Rake sealed his own mask, but found himself tearing off the soldier’s goggles. He wanted to see the whole face, to show respect. The soldier was brave and rough, but he was a child, like the first one he killed in the school with the poster-boy face. They sent them out so young, and Rake hated them for it.
He put the boy’s radio and phone into his bag. He went back to the other corpses and took all their phones. They would be useful because it was safer to use a message from a civilian phone than open the channel on a military radio. They were in protective cases to preserve battery life.
Rake loaded up the sled. He divided weapons, food, and equipment into six separate packs. Even if he lost five in the descent, he would have one pack with which to keep going. He lashed them down. He kept out the night-vision binoculars to look over toward Big Diomede. Clear weather and sturdy lenses would allow him to spot dangerous open channels where sea water still ran. He read the dark and light patches where the sea ice would be strong enough to cross.
He was looking for something else too, which he saw as the moon emerged from behind a leaden cloud, its light falling like a lamp flickering on the ice. Midway between the two islands there was a packed and hard track not yet covered by the new fall of snow. It ended against a tall lump of ice. He thought he saw a ruffle of shadow against the whiteness. It could have been his eyes playing tricks, but he imagined Nikita Tuuq down there, watching. A man like Tuuq could wait like an animal, unseen for hours, even days, nursing his hatred of his half-brother and his mission to kill.
If he were Tuuq he would hide out between the two islands where he could see everything. While Tuuq was out there, Rake would not be able to get across.
TWENTY-TWO
Russian Embassy, Washington, DC
At the moment that Rake was killing the Russian soldier, Karl Opokin, Chairman of Russia’s Central Bank, pulled back the lace curtain of the huge windows in the Russian Embassy and looked out onto Wisconsin Avenue. He counted four police cars, two unmarked Lincoln Town Cars, and an untold number of television satellite trucks.
Russia was enemy number one and its embassy was as good as under siege.
Opokin was skilled in balancing Russia’s finances between the institutions of organized crime, oligarchies, and government. His whole career had been built on juggling the character of the Russian Federation with the practicalities of twenty-first-century economics. But with the Eccles Building a charred shell and his friend Roy Carrol dead, Opokin felt shipwrecked.
‘Speaker Grizlov is calling from Moscow, sir,’ said his aide.
Sergey Grizlov, the ambitious Chairman of the State Duma, was a master of political manipulation and tipped as a successor to President Lagutov. Opokin accepted that he might have been the architect of drawing the new border and disputing the Alaska Purchase, but there was no way that Grizlov, a supporter of all the West had to offer, would have been responsible for this bombing. Opokin let go of the curtain and walked across the room to take the call.
‘How are you holding up, Karl?’ Grizlov sounded worried.
‘What the hell is going on?’ said Opokin. ‘Roy Carrol was one of my closest—’
‘I know, Karl. I know. It’s dreadful. I’ll be quick because everything is so fluid. The Kremlin is about to ask the Central Bank to set aside funds to help companies caught up in all this. It’s short-term, until things settle. To tide things over.’
This was old Russia, thought Opokin angrily. Mess things up and have others clean up behind you. ‘How much?’ he asked with deliberate caution.
‘Well into the billions. I heard twenty.’
Opokin’s grief and anger over the bombing turned to steely resolve. ‘The Central Bank is independent, Sergey, as you know. I will not release one ruble until Viktor Lagutov makes clear exactly what he’s doing.’
‘I’m trying to find out myself,’ said Grizlov smoothly.
‘Then I’ll look at it when I get back to Moscow.’
‘Which is why I’m calling. What have you said to the FBI?’
The sudden switch of subject made Opokin even more uneasy. ‘They’ve asked to see me, and the police are waiting outside.’
‘Do not speak to them. Stay inside the embassy where you have diplomatic protection and they can’t touch you.’ Grizlov spoke as if it were an instruction, but it was one which Opokin had no intention of heeding.
‘On the contrary, as soon as I’ve dealt with the FBI, I will fly home. I’m needed there.’
