had introduced herself all those years ago.
She pushed him back on the bed and wrapped her leg around him as they lay on their sides, their bodies intertwining until he knew his ultimate fantasy was about to come true. She stared into his eyes, and he smiled.
“I love you.”
She smiled, kissing him hard, but saying nothing. It was too much to ask that she love him back, and it hurt for a moment, maybe even a little longer. She was here to forget her own pain, her own disappointment, and do something nice for him. Perhaps in time, she would love him too, and he could wait.
Yet there was no time to wait.
All they would probably have was this moment. For before the day was out, their lives as they knew them would be over, and he would never see the love of his life again.
61
Approaching the Eastern Seaboard, United States
Niner felt ready to pass out as he pulled as hard as he could along with Jimmy and Spock. “Give, you bastard!”
Atlas seemed as cool as a cucumber on a Sunday stroll, if cucumbers could take strolls, not even a bead of sweat on his forehead. “Are you three ready to give up yet?”
“Never surrender! Never say die!” cried Niner as he leaned back, putting all his body weight and muscle power into the effort. Spock and Jimmy joined him, all three of them now hanging onto Atlas’ hand and forearm, putting all of their nearly six hundred pounds of body weight into it, and still the big man’s arm didn’t budge. Dawson stepped into the room and shook his head at the sight.
“I think BD has something to say,” said Atlas, who ended the three-on-one arm wrestling match with one swift motion that had his opponents tumbling toward him
. “Oh, and I think all three of you losers owe me twenty bucks each.”
Niner stood, gasping for breath, his hands on his knees, as he cocked his head to the side, staring at Atlas. “I want him cut open so we can make sure he’s not some sort of Terminator under all that bulk.”
Atlas kissed his bicep. “Nothin’ but American made and Army trained muscle under here.” He gave Niner the stink eye. “What’s your excuse?”
Niner, still bent over, freed one hand to flip him the bird. Dawson closed the door.
“Hate to break up the fun—though with the humiliating display I just saw, perhaps I should have shown up earlier—but we’ve been called up again. Our friends at the CIA have a crazy theory, and we’re being diverted just in case they’re right.”
Sergeant Will “Spock” Lightman cocked an eyebrow. “What’s the theory?”
“You’re going to like it.” Dawson turned to Red. “We’ll be dropping you and five guys in Halifax, where you’re going to rendezvous with a Canadian JTF2 team, just in case the CIA is wrong and they attempt a landing in Canada. We think they’re almost out of fuel, so won’t have a lot of choices. You’ll deploy from there as necessary.”
Red smiled. “Always fun to work with some Crazy Canucks.”
Niner raised a hand. “Can I go with Red? I still want to know what the hell a BeaverTail is.”
Dawson nodded. “Fine. Don’t come back until you find out.”
“Or just don’t come back,” rumbled Atlas.
Niner pouted at him. “You’re so mean to me that I know you care.” He leaped over the table and hugged him. “Forget BeaverTails! I’m sticking with you!”
62
Off the coast of Pico Island, Azores
Thatcher sucked in a quick breath as he awoke, the changing sound of the engines likely the cause. He smiled at the naked form of Giselle, curled up at his side, her head on his shoulder, a smile on her face.
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