Sentinel

by Matthew Dunn

  He heard the jet again. Its noise was growing louder.

  Removing one crampon and bringing his knee under his chest, he slammed his boot into the ice.

  The roar of the jet was getting nearer. The mountain began to shake.

  He moved the other crampon and stabbed it into the surface.

  His whole body was vibrating.

  He pulled with his arms while thrusting forward with his legs, easing his body around the lip of the overhang.

  Large chunks of ice near him cracked and fell away.

  With all of his strength, he pulled, finally getting his chest onto an area of flatland on the other side of the overhang. He kept pulling as one of his feet fell away, then the other, until his whole body was off the overhang and lying on the ground above it. He had made the impossible climb.

  But maybe it was all in vain.

  Crawling forward, he looked around. More of the mountain was above him, but he could see that he would not have to climb any farther. He was on a plateau two hundred feet long. To the left of the mountain was a chasm, beyond it another plateau that had a track leading to it and a lodge in its center. He had found Sentinel’s prison.

  Getting to his feet, he walked across the plateau and looked at the chasm between him and his destination. It was about fifteen feet wide and hundreds of feet deep. He turned away and, holding his axes at head height, sprinted toward the gap. Reaching the edge, he leapt, lifting his axes until his arms were fully outstretched, and swung them forward as he neared the far side of the drop, digging them deep into the ground by the chasm’s edge. His upper body was on the plateau around the lodge; his legs were dangling in the chasm. The pain was intense. But the area around him was covered not in ice but in snow. His spikes moved but failed to maintain any grip; his body weight was pulling down into the chasm. Urgently, he slammed his boots against the surface below him, but his crampons only met more snow. His upper body slid back, the axes carving long grooves in the ground. He was sliding to his death, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  His head moved to the edge, then into the chasm. His arms moved off the plateau and were now above him. He braced himself, waiting for the axes to come over the edge, release themselves from everything, and drop him to a place that would snap his neck and every other bone in his body and crush his internal organs.

  Then he stopped moving.

  He looked up.

  A hand was gripping his wrist with tremendous strength. It began pulling him up. Then another hand grabbed Will’s arm. He was lifted out until he was lying facedown on the plateau. He raised his head.

  Sentinel was standing before him.

  The MI6 officer was wearing jeans, a windbreaker jacket, and hiking boots. Deep lines of fatigue etched his face. He put a hand underneath Will’s armpit and helped him to his feet. “Razin’s dead?”

  Will’s heart was racing; he breathed deeply. Nodding, he pulled off his balaclava and looked around. “It doesn’t make any difference. Razin’s planted one of the bombs. Right now three U.S. submarines are sailing close to Russian waters. As soon as they enter, the bomb will go off.”

  “And war will commence.” Sentinel rubbed his face. “We need to go.”

  “How did you get out of your shackles?”

  “I was never in them. Razin drugged me.” He shook his head. “That’s how he got me to talk. He must have expected to be back here long before I regained consciousness.”

  “Your agents are dead.”

  Sentinel slowly lowered his hand. “All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  Sentinel said nothing for a while before muttering, “Then all is lost.”

  He turned and began walking toward the lodge.

  Will stood still, watching him. He recalled Sentinel telling him how he had recruited Razin, how they had sat alone in the Lufthansa business-class lounge in Frankfurt and talked for an hour.

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew his handgun, keeping his eyes on the man who was walking with strength and purpose toward the mountain property. Then he raised his gun and pointed it at Sentinel. “I can’t let you go in there.”

  Sentinel froze, standing with his back to Will.

  “You never had drugs in your system.” Will placed his finger over the trigger. “But I bet there’s a gun in that house.”

  Sentinel raised his arms outward. “What are you talking about?”

  Will gripped his gun harder. He felt nauseous. “This wasn’t your prison. Instead, you used the place to wait while Razin did your dirty work for you.”

  Sentinel turned slowly, lowering his arms. Looking directly at Will, he said with anger, “I survived five days of drug-induced hell and rescued a man who was about to fall to his death. Lower your weapon, and help me get out of here.”

  But Will kept his gun very still. “Why? I’m not going to help you get out of here. And I’ll kill you if you take another step toward the lodge.”

  Sentinel was silent, just staring at him.

  Will’s mind was racing and confused. But he was certain of one thing: Sentinel had tricked him all along. “Was everything a lie?”

  Sentinel kept staring, his anger no longer evident. He gave a bitter smile. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “To me, everything has been the truth.” He looked away toward the mountains. “Can you imagine what it feels like to spend six years in a Russian prison, receiving endless bouts of torture, knowing that the West has given you up for dead?” He looked at Will. “How it feels to be finally released, only to find out that the British government has relinquished you of the one thing you treasure the most: the title of Spartan.” His anger returned. “When that happened to me, I hated Russia and I hated the West. I decided that when the time was right, I would bring them both to war so that they could tear each other apart.”

