Damage Control

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Nevolin sent her a bitter look. “America went after one man. They will not fire with you aboard.”

  “But Russia will.” Nevolin had left a body trail with FSB, ex KGB. They were on her ass.

  Nevolin scoffed. “They will not have time.”

  Olivia looked toward the sea at the three large ships; it wasn’t their close proximity that scared her, but the deck cranes ready to lift the missiles. She stepped back against the bridge house when the deck yawned open, fascinated and helpless. The ships neared, and the bony elbows of the cranes jerked to life. Transferring missiles at sea. Ballsy. If McGill thought this woman planned, he was wrong. She’d choreographed this like a Bolshoi ballet—in a sea of decoys and confusion.

  Sebastian walked around the massive helicopter. Off the port and starboard, the amphibious battle group closed in. Aboard an LPH, Landing Platform Helo, he was suited for an assault. The massive helicopter with double rotors had the fuel and the payload to get to the Northern Lion. Everyone wanted the missiles. He wanted only Olivia, and his chest tightened every time he thought of her with Kolbash and Nevolin. Noble’s missing digit said she’d suffer. Riley and Safia were on Ice Harvest with Sam. Recker, Collins Lewis, and Esposito insisted on joining him and Max.

  The LPH commander gave the order and McGill watched them from Deep Six, but cloud cover lessened visibility. Jets would be pushing the risk factor.

  The horn sounded three short blasts, and he stepped onto the platform. The hydraulics lifted the Huey into the sunlight and the flight deck. The crew released the tie downs, and rolled the craft forward. Bright-colored sweatshirts marked the flight crews, and his gaze slipped to the Air Boss. He signaled the pilot, and he boarded the helo with the Marines and a corpsman. The plan was to assault and take the ship, but this far north the seas were rough. It wasn’t going to be an easy target, and the reason he wasn’t flying this pit bull of a chopper. It had the fuel and power to do the job, but he had a couple rounds just for Kolbash.

  They got the wave from the Air Boss and within moments, the helicopter lifted off. Sebastian sat back against the bulkhead. Across from him, Max watched a TDS Recon computer and was thankful Max had been his usual overprotective self. He’d inserted a GPS in Olivia’s boots and the TDS screen blinked the green tracking dot. She was still aboard the Northern Lion.

  The tension in Deep Six was so thick he could taste it.

  Mitch sat to the right of David, watching the smaller screen and feeling helpless. McGill was at his desk. Well, not his, but he’d grown possessive in the past week since he’d been practically living down here. He rubbed his face, thinking he needed to get a better life, then watched the diplomatic nightmare happening in neon markers.

  He glanced at David. “Go ahead, say it.”

  The kid smiled. “I told you so. All you had to do was ask.”

  “You following orders now?”

  David frowned. “Yes, of course.”

  “So was I.” There were times he questioned orders, but his oath made him obey.

  Mitch kept his attention on the screen; the assortment of fishing and cargo ships converged. A MiG approached. He heard the Danish pilot warn the Russian fighter jet in two languages. The satellite coverage was debatable with the cloud cover, but the video from the aircraft made him dizzy, and he looked away. The pilots were flying so fast he heard the punch through the atmosphere on the speakers.

  McGill sat perfectly still in his chair, his gaze shooting around the screen and ending on the jets approaching. “How long before our boys get there?”

  “Seven minutes.”

  McGill grabbed the desk phone and demanded General Sarkov. It was a minute to connect, then McGill unleashed. “Ivan, what the hell is going on?”

  Mitch heard the one-sided conversation.

  “I have orders, too, from my president, not the CIA.” A pause and then, “My ass, and you really don’t want that kind of firepower involved. Call off the hounds! There are fishing and cargo ships in that lane!”

  From his expression, Sarkov refused.

  “Think about your traitors when the people learn their government willingly killed seventy-three Russian sailors!” His look turned murderous. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.” He hung up, drawing his hand back slowly. “The Danes out of Thule are incoming. Relay to Fontenòt.”

  The teams had lifted off thirty minutes ago in full attack to capture the Northern Lion in international waters. Sending teams in with a MiG on the loose was suicide, he thought, but kept his yap shut. David tapped him, pointing just as the computer sounded off a warning ping.

