Arctic Wargame jh-1

by Ethan Jones

  “This is Isabella,” he said, when satisfied the cigar passed his inspection with success. “Private reserve, just outside Havana. They only make a thousand boxes each year. I can afford to buy only ten.”

  Gunter reached over and picked up an item from his desk. The sharp blade of a cutter, a small gold-plated replica of the French guillotine, flashed, as Gunter beheaded the cigar. He brought it to his face again and took a deep sniff of the tobacco. He lit it, while rolling it and drawing on it, making sure the match’s flame did not touch the end of the cigar. No words were spoken until the Assistant Director had enjoyed the first few puffs.

  “Yes, a genuine beauty.” Gunter described his smoking experience. “But I didn’t call you here to talk about cigars. We could have had this conversation over the phone, but one cannot be too careful. At times, spies have been able to breach even our most secure lines of communication.”

  Magnus nodded.

  “How’s the COP mission coming along?” Gunter asked, without specifying from whom he expected an answer.

  Magnus exchanged a look with Valgerda. The anticipation was clear in her eyes and Magnus gave her the go-ahead with a head tilt.

  “The Convicts Operation Project is going fairly well, sir.” Valgerda glanced briefly at the manila folder resting on her lap. “The first stage of recruitment is near completion, with the last men being added as we speak. Agents will soon begin the hands-on training of the cons, and, once the wargame’s ready, the unit will be ready for deployment.”

  “Great. What’s our current number?” Gunter asked, dragging on his cigar.

  “We have almost two hundred recruits.”

  “What’s the risk one of these cons you’ve selected may threaten the secrecy of our mission?”

  “They’re all convicted felons, doing time for crimes they’ve committed, and for which they were found guilty,” Magnus replied. “We’re fully aware we’re dealing with criminals, willing and able to backstab us and switch sides at a moment’s notice. The information we spoon-feed them is very, very limited, provided on a need to know basis only. None of the recruits are aware of the exact nature of their duties, the coordinates, and the time of landing, or even the name of the country that is their target. All they know is that someone in the Danish government is requiring their hit men services.”

  “That’s good. Let’s continue to keep their knowledge about our operation to a minimum,” Gunter said. “Now, since information is power, let me inform you of a few changes to our initial plans. One of our Assistant Directors of Operations, who was going to lead this mission on the ground, has been held up in Karachi taking care of an urgent task. I have talked this matter over with your Director, Mr. Kjær, and he shares my views about the new Chief of Operations for the Arctic Wargame. Magnus, the job is yours.”

  Magnus’s face was calm. He knew where Gunter was going as soon as the name of his supervisor came up in the conversation. Valgerda congratulated Magnus with a big smile and a light pat on his shoulders. But Magnus found his promotion unusual. The DDIS had no shortage of capable Directors or Assistant Directors. Why didn’t the director tell me about this before going on holidays? Something doesn’t feel right.

  “You have a very good knowledge of the background and most of the details of this operation,” Gunter said. “Yuliya will brief you on those few technicalities withheld from you because of jurisdictional divides. She’ll work closely with you in finalizing the remaining elements of the wargame.”

  Yuliya tilted her head and smiled at Magnus and Valgerda.

  “Do they suspect anything about our true intentions?” Magnus asked.

  “They had no clue we even existed until a few days ago,” Gunter replied.

  Magnus leaned forward. “What happened?”

  “Nothing to lose sleep over. Three days ago, someone at the CSE detected our two icebreakers delivering military supplies to our provisional depots on Ellesmere Island. The DND and the CIS have dispatched a recon team to the Arctic.”

  “That’s very serious,” Magnus said. His eyes narrowed and his voice grew deep.

  “It did have the potential to turn into a serious problem,” Gunter said. “But we have an ace in the hole. One of the DND employees, with strong connections to the CSE, was able to manipulate the satellite images, blurring them into useless blotches. The same person is a crucial part of this recon team. This person will do everything, I repeat everything, to stop the Canadians from knowing what we’re brewing up in the High Arctic.”