  Will’s head spun. “Why America, not Britain?”

  Sentinel’s eyes narrowed. “Because it was a CIA Soviet agent who betrayed me to the SVR and led them to me. When the Cold War ended, the Americans should never have let him go back to Russia. I wanted them to pay for their mistake. Plus I knew that Britain didn’t have the power to bring Russia to the brink of war but America did.” He looked around. “But now that it’s about to start, it’s only a matter of time before Britain gets sucked into this war along with most of Europe.” He smiled. “Everyone’s going to die.”

  Incredulity struck Will. “A Russian CIA agent betrayed you?”

  Sentinel locked his eyes on Will. “Razin found out who he was. I tracked him down and killed him.”

  “You made me capture and interrogate an innocent MI6 officer!”

  Sentinel nodded. “Borzaya’s story was all untrue. I told him that we were trying to flush you out as a traitor and to do that we had to make you confident that we suspected someone else. You had to believe that the Head of Moscow Station was the man who had supplied Razin with the identities of my agents. You did a good job, though Razin ensured he died. He climbed onto the roof of the church and poured gasoline into it.” He looked at the sky. “When I first met Razin, we spoke for an hour in the transit lounge, but the content of that discussion was different from the version I gave you. I quickly realized how ambitious the man was; told him a half-truth that I hated the West for abandoning me in a Russian prison; said I wanted revenge, that we needed to spark war; that if he killed my tier-one agents Russia would not be crippled, he would be seen as a hero and could take over the country. Razin agreed to my terms.”

  Sweat poured down Will’s face and back. “How could you work with a monster like Razin?”

  Sentinel smiled. “It had always been my intention to have Razin killed when his task was complete. The man was extremely capable but psychotic. Whatever the future held for Russia, I couldn’t let it be run by a man who’d want to rebuild it into a superpower.”

  Will exclaimed, “Svelte was trying to warn us about you!”

  He has betrayed us and wants to go to war.


  “And your mad dog.”

  Only Sentinel can stop him.

  Sentinel nodded. “My original idea was to plant a nuclear device on a Russian submarine. For that I needed Svelte, but the submariner refused and quickly deduced what I was planning.” He spat. “That was careless of me. Svelte escaped and used the DLB before I had a chance to clear it myself.”

  Will paled. “Is this really what you want? Total war?”

  Sentinel glanced at the lodge before looking back at Will. “There’s nothing else I need now. Not even my life.”

  He took a step toward Will.

  Will moved a finger along the trigger. “Stay where you are.”

  Sentinel took another step toward him.

  “Stop moving!”

  Sentinel came closer. “If you let me get right up to you, I will try to disarm you.”

  More sweat poured down Will’s body. His head throbbed. “You’ll be held accountable, but I don’t want to kill you.”

  Sentinel smiled. “My work is complete.” His smile vanished. “And now it’s over.” He walked quickly forward.

  In that moment, Will felt overwhelming anger. He thought he’d understood the man; he had respected him, believed that he loved his Russian assets and agents, and believed that Sentinel stood for all that was good. But the man coming toward him now was someone else altogether. He was a man who was prepared to see millions of lives lost in order to satiate his desire for revenge against those who had hurt him and let him down many years before. He was a man who had unleashed Razin to dismember, burn, and decapitate brave people.

  But as he pulled the trigger, his anger was replaced by sorrow and pity. At some point, a part of Sentinel’s mind had been broken. It should never have come to that. The enormous burden he had carried for all of his adult life had become too much for even a man of his strength. Powerful leaders in the West should have pulled him out of his deep-cover role before it destroyed him. But they’d done nothing, only carried on letting him take enormous personal risks until he was finally betrayed.

  The gun lifted a little as the bullet left the barrel, traveled across the few feet of air, and struck Sentinel in the abdomen. The man’s eyes widened, his knees buckled, and he slowly fell to the ground until he was kneeling on snow.

  He placed a hand over the wound, glanced at the blood covering it, and looked at Will. “The bullet’s torn through my liver. I’ll be dead in a few minutes. But it would have been quicker to just shoot me in the brain.”

  Will lowered his gun, walked toward him, and asked, “Where is the bomb?”

  Sentinel said nothing.

  “You’re going to die. But before you do, you have the chance to make this right.”

  Sentinel smiled. “There’ll be no dying confession.”

  Will stared at him. He thought about how Sentinel had originally intended to use Svelte. A realization struck him. “The Russians know about the submarines. They’ll send an interceptor to act as a deterrent, probably one of their new stealth destroyers. That’s where the bomb is! It’s on the Russian boat.”

  Sentinel’s smile vanished, but still he was silent.

  “I think Razin was waiting to find out which vessel was given orders to prepare to sail. Then he planted the device.” His heart raced. “I’m right, I know I am.”

  Sentinel lowered his head; his breathing was fast.

