Lauren caught Marta’s final signal. She rolled the screaming man past the edge and in an instant, he was gone. Lauren slammed the door shut.
Marta turned to Viktor who had closed his eyes as if trying not to imagine his friend’s freefall to earth. When he exhaled, all resistance had left his body.
Marta pressed the razor-sharp blade against Viktor’s neck. “Talk.”
“We silenced the man from Prague and interrogated the one you call Tomasz. We spoke to Fraulein Reznik and were instructed to allow Tomasz to be taken to the hospital. We were also sent to the hospital to set up and wait for whoever came.”
“What did Reznik tell you to do?”
“She said to kill everyone.”
“Is she the only person you report to?”
“Yes.”
“How long is Tatiana going to be in Berlin?”
“I have no idea.”
“So, the hospital here in Wroclaw was supposed to be a trap?”
“Yes. Fraulein Reznik said Archangel was coming from London, and that if we could kill him, she would make us very rich men.”
“Tatiana used the name Archangel?”
“Yes. She hates him.”
“Why?”
“Archangel supplies weapons to the people that keep Mother Russia from being great again.”
“Did Tatiana tell you what Archangel looked like? Or his name?”
“Yes. She said his name was Kristof, that he was old and sick, and should be easy to kill.”
“She was wrong, wasn’t she?” A flash of anger crossed Marta’s face as she said the words.
“Yes.”
“I have a surprise for you, Viktor.” Marta picked up a headset and said something to Trevor.
Lauren heard the distinctive sound of the Dauphin’s landing gear being lowered, and an instant later they touched down. Even though Lauren knew the plan, she was momentarily disoriented by the sensation. In reality, Trevor had taken off, flown once around the property, and returned to hover only a few feet off the ground in the complete darkness. He had executed it all flawlessly with the help of his night-vision goggles. Lauren slid the door open and found Henryk and Baca standing over the man she’d kicked out of the helicopter. His nose was bleeding and it appeared as if he’d wet himself. She glanced at her watch. The entire interrogation had taken less than ten minutes.
Marta jerked Viktor out of the chopper and tossed him to the ground next to his colleague. She turned to Henryk, raising her voice to be heard above the idling rotor blades. “Both of these men beat Tomasz under orders from Tatiana Reznik.”
“I know of Tatiana.” Henryk shook his head in disgust. “I hear she is protected by the Russians.”
“Why would she need to be protected?” Lauren asked.
“I’ve heard rumors that she deals in trafficking, mostly young girls from poor areas of Eastern Europe. The Russians turn a blind eye.”
“Really?” Marta said. “Reznik is in Berlin. We’re going there now. Bring these two to the rendezvous point near Brody, and we’ll be there when we can.”
Henryk’s expression turned grim. “Are you sure you want me to bring them? I can easily take care of them here.”
“I think we may still have use for them,” Marta said. “And when we arrive at the Brody house, we’ll want to refuel again.”
“I’ll make it happen,” Henryk said. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring everything we’ll need.”
Marta kissed Henryk on each cheek, then turned and climbed back into the helicopter.
“Ready?” Trevor asked above the whine of the idling engines.
“How long is the flight to Berlin?” Marta asked.
“We have to do a little low-level trickery near the border, but no problem really,” Trevor said. “It’ll take a little over an hour.”
Lauren strapped in and pulled out her phone. Just as before, there were no messages, only a wildly fluctuating signal. She thought of Calvin’s earlier situation report on the solar storm. She calculated that the onslaught of radiation and supercharged particles should be relentlessly bombarding Earth’s atmosphere by now and would rage for hours, if not days. Unseen above them, in the air above the heavy overcast, the Aurora Borealis was without doubt putting on another astounding display. As the rotor spun up to speed, Trevor eased the helicopter off the ground and switched off all the external lights as he accelerated the Dauphin toward the German border.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HIS FEAR OF breaking through the already cracked ice played a large part in how delicately Donovan set the helicopter down. He was momentarily surprised when the skids touched gently, and he carefully allowed the full weight of the 212 to settle, fully prepared to climb away at the first hint of trouble. Convinced he was safe, he brought the engines to idle and sat inside the empty helicopter and tried to remember the shutdown procedure. While scanning the panel, he had another thought and began to scroll through the flight management system, trying to determine the 212’s point of origin. As he clicked through the electronic pages, he found what he wanted. The 212 had departed from Thompson, Manitoba, and flown north. Donovan wondered how the pilot had obtained the coordinates, and as he scrolled, he found what he wanted, the full list of waypoints.
