Prusak looked alarmed. ‘Sir, to begin indictment proceedings against the President-elect on the eve of transition—’
‘The United States cannot afford the presidency to be undermined during a crisis. I want to see a piece of paper that tells me how we would stop him.’
Stephanie’s phone vibrated. Messages and calls had been coming so fast that she had been tempted to turn off the alerts. She expected yet another angry message from the Foreign Office in London, which resented that she was working so closely with the White House and out of their control. But it wasn’t. It was an unknown number from Russia. The message almost certainly came from Ozenna. She put the phone on the table for everyone to see. Island top clear.
‘Can we confirm?’ said Swain.
Prusak read from his tablet. ‘The NSA has an ID on the phone,’ he said. ‘It is on a Russian pay-as-you-go system, SIM card registered in Khabarovsk, headquarters of the Far Eastern Military Command. That’s also home base for its special forces Arctic units.’
‘They could be playing us,’ said Swain. ‘What eyes do we have over there?’
‘A Reaper drone now and a satellite within the next twenty-seven minutes,’ said Pacolli. ‘With the fog coming and going every few minutes, the satellite may get nothing. The drone is circling. Images are coming through via Creech Air Force Base in Nevada.’
Prusak switched the feed to the main television screen. The room fell quiet. The image juddered, indicating high wind turbulence above Little Diomede.
‘My God!’ exclaimed Stephanie. She saw five blood-soaked corpses on a barren snow-covered landscape. They had the most horrendous wounds. On two at least the heads were partly blown away. The brutality gripped the room. The camera moved to a sixth body in a similar location, with frozen blood around the mouth and nose, then pulled away into a wider shot showing machine guns and other equipment, but no human life.
Horror surged through Stephanie followed by excitement at what Ozenna had achieved. Then she felt a flash of worry about the type of man Carrie had chosen to be with. She too had married a man like this. They didn’t make good husbands.
‘Yes,’ said Pacolli after moments of silence. ‘It looks like Captain Ozenna has given us a window. With the observation post down, the Eskimo from Goose Creek Correctional Center, Don Ondola, can guide the men across the ice.’
‘Do it,’ said Swain.
Pacolli repeated the orders into his phone. Secretary of State Andrews took a call and immediately held up his hand to indicate its importance. ‘Sir, the Kremlin has contacted our embassy in Moscow. They will take Dr Carrie Walker across to Big Diomede to collect the young mother, her baby, and her guardians. They want our guarantee of safe passage.’
‘Why does Dr Walker have to go?’ asked Swain.
‘The Russian doctor doesn’t want to go to our island. Dr Walker will take over the patient’s care at the base and accompany her back to Little Diomede.’
‘This can’t mean they’re backing down,’ said Prusak.
Far from it, thought Stephanie. She half tuned out of the conversation. To think straight, she needed to get away from the claustrophobic chatter of the Oval Office. Clever people worked in the Kremlin, which meant the White House needed to be cleverer. America had trained a generation of analysts who knew every feuding group in the Middle East and North Africa, but little about the mindset of the Kremlin and even less of Beijing. During the Trump transition, the Chinese stole an American underwater surveillance drone. A few days later they returned it, making things look as if Beijing had backed down. But it hadn’t. That was merely a marker for what was to come. Stephanie sensed that with Little Diomede, Russia was doing the same. ‘With Carrie at the base, they’ll have high-category hostages on both islands,’ she said. ‘So, my guess is that they’re only getting started.’ She stood up, phone in her palm. ‘Matt, you have this in the system?’
‘Every sound you make, Steph.’
‘If it’s OK with you, Mr President, I’ll head back to the embassy and coordinate the Prime Minister’s speech from there.’
‘When is it?’ said Swain.
‘The next shift change.’ Prusak scrolled his tablet. ‘I’ll get you a car.’
‘It’s OK, Matt. I’ll cab it.’
A Secret Service agent took Stephanie out through the visitors’ entrance where she tagged onto the end of the last tour group leaving the building. Fine drizzle laced with cold air fell on her face. Just what she needed. She walked quickly along Pennsylvania Avenue, then turned north up 20th Street. She put her thoughts in order until she was absolutely certain. If the first conversation didn’t work, she doubted the viability of her plan. She brought out a phone, her US one this time, checked her watch for the time difference with Almaty, Kazakhstan, and speed-dialed her ex-husband.
‘Harry, it’s me,’ she said. ‘I need your help.’
TWENTY-FOUR
A Russian soldier strapped Carrie into the seat of the helicopter and removed her goggles. Frozen air sliced into her eyes, bringing tears. The aircraft vibrated as the pilot powered the engine. Carrie held her medical bag on her lap. The soldier pulled off her hood and put a pair of red headphones on her. Radio static replaced the wind’s roar. Then soldiers loaded three body bags — the men Rake had killed. The tops of the bags were open. Each corpse had a number inked on the forehead. Flood lamps came on, throwing out long dark shadows that raced along the rocky coastline. A gray haze hung over the ice, reminding her how Rake described so vividly the winter sun barely rising above the horizon before quickly setting again.
She heard a burst of Russian voices through the headphones, then the pilot speaking in English. ‘American Air Force, American Air Force. This is Russian medical helicopter RF-800238. We are taking off from Krusenstern Island, Little Diomede, on a humanitarian mission. Repeat — a humanitarian mission. American medical doctor Carrie Walker is assisting us. We need safe passage. Repeat — we need safe passage.’
‘Stay where you are,’ came an American military response. ‘Repeat. Do not take off. We are waiting instructions. Remain on the ground.’
Her headset went quiet. Carrie felt the energy of the rotor blades speeding up, thrashing around and around. The pilot flipped buttons. His co-pilot scanned the landscape with binoculars. The two side doors stayed open. A soldier on each side brought down heavy machine guns with belts of ammunition. Carrie was alone in a middle seat, her face numb with cold, her mouth dry. Four soldiers sat in front of her.
The helicopter lifted off, shaking the exposed heads in the body bags. One jerked to the left as the aircraft skewed with a gust of wind. Carrie recognized it as the young soldier Rake had killed in the school.
Instead of turning west towards the big island, they climbed straight up with the nose pointing towards the hill. Wind screeched around her. They rose above the village, its housing clinging to the hillside. Within seconds they were over the top.
Sound came again through her headphones. A different American voice: ‘Russian military helicopter RF-800238. You are flying illegally over American territory. You must leave immediately or risk being shot down.’
‘American Air Force, we are on a humanitarian mission,’ said the pilot. ‘Safe passage is required under international law.’
‘I will not warn you again.’
Yumatov’s voice came in, ‘Dr Walker, press the talk button on the cable. Tell them who you are and what you have on board.’
With her hands inside her gloves, she fumbled until a soldier did it for her. ‘This is Dr Carrie Walker. I’m one of the Americans being held captive. I am on board this helicopter to retrieve the young American woman and her baby and bring them home.’