  The revelation took Magnus and Valgerda by surprise. They exchanged a skeptical glance, while Gunter savored his triumphant moment behind a thick veil of smoke. Valgerda withheld a cough, but the smoke in the room was causing her breathing difficulties.

  “The chances of the Canadians finding any evidence incriminating our Siriuspatruljen are so improbable one has a better luck surviving naked in the Arctic,” Gunter said. “But our mission is too important to leave anything to chance.”

  Magnus nodded.

  Gunter placed his elbows over the black folders scattered over his desk. He said, “The Canadians have much less sovereignty over the Arctic’s barren lands than us. We even discovered and first explored some of those islands. And now Canada claims them as theirs simply because they forced some people to go and live up there? The Arctic belongs to us.”

  He drew on his cigar, which had begun to die out. A couple of deep puffs and the sparkles of the burning tobacco were alive once again. “Once climate change has melted half the Arctic ice over the next few years, our patrol vessels will escort the merchant ships through the Northwest Passage. That passage will end up being more lucrative than even the Panama Canal, raking in billions of dollars each year. And all of that will belong to us.”

  Gunter stopped long enough to take in another whiff of his cigar and blow a large cloud of gray smoke. “Once our advance troops, led by you,” he pointed at Magnus, “succeed in completing this mission, then our Greenland Command will establish a permanent presence along the Northwest Passage.” He gestured with his left hand to Yuliya to take over.

  “Our teams are made up of mainly hardcore criminals, from suspected Al-Qaida cell members and former Taliban fighters to gang members and bank robbers,” she said. “They’ll get the job done for the sake of their freedom. And we’re going to be right there as well, to monitor every step of their progress and to make sure things end up the right way.”

  “So, I take it you’re going with us and the advance troops?” Valgerda asked Yuliya.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I want to review the report on the final preparations by Saturday morning. Then, our assault should begin on Monday morning,” Gunter ordered. “That’s when we’ve told the Canadians our ‘wargame’ is taking place. They think we’re just passing through international waters, showcasing our rescue mission skills. The fools won’t even know what hit them until it’s too late.”

  “We’ll have it ready, sir,” Magnus replied.

  Gunter smiled. “Great. I’m not wishing you luck in this mission because Vikings don’t need luck.”

  Copenhagen, Denmark

  April 12, 7:40 p.m.

  “Excellent performance,” Yuliya said, looking out the window. She followed Magnus and Valgerda as they rounded the corner. “It seemed very convincing.”

  “I’d like to talk to my wife now,” Gunter asked in a quiet, tired voice.

  “That’s not possible. One phone call a day. And you called her this morning.”

  “Bullshit. I need to talk to her.” Gunter slammed his fist on the desk.

  “You know the rules.” Yuliya turned around to face him. “I don’t make them. I’m here simply to enforce them.”

  “It’s been a month. An entire month that you have taken my wife and I—”

  “Your wife is safe, and she’ll continue to be safe, as long as you continue to cooperate with us. You understand?”

  Gunter opened his mouth then shook his head a
nd folded his arms across his chest.

  “You understand that?” Yuliya asked.

  “Yes,” came the weak reply.

  “Good. Now that we’ve settled who gives orders around here, let’s talk about Magnus. Do you think he suspects anything?”

  “I tried my best to convince him everything’s in order. That we, the Danes, are the only one planning and carrying out this crazy operation.”

  “That’s what the Canadians and everyone else has to believe. But first Magnus and Valgerda need to believe it too. And Magnus seemed unsure. He looked like he knew you weren’t telling him the entire truth.”

  “Don’t know what else I can do to convince him.”

  “I have to keep a close eye on him. You know he wasn’t my choice to lead this operation.”

  “I’m sure you can make your objections known to your FSB boss,” Gunter said with a smirk, referring to the Federal Security Service of Russia, the real Yuliya’s employer.

  Yuliya walked over to his desk. “The FSB in general and my boss in particular do not like objections.” Her Russian accent became much more pronounced as she spoke with a certain unease. “They see them as threats.”