The first fix after leaving Thompson was the coordinates Michael had used when he was shopping for charters, a latitude and longitude that should have taken them to a lake twenty-five miles away. The second fix listed was the exact coordinates they’d given the pilots of the Twin Otter after they’d departed Churchill.
He thought for a moment. Then he spotted something that looked out of place. A frequency, 131.75, didn’t fit the typical visual flight rules radio frequencies. He then searched until he found a chart of the area. Of all the posted frequencies, 131.75 wasn’t one of them.
Donovan felt his anger rise. Their exact coordinates had been provided by talking with someone on the discreet frequency. Suddenly annoyed by the whining engines, he simply reached up and pulled both fire emergency “T” handles and the engines promptly shut down from lack of fuel. He found both battery switches on the overhead panel and switched them off, too. The only sound came from the gyros spinning down and the ticking from the engines as they rapidly cooled off.
Donovan searched the cockpit for any other paperwork. Other than a checklist, he found very little of interest. He bundled up, slid on his goggles, and let himself down from the cockpit. He memorized the registration number, went to where the pilot lay in the snow, searched him for any identification, and found nothing. He repeated the process on the other three corpses and came away empty-handed. He had no idea if the attackers were Russian, or what events had transpired for them to have traveled this far north only to lose their lives on this desolate lake.
As he pondered all the seemingly disconnected threads, Donovan began collecting the diving equipment and carefully packing it in the duffel bags. He was halfway through when he remembered the mesh bag with the pilot’s identification that he’d collected inside the 737. In all of the chaos, he’d left it behind. Angry at his mental lapse, he finished packing the sled, making sure the AK-47 and extra ammunition went with him back to the camp, and as he cinched down the last strap, he had one more thought.
He stood for a moment, piecing together all of the events. That’s when he spotted old tracks in the snow. On impulse, he retraced the footprints that Sofya had left as she fled the wrecked and sinking Boeing. With the lack of any new snow since the crash, he followed her path until he stood where she’d collapsed. He began kicking through the snow until his boot connected with something solid. He kicked the object free of the ice and then knelt and lifted a Glock from the snow. He swept away the ice, pulled back the action, and found a bullet in the chamber. Sofya had a loaded gun when she fled the sinking Boeing.
Donovan stuffed the Glock in a pocket and hurried to the snowmobile. He cranked the engine, and took one last look around the frozen lake. Everything Eco-Watch had brought in was
leaving with him. The next blizzard would cover the bodies and maybe even eventually the helicopter. He pictured the Boeing that lay beneath the frigid water, resting on the sandy bottom like an aluminum tomb. One day, those people would be found, still preserved in the icy water, and they could be given a proper funeral. The men on the surface of the lake would be found by wolves. There would be no ceremony for them.
Donovan nudged the snowmobile’s throttle and maneuvered around the helicopter, and then gradually increased his speed until he was roaring across the lake toward the mouth of the river. He navigated through the river channel, but instead of speeding toward the cabin, he stopped and scanned the lake to see if the Twin Otter had returned. The airplane was nowhere to be seen, and he accelerated across the lake toward the cabin.
Jesse came running out of the cabin at the sound of Donovan’s approach, slipping on his gloves and hat as he hurried down to the lake to meet him.
Donovan stopped at the shore but left the engine idling. He removed his helmet and peeled the ice away from his face mask. “How is he?”
