‘So, did Carrie send it?’ asked Stephanie, amazed yet again at the speed with which American intelligence technology worked.
‘Unlikely,’ said Prusak. ‘These are live pictures of her in the school gymnasium. The hotspot is two hundred yards south and at a higher elevation. So, we may have someone out free on the island.’
‘Find them,’ instructed Swain.
Prusak tilted his head towards the President. ‘Lagutov’s calling.’
‘I warn you,’ said Holland. ‘You will not negotiate.’ His eyes swept around others in the room, many of whose careers would depend on how the new President viewed their loyalty.
Swain picked up. Prusak switched it to speaker. Swain said nothing. He let the silence grow. Then the Russian President said, ‘I’m sorry it’s come to this, Mr President, but it’s out of my hands. The Duma has ratified the new border. We have no problem with the civilian population. But we cannot tolerate a military presence. If you do not begin withdrawing your aircraft, I will instruct my forces to defend Russian sovereign territory.’
TWELVE
The roar of the F-22s faded to a distant growl. They would be back. Two lines of helicopters faced each other like airborne gladiators marking ground to see which would move first. The Russian ones glowed like Christmas trees. The Americans remained darkened, no lights at all.
Rake had to get Timo to safety. Surrender might save Timo’s life, but not Carrie’s and those of the hostages in the school. He drew Timo firmly towards him, shielding him from the Russians with his body. Timo clung to his jacket as Rake made two simultaneous judgments. Timo’s outburst would have exposed his identity to the Russians. Golov would cut his losses and turn Rake in before his own cover was blown. The Russians would be under orders to avoid casualties, which gave Rake an advantage. But trained soldiers do not allow themselves to be shot. Either Rake faced them down or he surrendered and, if he did that, there were plenty of reasons why he would not survive. Golov would need Rake dead to protect himself. He and the others would not forgive Rake’s killing their comrade. Surrender would make him a dead man walking.
Golov looked at Rake, eyes squinted against the weather. For a few minutes, Rake had been his ticket to New York, but no more. They both knew it. Once again, they were kill-or-be-killed enemies. Golov was quick, fast, and good, except Rake had emptied his weapon of ammunition, which gave him an advantage, probably for five seconds. Maybe seven. The soldier behind Golov was just a kid, red-faced and feeling the cold.
Rake shot the young soldier in the neck, a single round, just above the flak jacket. The bullet caught the carotid artery and a jet of blood sprayed onto the snow as the man crumpled.
Golov, in a sideways leap, went for the soldier’s automatic rifle as it fell. He skillfully picked it up, familiar with the mechanism and moving fast, but as he lifted the rifle the heel of his boot slid under the snow.
Rake hurled himself forward and drew his knife. As they hit the iron-hard surface, he drove it into the side of Golov’s neck, withdrew it, and plunged it back into his right eye, twisting the blade. A moment of quiet was broken by a soft cry from Timo and a crackle on the radio, a Russian voice asking about the gunshot. Rake grabbed the radio. ‘Turned out to be a kid,’ he said in Russian. ‘Sending him down now.’
Rake pushed himself to his feet. Soaking blood from the two bodies created a blanket of speckled maroon and red in the snow. He dragged them into the old army post. He went through their pockets. Neither carried ID. He took the radio, ammunition, and the phone. Timo squatted, staring at the snow, shaking. Rake knelt with him and held his face between his hands. ‘Look at me, Timo.’ The boy raised his head.
‘It’s OK,’ said Rake. ‘You’re safe.’
‘I’m not scared. I’ll soon be old enough to kill men too.’ Timo looked down again, his hands tightly clasped.
Rake pressed a flashlight in his hand. ‘I want you walk down towards the school. Put your hands high above your head and shine the flashlight into your face.’
Timo nodded.
‘Soldiers will meet you. They’ll take you to the school and they’ll ask you what happened. Tell them you saw nothing. You heard a gunshot. That you’re frightened.’
Timo nodded again.
‘Good man.’ Rake lifted him to his feet.
‘Uncle Rake, look.’ Timo twisted around to face the Russian island where a firefight between Russian and American helicopters had broken out. A Black Hawk dissolved into an airborne furnace. The fuselage lit up, lurched clumsily, and dropped fast towards the ice. Its rotor blades trailed red and yellow flames. An F-22 roared overhead, a missile speeding out from its starboard wing pod. A Russian helicopter evaporated into a white inferno.
‘Go.’ Rake pushed Timo gently out onto the path. The boy turned on the flashlight, raised his arms above his head, and walked surefootedly down towards two Russian soldiers who stepped into his path.
Carrie’s phone vibrated and lit up with an incoming call from the number that Rake had messaged.
THIRTEEN
Like a museum exhibit, Stephanie’s phone lay on the Oval Office desk, its signal wirelessly fed into her earpiece and through speakers so everyone could hear. She was making a call to the phone that sent her the message.
‘This is Stephanie Lucas. I am a friend of Dr Carrie Walker,’ she said.
Swain sat behind the desk, with Prusak at one end. Holland leant against the wall by the window. Stephanie was at the front of the desk, her gaze switching between three contrasting screens of the burning helicopter wreckage, the Russian parliament, and a calm scene in the school on Little Diomede where Carrie worked with Russian paramedics. Slater stood silent next to Stephanie, arms folded.
Key principals spread around the room. By now the Secretaries of State and Treasury were there together with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Directors of Homeland Security and the CIA, and specialists on Russia.
‘I am…’ The voice from the island was drowned out by a howl of weather. When the wind subsided, Stephanie asked, ‘Who are you and where are you?’
‘Captain Rake Ozenna, 207th Infantry Group of the Alaska Army National Guard. I am on the island of Little Diomede, which has been occupied by Russian forces. Dr Walker suggested I call. I need to ask now who you are and how secure is this line.’
She glanced at Prusak who said, ‘Both ends.’
‘It’s secure, Captain. I am the British Ambassador to Washington. I am in the White House. You can speak freely. What is happening there?’
‘We just arrived—’ The rest of the words were lost in the wind. When the line cleared, Prusak signaled for Mike Pacolli, as Defense Secretary, to take over. ‘Captain Ozenna, are you in a position to see if there are any survivors from the Black Hawk?’
‘I can see the aircraft, but no sign of life, sir.’
‘What is the situation on the island?’
‘Counting the flights in, I estimate seventy to eighty Russian troops. They have positions on rooftops and up the hill. The villagers are in the school. Any military action targeting the school would result in high casualties of American civilians. I escaped just before the two helicopters went down.’
‘Could ground troops make it across the ice from Wales?’
‘They would need Eskimo guides. The ice is patchy. A man went through today. The Russians have set up a watch post on the top of the island.’