SCOTT. SHACKLETON. OATES. AMUNDSEN.
Four early-twentieth-century Polar explorers.
The very toughest of men, who were able to withstand unimaginable hardships and could only be stopped by death.
Just like his four top assassins. And like the explorers, two of them were British, one of them Irish, and one Norwegian.
He’d just told the assassin code-named Scott that the team was to immediately deploy to the United States.
His instruction was as precise as his shot that hit the rabbit.
Kill Cochrane.
PART II
FIFTEEN
Wind and ice rushed into the house as Ulana opened the door, and she had to use all of her body weight to resecure the entrance once she was inside the kitchen. She removed her ski goggles, balaclava, and gloves, jumped up and down to shake the snow off her clothes, placed her bare hands around the kettle, and shuddered as the warmth aided her fingers’ circulation.
From the other side of the kitchen, Will said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not putting a bullet in my brain, cutting my body into pieces, and scattering my remains in Greenland.”
Ulana smiled. “It took a lot of my willpower not to do that.”
“What changed your mind?”
Ulana folded her arms and looked at him. “You knew what we were doing here and in Canada, and yet you never told anyone.”
“It suited me not to.”
“Even so, you could have sold us out at any time.”
“Yes.”
She drummed fingers against the wall, thinking. “I’m going to take you to Canada.”
Though he was hugely relieved, this was the last thing he’d expected Ulana to say. “Of course, I’m delighted you said that. But why would you do it?”
Ulana answered quietly, “Every month I fly my guys into Canada. Fat generals in Moscow tell us it’s important work, but we’re not stupid. It’s all a load of crap. And providing we don’t freeze to death first, doing crap work doesn’t change the fact that if we get caught, it’s life imprisonment in a high-security Canadian prison after the Mounties have interrogated us.” She hesitated, then said, “Of course, we’d try to escape before that happened, though things rarely go as planned.” Her voice trailed. “I don’t envy you.”
Will kept his mouth shut.
“I spent most of last night trying to decide why I wanted to help you. In the end it came down to one thing — people like you and I have worked for so long in the field, it no longer seems relevant that we’re Russian, American, or British; GRU, CIA, or MI6. Because we’re not really any of those things, are we?”
“No.”
“Instead, we’re just weird people doing weird things in weird places, and all the while we rarely have a clue if what we’re doing is of any use to anyone. And when we go home we…”
“Aren’t like the people around us.”
Ulana nodded. “I’m helping you because you know what it’s like to be me. And maybe one day you can return the favor and help me.”
“I’d like that.” He was about to elaborate.
But Ulana held up her hand. “Kicking up out there. It’ll be a very bumpy crossing.”
“You tell me if it’s safe to fly.”
“It’s never safe to fly. Not in these little birds. I think all that first-class 747 spy travel has made you a bit naive.”
Will recalled that the last time he’d been in a small airplane it had been torn apart during an emergency crash landing, moments before a sniper shot him and all of his men.
Ulana tossed him a small document.
An American passport.
He turned to the page containing the photo. “You’re certain this won’t be missed?”
Ulana shrugged. “Out here stuff gets lost, or ruined by the weather. I’ll just request another one. Moscow won’t think twice about it. Just make sure you keep the beard.”
The alias passport belonged to one of her men, also bearded. While the photo and Will looked reasonably similar, he doubted there was a sufficient match in their looks to pass the scrutiny of a border crossing. But Will wasn’t intending to thrust it into the hands of a professional immigration officer; instead, if needed, it was solely for use in-country. “You didn’t need to pull out all the stops for me.”
“Dumping you midwinter in Canada with nothing but a passport to back you up is hardly pulling out the stops.” Ulana started preparing herself a hot drink. “You got yourself a woman yet?”
“No.”
“Occupational hazard, I guess.”
“You seemed to have cracked it with Filip,” he said.
“Not anymore. He couldn’t stand the wait.”
“I thought he knew the deal. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Obviously not.” She poured sugar into her tea. “Not much sense about today, is there?”
“None.”
Ulana burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve just realized that we’re finally putting this shit task to some use. Not quite what my superiors intended though.”
“You sure about the cache?”
“I’m sure. We have to replenish them with new supplies into Greenland, and often as not we have to chuck out the old stuff because it’s become damaged over time. Warn you though: not much in this cache.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
Ulana studied him while frowning. “You sure you should be doing this? America? Things are about to get considerably worse for you.”
“It’s a better option than hiding out in a bar in central Africa, drinking shooters just to numb the boredom.”
Ulana sipped her tea. “You could come and live in Russia.”
“No thanks.”
“Why not?”
Will chuckled. “Where do I begin to answer that?”
“At the end.”
“My end wouldn’t be living in a pretty dacha. It would be a Russian president one day realizing that he could hand me over to the West in return for big favors.”
“True. By the way, you were lucky to reach us when you did. We’re being pulled out in a few weeks — back to Moscow; team change over.”
“What are you going to do?”
Ulana beamed. “I’m adopting a little Russian boy. All the paperwork’s been approved.”
“Wow! That’s wonderful news.” Instinctively, Will wanted to step forward and embrace her, but stopped himself doing so because Ulana wasn’t the cuddly type. Still, he felt genuinely pleased for her, his smile matching her own. “Are you staying in GRU?”
“Have to. Our economy’s still fucked and who else would want someone who can fly planes under the radar, sit in ice holes for days on end while looking through binos, and shoot a man in the head from a distance of over one thousand yards?”
“Oh, I can think of quite a few employers who’d jump at the chance of having someone like you on board.”
Criminal bosses, among others.
“Seen too many of my pals going down that path. Most of them are in prison or dead. No, I’ll apply for a cushy training job in GRU. It’ll keep me in Moscow; let me be a mom.” She checked her watch. “Hope you don’t get airsick, because I’m going to have to fly low. Weather aside, this is a risky flight — I’m taking you to Nova Scotia. It’s the farthest south we operate and there’s a far greater risk of compromise. But dropping you in Newfoundland, Labrador, or anywhere farther north would be a death sentence.”
Will was relieved. From the Maritime province of Nova Scotia, he could travel northwest to New Brunswick and then cross the border into Maine.
“You got assets in country who’re going to help you travel south?”