by Matthew Dunn
H aving bathed and changed into his clean arctic warfare clothes and combat boots, Will walked into the kitchen. Korina was there, defrosting a whole chicken and prepacked vegetables in a microwave. She gathered the food together and laid it out on a large bench.
Staring at it, she muttered, “I now realize that I’ve never cooked for a man before.” She kept looking at the food and seemed uncertain what to do.
Will moved to her side, ignited the adjacent gas burner, placed a deep frying pan onto it, and reached for a large kitchen knife and chopping board. Expertly, he peeled and diced shallots and tossed them into the pan with olive oil and butter. Then he deboned and portioned the chicken, pan-fried it with crushed garlic, pepper, and finely chopped herbs, splashed red wine into the pan, and allowed the alcohol to burn off before tasting the liquid and adding some salt and sugar.
He looked at Korina. “It’s not five-star cuisine, but it will work with rice or potatoes.”
Korina looked surprised. “It looks and smells better than anything I could have prepared. Where did you learn to cook?”
Will shrugged. “For one of my lessons at school I had to choose between metalwork and cookery. I opted for the latter because I knew I’d be the only boy in a classroom of teenage girls.” He smiled. “It gave me certain advantages.”
Thirty minutes later they were sitting at the dining table and eating their meal in silence. Korina looked distracted and unsettled. When they finished, she looked out of the window and muttered, “I need some air. Will you join me?”
As they walked into the spacious garden, the snowfall was lighter, though large flakes still drifted slowly through the air. They reached a big oak tree. Hanging from one of its branches was a child’s swing. Korina sat on it and looked at the snow-covered ground. “My father loved his country but secretly hated the way it was being run. He believed that after the collapse of communism, Russia was supposed to be a better place. Instead he felt it had become a breeding ground for the worst excesses of capitalism, for mad dogs who would do anything to make money. Over the last few years, I’ve seen that his views are right.”
Will watched her for a while, staying silent, before moving in front of her. “So that’s how my MI6 colleague got you. He discovered that, like your father, you hated your country’s regime.”
I t was evening. Will was alone in the dining room, emptying the contents of his rucksack onto the large table. He realized that it had been packed for a Spetsnaz man to operate in harsh, rugged terrain. Carefully, he laid out two mountaineering ice axes, vertical-framed steep-ice crampons, a small spade, a pure down sleeping bag, inner and outer gloves, thermal tops, a white fleece jacket, a fleece-lined woolen hat, tactical goggles, waterproof pants, a compass, a first-aid kit, and a military knife. He stripped down and reassembled the workings of his AS Val assault rifle, attached the sound suppressor, checked his MR-445 Varjag pistol, unpacked and repacked magazine clips, and tested the tactical communications systems that he and Korina had used in Moscow earlier in the day.
Korina came in, barefoot and dressed in loose flannel pants and a baggy V-necked sweater with nothing underneath. Her hair was damp; she smelled of shampoo and soap. Moving to the fireplace, she put firelighters, twigs, and logs onto the grate and struck a match to get the fire burning. At the liquor cabinet, she poured large slugs of Chateau de Beaulon cognac into two big brandy glasses and handed one of the glasses to Will before taking a seat on the floor in front of the fire.
She took a gulp of the spirit and looked at him. “You call him Sentinel; I know him as Gabriel. I’ve always known it’s not his real name, just as William’s not yours, but that’s never mattered to me.” She glanced at the fire, wafted the cognac under her nose, and took another gulp of the liquid. As the fire crackled, its flames cast flickering light over her face. “Of course, I don’t know the identity of his other Russian agents, but I bet they all think about him in the same way that I do. He gives us so much hope.”
Will sipped his drink slowly, his gaze fixed on Korina. “He’ll crack under torture very soon. And when he does, there’s something you need to know. He’ll call and ask to meet you. He’s going to do the same with two other agents. Then Taras will try to kill all of you.”
Korina looked shocked. “I-”
Will held up a hand. “I’m not going to let you get anywhere near Razin. As soon as I get the time and location of the meeting, I’ll go there alone and watch the place.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
Korina looked sharply at him. “I’m a professional intelligence officer. I don’t need to sit here doing nothing.”
Will sighed. “It’s too risky.”
“So is staying here! GRU or FSB could come looking for me here while you’re away. Plus”-she placed her glass on the floor, spilling some of its contents-“Taras killed my father. I want to be there.” She stared straight at Will. “I’m going to be there.”
Will wondered what to say. Nothing came to him, because he understood exactly how Korina felt. He moved to the fireplace, sat next to her, and placed his hand over hers. She moved her fingers around his.
They stayed like that, not speaking, just holding each other’s hands, staring away at nothing.
Both intelligence operatives.
Fugitives.
And with no one else in their lives.
W ill stripped out of his clothes, turned off the light, and sat on the spare bed.
He tried to relax his aching body and put all thoughts out of his mind. But images kept racing through his brain.
