“They will kill you for this,” the Spetsnaz managed to gasp. “Kill you.”
Rogov smiled. “Did you really believe that was our mission?” he asked. Rogov shook his head. “And I was worried about you,” he admitted.
He could see the Spetsnaz commander’s face turning pale as blood flowed away from the brain, struggling to replace the frozen, pulsing mass in the man’s midsection. “Since you’re dead, I’ll tell you,” Rogov said. “In memory of your bravery, however foolhardy. There are no missiles on the way, Comrade Spetsnaz. None at all. There never have been, there never will be. Do you really think that we would be so foolish as to provoke an international incident by planting our own guns and missiles on American soil?” He shook his head again, wondering about the inflexible military mentality that made such lies plausible to men like this. “No, it is a much deeper plan than that,” he finished.
The Spetsnaz commander gave one final gasp, and then grew still. Within moments, Rogov could see ice starting to rim the delicate tissues exposed to the elements.
Now what? he wondered. This possibility had been discussed, that he would have to eliminate one or more of the Spetsnaz commandos. It had seemed a far easier — and safer — plan back in Russia, but now the difficulties seemed to have increased logarithmically. If it had been anyone except the commander, he thought, and shook his head again. No, this is the way it would have to be. Tension between the men had already been running too high. With the commander eliminated, there was at least a fifty-fifty chance the rest of the men would obey him unquestioningly, yielding with that peculiarly Slavic resignation to authority. And perhaps this would increase his stature within the group.
He debated for a moment trying to hide the body, and then decided against it. The Spetsnaz would, he was certain, send out patrols to try to locate the missing commando. Better that they know where it was now, and that Rogov admitted responsibility.
He stood and watched the speck that was the P-3 Orion dwindle in the distance. Now it was time for the next phase of the plan to unfold. He trudged down the slope to the cavern to await his new subordinates.
“Jesus, did you see that?” Eel yelped.
“You betcha.” The pilot’s voice was grim, “And I don’t care what Intelligence says, there damn well is somebody down there. Radio emissions, ghost contacts — hell, it’s entirely different when somebody starts shooting missiles at YOU.”
“Better lucky than good,” Eel said automatically. He stared back aft at the frozen landscape fading in the distance behind them.
Had they been lucky? one part of his mind wondered. They had to be — what else could explain the missile impacting with the ground instead of clawing up the ass of the Orion? A misfire, perhaps? Or something wrong with the guidance system on the Stinger? He shook his head, wondering at the possibilities. The Stinger was among the most simple weapons to operate, a feature that made it popular with every insurgent nation around the world. Simple, easily transportable, and almost unbearably deadly. It had been the advent of Stinger missiles on the ground in Afghanistan that had driven back the potent Soviet air force, and forced the Russians to a virtual defeat there.
As the adrenaline started to fade away, he felt his hands quiver. One Stinger missile versus one P-3 Orion aircraft — no contest, he decided. A Stinger would do fatal damage to the aircraft too quickly, and the lumbering Orion had too few tricks up its sleeves to evade it. The flares might have worked, but at that point, Eel was unwilling to bet his life on it. And glad he hadn’t been required to.
“You mind giving me a fly-to point for home?” the pilot said harshly. “I think there are some folks on the ground who are going to be mighty interested in talking to us.”
Eel returned to his console, automatically running the configuration of speeds and distance vectors necessary to take them back to their home base in Adak. That done, he punched in the communications circuit of their home base and began trying to raise the operations officer. After a few seconds, he broke off, and called up the USS Thomas Jefferson, asking them to come up on the same circuit. He had a feeling that the carrier battle group to the south would be at least as interested, if not more so, in what he had to tell his boss.
White Wolf crouched behind the ice and rock, hugging up close to it. He felt the vibrations from the explosion radiate through his bearskin parka, felt the intricate crystalline structure of ice and rock tremble beneath his sensitive fingers. Some small part of him reached out to the surrounding cliffs and rocks, searching for any sign of instability. Long experience with avalanches and earthquakes had bred into the native Inuit population an uncanny ability to sense the movement of the earth around them.
White Wolf glanced at his grandson, Morning Eagle. While the younger man had less time treading the frozen tundra of their homeland, four years of service in the United States Army Special Forces had brought his earth skills up to par with his grandfather’s.
Their eyes met, and agreement passed between them. No, there was no immediate danger — at least not from this explosion. The earth around them would stay secure and stable, but neither was certain that the same could be said for the people crawling around Mother Earth’s surface. White Wolf made a small motion with his hand, barely a movement. The other man nodded. They moved out silently, wraiths against the barren arctic landscape. Forty paces down the path, a bare trail that no one except an Inuit could have spotted, White Wolf paused. Morning Eagle stopped five paces behind him, far enough away that they would not both be immediately caught up in any break in the thin crust of ice ahead. Then the younger man heard it, too.
They moved to the edge of the path, climbed two small shelves, and peered down at the campsite below them. The sharp glare of light was almost painful to their eyes, accustomed as they were to the gentle days and long nights of the arctic winter. Fire ringed a crater in the ice, the center of which was burning a hellish red-gold in the midst of the blackened, crusted circle.
White Wolf pointed at the men assembled below. Four of them — five counting the dead body they’d seen further down the trail.
After watching the intruders for ten minutes, the Inuits slipped silently away, back to the other side of their island and to their boat. The noise of the outboard motors couldn’t be avoided, but they decided that the safety distance from the island would bring was worth the risk. Even so, White Wolf surmised, the white men arguing on the ice on the other side of the small island would probably not even understand what had happened. But the Inuits did — oh, yes, they certainly understood this latest skirmish in the ongoing battle between two giant nations laying claim to the Inuit territory.
And, given half a chance, the Inuits would have a say in their own destiny. That they would.
CHAPTER 6
Tombstone Magruder held the radio receiver away from his ear. The voice screaming on the other end of the encrypted circuit was clearly audible to everyone in the room. He watched his chief of staff frown, his junior officers struggle to maintain their composure.
Finally, when the voice paused for breath, Tombstone put the receiver back to his mouth. “Yes, Admiral,” he said mildly. “I understand your position. But I’m not certain that there’s anything-” Tombstone stopped talking as the voice on the other end of the speaker resumed its tirade.
Finally, when he’d had enough, Tombstone interrupted. “I appreciate your call, Admiral Carmichael, but I’m a bit confused by your orders. The last time I studied our chain of command structure, ALASKCOM reported to commander, Pacific Fleet, not to Third Fleet. I called to discuss your tactical situation in my geographic area, not give you rudder order. Perhaps I didn’t make that clear.” This time, he kept the receiver at his ear, sacrificing the safety of his eardrums for a little privacy. He waved his hand dismissively at his staff as he listened to the tirade resume.