  “Something’s in the proximity of the Northern Lion.” David opened a panel to try to identify it. “A second MiG, possibly. Lot of jets in the sky right now.”

  Mitch left his chair, stepping back from the larger screen. “It’s another bogey.” He pointed, then brought up a satellite visual of the narrow, nearly thirty-foot-long aircraft. “Christ, it’s an armed drone.” He looked at McGill. “It’s nearly on top of the Northern Lion.”

  David was already sending out a warning of the drone to allied aircraft and the Huey. Then they all heard the jet pilot’s transmission. The MiG fired on NATO forces. Fighter jets were engaged.

  “The MiG is a distraction. They’re covering for the drone.” Loaded with cruise missiles and painted gray, they’d never see it coming. He watched the unmanned aircraft close in on the Northern Lion.

  The Danish jets weren’t going to make it.

  Inside the Huey, Sebastian twisted sharply when fighter jets shot overhead. MiGs were headed his way and the United States didn’t want to get into an aerial battle, but it was looking inevitable. Danish Air Force fighter jets out of Thule raced toward them. NATO forces and UN peacekeepers were scrambling. Moscow refused to confirm or deny a thing and kept their heads in the sand.

  Inside his helmet he heard, “MiGs have crossed into international airspace. Danish will not fire till they cross theirs, but will defend. Orders are to take the ship.”

  The pilot started the wide turn to bring the helicopter back to base and Sebastian saw the MiG chase toward the Northern Lion, the Danish jet in its jet wash. The MiG climbed in a spiral and Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat as a missile released. Guided, it headed right for the Lion. He didn’t wait for a jet to take it out and threw back the door. Icy air whipped through the chopper as he manned the fifty-caliber machine gun and opened fire. Countermeasures flew through the air, attracting the cruise, and the gun jerked in his hands as he followed the cruise, knocking it off course. It exploded into a countermeasure. His relief was short.

  “UAV! Nine o’clock, nine o’clock!” the copilot said. “Taking evasive maneuvers.” The pilot angled the helo and Sebastian saw the Russian version of the Reaper, a thirty-two-foot armed military drone. A hundred yards out, it sped over the Northern Lion and let loose two cruise missiles. “Releasing countermeasures.” The tubes spun in the sky and one missile shot toward it. But the second shot past. “Incoming!”

  The Huey picked up speed, evading, and with the machine gun, Sebastian chased the slim missile as it headed closer to the Northern Lion. But he knew. The missile was on target. It plowed into the side of the Northern Lion, the explosion shooting high into the sky. Smoke boiled in a black cloud, orange flames chasing it from the gash at the waterline. The Nordic Sea rushed inside, and the weight of it fractured and tipped the giant icebreaker. Men jumped overboard only to be trapped with the undertow.

  Sebastian sank into the bulkhead. No one spoke.

  Olivia, oh honey.

  His eyes burned and he stared at his boots. A horrible sensation poured over him like hot wax and his throat grew tighter and tighter. He pulled off his helmet, rubbing his face. Max was staring at the TDS Recon.

  He shook his head. “It says she’s underwater.”

  Oh God. He tipped his head back and tried not to think of her sinking to the bottom of the arctic ocean.

  SIXTEEN

  Insid
e the People’s Hammer

  Olivia was fifty feet beneath the ocean before she accepted that Nevolin was a genius. After the first missile was moved to a cargo ship, she’d forced her inside the minisubmarine that was so banged up it looked spit from a whale. Her ribs still throbbed from refusing their offer, and she kept herself tucked in the curve of the bulkhead. Small tanks and gear left little elbow room. Stefan the ugly was beside her, and in the cramped space, all she could smell was his rank breath. Was Nevolin planning to ride this thing all the way back to Russia? Because she knew it didn’t have enough fuel. Surely they were beyond the ship by now. The temperatures made her feel like she was in a fridge. The ocean currents added to the uneven ride, and Olivia swore she’d never set foot in the water again if she didn’t vomit in the sub.

