Stephanie guided her guests to a compact informal dining room with a table laid for six. ‘They say the British Ambassador’s residence is a three-dimensional piece of art, the greatest diplomatic home of any country in any capital city,’ she said. ‘So, this room I keep for family, close friends, and colleagues and we’re having plain old pumpkin soup to start.’
She gestured for them to take their seats. It was then, as waiters ladled soup from silver tureens, that a Secret Service agent stepped in straight across to Prusak. His face taut, he leant down, whispering but loud enough for her to hear: ‘I’m sorry, sir. You’re needed back at the White House.’
Stephanie opened a message on her phone and a chill shivered through her. The others looked at their phones. Prusak pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘We have a problem in Alaska.’
FOUR
Seven Russian helicopters stretched between the two islands like dark insects. The lone medical helicopter was coming down directly above the landing pad. Standing on the edge, flashlight in hand, guiding the pilot, Rake struggled to determine if they were here to help or attack. They might have intercepted the phone calls between Carrie and the desk sergeant at Elmendorf-Richardson. They would certainly have heard the radio traffic on Akna’s evacuation. They would know that her life was at risk, she was only fifteen, she was pregnant, her waters had broken, and that a helicopter wasn’t coming back any time soon. From the eight watchtowers along the ridge of the Russian island, they would have tracked them taking Akna down to the school. Behind that northern corner of the island, there was a small old cold war helicopter base. The commander couldn’t have authorized a rescue. But he would have kicked it upstairs and somewhere between the Bering Strait and Moscow a green light would have been given.
Rake had been on plenty of similar operations. If one guy needed to be airlifted out, they would send in a fleet of aircraft to make sure everyone’s back was covered. All of that checked out. But what didn’t was the big question — why didn’t he know? Why wasn’t his phone ringing? Why had Moscow not told Washington what was going on? Or had it, and the messages got lost in a sea of bureaucracy?
Glaring off the ice, Russian flood lamps lit the helipad. Rake used his flashlight to indicate the exact spot where the helicopter should land. The pilot came down slowly, then stopped the descent, keeping ten feet off the ground. He turned to an angle with the northerly wind, a smart move given that a gust could skew the down flap of the rotor blades. As the skids settled on the icy concrete, the draught scattered shoreline debris and tore ice off nearby buildings.
Four soldiers jumped out and took positions either side of the door. They wore medical Red Cross armbands and carried weapons. Two paramedics followed, each with green packs also marked with the Red Cross. A stretcher was passed out to them. A doctor jumped down. The other helicopters stayed right on the unmarked maritime border.
No conversation was possible against the noise. Rake pointed towards the school. He led them through the playground. The school door opened, and Carrie stepped out, a smile across her face. Akna lay, conscious and warm, on two tables pushed together in the small dining room just inside the door.
‘Do you speak English?’ she asked as the Russian medical team swept in.
‘We do.’ The doctor stripped back his face scarf. He was about thirty with a buzz cut and a hard face.
‘Preterm premature rupture of the membrane. The mother is fifteen years old. Pregnancy thirty-five weeks.’ Carrie reeled off a list of drugs that Akna needed. ‘It’s not too late to induce the birth. Or carry out a Caesarean section.’
The doctor shone a pencil light into Akna’s eye and checked her pulse. ‘We need to be quick,’ he said.
‘I’m coming with you.’
‘It is very basic over there. But as you wish.’
The paramedics skillfully wrapped Akna, lifted her onto the stretcher, and carried her out. Carrie moved to the door to follow, but Rake stepped into her path. ‘No, Carrie,’ he said gently. ‘You’ve done all you can.’
‘She’s my patient, Rake. She needs me.’
‘You cannot go.’
‘I’m going. She needs me. I know Russians. They don’t care about life.’
Watched by villagers and the Russian medical team, Rake had a few seconds to convince Carrie to do something totally against her professional beliefs, to abandon her patient. He could not let her go onto the Russian side.
Since the cold war, this had been a closed border. Before that Eskimo families ignored the frontier, crossing back and forth as they had done for centuries. They had completely ignored the Alaska Purchase back in 1867 when America bought Alaska from a cash-strapped Tsarist Russia. Henry used to crack jokes about which country would be buying them next, whether they would all become Japanese.
Rake glanced at Henry, whose expression reflected his own thoughts. Little Diomede had been through emergencies like this before and never once had America asked for help. Nor had Russia offered. Akna needed to be saved, but something wasn’t right. As an American army officer, he couldn’t go with the military of a possible adversary and, as his fiancée, Carrie couldn’t either.
‘You need to stay here,’ he whispered.
‘She’s my patient.’
‘No!’ he countered sharply. ‘She’s now his patient. That’s what trauma doctors do, they save lives. They pass their patients on.’
‘We’ll go.’ Joan stepped forward with Henry. ‘She knows us. It will be better.’
That would work, thought Rake. Akna needed someone with her and, as Eskimos, the Russian would barely notice them. Carrie considered the proposition for a moment and agreed.
‘You got a radio?’ Rake asked Henry.
‘Channel 7. Then 5,’ said Henry.
‘Let us know if it’s a boy or a girl.’ Rake managed a smile. They embraced. Henry was firm and sure of himself. Rake felt uneasy, like he was putting his uncle in harm’s way. But if anyone was to go, it should be Henry and Joan.
As the paramedics carried Akna down, Rake led Carrie onto the terrace to watch them load her into the helicopter. They were interrupted by a command from behind them in bad English. ‘Inside, now!’
Carrie went white, gripping the railing with her glove as if to say I’m not moving. Rake surged with helpless anger. Everything in the young soldier’s voice and expression told him that his instinct had been right. This wasn’t just a medical evacuation. That was why his phone had stayed quiet. America had not been told.
‘What the fuck, Rake!’ Carrie pointed behind them to where troops were herding villagers towards the school.
‘I said inside.’ The soldier levelled his weapon at them, flipping the barrel towards the door. He was nervous. Rake could take him easily. But then what? He didn’t have the numbers to achieve much except get himself killed. Carrie too. By doing what the Russians instructed, he could at least protect her.
Down on the helipad, a soldier stopped Henry, frisked him, and took the radio.
FIVE
‘Never trust those fucking Russians!’ shouted Holland.
‘Whoa there!’ cautioned Prusak, heading for the door.
‘I told Swain about that border and he wouldn’t listen.’
‘Let’s try and keep a lid on things, Mr President-elect.’