“He’s good. The cabin is nice and toasty. We filled him with hot liquid. He seems alert and functioning.”
“That’s good news. Look, Jesse, we’ve had a change of plans. I’m going to pull this snowmobile up behind the cabin, and then we need to obscure the tracks. I don’t want the Twin Otter crew to know we’re here when they get back.”
“Uh-oh, what did you find?”
Donovan explained his theory about the coordinates he’d discovered aboard the 212, and the odd frequency. Jesse nodded as Donovan connected all of the pieces.
“I’m with you.” Jesse rubbed his temples as Donovan finished. “I don’t see how anything could have happened any other way. I was there when Michael made the phone calls. The only charter operator that asked for the coordinates was the one in Thompson. No one else had airplanes available, so they never asked where.”
“There’s some connection between the attack today and our charter crew,” Donovan said. “We just need to find out what it is.”
“What about Montero, is she armed?” Jesse asked.
“Yes. I’m not worried about her and Michael,” Donovan said. “If this goes the way I hope it will, once the Twin Otter lands, either Michael or Montero will be the first off the plane and will head toward the cabin. The charter pilots will stay behind to secure the aircraft, and that’s the separation we need. When they arrive, this is going to happen fast, so I’m not sure what to expect. I need you to watch over Sofya, try to keep her calm.”
“You bet,” Jesse said.
“I didn’t have time to say anything earlier,” Donovan said. “But you saved all of us out there, and I want to thank you. Your idea of floating up the AK-47 made the difference. What made you think to do that?”
“When I saw the chopper was coming in armed and all we had to fight with were knives, I thought of something Montero said to me on the charter flight. We were talking about preparation. She said something about never taking a knife to a gunfight. So I put a gun into the mix to change the odds.”
“That you did, and then you kept your head, and without hesitation, did everything you could for Rick. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be too impressed,” Jesse said lowering his head. “I dove down to nearly seventy feet, twice, without any decompression stops. I may have screwed up.”
“It wasn’t a screw-up,” Donovan said. “It was an act of bravery, and I can’t tell you how happy I am that you did what you did. How do you feel?”
“I feel fine,” Jesse said. “And I may be fine, but I needed my dive buddy to know what took place, just in case I start having problems.”
“You tell me the second you have any symptoms of the bends. I mean it, and we’ll abort this mission and get you to Churchill for medical attention.”
“Thanks, I’m good for now.” Jesse smiled and gestured to the snowmobile. “Lead the way. I’ll start covering the tread marks.”
Donovan went slow, easing the snowmobile up the hill and around to the back of the cabin. He shut off the engine, dismounted, and began to trudge through the snow, obliterating the telltale snowmobile tracks. He and Jesse walked up and down several times until all the signs were gone, and as they finished, Donovan heard a familiar drone. He scanned the sky until he spotted the Twin Otter low on the horizon.
“I see them,” Jesse said, turning to Donovan. “That is them, right?”
“It’s them. Let’s go inside and get ready.”
Donovan stomped the snow off his boots and suit as best as he could, and then pushed into the cabin. The air inside, heated by the glowing coals inside the stove, immediately fogged his goggles, and he slid them up on his forehead and unzipped his suit halfway so he wouldn’t overheat. “Rick, how are you doing?”
“I’m still alive, thanks to you,” Rick said, sitting in street clothes and stockinged feet, sipping from a mug.
“What’s going on?” Sofya asked.
“I think the charter pilots sold us out,” Donovan said, noticing that Jesse had removed one of the sheets of particleboard that had been nailed over the window, and now sunlight filled the cabin. Donovan found a pair of binoculars on the table and positioned himself to observe the approaching plane. He found a blurred shape, and he drew the Twin Otter into crisp focus just as the high-winged twin turboprop touched down. He could see the struts flex on the uneven surface and hear the propellers as they moved from forward thrust into reverse pitch to slow the plane. The Twin Otter reached trodden snow near the shore, and Paul turned the aircraft until it was pointed out across the makeshift runway on the frozen lake. The Twin Otter continued to sit there, both propellers idling.
