"This is crazy!" Kismet admitted, shouting to be heard, as fat raindrops began pelting them at a forty-five degree angle. He took Irene's hand and led her back to the hold. The sound of the storm was muted, but when the rain changed to hail, it banged on the gold-covered enclosure like an enormous snare drum.
"I agree," replied Irene, when they were sheltered. "Why didn't you just let Anatoly tow us back to port?"
"Because Anatoly is an FSB agent, or at least an informant."
"That's ridiculous. You weren't there when Captain Severin questioned us. He hates Anatoly. He thinks he's a traitor for helping my father escape."
"All an act. Ask yourself this; how did Severin find us out here?"
"An informant in the city. Severin admitted as much."
Kismet shook his head. "An informant might have seen us leave, but he wouldn't have known where we were going. Only Anatoly could have supplied that information."
"Severin said that he found us when Anatoly radioed for a weather report."
"Well, I think that he called for another weather report just after we raised this galley. Funny that he didn't mention that a storm was rising. I'd say the forecast calls for trouble."
The slopes on the eastern face of the Caucasus were calm. No wind stirred the dusting of snow that had fallen earlier in the day; no breeze caused the bare limbs of the trees to sway. But something was passing through the woods, something unseen like the wind, but with a greater potential for destruction.
The men were by no means invisible, but the white camouflage shells that covered their winter parkas blended in with the snowscape and made them almost impossible to see. Their stealthy progress through the forests and up the slopes would not have attracted the notice of a casual observer.
After hours of hiking and climbing, their destination was nearly in site. As they crested a hill, getting a good look at the German encampment, they paused briefly to go over the plan and make a few last minute modifications, and then fanned out, encircling the small tent city.
Lysette Lyon took the opportunity to review her objectives: recover the plans for the EMP bomb, capture or terminate Halverson Grimes, and if possible, bring back the Golden Fleece. This raid, if successful, would accomplish the second of the three.
So far, Kismet had mostly outmaneuvered her efforts to recover the data, smuggled from Germany to the United States via Morocco. She had received a severe dressing-down for having involved her former lover in the first place, a civilian in the employ of the United Nations, though to Lyse it had seemed like a perfect plan. However, that indiscretion was quickly forgotten when she had delivered the spy, captured at Kismet's apartment, as well as the news that Halverson Grimes was a traitor, to her section leader.
The confirmation of Grimes' treachery was important, but what mystified her was the response of her superiors to the news of Kismet's search for the Golden Fleece. Though she was given explicit instructions that Kismet should not know of their interest, she was left with no illusions about the intention of the United States government to gain sole possession of the legendary relic. Lyse was awarded an unexpected commendation, and given command of a Crisis Operation Liaison Team — the CIA equivalent of the German Special Forces team they would be facing — in order to secure her objectives. Little had Kismet realized when demanding her help that he was playing right into their hands.
Nevertheless, she still did not comprehend everyone's interest in the Golden Fleece; she had seen a movie about it and it hadn't struck her as being especially useful. When she had convinced Kismet to give up a copy of the plans at the shore side rendezvous, she had believed one of those directives to be more or less satisfied. But the news that Grimes was in the mountains and not in Germany as everyone had assumed was welcome beyond words. With luck, she and her team would be able to snatch the traitor out of the Caucasus without having to risk an international incident with Germany.
Their penetration of the camp went unnoticed by the bored sentries who patrolled the perimeter under the glare of klieg lights. Lyse and the COLT squad leader went from tent to tent, listening and observing for any clue that might direct them to their target. Finally, they reached the edge of the big tent concealing the dig site. Lyse lifted the heavy canvas and peeked inside.
Soldiers milled about, some standing guard and others laboring in the pit. She ignored them, focusing on a table near the edge of the dig where three men were conversing in heated tones. She recognized Grimes instantly. The tall blond man with whom he was arguing she identified as Sir Andrew Harcourt, Kismet's nemesis. The third man she did not know, but took him for a German commando. His impudence in conversing with the other men suggested he was more than just an aide-de-camp. Lyse cupped one hand over her ear, to make out the argument.
"…failure, Harcourt," Grimes roared. "Kismet would have found it days ago."
"Kismet is an amateur," retorted the seething British archaeologist. "He is a cowboy. Like the rest of you Americans, if he can't find something in a few days, he gives up. Archaeology is about patience and persistence…."
"Spare me your lectures," the commando officer interjected tersely. "I am here for results."
"I beg your forgiveness Colonel," Grimes remarked, as though he found the man's ire merely inconvenient. "My 'expert' was apparently vastly overrated."
"If you think Kismet is so vital to the success of this endeavor," snapped Harcourt, "then you ought to have kidnapped him, as you did Chereneyev. That seems to be the way you fellows operate."
"That's not a bad idea," observed the colonel.
"As a prisoner, Kismet would accomplish nothing. I had believed that he would undertake a search on his own that would prove more successful than our excavation here. But my observers report that he has not left the city. Perhaps the artifact does not exist, as Mr. Kismet has repeatedly asserted.”
"It does exist." Harcourt was insistent. "Chereneyev verified its existence by bringing us here. Your scientists verified it when they analyzed the metal fragments."
"Nothing has been 'verified.' A rare metal was discovered. It was you that made the connection to the Golden Fleece. And a tenuous connection it has proven to be."
"Then our work here is in vain." Lyse had difficulty understanding the German officer's heavily accented English; she could not tell if it was a question or a statement. "We risk war with the Russians so that you, Herr Harcourt, can chase a wild goose? Or to find your magic metal, Herr Grimes? This madness must end. This operation is over."
"I agree," intoned Grimes.
"Well then," Harcourt huffed. "When I find the Golden Fleece, we shall see who has the last laugh."
From her vantage point, Lyse resisted the urge to chuckle at the stuffy Brit's indignation. Before the three men could go their separate ways however, a soldier in blank white fatigues approached the colonel, snapping to attention. The officer addressed the soldier in German then took a brief report.
"What is it?" Grimes inquired. "Kismet?"
Lyse's heart skipped a beat. Had her team been detected?
"There is an unusual storm on the sea," the German explained. "If we do not make haste, we will be trapped up here."
"Give the order."
"In what respect is the storm unusual?" Harcourt asked.
"What?"
"You said that the storm was 'unusual.' What makes this storm different than any other?"