‘A word, Admiral.’ Carrie walked away from Akna. Vitruk followed. ‘The baby has hydrocephalus. She needs urgent scans and pediatric surgery.’
‘Yes. It is why you are here, to treat here.’ Vitruk spoke calmly, but with concern in his eyes.
‘I can’t do that. She needs a specialist and a big hospital. Nome, or better — Anchorage.’
‘We can’t fly her there.’
‘One of our helicopters can pick her up from here or Little Diomede.’
‘We can’t allow them over. That is the problem. Politics are in the way.’
Carrie controlled her exasperation, a field doctor up against bureaucratic stupidity. ‘OK. Let’s keep her in Russia. Which is your nearest big hospital?’
‘Providenya. But it’s best it’s done here.’
Part of Carrie felt Vitruk was being helpful. Part of her knew she was missing something. Given all that was going down, why was the survival of this baby such a big deal for the Russians? She understood the propaganda value of keeping Akna and Iyaroak alive. But things had moved on. She looked hard into Vitruk’s expression, but couldn’t read him. ‘I can’t treat her here,’ she said. ‘The valves that drain the fluid into the bloodstream are not working. We must operate by making an incision into the skull through which the fluid can drain. A tiny man-made valve gets inserted there. For that you need a pediatric neurosurgeon, the valve, and a scanner, and you don’t have any of that here.’
‘When will she need this?’
‘Now.’
‘It would take hours even to get her to Anchorage or Providenya. How long before the condition is irreversible?’
‘Impossible to say. But this baby’s life is in danger, period. Let me talk to the doctor who carried out the Caesarean section and I might be able to judge more.’
‘He has left for another emergency.’
Like hell he had! But there was no point in challenging. Carrie ran through options. The best was to fly Akna and Iyaroak directly to hospital in Nome and second best to Providenya. It was better to stay here in the field hospital than be stranded on Little Diomede where there was nothing. She often welled up with anger that governments always had enough money to drop bombs and send soldiers to war, but when it came to saving children they would just wring their hands and shake their heads. And that thought, then, gave her an idea.
‘Fly in a pediatric neurosurgeon from Providenya or Vladivostok, together with the equipment needed. We can sterilize this area for the operation.’
Vitruk nodded thoughtfully. ‘I will relay your very helpful suggestion to Moscow and Washington. Thank you, Dr Walker.’ A smile seeped to the edge of his lips. ‘You will now come with me to Little Diomede to tell us what is needed there to keep little Iyaroak safe on her return.’ Charm bled from his face and Carrie realized she had been tricked. She glanced towards Henry and Joan, whose expressions confirmed it. By suggesting a way forward, Vitruk would portray Carrie as his ally, colluding with him in the occupation of Little Diomede.
‘I’ll stay with my patients,’ she said firmly.
Vitruk’s eyes narrowed. ‘You need to come with me. It is not only the lives of your patients that are at risk. The situation is already dangerous.’
‘You’re the one that made it dangerous, Admiral,’ Carrie said, her temper rising. ‘You don’t have to send soldiers with machine guns to fly out a sick mother.’
‘And in return your demented boyfriend killed my men.’
‘Fuck you.’ Carrie stepped to one side to go back to the bedside.
Vitruk blocked her. ‘Swear all you like, but our doctors tell me this baby’s hydrocephalus is congenital, probably because the father is such an animal that he screwed his own daughter for this baby.’
Vitruk stood directly in front of her with soldiers, weapons in hands, on either side. She pulled herself back from the cusp of breaking a golden rule of medicine — never lose your cool. Politicians shout. Doctors save. Her duty was not to pick a fight, but to save Iyaroak’s life. ‘OK, Admiral,’ she said, switching to her most warming doctor-patient bedside manner. ‘I will come with you. What exactly is it you need me to do?’
Her broad smile caught Vitruk off guard. Confusion spread across his face, so Carrie spelt it out. ‘You’re the guy with the guns so I’ll do what you say, but on condition that what I do for you saves Iyaroak’s life. And that will help you because you plan to use a sick baby and a blonde doctor as your propaganda poster in the big swinging dick game Russia is playing with my government.’
Vitruk’s face drew in on itself, as if he had anticipated a negotiation. ‘Anything else?
‘Joan and Henry stay with the patients,’ Carrie replied in the same blunt manner. ‘You fly in a pediatric surgeon for the operation. I join your propaganda machine.’
‘You have my word. So, we have a deal.’ Vitruk pulled on his gloves. ‘Now we go.’
TWENTY-FIVE
Little Diomede, Alaska, USA
The pounding of the Russian helicopter engine woke Rake from a short sleep in the shelter of a hillside crevice. There was thick fog, and tiny hailstones swirled in a wind eddy at the entrance. He reached outside and checked the straps of the sled. They were tight. The sled remained secure, hanging near-vertically from a spiky boulder from which Rake would lower it down the hillside.
His radio crackled and a voice came through in broken English. ‘American Air Force, American Air Force. This is Russian medical helicopter RF-800238. We are returning to Russian island of Krusenstern, known to you as Little Diomede. We insist on safe passage.’
Rake looked for the helicopter. Freezing fog hung in clumps like icebergs in the sky. Fifty yards to the west there was a break and he saw it approaching in a wide loop. Its searchlight soaked into the fog. As it got closer, the rotor draught broke ice shards off the hillside.
They must be searching for him.
The engine labored, its pitch higher than it should be. He checked through binoculars and saw that the helicopter was tilted forward. Its skids were weighed down by ice which would be hardening as it flew through more fog. Freezing fog clung to aircraft metal like a boot gathering mud in a field. The pilot needed to head towards warmer air because soon it would be too heavy to stay up.
An American voice replied on the radio: ‘RF-800238. You are flying illegally over American territory. You were warned earlier. Return to your base now or you will be shot down.’
Rake wasn’t a pilot, but he had flown in plenty of aircraft through Arctic conditions. As the helicopter came into full view, he saw the skids were coated solidly with ice. He couldn’t identify any deflectors around the engine cowlings that would prevent ice or snow being drawn in. No pilot would deliberately take his aircraft through freezing rain unless in an emergency or under orders from a superior officer. Through the cockpit glass, Rake could just make out the face of this pilot, speaking into his headset to the US military with a tone of controlled frustration, a professional, following orders with which he didn’t agree.
If the aircraft stayed where it was, more ice droplets would gather on the rotor blades and other sharp edges, putting on hundreds of pounds of weight. Once formed, the ice could break loose from anywhere at any time, changing the airflow dynamic and plunging the aircraft down or throwing it against the hillside.
It was then, as he shifted his gaze to the main cabin, that he spotted Carrie, sitting rigid, staring ahead, a spotlight shining straight onto her face. It was deliberate. They were using her to tease him out. If he stayed silent, there was a real risk of the helicopter being shot down. If he intervened, he would reveal his position. There was also a good chance the Americans wouldn’t open fire and an equally good chance that the Russians would find him anyway. Rake pressed the transmit button of his stolen radio. ‘This is Captain Ozenna. Do not shoot this aircraft. An American physician is on board. Repeat, do not shoot down this aircraft. Do you copy?’