Osborne reached his office and shut the door behind him. He took the last swig of his coffee before sitting down and rolling up his sleeves.
His first order of business was to check all possible secure lines of communication. His encrypted voice mail. His secure email. Nothing. Even the most recent terrorist chatter report failed to yield any significant news—or even a hint of what might be happening abroad.
He slumped back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. Frustration mixed with fear resulted in a sick feeling.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He lunged for it, hoping to see a familiar number on his screen. It wasn’t the number he wanted to see; it was Sandford.
After exchanging pleasantries, Sandford went straight for the point.
“I hope you weren’t jerking me around about not having any operatives on active missions in Russia right now.”
“Why’s that, sir?”
“Because I’m about to light it up. Everything is falling into place for me to launch a volley of missiles into Russia.”
“But, sir, you can’t do that,” Osborne protested.
“I have no choice.”
“Please hold off as long as you can. I actually do have someone on the ground who might be able to mitigate the situation.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
Osborne bit his lip. He carefully selected his words, hoping it wasn’t a lie. “I think we can get your daughter back without launching a single missile.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“There’s a covert mission under way right now. I just need a few more hours to verify the mission’s success.” Another potential lie. Osborne had backed himself into a corner and knew the only way out was if Flynn came through—an unknown variable at this point.
“I’ll give you four hours,” Sandford said. “If I don’t hear from you by then, I’m going to fire first and ask questions later. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. I got it. I’ll call you by 10:30 a.m.”
Osborne hung up. As if things weren’t bad enough, they now grew worse. Flynn was living ten hours ahead of him, but it did nothing to ease Osborne’s angst. In action or not, a clock ticked away—and he had no idea if Flynn was even still alive, much less in position to avert a potential world war in less than four hours.
CHAPTER 54
FLYNN AWOKE TO A SEARING sore neck. It didn’t take him long to realize why when he went to rub it. The handcuffs chaining him to the iron bedpost over Lexie’s bed ensured that wouldn’t happen without much effort. He looked at the clock. It was five-thirty in the evening and the sun was already dipping below the Urals in Khanty-Mansiysk. No sign of Lexie.
Flynn let out a scream of frustration, angered over trusting someone he knew he shouldn’t have. Lexie’s intoxicating charm burned him several times when they worked together—but nothing like this. It was as if Lexie had fully embraced her darker side. She doesn’t even care to see her dying father. Pathetic. He rattled the handcuffs again but to no avail. It only made him feel more foolish.
Sulking and yelling let out the steam Flynn needed to release—but it did nothing to change his current situation. He surveyed the structure of the bedposts, looking for any way to get free or move.
Near the top of each iron post, Flynn noticed a decorative ball. I hope this isn’t just a decoration . Flynn twisted his body so his feet could reach the ball. Clamping his feet around the ball, he began to slowly turn the ball, loosening it. After about three minutes of careful footwork, the ball bounced onto the wooden floor, freeing the ironwork that served as the headboard from the post. He flipped his body in the other direction and began working the counterpart ball off the post. Once it hit the ground, he jammed the ironwork toward the wall as it disengaged from the bedpost completely. He wasn’t exactly free, but walking around attached to a bedpost was far better than being immobile and fastened to one.
Flynn maneuvered awkwardly around the room, searching for something to jimmy the lock. That’s when he spotted the key to the cuffs on the kitchen counter. Flynn smiled at Lexie’s arrogance—for once he appreciated it. He grabbed the key with his mouth and sat down on the floor in the living room. Employing his feet again, Flynn grabbed the key with his toes and inserted it into one of the cuffs. Using both his feet, he carefully turned the key until one of the cuffs released. He then used his hand to unlock the other one and free himself.
Osborne!
Flynn had nearly forgotten he promised Osborne a call. He needed to at least let his handler know he was still alive and that there were new complications in completing the mission.
He fished out his phone and called Osborne. Come on, pick up!
After Osborne answered, Flynn wasted no time.
“It’s me, Flynn. How’s everything going?”
“Not good. What about with you? I’ve been worried since I hadn’t heard from you in a while. I thought maybe the Russians got to you.”
“Not a chance. But things here are complicated.”
“How come?”
“Lexie Martin.”
“What the heck is she doing there?”
“It’s a long story and I don’t have time to get into it. But she’s here and she’s after the missiles too—but for entirely different motives.”
“Look, you can’t let her run off with the missiles—and you don’t have much time.”
Flynn brushed off Osborne’s sense of urgency. With Osborne, everything was always on the brink of disaster.
“I know, I know. I should be able to make contact with some of our assets here and neutralize the Kuklovod tomorrow.”
“No, Flynn. You’re not listening to me. You don’t have much time. In three hours if Sandford doesn’t hear from me that you’ve secured the weapons and rescued his daughter, he’s going to send a volley of missiles into Russia. We’re only hours away from starting an unnecessary crisis, if not worse.”
“Three hours! Are you out of your mind?” Flynn could hardly wrap his mind around how he might be able to pull off the mission in such a short amount of time.