  Will took a step toward him. “I need to know why you stopped me from falling into the chasm.”

  Sentinel raised his head, looked at the mountains, and smiled. Seemingly to himself, he whispered, “This is a good place to die.” Staring at Will, he nodded slowly. “In the lodge, there’s a detonator. It will explode the mines and clear a path for you on the track beneath us. At the back of the lodge is a car and spare fuel. You can escape here unharmed and try to leave Russia.” Blood was pouring over his pants and onto the snow around him. He looked back at the mountains. “I kept you alive to remind myself of the man that I once was. It wasn’t always a lie. Once, I truly did believe in the work that I did. I”—he coughed blood—“really did love my agents.”

  Will crouched down in front of him. Quietly he said, “You can become that man again. I give you my word that nobody, nobody need ever know what you did. I can have you buried in England with full honors. And I can have a gold plaque put on your coffin that has the word SPARTAN engraved on it. I promise you that I can do that. In return, nod once if the bomb’s on the interceptor.”

  Sentinel stared at him. Eventually he said, “You’d do that?”

  “I would.”

  The men were motionless.

  The wind vanished.

  Everything stopped.

  Sentinel nodded once.

  Then he closed his eyes, let out one last breath, lowered his head, and died.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Will walked down the Learjet’s steps and stood on RAF Brize Norton’s runway. The rain was heavy, but Will didn’t care and let it wash over his face. Even though he felt more tired than he’d ever been in his life, he’d been unable to sleep during the flight from Moscow to England. He looked around; the normally busy military airport was virtually empty of other aircraft. He wondered if it had been like that when Sentinel had arrived here after his release from the Lubyanka prison.

  Three limousines were close to the jet. Plain-clothed special forces men were in the front and rear cars. Two men were standing outside the central vehicle. They were dressed in suits and overcoats. Umbrellas shielded their faces.

  Will walked slowly to them.

  They lifted their umbrellas a little.

  Alistair looked at him. “Roger, Laith, Markov, and Vitali have been released. The Russians have been reinstated into their Spetsnaz unit.”

  “And our boys are in the hospital in the States.” Patrick’s expression was somber. “They were beaten up pretty badly, but they’ll recover.”

  Will rubbed rainwater off his face. “Next time I’m in D.C., I’d like to have a chat with the president and some of his admirals about their decision not to turn the submarines around. I’d like to impress upon them the future need to always do what I fucking say.”

  “It all worked out for the best.”

  Patrick agreed. “A superb result for both America and Russia.”

  Alistair moved closer, his look one of concern. “Have you got anyone you can go to?”

  Will ignored the question. People were speaking behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Four men were unloading a coffin.

  Sentinel had finally been pulled out of the field. He was home and would be buried with full honors. Will had kept his word and hadn’t told a soul about what had really happened, not even Alistair and Patrick.

  Will returned his gaze to the coheads. “One day it will be me coming home in a box.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  Will unlocked his front door and entered his apartment. Stepping over piles of junk mail, he walked through the corridor and entered the open-plan lounge–kitchen area. Placing his grocery bag and newspaper onto the table, he moved through the minimalist room, filled the kettle, and flicked it on. He returned to the table, sat down, and looked at the front page of the newspaper.

  The headline story was the same story every other British newspaper was carrying today. Moreover, most of the world’s media were giving it their top slot. It told of a remarkable humanitarian action. A Russian naval destroyer had become severely damaged in the Barents Sea to the extent that it needed to be evacuated of all personnel. No Russian ships had been close enough to reach the destroyer before it sank, but three U.S. Ohio submarines had. In an unprecedented move, the U.S. president had ordered the submarines to surface and rescue the Russian sailors. All of them had been saved before the destroyer sank to the seabed. As a result, relations between the United States and Russia were now the best they had ever been.

  What really happened would be kept secret for a long time. The U.S. president had called the Russian premier and told
him about the bomb on the Russian destroyer. The conversation hadn’t been easy, but eventually he’d persuaded the Russian leader that this wasn’t an elaborate ruse with ulterior motives. He’d also told him that the Ohio submarines were the only ones that could rescue the sailors before the bomb went off. They did precisely that and sailed quickly away. The bomb had detonated, obliterating the ship, but by then the submarines had been out of the device’s range. Nevertheless, a large area of the sea had been irradiated. Russian, U.S., and European nuclear specialists were collaborating to try to clean up the fallout.

  Will tossed the paper to one side.

  Alistair and Patrick were right. The mission had been successful, but that success had come with a significant loss of lives. Two of them lost at his hands.

  Both were MI6 officers.

  Four days ago, another had taken his own life.

  Kryštof.

  The rest had been slaughtered.

  He glanced at the bare walls, the wooden floor that desperately needed some rugs to give it some color and warmth, the functional kitchen chairs, and the plain white sofa. Pulling out Korina’s necklace, he looked at it.