  Nevolin was in control, naturally. She was kind of freaky about that, and Olivia wondered how she kept all these men jumping. Nevolin maneuvered the watercraft with skill. Beside her, Kolbash was heavily dressed and grinning like a loon. Even Stefan softened, joining in the completely Russian conversation. They were smug and laughing at her, but she didn’t care and settled in for a long ride. She debated closing her eyes when she heard a thunderous sound, the scrape of metal. An explosion? The four-man sub rocked brutally, thrown forward, and Nevolin lost control. Alarms sounded and Olivia braced herself as the force of the water turned the sub nearly upside down. All she saw out the windshield were bubbles and thought, we’re sinking.

  The sub’s speed increased and Nevolin dove it deeper. Olivia felt the pressure in her ears and spotted something dark under the water. She was afraid they were under a glacier. After several minutes too many, the rocking lessened, the surf calmer. Their depth decreased and she yawned widely, her ears popping. They broke the surface and when she leaned to look, Stefan pushed her back and stood, hunching. Her heart leapt when he opened the top hatch. A little water splashed down. A loud, hollow rumble surrounded the sub as he climbed out. He anchored them somehow, and she felt the sudden pull in the sub. Kolbash and Nevolin climbed from their seats and out the hatch. Stefan snapped his fingers, his hand out for her. She slapped it aside and climbed out.

  The submarine tipped with their weight and she widened her stance on the white deck. She was tempted to kick all the electronics on the top, but not till she was out of here. “Here” was under some giant structure. It stretched a football field wide. The sub was anchored to a leg and the whole thing reminded her of the Eiffel Tower for a second. She nearly fell off when Kolbash launched up a metal ladder in a crossbeam of steel girders. The little sub rocked as Nevolin stepped off it.

  Olivia climbed two rails and froze. “Oh my God.”

  Nevolin’s scream scratched hackles down the back of her neck. The Northern Lion was a cloud of smoke and fire. Bodies floated on the waves, a few struggling helplessly on the icy surface. Smoke curled up from the leeward side, flames rushing along the deck as the giant ship tipped. The propellers broke the surface, and Olivia started moving faster up the ladder. But nearer, a wave curled higher and higher, and she climbed, desperate to escape the power rushing toward them. She concentrated on reaching the next rung and getting deeper into the protection of the structure.

  The wave came like a tsunami, twenty feet high and slapping the rig. Water showered through the girders, the impact vibrating steel. Olivia held on, turning her face away as water splashed like hailing rocks. She couldn’t move, freezing water cascading over her, and she shook her head like a dog, then followed Nevolin. Kolbash was already on the next level. Her shoulders ached, but her muscles were warming with the climb. She glanced down, and a sadistic part of her wanted to knock Stefan into the submarine anchored below.

  Above her, there were no obstructions, nothing stopping the wind as she struggled through the narrow opening, then threw herself on the deck. Kolbash yanked her to her feet. It was an old oil rig. Really old. Rust dripped off everything and she could see corroded girders ready to break. Nevolin stared at the remains of her ship, then had the audacity to cross herself. When she turned, Nevolin glared at her. Oh yeah, she thought, blame me for that, too, why don’t you?

  Stefan ushered her across the open platform stripped of equipment and piping. The only building was at the rear, rising three floors above to a steeple point. She couldn’t see much beyond the haze, but the jets were fast and loud. She wished she had binoculars and had to keep her goggles on clear lens. The cloud cover ruined the light, but she counted two more ships out there than before. Stefan shoved her forward and she followed Kolbash into the darkened building. The walls rattled, but she was glad to be out of the wind. The dark interior offered nothing, stripped of the equipment necessary to run an oil rig this size. Kolbash pointed to a spot and she backed against a wall.

  Computer controls used to operate the drilling were before the bank of windows. From her pack, Nevolin withdrew a heavy-duty notebook computer, and laying it on the console, she opened it and connected it to the terminal. She seemed to know the right switches to flip and nodded to Kolbash on the other side of the room. His hand was on a large electrical breaker. It would take two hands to lift it and then he did, pumping it a couple times. The interior lights came on first, and the energy sparked once, then started one small dash. Nothing else came on except the green light of a switch. Kolbash crossed to her and Nevolin exchanged a triumphant look with the two men.

  Then, like a schoolgirl, she kissed Kolbash’s cheek, and typed on the notebook keyboard. Olivia heard a humming and didn’t understand what she was doing, but Nevolin looked awfully pleased. Then her gaze fell on the laptop, the picture on the screen. She heard the voice-over in Russian, saw the English subtitles. It was video taken from inside the submarine, and she heard a name with each dead body slumped over workstations in a pile of brittle bones. It showed the registry of toxic levels. She heard the turmoil in the woman’s voice when she found Gregor. How could she even go in there, see her father like that?

