‘That man is lethal,’ said Holland.
‘It may not have been him. Radio traffic indicates that the shooter was the Eskimo tracker from Goose Creek Correctional, Don Ondola. He stole a snowmobile and escaped after guiding our men to Little Diomede.’
‘You mean without orders?’ Swain raised his eyebrow with a complex expression of anger and respect.
‘Essentially, yes,’ said Pacolli. ‘He’s an escaped civilian prisoner.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He may be with Ozenna.’
‘A damn stupid idea to use either of them,’ said Holland. ‘We need to get them back and under control.’
Swain ignored him. ‘Could they get to the Russian base, and do we still need them there?’
‘The base becomes irrelevant, if the North Korea play is real,’ said Pacolli.
‘It is real, because it’s moved into our frame,’ said Swain.
If Carrie was still alive, thought Stephanie, she would be at that base now, as were the mother, her baby, and two of her family. That made five American civilians. But would they be safer if Ozenna made it to the base, or if the base were left alone?
Harry spoke, half-answering her question. ‘The operation is being run by Alexander Vitruk and right now he is on that base, sir,’ he said. ‘We don’t know exactly what he’s doing, but I can tell you this: we can knock a North Korean missile out mid-flight, no problem. But with a Topol-M, we would be up against world’s finest long-range ballistic-weapons science in the world. It has a good chance of getting through. So, if we want to stop this, we need to stop Vitruk.’
Harry nailed it hard. In the jugular. Holland stiffened, his face reddening, mouth open but, like an actor who had suddenly forgotten his lines, unsure of what to say. Pacolli and Ciszewski stood with hands clasped, alert, ready, awaiting instructions. Harry bristled with purpose and confidence.
Instead of showing pressure, Swain’s face took on an extraordinary aura of calm. ‘The marine unit remains on standby on the north of the island,’ he instructed. ‘It only moves in if there is a real fear for the hostages in the school. Tell Ozenna, if you can reach him, that he has a window to complete his mission. If Ondola is with him, use him too.’
Holland found his voice. ‘You cannot do this without consultation. I will inherit your mess.’
‘You have no standing, Bob,’ Swain replied softly. ‘By calling Beijing, you undermined our national security in the middle of a crisis. But the presidency is bigger than one man, and to see something like this through, a President needs the full support of the American people. Therefore, you should step back and distance yourself from my decisions.’
‘But where are these decisions, Mr President?’ Holland’s tone was laced with sarcasm.
Swain checked his watch. ‘It is now just past two in the morning. I will give Ozenna an eight-hour window to get to that base. In that time, we need to establish the existence of the Topol-M and what’s going in Moscow. Ambassador, are you able to follow up on your message from Sergey Grizlov?’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll try,’ said Stephanie.
‘If we hear nothing from Ozenna and have made no progress by ten o’clock, two hours before the inauguration, I will assume the worst.’
Swain paused as if making sure the choice he had made was right and fully understood. Those receiving his orders were some of the most powerful men and women in the United States. They hung on his next words.
‘After the window closes, we will hit the Big Diomede base and, if necessary, risk and sacrifice the hostages in the school.’
THIRTY-ONE
The first helicopter delivered casualties from the crash scene. Carrie flew in on the second one with Vitruk. Head down against driving snow, she walked quickly across to the base’s main building. Inside, icicles on her coat melted quickly against a blast of hot air from a wall heater just inside the door.
‘Why don’t you thank me for saving your life?’ Vitruk said, shaking with cold and anger as he took off his coat. Water dripped from his jacket sleeve and collar.
Carrie said nothing.
‘The Americans killed eleven of my men,’ said Vitruk. ‘Russia saved the lives of two Americans.’
‘You’ve said that before,’ said Carrie, pressing the skin of her face to check she had feeling everywhere. The skin exposed to cold was on her upper right jaw where her mask had ripped. Feeling was returning, which meant frostbite had not set in.
‘The baby is having the hydrocephalus operation now. Fuck you, Dr Walker. Fuck you and all your people.’
‘I need to treat the wounded,’ said Carrie dismissively. She was damned if she was going to rise to his rage.
‘We have our own doctors.’
A soldier came through the swing doors from the control room and handed Vitruk a piece of paper with a single line written on it. Vitruk pulled off his gloves. Melting snow and water pooled on the concrete floor. He spoke curtly, and the soldier went back inside. A heavy vibrating hum came from the apron outside, another helicopter taking off.
‘What do you know of Henry Ahkvaluk?’ asked Vitruk.
‘Nothing. I met him yesterday morning at the helipad.’ She lifted her medical bag onto a table and opened it. Everything was in place despite the crash.
‘What’s his relationship to the girl?’
‘Uncle or something. I don’t know.’
‘Why did he come over here?’
‘I wanted to come. Rake wouldn’t let me. Henry and Joan volunteered to accompany Akna.’
Two soldiers opened the control-room door. Vitruk walked in, instructing Carrie to follow. It was more crowded than before. Men were on edge, the light dimmer. Blue and green splayed from screens onto faces. She took in the television feeds — maps, anchors, the Fed building rubble, the Russian parliament, Little Diomede. She stepped through a short passageway of cold, then into the warmth of the field hospital.
Three beds were taken by soldiers. One was dead, his face covered with a sheet that wasn’t long enough to go over his boots. On the next, a nurse treated a man for a cut to the head and a gash on his right hand. He must have been the one who hit the ground to avoid the gunman. On the last bed, closest to the door, lay the one whose legs had been shot. He had curly dark hair and bit on a cotton pad against the pain, his young face contorted, eyes squeezed closed. He didn’t utter a sound.
On the other side of the hospital tent, a surgeon and nurse worked inside a sanitized area, screened off with translucent heavy-duty plastic. Little Iyaroak’s life must be hanging by a thread.
‘They’re finishing. The surgeon thinks it’s a success.’ Vitruk pointed to Joan Ahkvaluk, whom Carrie hadn’t noticed because she was obscured by the plastic screen on an upright chair against the wall. Vitruk’s expression was strained, his eyes immobile, fixed on Carrie. ‘Her husband has escaped. You need to speak to her.’
Carrie shivered at the thought of anyone being outside, alone and unprotected. Joan’s hands rested on her knees, her wrists handcuffed together, her eyes closed.
‘Joan, it’s Carrie.’
Joan looked up. Her face carried a confidence that Carrie rarely saw in a woman, total calm even though her husband would be in extreme danger.
‘I need to—’ Carrie began.
‘Don’t do their work.’ Joan lifted her arms to put a finger to her lips. ‘Henry has gone. That is all I know.’
‘I know,’ said Carrie. ‘But all this is out of our control.’
‘This is our land. It is in our control.’
Carrie squeezed her hand and walked back to Vitruk. ‘How did he get out?’
‘Our carelessness.’
‘She has no idea where he is.’