‘No.’ Grizlov’s charm vanished. ‘If you step outside, they’ll arrest you.’
‘They can’t think—’
‘Pictures of you in handcuffs will hammer the ruble!’
‘Who did this, Sergey? Who on earth is behind—?’
‘Just stay there, Karl. I’ll get back to you when I can.’
Grizlov cut the call. Opokin looked across to the television screen to see a head and shoulders static picture of himself together with four others, the bodyguards with him during his visit to the Federal Reserve. Three were shown in passport-style photographs. A fourth, the key suspect, appeared in an artist’s sketch. A headline ticker tape ran his name across the bottom of the screen. ‘Is this man the bank bomber?’
Blair House, Office of the President-elect, Washington, DC
Determination gripped Bob Holland as he listened to his interpreter speaking to the Chinese President’s office in Beijing. The first days of any presidency can mark it for history, and Swain was in the perfect position to stain Holland’s legacy. He could see Swain now plotting how to wreck Holland. He wouldn’t be surprised if Swain and Lagutov had dreamt up the whole thing themselves.
With clarity and the right words, a great leader could end this crisis within hours. He would bring peace through strength, which is how Ronald Reagan beat the Soviets in the cold war. Holland had done this in the way he warned Lagutov, leaving no room for doubt about the consequences of taking the wrong path. He was not going to allow China to fund Russia’s military attack against America. Plain speaking would put a stop to it. No way would China take American jobs then get rich by selling its products back here then finance an attack on the United States. That would be ending right now.
‘Mr President-elect, we have no need for interpreters,’ said the Chinese President, Lo Longwei, in fluent English. ‘The thoughts of the Chinese people are with all Americans on this dreadful day.’
‘Thank you, Mr President,’ said Holland brusquely, determined not to be trapped by diplomatic niceties. ‘I will be quick, sir. You will not make any funds available to Russia until this crisis is over, and you must condemn its invasion of Alaska.’
‘I understand your concern. But I believe your call is two days premature. I have already spoken to your incumbent leader.’
No way would Lo get away with that. ‘I need to know, sir – is China with us on this?’
‘I would like to express to you personally China’s unequivocal condemnation of the attack on the Federal Reserve.’
‘I’m talking about Alaska. Russian troops need to leave our territory, and I am asking for your support.’
‘This has yet to reach my desk, but I understand it was a humanitarian mission and territorial jurisdiction is very complicated. China has many of its own disputes.’
‘I am giving you an opportunity to state your position.’
‘I am sure all sides are acting with good reason.’
‘You’re not hearing me, Mr President.’
‘My technicians tell me the line is good. I am hearing you well. China will help in any way to resolve the dispute between America and Russia.’
‘I need to tell you that if one cent of Chinese money goes to—’
‘We deal in the renminbi and the ruble. Excuse me, Mr President-elect, I have another call coming in.’
The line went dead. Holland held the phone limply in his hand. But it didn’t matter. He had put down his marker and China was now running scared.
TWENTY-THR
EE
The White House, Washington, DC
In the Oval Office, Stephanie listened to the playback of Holland’s call. He had shown both stupidity and impatience in demanding so quickly that China openly support the United States. He had irreparably weakened himself in the eyes of China. It was interesting that, unlike with Holland’s call to the Kremlin, she could hear both sides of the conversation. The Chinese would have known that the National Security Agency would be intercepting, and it meant they had not encrypted at their end because they wanted Swain to hear their response. She was with Prusak and Swain. Others were on their way.
‘What do you want to do, sir?’ asked Prusak.
‘Nothing openly.’ Swain sounded bullish and confident. ‘We handle it as they did during the Trump transition. We follow every move Holland makes. We intercept every call. Every time he takes a piss, we know it.’
‘They’ll react,’ said Stephanie. ‘China always tests a new President. The question is – with what? In 2001 with Bush, it was the collision of the spy plane; in 2009 with Obama, the harassment of the surveillance ship; in 2016 the taking of the submersible drone. Each was a challenge to your presence in Asia. My instinct is they’ll now ramp it up – currency, trade, military – and they’ll tie it in with the Russia crisis.’