  Nevolin looked back over her shoulder, her expression vicious. “Today, we have justice. The world will see what they have done.”

  Olivia blinked, looked at the small laptop screen, and realized Nevolin must be using the satellite tower to broadcast. “Who’s everyone?”

  “BBC, Associated Press, Al Jazeera, CNN.” Her smile grew. “But it starts with Pravda.” She tapped the keys.

  Olivia saw the video upload pages for networks, video-sharing sites, and Google in a half dozen languages. The woman had her revenge. It would go viral within hours. Talk about a weapon of mass destruction.

  Mitch glanced back at McGill and saw the gloss in his eyes.

  Doctor Olivia Corrigan was on the Northern Lion and while Mitch didn’t know her, Sebastian Fontenòt did. Very well. He couldn’t imagine what the man was feeling. Ex-wife or not. The general looked stricken, staring at his fists, then slammed one down on the desk. SSU wasn’t supposed to be dangerous, and while he didn’t get all the intricacies of this Irish legend and the Viking ship they’d found in the ice—that still blew him away—Nevolin wasn’t above killing anyone to have it all.

  His console buzzed and he turned back. Satellite showed the Northern Lion before it was swallowed by the sea. The storm covered a better look and only neon markers on the screen told him where anything was located. He couldn’t take his gaze off the Huey circling the water.

  David said, “The drone is down and sinking. MiGs are turning back.”

  The Russians win this one, he thought, but he had to admire Nevolin for her guts. She’d hidden her plan so well Moscow didn’t know till she chose to reveal it. Exposing the sub’s launch bays in Chechnya was the first tip. Moscow was behind her, covering it up. He watched the glowing markers, the ships clustered. Thanks to Fontenòt they were only chasing three missiles, and the ships carrying them would be surrounded with a battle group before they could get out of the Greenland Sea. F18s were chasing the skies above them. They had no choice but to relent or die. Bad guys were staring down too much f
irepower.

  Mitch rubbed his bruised chin, wishing he was on the assault team. The Huey’s mission was a search for survivors now, and Mitch thought it ironic that Nevolin did all this to defend the death of seventy-three men because of the FSB when about a hundred of her own just died because of her.

  The speakers burst with transmissions, yet for nearly two hours, the conversation inside the room was hushed or nonexistent. McGill went from pacing to sitting still and staring at nothing, understandably angry that with all this technology and weaponry, the weather was ruling their visual. David hopped satellite feeds to keep the bird’s-eye view. He heard a sharp ping and glanced at David.

  “It’s an alert from another unit.” David worked the keyboard. “Command says there’s something on the airwaves.”

  Mitch read the flash message and jumped to his feet to switch on the TV. “Which network?”

  David looked at him. “All of them. In Russia, Polish, and Ukrainian mostly, and the networks are getting slaughtered with a video stream. Ours are trying to confirm the authenticity and background before they broadcast. But they’re talking about it.” David pushed off the counter, sliding his chair across to another computer. “The Internet is wild with it.”

  Mitch surfed TV channels, and stopped on a Breaking News report from the UK. He recognized the interior of the submarine. Borei class, but smaller. The voice-over was female and he heard the recount of the cover-up. The voice gave each body a name and rank. He watched for a moment, then swung a look at McGill.

  “Oh Christ. So much for keeping this under wraps.” McGill looked between the men surrounding him. “Suggestions, gentlemen, because the shit just hit the fan.”

  FSB Headquarters

  Leonid ordered the broadcast blocked. All airways. Dear God, he thought. She destroyed them. She destroyed Russia. Even the technicians sitting at the computers before the line of screens couldn’t move as the video played, as Nevolin stopped near her father and shut off the video to mourn. That will have everyone demanding justice. Wasn’t that enough? His sympathy was for the families who were seeing this, for the president who was talking to Golubev right now. Any other moment, and he’d take pleasure in that. But this, it would touch them all. He imagined the UN Security Council, the treaties under question. Russia’s word would never again be trusted, especially by her people.