‘Captain Ozenna. Matt Prusak. Our tracking has you at the Big Diomede base. Can you confirm that, and that you can talk freely?’
‘Correct, sir.’ Rake spoke in barely a whisper. His cover was a stack of oil drums from which he could see, facing the hangar, the white MI-8 helicopter, red medical crosses emblazoned on its sides.
‘Are you with Admiral Vitruk, or do you know where he is?’ asked Prusak.
‘Negative.’
‘Vitruk plans to launch an ICBM. We need you to confirm him neutralized or dead before the end of President Holland’s speech. That is before 12.15 Eastern Standard.’
‘Copy that, sir.’
‘Whatever is necessary, Captain.’
‘There are American civilians here, sir.’
‘If I can reverse these orders, Captain, I will. Until then, understand that civilian casualties will be far higher if this man wins.’ Forfeit lives to save lives, the concept of collateral damage that had been drilled into Rake from his first days in the army.
Rake had less than fifteen minutes. He watched the helicopter in front of him for signs of human movement. The panel just underneath the tail wing hung open and the steel ladder lay fallen on the apron. Five circular windows ran along both sides of the fuselage. A lone pilot sat in the cockpit, his gaze down on the control panel and his right hand dealing with a switch above him. He was wide open to attack, dangerously visible through the transparent panels that made up the front of the aircraft. Rake was unsure if this was the same man he had seen working on the tail.
From where he was, Rake could see only two of the windows. Henry, on the other side of the hangar, was able to check them all. He signaled that he saw no one else in the aircraft. That didn’t mean there wasn’t. Henry lay still on the ground in black darkness near the hospital entrance, ready to fire into the cockpit. Joan was with Akna and Iyaroak.
The draught from the slowly turning rotor blade snapped a sheet of ice from the roof of the hangar. It smashed onto the apron like breaking crystal, throwing chips against Rake’s face.
Then Vitruk appeared, darkening the arc of a helicopter lamp as he stepped into view, half a profile obscured by mist and light but enough for a shot. Vitruk stayed where he was, part visible, part in shadow. He didn’t walk briskly to the helicopter as he should have done once on the tarmac. He was directly facing the hangar as if he knew Rake was there, and a lightning glance to Henry who had a better-angled view told Rake why — the tautness in Henry’s face, his finger relaxed on the trigger just as Rake’s own finger was tightening to fire. Carrie was handcuffed to Vitruk’s right wrist. As she became more visible, she looked uninjured, walking upright and decisively next to Vitruk. She had on the same green parka. It was torn on the right shoulder and ripped across the left sleeve. There was a dark smear down the front.
Rake’s lethal orders smashed like a meteorite into his concentration. It beat the hell out of him. Carrie was here because of him. She would die because of him. He would have to kill her. He tried to think straight. Instead, a world flashed in front of him without Carrie, bleak, black, apocalyptic. No color. He saw himself going mad like Don.
Vitruk kept walking towards him. He was wearing full dress uniform. He wore a blue-gray fur hat with a red star at the front, its flaps dropped over his ears, and medals adorned the chest of his greatcoat. He carried a phone in his right hand. As he moved closer, his thumb ran up and down as if he were stroking it, moving slowly from bottom to top.
Vitruk had positioned Carrie so that Rake could not make a clean shot. He could see no way of killing Vitruk without risking Carrie… without killing her… If he didn’t shoot Vitruk and Carrie now, they would all be dead from an air strike on the base in a few minutes. What was the difference? And if he allowed Vitruk to go ahead… The White House Chief of Staff’s voice bounced violently around his thoughts — The casualties will be far higher if he succeeds.
Vitruk stopped, lit by the helicopter lamp, midway between the hangar and the aircraft. He pulled Carrie to his side. Rake could see her more clearly now. Her face was masked, her eyes goggled, her hands gloved, the hood of her green jacket pulled over her head. Strands of blonde hair blew about on either side. Her head was turned toward Vitruk. She looked nowhere else.
‘I know you can see me, Ozenna.’ Vitruk’s voice was loud and confident. ‘I can guess what your orders are. To kill me, whatever the cost. But the missile that your bosses in Washington are so worried about is activated in two ways.’ He held up his free hand with the phone. ‘One is by pressing a four-digit code on the dial pad of this phone. The other is losing my pulse, which the phone is monitoring through this strap around my wrist. Just to be sure you understand, Ozenna — if my heart stops beating the missile will launch. So, if you kill me to save Carrie, thousands and thousands more innocent people will die. I’ve arranged it like this to relieve you of the dreadful choice your country has forced upon you.’
Rake stayed quiet. He looked across to Henry, who was locking in a rocket-propelled grenade. Rake signaled for him to hold.
‘Are you hearing me, Captain Raymond Ozenna?’ said Vitruk.
Rake said nothing.
Vitruk continued. ‘The American attack will come in just over ten minutes. Dr Walker and I are flying in this helicopter to our airbase at Egvekinot and then by plane to Moscow. Carrie will be thanked for her work and awarded a medal for her bravery by our State Duma. Then she will be free to go wherever she wishes. She will be proud. She is the daughter of loyal citizens of the Soviet Union. You will stay here to die in the American strike or you can surrender and come with us to Egvekinot, where you will be tried for multiple murders under the jurisdiction of the Chukotka Autonomous District.’
Rake heard a mechanical click as Henry moved forward the safety catch.
‘All this may be a technicality, of course, if your government chooses to go to war.’
The helicopter lamp illuminated Vitruk like a theater spotlight. The moon flooded the rest of the apron. Cold seeped through Rake, making him shiver.
‘None of this is your responsibility, Captain.’ Vitruk peeled down Carrie’s mask. ‘Tell him, Dr Walker. Tell him not to be such a fool.’
Carrie turned towards the hangar. Rake could tell she couldn’t see him, nor did she look for him. Her eyes were steady, like he had seen them a hundred times before. This was Carrie, who knew her own mind. She was telling Rake to stop Vitruk, just like she had insisted he escape from the school gymnasium. Escape. Just do, it Rake. Whatever the stakes. She knew the cost.
There was only one way to negotiate with Vitruk, only one way he could deal with his locked mind, and that was to strip away his motive. If Vitruk wanted to be President of the Russian Federation, if he craved to be lauded in Moscow, if his end goal was to be hailed as the Russian hero who took on America, then he needed to live to see it. Rake had to cut off his lifeline, expose his weakness, then move in and kill.
Rake raised and dropped his forefinger to signal Henry. A whining stream of flame left Henry’s weapon and a rocket-propelled grenade drilled through the helicopter’s cockpit. Its explosion tore the fuselage apart, sending out a reddish-white inferno in a blast that threw Vitruk and Carrie to the ground. Rake ran forward, weapon drawn, heat on his face, his path obscured by black smoke. Vitruk was in vision, gone, in vision again, on the ground, a pistol held against the left side of Carrie’s head.
Rake stopped, his eyes locked on Vitruk’s face. Carrie looked up, her focus on Rake. A smear of soot ran down from her right eye. Blood scarred across her chin.