The helicopter was being buffeted sideways and descending. A radio altimeter was calling out distances to the ground in Russian. Kurt spotted the other helicopter up ahead for a second before it disappeared into the swirling clouds and snow once again.
More turbulence hit, threatening to spill the copter over sideways.
“Downdrafts coming off Big Ben,” the pilot said as he fought against it.
They finally dropped below the clouds, and Kurt could see they were only forty feet above the terrain. The other helicopter was ahead and to the right, cruising across the snowy ground. Without goggles, it was hard to tell where the sky ended and the ground began. Everything was white. But both helicopters slowed further and finally began maneuvering to land.
A man-made blizzard kicked up around them from the downwash of the rotors, and they were pushed sideways once again before the wheels finally touched the ground and sank into the snow.
Rarely had Kurt been so glad to be on the ground.
Five minutes later, after a quick recon of the area to make sure they hadn’t been spotted, the helicopters were empty. Six snowmobiles, the climbing equipment, and the suitcase bomb were unloaded and ready to roll.
They assembled in the shelter of the huge mountain, but the wind still whipped down off it, blowing the snow sideways. Kurt wondered how bad the weather would get. Most of Big Ben was already hidden in the clouds.
As Gregorovich whistled for the pilots to assemble, Kurt found Joe attaching a rope to his pack and what looked like a spearhead of some kind. He trudged toward him through the buffeting wind. “You get your frequent-flier miles on this trip?”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “What about yours?”
“I didn’t sign up,” Kurt said. “I’m hoping never to fly this airline again, so I figured there was no point.” He gestured to the spear. “What’s that?”
“RPH,” Joe said. “Rocket-propelled harpoon. You can fire it into the face of the ice and avoid having to make a free climb.”
“Why’d they give it to you?”
“No one wants to carry it,” Joe said. “The head is made of tungsten and lead. It weighs a ton.”
“At least that’ll save us some time if we have to go up.”
“What’d you get to carry?” Joe asked.
“C-4 charges and some detonators,” Kurt said. “In case we have to blast our way in.”
“Try not to blow yourself up,” Joe said. “Like that Fourth of July when you bought all those Roman candles from the discount store and—”
The sound of a Kalashnikov firing cut Joe off.
Kurt dove into the snow and pulled out the Makarov pistol. He whipped around, brandishing the weapon, as Joe dove down beside him, using the snowmobile as a shield.
Scanning the landing zone, Kurt saw no attackers, only the other Russians aiming their weapons and likewise looking for a target.
Finally, Gregorovich marched forward. A thin trail of smoke drifted from the rifle in his hands. “The pilots are dead,” he announced.
“What?!” Kirov yelled. “Are you insane?”
“Just cautious,” Gregorovich replied. “I overheard them talking. They were planning to leave without us. To leave us behind and get back to the freighter before the weather made it impossible. That won’t be happening now.”
The soldiers stirred nervously. Gregorovich stared at Kirov.
“Perhaps you were going to leave with them,” he said to his rival. “To put a bullet in my back and then run home like a coward.”
“No,” Kirov insisted.
“But you do know how to fly?” Gregorovich clarified. “It’s on your dossier.”
“Yes, but—”
Gregorovich blasted him down before he could finish his sentence. Kirov fell backward, red blood staining the white snow beneath him.
“Wrong answer,” Kurt muttered to Joe.
“I know what to say if he asks me,” Joe replied.
The Russian commandos looked on in shock. “How are we supposed to get out of here when the job is done?” one of them asked.
“I will fly you out myself,” Gregorovich said. “I spent three years piloting attack craft in Afghanistan. Mi-17s and Mi-24s. These are not so different.”
“And somehow we’re all going to fit on just one?” another soldier asked.
Gregorovich nodded. “Without the equipment, there will be plenty of room. But no one is going anywhere until we find Thero’s lair and set the bomb.”
The tension between the Russians felt like a pile of gunpowder just waiting to be lit. But Gregorovich had so completely seized the upper hand that the men could do nothing. Not if they ever wanted to see home again. In fact, they might need to guard Gregorovich with their lives.
They began to stow their weapons.
“Lucky for us,” Joe muttered. “Caught in the middle of a Bolshevik revolution.”
“More like Cortés burning his ships in the harbor at Veracruz,” Kurt replied, “to prevent his men from leaving Mexico.”
“This guy doesn’t miss a trick,” Joe said.
“At some point, he will,” Kurt said. “Whatever you do, don’t tell him you’re a pilot.”
Joe nodded, and Kurt began to hike back through the swirling snow to where Hayley stood.
“It’s okay,” he said.
“No,” she replied harshly. “It’s not okay. I’m pretty sure nothing will ever be okay again.”
He climbed on the snowmobile and felt Hayley climb on behind him. As she wrapped her arms around his waist, he could feel her shaking. It wasn’t from the cold.
There was nothing he could say to erase what she’d just seen. What’s more, he was pretty certain it wouldn’t be the last bloodshed they’d witness in the hours ahead.
Gregorovich waved his arm, and the lead commando gunned his throttle and moved off. Kurt strapped on a pair of orange-tinted goggles as Joe followed the lead sled.
A moment later, it was Kurt’s turn. With a twist of the throttle, he accelerated and tucked in behind the Russians, gliding in their tracks. Gregorovich brought up the rear, unwilling to let anyone out of his sight.
The terrain map showed a seven-mile ride in the shadow of Big Ben, then a two-hundred-foot climb down a ridge. From there, it was a two-mile hike over the crevasse-infested field. Once across the far side, they’d reach the edge of the Winston Glacier, look for the hatches, and blast their way into Thero’s stronghold.
It was a simple plan, Kurt thought, only about a million things could go wrong. But with a little luck, they’d be inside the lion’s den by dusk with at least ten hours to spare.
THIRTY-FOUR
Half the world away, Dirk Pitt had been forced to make a painful decision. With no answers from Hiram Yaeger, he had to risk the Gemini.
“You have the ship battened down?” he asked over the speakerphone.
“All watertight doors are sealed,” Paul Trout replied. “The crew have donned survival suits and moved to the upper decks. The boats are ready. If this thing blows a hole in the bottom, or if Thero locks onto us and sends some kind of discharge our way that batters the ship, we’ll be off the Gemini in sixty seconds.”
Full precautions, Pitt thought. There was nothing more he could do. “Let’s hope we’re just overreacting.”
“How’s the telemetry link?” Paul asked.
Pitt glanced at the computer screen. “We’re receiving your data without any hiccups,” he said. “The solar activity has faded a bit.”
“Good,” a female voice said. “If we blow ourselves up, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I thought you were ordered topside,” Pitt said to Gamay.
“She was,” Paul replied. “But she suddenly came down with a case of hearing impairment and missed that order.”