  Gunter shrugged. “It had to be an outside man. My close associates know me. They know it’s not my character to manipulate the system and unleash a bunch of thugs into a friendly nation so they can ravage it. They know I wouldn’t betray my country and my duty to protect it.”

  Yuliya leaned over very close to Gunter’s face. “But that’s exactly what you’re doing, aren’t you? You’re throwing your country into a war. And all because of your love of a woman. What is her name? Hilda? Helga?”

  Gunter took in a deep breath and looked away. He put his clenched fists down, away from Yuliya’s face. Punching the smirk off her face would not bring him back his wife Helma. “Fucking Russians,” Gunter mumbled through his teeth.

  Chapter Ten

  Cape Combermere

  April 12, 11:35 a.m.

  “Damn it, damn it, you evil witch,” Carrie shouted, kicking a snowbank. Their helicopter became airborne, turned into a small black dot, and disappeared behind a heavy gray cloud. “I should have seen it coming, the little bi—” She bit her tongue.

  “Don’t worry,” Anna said. “I pressed the beacon’s rescue button before that backstabber took it away. The rescue team should already be on their way.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.” Carrie drew closer to Anna as if she could not hear her words. “Your distress signal went to Trenton, down in Ontario, more than twelve hundred miles away. By the time the Army gets a team ready and fly ‘em up here, we’ll be frozen solid corpses. Damn you, Alisha!”

  “Save your energies,” Justin whispered, as he joined them.

  “For what?” Carrie asked and spread her arms with an annoyed shrug. Anna’s head sagged, and she stood silent, staring at Justin’s face.

  “She left us here, alive. That was her first mistake,” Justin said. “Her second was not taking away our pickaxes.”

  “Oh, great, so we’re gonna dig our own graves, right?” Anna blurted out.

  “We found a radio,” Justin continued, unfazed by Anna’s cry of despair. “Maybe there’s another radio that works or that we can make it work. Another flare gun or something else we can use to indicate our position and call in help. Maybe there’s something we can use.”

  “Something like what? A chopper? An icebreaker? Look at where we are!” Anna shouted, stretching her arms and completing a slow pirouette. “In the middle of nowhere. No, scratch that. In the middle of frozen nowhere.”

  “Enough, OK.” Justin walked over and held her by the arms. “We can give up and die or fight and survive. You take your pick. As for me and Carrie, we’ve already made our choice.”

  Carrie slammed into the ice with one of the pickaxes while Justin was still speaking. He turned around and grabbed the shovel.

  “Fine,” Anna agreed, but her shaky voice showed her desperation. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Carrie and I can handle the digging. See if you can climb that cliff, the tall one.” Justin pointed to their left, where the rocks had formed a steep slope, about fifty feet high. “We need to gather our bearings as to our exact location and find the fastest way out.”

  “I remember seeing a small inlet with a broken coastline to the east,” Carrie said in between gasps.

  “You think we can walk back to Grise Fiord?” Anna asked, as she headed for the rocky ridge.

  “No, absolutely not,” Justin replied without looking up, driving the shovel deep into the snow. “Too far away.”

  “So, what exactly am I looking for?” Anna shouted, while searching for a suitable ledge on the rock wall where she could plant her hands.

  “You’re looking for water,” Justin replied. “Water that’s not covered by ice floes.”

  * * *

  The rugged surface of the cliff was extremely cold and slippery. The snow had turned into a thick layer of ice, covering the rocks in a wax-like film. Anna pushed her body up by digging shallow holes in the ice layer for her gloved hands and the tips of her boots. Already shivering and experiencing the familiar numbness in her extremities, she avoided pressing against the rocks to keep her clothes dry.

  Her progress was slow and, at times, uncertain. Her strength was draining out of her body quite rapidly. Every inch she advanced upwards came at a hefty cost. She was losing precious body heat through the tiny droplets of sweat covering her face and her upper torso. She agonized over the chances of a timely rescue, her judgment when volunteering for such an assignment, and the doom looming over them, as she fought her way to the flat top of the cliff. How long did that take? Was it fifteen, twenty minutes?