“No, I’m not out of my mind, but Sandford is. They’re threatening to kill Sydney still if he doesn’t launch the missiles within a short time frame—and he’s decided to acquiesce to their demands.”
“Can’t Briggs’ people stop him?”
“Apparently not. Some of his cabinet members are trying to revoke Sandford’s power, but those efforts have failed so far. It’s up to you at this point. So, if I don’t hear from you in the next three hours, you just might be stuck in Russia. Just pray where you are isn’t a target.”
“OK, I’ll think of something.” Flynn wondered why he had ever agreed to this fool’s errand, which now looked more like a death sentence.
“Just call me as soon as you know something. I’m counting on you.”
“That makes one of us.”
“Good luck, Flynn.”
Flynn hung up and let out another scream. The odds for completing this mission had just moved from unlikely to impossible. But it wasn’t going to stop him from trying.
CHAPTER 55
GERALD SANDFORD PACED IN HIS OFFICE. He managed to bully his way into position to cave to the Kuklovod’s request—but at what cost? His rogue actions would indeed cost him every ounce of power he sacrificed to obtain. But he considered it worth it. Anything just to see his sweet Sydney’s face again.
His phone rang and it was Diane Dixon.
“I think we need to talk,” she said.
“About what?”
“You know what—restoring the presidency to its rightful owner.”
“Diane, there’s nothing more I would rather do than give the office back to Arthur, but he can’t lead. He’s still in a coma.”
“And who told you that?”
“I saw him myself at Walter Reed.”
“That’s hardly possible since he’s up and moving about. Gerald, you’ve always been a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying. I’m calling your bluff. I know what you’re trying to do—and so help me God once this is over with, I’m going to destroy you.”
“Don’t you threaten me, Gerald. You might have everyone else believing your story—but I know the truth. I know you never saw him. You won’t either. In fact, I doubt you’ll ever see your office again after today. I know what you did at Strategic Command, and I plan to let the American people know about it too. You don’t have to do this.”
“You have no idea what I have to do or why I have to do it. But your threats bear no weight on me. I’m doing this for the good of the country.”
“Stop lying to yourself. You’re doing this to avenge Sydney’s death—plain and simple. You’re a bitter man and you’re doing to die that way, disgraced as you leave public office. I’m going to make sure of that.”
“You do what you’ve got to do, Diane. Just know there’s always a price for such actions. I’m sure your sixteen-year-old daughter would love to find out tomorrow on national television that her father is actually Arthur Briggs. Talk about your scandals.”
Diane went silent, so much so that Sandford wondered if she hung up.
“Diane? Diane? You still there?”
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“Good. I just want to you to understand that when you force my hand, you’re not going to like what you see. There’s more of your dirty little laundry I wouldn’t mind airing if necessary. So, just quit passing around that forged little document and keep quiet while I do what Arthur Briggs can’t right now—lead a nation.”
He hung up, hoping never to hear from Diane again. She always rubbed him the wrong way, especially after Arthur told him their dirty little secret one night after having a few too many glasses of Scotch. Sandford never mentioned it again—until now. He knew it was the kind of information that would one day serve a useful purpose.
It was eight-thirty and still no call from Osborne.
Sandford took another call from his new general at Strategic Command with a list of all the target sites. Twelve missiles in all were set to launch toward Russia, inflicting severe damage if they all hit their targets. The casualties would be in the hundreds of thousands, according to early prognostications.
Sandford looked over the list: Moscow, St. Petersburg, Perm, Novosibirsk, Omsk, Kazan, Tyumen, Khanty-Mansiysk. Just a bunch of names of cities.
He authorized the list and faxed it back to Strategic Command.
CHAPTER 56
FLYNN GATHERED HIS GEAR and headed out the door. If Lexie intended to taunt him by leaving his gear around so he could see it while chained to her bed, she failed. But he felt as if failure might be imminent for his own mission. Three hours to infiltrate the Kuklovod’s base camp and secure the missiles? He placed the odds of succeeding just below achieving world peace.
But odds meant there was always a chance—and this was a chance worth taking.
Flynn took a taxi to one of the more popular trailheads just north of town that ran along the Ob River. He estimated it was at least an hour’s hike across the rugged terrain of the ascending Urals to reach the secluded base camp. Less than a hundred yards after walking down the marked trail, Flynn veered off into a heavily wooded area. Relying on CIA satellite imaging topography maps, he marched toward his destination. The sun edged down toward the nearest mountain's apex for the evening and then slipped behind it. The natural light wouldn’t last much longer.
Through the woods he trudged, splitting his time between thinking about his plan and retracing the steps that led him here. Execution was simple if all of Osborne’s intel proved accurate. But he knew better than to count on that. Such folly led to the early demise of many naïve agents. You know what you know. It was a mantra he developed a long time ago while on a mission in Angola. He was tasked with meeting an informant in a rural farming area. The informant reportedly knew all the details about a terrorist camp the CIA noticed on satellite surveillance. To Flynn, nothing seemed difficult about the assignment. Pose as an aid worker with an organization doing regular work there, deliver some seeds to a local farmer, get the information, go home. Simple. Yet it proved to be anything but that.
