Hollis looked out and could see where the scattered shore lights ended and a great expanse of black began. “Another few minutes. Look for the lighthouse at the end of the jetty.”
The minutes passed in silence. The coast slipped below them, and they were suddenly out to sea. Hollis looked at the clock: 7:14.
Mills said, “That’s it. No going back.”
Hollis nodded. If they went down and survived the crash, survival time in the near-freezing gulf would be about fifteen minutes.
O’Shea pointed directly ahead. “Lighthouse.”
“See it.” Hollis continued on and within a half kilometer of the lighthouse began to throttle back and pick up the nose. The ground speed hit eighty kph as he passed over the lighthouse on the end of the two-kilometer-long concrete jetty. He swung the nose around to the new heading of 340 degrees and noted the time on the clock: 7:17. “Captain, keep the time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hollis watched the compass and maintained the northwesterly heading but had no doubt that the north wind was blowing them off course. He tried to calculate how much drift there might be in a ten-minute flight if the wind was as strong as thirty to forty knots. He had a sudden desire to meet Mills’ flight advisers. He said to Mills, “What air force was that?”
“Excuse me?”
“The guys with whom you consulted.”
“Oh… what’s the problem? Besides fuel, I mean?”
“Navigation. Two moving objects. He has to contend with the seas; we have to contend with the air.”
O’Shea observed, “Sort of like threading a moving needle.”
“In the dark,” Hollis added.
Mills didn’t reply.
Brennan said, “I guess we only have one shot at this rendezvous.”
O’Shea said, “If that many.”
A voice said in Russian, “Fuck you… I’ll kill you all.”
Hollis inquired, “Is that a prerecorded announcement?”
Brennan chuckled. “I think that’s our passenger in coach. What did he say?”
“He said he needs another shot of sodium pentothal,” Hollis replied. “Bert, shut him up.”
Mills made his way to the rear and looked at Burov. He called out to Hollis, “He’s in bad shape already, General. I don’t want to kill him.”
Burov said indistinctly through swollen lips, “I’ll have you all back in the cells.”
The recorded warning came on again, and Burov said, “You see? Land this helicopter immediately.”
Hollis called back in Russian, “Shut your mouth, Burov, or I’ll throw you out.”
Burov fell silent.
Mills looked Dodson over and announced, “Our other passenger seems okay.”
O’Shea said, “Time, seven-nineteen, two minutes elapsed.”
Mills looked out the rear window toward the southeast. “The sun is coming up.” He added, “They won’t take us aboard if it’s light.”
Lisa asked, “What choice do they have?”
Mills replied, “Well, they have the choice of shutting off their landing lights. Then we wouldn’t know what ship it is down there. All I know is that it’s a freighter. I don’t know anything else about the ship, not even its nationality. We’re not supposed to know anything for security reasons, and I guess also so that we can’t make a landing in the daylight and endanger the ship. All we know is to look for three yellow lights on a freighter.”
Hollis said, “Maybe your friends in Washington picked a Soviet ship for us.”
Mills smiled weakly. “That’s not funny.”
Burov spoke in English through his broken teeth. “Listen to me. Listen. Land this helicopter and let me out. You can make good your escape. I will guarantee you that no harm will come to the men and women at the school. You have my word on that.”
There was a silence in the cabin, then Hollis said to O’Shea, “Take the controls.” He made his way to the rear of the cabin and stood over Burov, whose wrists were bound to the chair with steel flex. Hollis stared at Burov, and Burov stared back. Finally Hollis said, “Would you like something for the pain?”
Burov didn’t respond for a second, then shook his head.
“Are you thirsty?”
“Yes. Very.”
Hollis turned around. “Anything left to drink?”
“Just this,” Mills said, handing him a flask. “Cognac. Real stuff.”
Hollis took the flask and held it to Burov’s blood-encrusted lips. Burov’s eyes stayed on Hollis, then his mouth opened, and Hollis poured half the flask between Burov’s lips. Burov coughed up dried blood, but got most of the cognac down. Hollis saw tears forming in the man’s eyes and assumed it was because of the burning alcohol on his split lips and gums. Hollis said, “We have no water.”
Burov didn’t reply.
Hollis put the cap back on the flask and said to Burov, “It’s over, you know.”
Burov said nothing.
“Within a few minutes you will be either a prisoner on a ship or will be dead in the water. There’s no other fate for you.”
Burov nodded.
“Do you pray?”
“No. Never.”
“But your mother taught you how.”
Burov didn’t reply.
“You might consider it.”
Burov seemed to slump further into his seat, and his head dropped. “I congratulate you. All of you. Please leave me alone.”
Hollis looked at Dodson’s battered face, then looked back at Burov. Hollis said to Burov, “You’ve got a lot to answer for. I’m going to see to it that you answer directly to Major Dodson on behalf of the other airmen.” Hollis moved to the port side windows and looked out to the southeast. He saw a small red rim poking above the flat horizon, casting a pink twilight over the city of Leningrad. But out here, in the gulf, the waters were black. He went back to the copilot’s chair and sat. “I’ll take it.”
Hollis looked at the clock: 7:21. About six minutes’ flight time to their rendezvous site, but only one or two minutes to first light. They weren’t going to reach the freighter before dawn.
O’Shea was looking intently out the front windshield. Mills and Brennan were looking out the port side, Lisa was looking out to starboard. They all searched the dark sea below. There were lights down there, Hollis saw, boats and channel markers, but no triangle of yellow lights.
As Hollis watched, the water became lighter, and he could see its texture now, the rising swells picking up the new sunlight. At least, he thought, he’d seen the dawn, and regardless of what happened, it was a better dawn than it would have been in the Charm School.
O’Shea announced, “It’s seven twenty-seven. Elapsed flight time since the lighthouse is now ten minutes.”
Lisa said, “I don’t see it.”
Brennan said, “I guess they’ve shut off their landing lights. Maybe we should just put it down on any ship. You see that big tanker out there? About ten o’clock, half a klick.”
Hollis could see the massive flat deck in the grey morning light. It was inviting, but like a woman beckoning from a dark doorway, it was not necessarily a safe bet. Hollis said, “It may be a Soviet or East Bloc ship. We can’t tell.”
Mills concurred. “We agreed that we wouldn’t fall into their hands. We owe that to our country as well as to ourselves.”
Brennan nodded. “You’re right. It could be a commie ship. I guess you find a lot of those here. I’d rather drown.”
Burov spoke. “You can’t be serious. Wouldn’t you all rather live than die horribly in the cold water?”
Lisa replied, “No.”
Brennan turned and said to Burov, “I don’t want to hear your voice again.”
Another few minutes passed, and the sky went from grey dawn to morning nautical light. Hollis could see the heavy cloud bank overhead now and the gulf mist below. Sea gulls and terns circled over the water, and in the distance he saw a rain squall. A typical dreary day in the Gulf of Finland.