Swain looked up as three key principals came in, Michael Pacolli from Defense, Thomas Grant from Treasury, and Peter Andrews from State. ‘Is Opokin still in the embassy?’ he asked Prusak.
‘Yes,’ answered Andrews. ‘He’s refusing to speak to the FBI. If he steps outside, we will arrest him.’
Swain moved from his desk to the two yellow pastel sofas facing each other in the middle of the room. He indicated that everyone should share the sandwiches, dips, juice, and coffee laid out on the low table in the middle. Stephanie picked up a plate of sandwiches and held it for Swain, then offered it to Prusak and ended up circling the sofas like a waitress as everyone took one. It was just past three in the afternoon; she remembered having black coffee and an energy bar hours ago and, like her, a few in the room might have napped, but none had properly slept.
‘I am not going to confront Holland directly,’ said Swain. ‘But let his people know that if he speaks to another foreign government without my permission I will use the Logan Act.’
Stephanie’s face creased with curiosity. ‘Is that the ban on private citizens negotiating with a foreign government?’ she asked.
‘Correct,’ said Swain. ‘It dates back to 1799, after Senator George Logan thought he could negotiate with France on behalf of the government.’
‘But is Holland a private citizen?’
‘He is. Only the President or those authorized by him is allowed to negotiate.’
‘It’s never had a conviction,’ said Prusak. ‘Remember in 2015, forty-seven Republican Senators told Iran they would scrap the nuclear deal. Obama got a three hundred thousand-signature petition asking him to prosecute them under the Logan Act.’
‘But when Reagan was President-elect in 1980 didn’t he call the Iranians kidnappers and barbarians over the embassy siege?’ said Stephanie.
‘He liaised with Jimmy Carter first, playing soft cop hard cop,’ said Swain. ‘Holland is not liaising with me. He needs to know he risks indictment so check with the Attorney General how we could get a conviction.’
Prusak looked alarmed. ‘Sir, to begin indictment proceedings against the President-elect on the eve of transition—’
‘The United States cannot afford the presidency to be undermined during a crisis. I want to see a piece of paper that tells me how we would stop him.’
Stephanie’s phone vibrated. Messages and calls had been coming so fast that she had been tempted to turn off the alerts. She expected yet another angry message from the Foreign Office in London, which resented that she was working so closely with the White House and out of their control. But it wasn’t. It was an unknown number from Russia. The message almost certainly came from Ozenna. She put the phone on the table for everyone to see. Island top clear.
‘Can we confirm?’ said Swain.
Prusak read from his tablet. ‘The NSA has an ID on the phone,’ he said. ‘It is on a Russian pay-as-you-go system, SIM card registered in Khabarovsk, headquarters of the Far Eastern Military Command. That’s also home base for its special forces Arctic units.’
‘They could be playing us,’ said Swain. ‘What eyes do we have over there?’
‘A Reaper drone now and a satellite within the next twenty-seven minutes,’ said Pacolli. ‘With the fog coming and going every few minutes, the satellite may get nothing. The drone is circling. Images are coming through via Creech Air Force Base in Nevada.’
Prusak switched the feed to the main television screen. The room fell quiet. The image juddered, indicating high wind turbulence above Little Diomede.
‘My God!’ exclaimed Stephanie. She saw five blood-soaked corpses on a barren snow-covered landscape. They had the most horrendous wounds. On two at least the heads were partly blown away. The brutality gripped the room. The camera moved to a sixth body in a similar location, with frozen blood around the mouth and nose, then pulled away into a wider shot showing machine guns and other equipment, but no human life.
Horror surged through Stephanie followed by excitement at what Ozenna had achieved. Then she felt a flash of worry about the type of man Carrie had chosen to be with. She too had married a man like this. They didn’t make good husbands.