“Why doesn’t he shut it down?” Jesse asked.
“I’m not sure. He’s got them throttled back to idle, so the blades aren’t producing any thrust. I wonder if there’s a problem.” Donovan swept the binoculars forward and spotted Lonny still in the cockpit.
When the double cargo doors aft of the wing swung open, Donovan readjusted the binoculars to focus on Montero as she lowered the steel ladder into place, and then climbed down the four rungs from the airplane to the snow. Michael was right behind her. As they walked toward the cabin, Michael looked off to his left and then up at the cabin before he said something to Montero. She nodded as she slid her pistol from under her parka, keeping it partially hidden within her sleeve.
“Michael spotted the skid marks from the helicopter,” Jesse whispered. “Montero’s going to come in here with her gun drawn.”
Donovan put down the binoculars and moved so he’d be the first person Montero saw when she burst through the door. He held his hands up in the air just as she rushed through the opening, the barrel of her Glock pointed at his chest.
“Please don’t shoot me,” Donovan said.
“Jesus!” Montero lowered the gun. “What are you doing here? Where’s the snowmobile? Whose clothes got wet? What in the hell is going on?”
“How’d you get here?” Michael said from behind Montero. “I saw tracks in the snow. Was there a helicopter?”
“I’ll explain later, we don’t have much time,” Donovan said. “Montero, I need you to go back out to the plane with me. Act like you forgot something, but keep an eye on Paul and Lonny. Michael, trade parkas with me. Do you have any idea why they’re still running the engines?”
“It was a short flight,” Michael said as he peeled off his heavy coat. “Paul wants to make sure the batteries are fully charged before he shuts everything down.”
“We had company at the dive site—some guys in a helicopter started shooting at us.” Donovan spoke as he zipped up Michael’s coat and then handed Michael his Sig. “I think either Paul or Lonny radioed the helicopter pilots our coordinates. Michael, you’re the last line of defense—there’s an AK-47 in the sled out back if you need it. Montero, you’re with me. I’ve already been shot at once today, so I’d appreciate it if you could keep that from happening
again.”
“What are we looking for?” Montero asked as she adjusted her face mask and goggles, leaving her gloves in her pocket so she could better handle her Glock.
“I’ll explain on the way,” Donovan said as he opened the door and allowed her to pass through first. “Okay, in the helicopter that attacked us, there was an out of place frequency set into the primary VHF radio, 131.75. I have a feeling one of our Twin Otter pilots was communicating with the helicopter, giving them our position.”
“What if they simply changed the frequency when they were finished?” Montero asked.
“My guess is they’re still using the frequency,” Donovan said. “They might even be trying to reach the helicopter right now.”
“Is anyone going to answer?”
“No,” Donovan said as they reached the Twin Otter.
Montero climbed the ladder and bolted into the cabin. Donovan followed as fast as he could. As his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, he found Montero mid-cabin, holding a portable radio arm’s length from a startled Paul. Donovan saw Lonny sitting in the cockpit, eyes forward, still monitoring the engines.
Donovan took the radio from Montero’s hand and saw the numbers dialed in the active window were 131.75. Donovan yanked his hood back, peeled off his goggles and face mask, and glared at Paul. The expression of wide-eyed disbelief on the young pilot’s face spoke volumes about his guilt.
“Why?” Montero asked.
In his peripheral vision, Donovan spotted Lonny in the cockpit taking in the scene unfolding in the cabin. The moment she locked eyes with him, the startled copilot erupted into action and pointed a pistol at Donovan.
Montero was quicker. She raised her Glock. Paul lunged at her, knocking her against the seats on the other side of the aisle. Lonny fired twice before Montero, off balance, put a bullet into Lonny’s right shoulder. She twisted away and cried out in pain but managed to slam the propeller controls and throttles all the way to the stops before turning to start shooting again.
Seconds to Midnight Page 18