He saw a Russian submariner lying on the floor with his body cut open, an old woman being torn apart by an explosion, a military commander raise a toast to peace, a noble but impoverished couple giving away their last food, a general expertly checking the workings of a handgun, the dead body of a Scotsman left to be eaten by animals, four American and Russian men throwing their guns to the ground as troops surrounded them, and an Englishman sweeping a hand over prone handgun cartridges with a look of utter sadness on his face.
He wondered if these images now meant anything.
Uncertainty and despair swept over him. He felt that the fate of Russia and the United States rested on his shoulders.
Standing, he looked at the bed before walking to the window. It was dark outside; he could see nothing. But he stayed there anyway, just looking.
He thought about Korina. She had taken so many risks for him, yet he had rejected her. That decision now seemed wholly wrong, because he knew that they were attracted to each other.
And they both knew that tomorrow they could be dead.
He turned away from the window, walked across the room, opened the door, and stood still. On the opposite side of the corridor was another bedroom, its door shut. Korina was inside. He stared at the door for nearly two minutes before making a decision.
It was the right decision.
He walked across the corridor and knocked on her door.
She was now before him, dressed in her bathrobe.
The slightest smile on her face.
A tiny nod of her head.
A minute step toward him.
Will moved to her, held her for a moment, lifted her body so that she was cradled in his arms, kissed her passionately on her lips, and carefully carried her back into her bedroom.
Chapter Thirty-eight
It was six A.M. Sentinel’s mind was now almost certainly broken. In two days the Ohio submarines would reach Russian waters.
Will was dressed, pouring coffee in the kitchen. As he brought the steaming mug to his mouth, he could smell Korina’s perfume on his hand.
When she came in, she was wearing a jacket, pants, and hiking boots; her hair was pinned up, and she had applied makeup. Wrapping one arm around his waist, she kissed him on the nape of his neck, grabbed a spare mug of coffee, and moved to the far side of the room. She turned on a small television, flicking through channels until she found a n
ews program. Will looked at the screen and saw the Russian president giving a press conference. His tone was solemn. At the bottom of the screen, his words were shown in English, French, and Chinese subtitles. As Will read the English transcript his stomach wrenched.
Diplomatic relations with the United States of America have broken down. We are working hard to reverse this situation, and we pray that America is doing the same. It is certain that Russia has done nothing to create this political catastrophe. Whatever happens, I promise all Russians that I will continue to serve you with unwavering loyalty. God bless and protect the motherland.
Korina turned the television off. She raised her mug of coffee to her lips. Her hand shook. “Whatever happens, I can’t stay in Russia. Do you think MI6 would give me a home in the U.K.?”
Will nodded. “Of course. They won’t leave you to suffer imprisonment or-”
“Or execution.” Korina frowned. “I’ve never been to England. I wouldn’t know where to live.”
Will kept his eyes on her. “London’s as good a place as any.” He smiled. “I have an apartment overlooking the river Thames. You could stay there.”
Korina moved closer to him and held his hands. “That’s a generous offer.”
“My home’s in need of a feminine touch. It would help me out if you stayed there.”
Korina smiled but shook her head. “A feminine touch?”
Will laughed as a mental picture of Roger watching him right now entered his mind. He tried to think of something normal to say. “I’m away a lot. The place rarely gets used.”
Korina moved closer to him, smoothed a hand against his face, then unclasped her necklace. She held the chain and locket before him, a smile on her face. “You can open the locket when we’re in your apartment.”
Will took the necklace, nodded, and secreted it in an inner pocket.
She grabbed her coffee and stared at her cell phone on the kitchen table. “I’ve destroyed my regular phone because I know that GRU will be trying to track its signal. But this phone was given to me by Sentinel. Only he has the number.” She looked around. “My dad and I shared years around this table. What would he think of me now?”
Will briefly wondered how to respond. He decided to tell her what he really thought. “He’d be proud of you.”
Korina looked at him. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what he’d be thinking right now.” She smiled, though her expression was haunted. “His little girl…”
They were quiet for a while. Outside, snow was falling thick and fast, and garden trees swayed in a strong wind, but the noise of the weather did not penetrate the kitchen. The whole room was silent.
Then it was not.
An electronic beeping noise reverberated around the kitchen. A small flashing light accompanied the sound.
Korina’s phone was ringing.
W ill held his cell phone and stared at it for a moment. So much rested on the call he was about to make. And so much rested on the man answering. Doubts raced through his mind. Perhaps the man was right now on a flight, in a meeting, sleeping, vacationing, or doing anything else that meant he couldn’t answer.
His finger shook as he began pressing numbers.
When the last digit was depressed he raised the cell to his ear.
One ring.
Three rings.
Will’s heart pounded.
Six rings.
Seven rings.
Click.
The man answered.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Will drove the Toyota Prado northeast toward the town of Shatura. Korina was next to him, checking the workings of her handgun. The SUV had belonged to her father, was in immaculate condition, and carried additional gas in the spare fuel tank and canisters. Next to the sat nav on the dashboard was a worn photo of Korina and her father; they were wearing skis and winter sports clothing, standing on a snow-covered slope with smiles on their faces. Jammed between the door and Will’s seat was the sound-suppressed AS Val assault rifle.
