“The C130-J will be returning to Bardufoss for more equipment.”
“Are we under threat here?” she asked.
“Not that we know, but we must be ready for that. We’re bringing in a NASAMS 2 anti-aircraft missile system and its AN/MPQ-64 Sentinel radar. We’ll be close by, but we’ll have patrols out around the island constantly. We have more men due on the next flight.”
“Does that mean we’re confined to the house?” asked Nils.
“No, you can go out around the settlement or further away skiing. But you must let me know; I’ll have an escort with you at all times. You can get me on this.” He passed over a military-style walky-talky. “The channel’s already set. Press that button to speak. Your call sign is White Goose. I’m Osprey.” Major Tandberg stood. “That’s it for now. Enjoy your arctic vacation.” The Major left.
“Ok, let’s see about a coffee, Nils.”
She returned from the kitchen with two cups. “Are you happy with things?”
He took the cup from her. “I could do with a computer, online. Otherwise, I’ll go stir crazy.”
“You’ll have to speak with Osprey on that one. I think they will get you one, as long as you don’t try to contact the people in the forums.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s a given.”
“This looks like it could get to be a problem: the Jegerkommando, they’re worried about Russian company.” She frowned. “I’ll ask for a Tavor, but I doubt I’ll get one.”
He frowned. “What’s that?”
“An Israeli army assault rifle.” She shrugged. “What else would I need?” She sighed. “I suppose one of those HK416s they carry will do.”
Nils stood and looked out of the window. “It’s dark now; the light doesn’t last long.”
“It’s that time of year, Nils. It’s hardly light at all midday, dusk for an hour, and that’s it.”
“Not much to do tonight. There are some films in the rack. We’ll have sat or cable TV.”
“Nils?” She sat up. “How about we go out skiing tomorrow, explore the place?”
“Yeah, sounds ok by me. We’ll need to call the Major tomorrow.”
The two of them microwaved a meal, watched TV and then went to bed.
The following morning Nils fixed breakfast, while Marjan got the skiing equipment ready and called Osprey. They dressed in the warm weather gear, strapped on the LED lights and went outside, where two Jegerkommando were waiting.
“You lead the way,” one of them said. “We’ll stay 150 meters or so behind.”
They pushed off into the darkness, and the head-mounted lights illuminated the way. They started off by heading toward the main settlement.
The snow was best just off the road and Nils set up a loping gait; the cross-country skis swished one after the other. Nils looked up and it was just possible to see the tops of the snow-covered mountains.
They passed close to the runway. He looked over and there were two aircraft, an ATR two engine turboprop, probably seating around 50, thought Nils. He’d long been interested in aircraft, he’d taken lessons and almost got his licence, but his career had intervened. There was also an old-looking Piper PA 46 single engine aircraft, similar to the one he’d learned in.
They skiied on and were now close to the main settlement. Marjan skiied up to the store and went inside, and Nils followed her. She bought a few items, mostly bottles, creams and sprays for the bathroom. Nils hadn’t a clue what most of them were for.
They left, donned the skis and moved on. As it became lighter, he pointed up the slope of a hillside. They ascended, then stopped. They looked back over the settlement of Longyearbyen.
“It’s bigger than you think,” she said.
“Yeah, I thought there’d be a few huts and that’d be it. But no, it’s a small town really.”
They heard engine noise off to the right in the distance, and there it was, the C-130J returning with the rest of its load and more troops. It was flying low with its gear down on finals for the runway.
They skiied back down towards the town and walked around. There was a pharmacy, a hotel, supermarket, library and a pub. Nils stopped outside the Svalbar Pub.
“This, we have to try,” he said grinning.
“I’ll go along with that,” smiled Marjan. They spent the day skiing further out of town and then around six called at the pub for a few drinks. The two Jagerkommandos went in too but didn’t drink.
The dark blue Mercedes S-class sped down the forested snow-covered road several miles north of the city close to the Moscow Canal. The car pulled off the road and stopped at a tall gate.
The guard looked inside at the occupants and inspected their passes. “Welcome.”
The gate opened and the car drew up to a Dacha, a large house behind birch trees. A striking woman in her fifties and a man of similar age in a military uniform got out and walked to the door, then another guard let them in.
They were taken to a comfortable room with a desk, couch, chairs and a large flat TV.
“Hello.”
The man sat watching the TV didn’t get up, but muted the sound. “Sit where you want.”
Viktoria Shaykhlislamova, head of the SVR, and General Vladimir Yegorov, Chief of Russian Defence staff, sat on the couch. The man on the chair was Denisov, a senior member of the inner state cadre. Second in command of the government, some said the power behind the throne.
“Well, make your report.”
The woman spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel. “The Mossad tried to trick us. I’ll admit, the bastards did so for a short while, but not for long. They led us to Berlin, a false lead. We’ll get them back by setting them a puzzle in Syria; they won’t like it.”
“So, where is he?” asked Denisov.
“He’s in Svalbard, he’s being watched over by the Norwegian forces. The Americans and the Europeans are still squabbling over him.”
“Svalbard,” said Denisov, “an Arctic waste of a place. I visited it back when I worked for you lot. Do you want tea?” He pressed a switch on his wristwatch, and a man appeared at the door.
“Sir?”
“Bring tea and some biscuits.”
The man nodded and left.
“Mossad,” Denisov spat it out. “Once, if I’d visited Israel, they’d have taken me to some cellar and tortured me. Now they’d play the national anthem as I left the aircraft.” He shook his head. “I know our people still want to get their hands on him. I had some radar nutcase and an akademisyen, both from Yekaterinburg, in here yesterday. Neither spoke Russian; it was maths or fuck all. They were quizzing me on this quantum shit. They want this Dane badly. Any ideas, Shaykhlislamova?”
She spoke carefully. “We could get people in there, but getting him out, that’s very tough. I couldn’t promise we could do it.” Viktoria looked to the General.
General Yegorov cleared his throat. “He’s protected by a couple of platoons of Jagerkommando, and that’s not good. We could do it two ways: one is a team of Spetsnaz inserted quietly, the other isn’t. It involves….”
Denisov broke him off. “Which is more likely to succeed?”
“The second one, sir, but…”
“Never mind, General Yegorov, just get it done. NATO’s not having him. I want that Danish egghead here or killed in the attempt.”
“Look what I got.”
Nils looked up from the computer screen. Marjan was stood in jeans and a camouflage tee-shirt with a white H&K 416 assault rifle cradled from her right upper arm across her chest.
“I got it from the Jagerkommando.”
“You don’t say. How?”