‘She can’t. She’s British.’
‘She’s in the White House. It can be done.’
Carrie took another mouthful and washed it down with bottled water. Vitruk waited, his stare intrusive, threatening. ‘Even if he’s ordered to, he won’t surrender,’ she said.
Vitruk picked up a remote, turned on a television screen on the wall, and flipped it to what looked like a military surveillance feed. ‘There are eight hundred American troops on the north side of the island. Work with me, Dr Walker. Please. These men are like sitting ducks and I can call an airstrike on them at any time.’
‘Why would you do that? Lose more men and helicopters?’ Carrie kept eating. She knew Vitruk would ratchet things up and she tried to keep her expression casual. ‘I will not be part of bringing Rake in because, like you say, he is my fiancé, and if I were in your shoes, I would kill him for what he’s done.’
‘When I kill him, I will be doing you a favor. No woman should be with a man like that.’
‘Why? Is that what your wife said about you?’ It came out fast, straight and blunt, and Carrie wasn’t even sure if she gave it a moment’s thought that she was comparing Rake to Vitruk. She bit her lower lip as her hard-assed expression weakened for a second, enough for Vitruk to notice. His face went dark as wood. Elbows on the table, he rested his chin on his hands. He smiled, not triumphant, not false either. It smiled of regret, and his voice softened. ‘My daughter was like you, sharp, unafraid. Pretty, confident. Larisa would be your age, now, if she had lived.’
He paused, seeking Carrie’s curiosity to hear more, a trap she would not fall into. A father grieving the loss of a daughter did not diminish Vitruk as the monster who had ordered his men to shoot Joan. She stayed quiet.
‘Larisa died in a snowmobile accident,’ he said. ‘Slammed into a tree because I was drunk.’
‘You don’t get daughters back by killing people. Go see a therapist.’ Carrie kept her expression closed.
His eyes trembled and he gripped his fingers together. ‘I know the mind of a man like Rake Ozenna. It is about war, hunting and killing. He will not be a good father to your children. Whatever dreams you and he have will come to nothing.’
Carrie forked the last food around her plate. Was he playing her or, in this strange place and moment, was he unloading the mess of his own mind? One thing her job had taught her was that some form of humanity lay inside the worst of people. But none of that solved the situation right now, so she said flatly, ‘Looks like you and I are negotiating again. I’ll treat the wounded, Admiral, but I’m not making that call.’
Like lightning, Vitruk switched to anger. ‘Damn you, woman!’ He banged the table with his fist. Coffee spilt. ‘You have no idea what is at stake.’
Carrie pulled a paper napkin from the holder to soak it up. ‘You’re right, I don’t. But I do know that if you order your troops off Little Diomede and—’
‘Grow up!’ Vitruk’s tone was hard, but measured again. ‘I saved your life out there. If you don’t make the call, give me one reason to keep needing you.’ His eyes were powerfully aggressive as if to expel any doubt about his intentions. Carrie had to stop herself from shaking. She was about to reply, but found her throat constricting. Whatever she said would have come out limp, hesitant, and pleading. There was something else, something more than Rake. Vitruk only wanted to use Carrie now as a direct line to the White House, and she had lost count of the injured and dying she had treated because they had challenged power against which they could never win. Vitruk had the guns. He might be merciless, but he was not stupid, and she had revealed her self-doubt. He checked the phone, punched on the dial, slid it across to her, and said, ‘Stop being a stubborn, high-minded, destructively moral bitch and ring your friend.’
As soon as she hesitated, both she and Vitruk knew she would make the call.
THIRTY-FOUR
The vibration from the incoming call woke Stephanie from a short deep sleep on the couch in Prusak’s office. She fumbled with her phone, working out where she was. Prusak was by her side. He put in an earpiece for the line intercept and checked his tablet. ‘From the Russian base,’ he said.
Stephanie pressed the answer button.
‘Steph. It’s Carrie.’ The tone was calm and professional.
Stephanie gripped the phone harder than she should. ‘Carrie! Good God! Are you OK?’
‘I’m at the Russian military base on Big Diomede with Admiral Vitruk who instructed me to make this call,’ Carrie said like a doctor delivering a bad diagnosis.
‘The helicopter… the crash…’ Stephanie stumbled on her words. ‘Are you hurt?’ Phone pressed to her ear, she swung her legs off the couch to sit upright.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Carrie’s short precise answer shook Stephanie into doing the same. Vitruk was bound to be listening. This was not a time to show emotion. ‘Are you captive?’ she said.
‘Correct.’
‘Is Captain Ozenna with you?’
‘He is not.’
Stephanie shot a look at Prusak who shrugged as if to say that not even the NSA with all its gadgets had located Ozenna. He patted his hand in the air: Stephanie should hold back and let Carrie talk. An echo peppered with shots of static hung for a few seconds until Carrie said, ‘The Admiral has some requests. He needs a guarantee that the marine units on the northern side of Little Diomede will remain on standby. He wants Captain Ozenna and the civilian Eskimos who are at large with weapons between the two islands to give themselves up. Once that is done he is sure that a solution can be found without further confrontation. He warns, however, that any attack on Big Diomede island will be considered as an attack on Moscow and there will be consequences.’
Prusak mouthed that Stephanie should speak to Vitruk directly. ‘Thank you, Carrie,’ she said. ‘That is very clear. I need to speak directly to Admiral Vitruk.’
She heard Carrie talking in a low voice. When the line picked up again, it was Vitruk. ‘Hello, Madam Ambassador. I trust my requests are clear to you. They are small and I insist they are carried out.’ He spoke with an East Coast drawl, peppered with diplomatic charm, the type Stephanie had handled for years.
‘Your first responsibility, Admiral, is the safety of civilians, including Dr Walker.’
‘Civilian safety is in your hands, not mine. Since we rescued the pregnant teenager, Russia has saved lives. America has taken them.’
Prusak pointed towards the Oval Office. ‘All right, Admiral. I’ll take your wish list to the President. You have my word on that.’
‘Dr Walker is sitting with me,’ said Vitruk. ‘Please be quick. We are at a most critical stage.’
Prusak circled his finger in the air for her to keep the conversation going.
‘Critical stage? What do you mean? We are talking about winding things—’
There came static, clicking, then silence. Stephanie turned the phone round and round in her hand. His reference to a critical stage must mean the missile, nothing to do with Ozenna, except Ozenna could be the only obstacle that now lay between Vitruk and success. A few hours back Vitruk would have thought he had a whole army to take Ozenna out. So far, he had failed.
‘Steph, we need to brief the President,’ said Prusak, opening an adjoining door to the Oval Office. Stephanie desperately wanted to freshen up, splash some water on her face, but that would have to wait. She combed her fingers through her hair and followed Prusak in. Harry was there, unshaven and still wearing the same clothes. She counted twenty-two people, Pacolli, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, others she recognized, including Holland, who was by the window looking subdued and thoughtful. The conversation halted and Prusak signaled Stephanie to speak. She ran through the call recounting the demand that Ozenna surrender and the US troops remain on standby. She ended on Vitruk’s warning about a critical stage. ‘Does anyone know what he means?’ said Swain.