Their destination was beyond Shatura. Sentinel had given Korina exact directions to the isolated farmstead that was ninety miles away.
The snow was heavy and strong winds were whipping it up, making visibility atrocious. Though there was daylight, Will had his car’s headlights on high. The road was deserted and straddled by forest and rolling countryside. They drove for one hour, barely speaking to each other, not deviating from the route, the features around them remaining the same.
Will’s eyes ached from concentrating on the road and from the disorienting effect of the dots of snow continually rushing toward his vehicle. After rubbing his face, he glanced at the sat nav and saw that they were approximately sixty miles away from Shatura.
“Something ahead.”
Will immediately looked up on hearing Korina’s words. Driving slowly, he reached the end of the forest and saw that snow-covered fields were now to either side of them. He could not see much beyond three hundred feet into the fields, but he could see enough to make his stomach churn. There were at least fifty of them, probably more were hidden by the snowfall, and all were facing the sky. They were RT-2UTTKh intercontinental missiles, fixed onto MZKT-79221 sixteen-wheel transporter-erector-launchers. Soldiers moved back and forth among the weapons; none of them took any notice of Will’s vehicle as he continued driving steadily onward. They all seemed too busy preparing the deadly projectiles.
Will knew that the missiles had a precision-guided effective range of more than six thousand miles and that each carried a 550-kiloton nuclear warhead. They could easily reach and destroy armies in Europe, and if needed they could be sent across all of Russia to strike seaborne landings in the east. Once launched, they were nearly indestructible, being immune to any missile defense system and shielded against electromagnetic pulses, lasers, and even nuclear blasts up to a quarter mile away.
As he passed the last of them, he was sure that in a day’s time the missile unit would move to another location and would keep changing location over the following days and weeks so that it could not be compromised. But a small number of people in the Russian military high command would have information about the missiles’ exact movements. Will wondered if one of those men or women was a tier-1 agent belonging to Sentinel.
After almost two hours, they were three miles away from Shatura. The road was straight and surrounded by flat, featureless countryside. As he looked at his inhospitable surroundings, a memory came to him. He was a small boy, dressed in an ill-fitting black suit, a white shirt, and a black tie that he hated because it felt tight around his throat. He was in a beaten-up SUV that had cold, tatty plastic seats. His older sister was sitting next to him. She was also dressed in black and was quietly sobbing. His mother was in the driver’s seat. Her long silver hair was tied up in a bun by a black band. All he could hear was the sound of the car’s wipers and strong winds buffeting the vehicle. All he could see was driving snowfall and endless flat countryside to either side of the road. They were driving west, away from their home in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., to their father’s hometown of Lancaster, near Columbus, Ohio. They were going there to hold a memorial for his dead father.
The memory faded. He wondered what his father would think of him now, driving through countryside identical to the Midwest.
Multiple lights ahead. He caught occasional glimpses of buildings. They were approaching the outskirts of Shatura. He gunned his engine and drove quickly into the town. The place had only one main road running through it, and a few cars and pedestrians were on the route; otherwise the town seemed quiet. He drove away from the town for a mile until they were on a long strip of flat land that had a large lake on its left and another medium-sized lake on its right. Soon the lakes behind him were gone. Everything around him was barren. He increased his speed to sixty mph.
They drove southeast for another twenty-five miles until they reached eight large and medium-sized lakes that were positioned from north to south. As Will drove, he counted them un
til he was sure that he was by the large lake in the south. Soon he could see distant glimpses of a forest.
“This is as close as we dare get in the vehicle.” He stopped the SUV, grabbed his rifle, and jumped out of the car. Korina joined him, gripping her handgun.
They moved off the track, toward the lake’s shoreline, before changing direction and following the shoreline toward the forest.
Will twitched his gun left and right, searching for the farmstead and the clearing in front of it where Korina had been instructed to park her vehicle and wait. They neared the forest. A glimpse of color between the trees. Will tapped a hand against Korina’s arm and nodded toward the colors. Korina lowered her body into a crouch and moved forward; Will did the same. They reached the edge of the forest, the lake still by their side. The colors belonged to two cars, both parked in the large clearing. Will held his rifle tight, one finger gripped against the trigger. They moved a few feet into the forest, stopped, and lowered themselves slowly onto the ground until they were lying flat.
Beyond the two vehicles ahead of them were buildings. They were spaced out. One of them was right beside the lake and looked like a boathouse, two others were farther inland and were huts, and in between them was what looked like a large wooden barn or workshop. But there was no sign of life.
They waited for ten minutes before Will rolled onto his side, cupped his hand against Korina’s ear, and whispered, “We need to move to watch the farmstead from another angle.”
Korina nodded; then her eyes widened and she gripped Will’s arm hard.
Will urgently followed her gaze.
A big man emerged from one of the huts. His face was obscured by a body that was resting over his shoulder. The man walked steadily across the clearing toward the barn, pulled open the building’s double doors, and disappeared from view. A moment later he reappeared, his face no longer hidden.
Will watched him through the foresight of his rifle, his finger on his trigger.