Once Flynn dropped off the seeds, three armed guards ambushed him. Nothing beforehand had suggested any potential problems. But it was a disaster. Two aid workers got shot before Flynn mitigated the situation by immobilizing two of the attackers and shooting the other in the head. Fortunately, the situation proved to be invaluable as he gained more intel on the camp than he would’ve ever received from the farmer. Less than two hours of torture techniques and Flynn learned all he needed to know from the captive terrorists. He even released them to warn the camp of an impending strike, but it was a wasted effort. A drone strike annihilated the camp less than five minutes after Flynn called it in.
You know what you know—and then you find out some more. All Flynn knew at this point was that he had to immobilize a half-dozen guards before reaching the Kuklovod’s command center and taking it off-line. What he didn’t know was how Lexie would figure into the equation. Would she muddle his plan? Turn on him? Prove to be an ally? Nothing was for certain at this point. So he stuck to the plan. You know what you know.
He slogged through a slew of tributaries snaking off from the Ob River with only the dusky sky to light his way. Flynn turned on his lantern and proceeded forward. It wasn’t long before he reached a clearing and identified the scattered lights as the Kuklovod’s compound. He switched off his lantern and moved cautiously toward the guarded facility, using the tree line as a shield.
Flynn checked his watch. Only two hours remained until his deadline to inform Osborne of his successful mission—if was indeed successful. Despite the time crunch, Flynn refused to botch the mission by trying to play cowboy. His own life depended on his ability to correctly assess the situation before charging in—and this wasn’t an easy task. For the next ten minutes, he observed the repetitive movements of the guards. They all smoked, as if it was the only way to survive the monotony of protecting the perimeter of a building nestled deep in the Urals. It was surely an uneventful assignment. But not tonight.
In an effort to penetrate the building as stealthily as possible, Flynn chose to use his knife. He tossed a rock in the woods to turn the guard’s attention in the opposite direction before sneaking up behind him and slitting his throat. He dragged his body into the woods and rolled it behind a log. But not before he stole the guard’s earpiece so he could pick up the impending chatter that would explode if his presence was realized.
Flynn eliminated the second guard moments later by slipping up behind him and snatching his cigarette. When the confused guard turned around, Flynn stabbed him in the throat while covering the man’s mouth. He moved this guard’s body into the woods as well before approaching his most difficult target—the guard tower.
Hidden in the shadows of the tree line, Flynn watched the rhythms of the guard tower’s spotlight. At first glance, it appeared to move haphazardly, but it didn’t take Flynn long to see that the chaotic pattern was nothing close to chaotic. It moved systematically across the compound perimeter—and Flynn recognized his opportunity to strike.
Quietly climbing the tower, Flynn timed his lurch perfectly. He lunged off the top step with his knife and landed it into the back of the oblivious guard. The pattern took a short hiatus before Flynn took control of the spotlight and kept the rhythm going. Nobody on the inside suspected a thing, as no squawking blared from his radio. All was quiet, but not for long.
Flynn leapt over the guard tower and scurried down the inside of the perimeter fence. He went to the door his intel told him was the most lax when it came to guard presence. Using the security decryption device Osborne gave him, Flynn attached it to the keypad and waited while it found the right combination to gain entry. It didn’t take long before Flynn was in the building.
He crept down the dimly lit hall. It was empty. Not a soul in sight. He waited for a few seconds to s
ee if he could detect any noise at all, any potential presence of guards. Nothing. And nothing on the radio either.
This is going to be easier than I thought. Flynn turned the corner and jumped back. He saw a guard sitting outside an unidentified room. Then Flynn poked his head around the corner again only to realize the guard was asleep. He ripped open his pack and pulled out a handkerchief and some chloroform. He slipped up to the guard and shoved it forcefully under his nose. The man barely flinched, remaining in his dozed position—head down, feet stretched out in front of him.
Flynn peered inside the door but didn’t see his target. He continued down the hall a few more feet before he heard a familiar voice.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Flynn spun around. Pointing a gun at him from twenty feet away was Ivan.
CHAPTER 57
NINETY MINUTES. COME ON, FLYNN. Give me a call.
Osborne stared at the phone on his desk. It didn’t blink or buzz or ring. He wanted to rip it out of the wall and scream. Just destroy something, anything. The waiting was killing him. It wasn’t like he had never been through something like this before with Flynn.
During a reconnaissance mission to Malaysia, Flynn got made by a Chinese spy who was selling U.S. government secrets. The directive was simple: find out who was buying the secrets. But Flynn wasn’t careful enough. Two members of the Chinese spy’s security detail apprehended Flynn and held him for the duration of the supposed time of the transaction. They blindfolded him and threw him in a holding cell near the location of the meet. For three days, Osborne waited. Not a word from Flynn. Osborne feared his best operative died somehow. Three days was an eternity in the world of espionage. Plans could be hatched, divulged, set into motion and squashed during that time. Yet, nothing from Flynn.
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