  Justin and Carrie were still busy, burrowing like moles. They had dug out a few piles of frozen snow and ice chunks, each about four feet high, and had uncovered a couple of large wood panels. They were thicker and wider than the other boards they had already found. Those panels formed the wall structure of the depot, probably. Oh, only if they could find something useful.

  She looked to the east, squinting hard to discern anything else but the whitish blinding blanket covering her entire field of vision. A few miles to the southeast, she found a small hill, which was partially uncovered by the snow and the ice. It soared a few hundred feet high. A little further to the east, her eyes found a tiny strip of a dark blue color that surfaced out of nowhere, right at the bottom of the hill.

  Anna muffled her screams of joy, unsure of whether she really spotted the water or whether the scene was an optical illusion or a trick of her hopeful imagination. Lifting her goggles for a clearer look and squinting so hard her eyes began to water, she double-checked again.

  “Yes,” she shouted, “that’s water, clear water.”

  A small section of the ocean, without any deadly icebergs or flimsy ice floes, was only a mile away. OK, I found the water, but how is the water going to help us?

  Copenhagen, Denmark

  April 12: 8:20 p.m.

  Yuliya nodded at the waiter holding a bottle of Lois Latour Bourgogne Rouge. He filled her crystal glass, and she took a quick sip of the pinot noir. She smiled at the great taste and looked at the shadows cast by the black iron sconces on the restaurant’s red brick walls. The hushed voices of the dining patrons and the large white candles on every table added to the unmistakable ambiance of an ecclesiastic location.

  In truth, the seven hundred year-old building used to be the Saint Gertrud Monastery during medieval times. Since 1985, the establishment began serving wine no longer as part of the Eucharist, but a la carte and at extravagant prices. Gradually, the Saint Gertrud Monastery became one of the most luxurious rendezvous in Copenhagen.

  Tonight, Yuliya had reserved a table for two in the Confession Room and was awaiting the arrival of her diner date when her cellphone rang.

  “Good evening, Ms. Novikov. I’m sorry to bother you, but there have been some negative developments,�
� Alisha spoke slowly on her satellite phone.

  “I thought the whole point of hiring you was to avoid any negative developments,” Yuliya replied.

  “I have everything under control,” Alisha broke down her reply by separating and stressing each word. “I’m just updating the Command, as I’ve been instructed, on the most recent situation.”

  “I’m listening. Go on and update me.”

  “The Canadians discovered one of the depots set up by the Siriuspatruljen.”

  “What?” Yuliya’s hand trembled. A droplet of red wine trickled down the glass, staining the crispy white tablecloth. “How the hell did that happen?”

  “Here’s the condensed version. Some of the locals found and looted all the weapons and began selling them. Soon enough, word got around, and Justin heard about it. He tracked down two of the locals, and a member of his team killed them in a shootout. But one of the looters didn’t die instantly, but was able to cough up the truth and led Justin to the depot, despite my constant stalling tactics. So, I had to come out in the open, and I left three members of the team, Justin included, stranded about one hundred and some miles northeast of Grise Fiord.”

  “You left them alive?” Yuliya struggled to keep her voice a quiet hush. She gulped down the contents of her glass. “What about the fourth member?”

  “I needed someone to fly me back out of that freezing hellhole. Plus, it would be difficult for me to explain a bullet in their head if it ever came to—”

  “Nobody will be asking questions once our plans succeed,” Yuliya interrupted her. She snapped her fingers to call the waiter. The impolite gesture was out of place in the posh restaurant but in sync with her feelings.

  “If it does succeed. One depot has been discovered and, who knows, the security of the others may have been compromised. The weapon depots were supposed to have been hidden exceptionally well.”

  “Are you having second thoughts?” Yuliya covered her cellphone with her hands and ordered another glass of wine. The waiter disappeared very quietly, in the same manner in which he had materialized at her table.