‘Yes,’ said Pacolli after moments of silence. ‘It looks like Captain Ozenna has given us a window. With the observation post down, the Eskimo from Goose Creek Correctional Center, Don Ondola, can guide the men across the ice.’
‘Do it,’ said Swain.
Pacolli repeated the orders into his phone. Secretary of State Andrews took a call and immediately held up his hand to indicate its importance. ‘Sir, the Kremlin has contacted our embassy in Moscow. They will take Dr Carrie Walker across to Big Diomede to collect the young mother, her baby, and her guardians. They want our guarantee of safe passage.’
‘Why does Dr Walker have to go?’ asked Swain.
‘The Russian doctor doesn’t want to go to our island. Dr Walker will take over the patient’s care at the base and accompany her back to Little Diomede.’
‘This can’t mean they’re backing down,’ said Prusak.
Far from it, thought Stephanie. She half tuned out of the conversation. To think straight, she needed to get away from the claustrophobic chatter of the Oval Office. Clever people worked in the Kremlin, which meant the White House needed to be cleverer. America had trained a generation of analysts who knew every feuding group in the Middle East and North Africa, but little about the mindset of the Kremlin and even less of Beijing. During the Trump transition, the Chinese stole an American underwater surveillance drone. A few days later they returned it, making things look as if Beijing had backed down. But it hadn’t. That was merely a marker for what was to come. Stephanie sensed that with Little Diomede, Russia was doing the same. ‘With Carrie at the base, they’ll have high-category hostages on both islands,’ she said. ‘So, my guess is that they’re only getting started.’ She stood up, phone in her palm. ‘Matt, you have this in the system?’
‘Every sound you make, Steph.’
‘If it’s OK with you, Mr President, I’ll head back to the embassy and coordinate the Prime Minister’s speech from there.’
‘When is it?’ said Swain.
‘The next shift change.’ Prusak scrolled his tablet. ‘I’ll get you a car.’
‘It’s OK, Matt. I’ll cab it.’
A Secret Service agent took Stephanie out through the visitors’ entrance where she tagged onto the end of the last tour group leaving the building. Fine drizzle laced with cold air fell on her face. Just what she needed. She walked quickly along Pennsylvania Avenue, then turned north up 20th Street. She put her thoughts in order until she was absolutely certain. If the first conversation didn’t work, she doubted the v
iability of her plan. She brought out a phone, her US one this time, checked her watch for the time difference with Almaty, Kazakhstan, and speed-dialed her ex-husband.
‘Harry, it’s me,’ she said. ‘I need your help.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Little Diomede, Alaska, USA
A Russian soldier strapped Carrie into the seat of the helicopter and removed her goggles. Frozen air sliced into her eyes, bringing tears. The aircraft vibrated as the pilot powered the engine. Carrie held her medical bag on her lap. The soldier pulled off her hood and put a pair of red headphones on her. Radio static replaced the wind’s roar. Then soldiers loaded three body bags – the men Rake had killed. The tops of the bags were open. Each corpse had a number inked on the forehead. Flood lamps came on, throwing out long dark shadows that raced along the rocky coastline. A gray haze hung over the ice, reminding her how Rake described so vividly the winter sun barely rising above the horizon before quickly setting again.
She heard a burst of Russian voices through the headphones, then the pilot speaking in English. ‘American Air Force, American Air Force. This is Russian medical helicopter RF-800238. We are taking off from Krusenstern Island, Little Diomede, on a humanitarian mission. Repeat – a humanitarian mission. American medical doctor Carrie Walker is assisting us. We need safe passage. Repeat – we need safe passage.’
‘Stay where you are,’ came an American military response. ‘Repeat. Do not take off. We are waiting instructions. Remain on the ground.’
Her headset went quiet. Carrie felt the energy of the rotor blades speeding up, thrashing around and around. The pilot flipped buttons. His co-pilot scanned the landscape with binoculars. The two side doors stayed open. A soldier on each side brought down heavy machine guns with belts of ammunition. Carrie was alone in a middle seat, her face numb with cold, her mouth dry. Four soldiers sat in front of her.
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