by Tom Clancy
Though the crowds had thinned somewhat, there were still enough evacuees to create a wonderful diversion. Getting lost among them was not difficult, and the ball caps and coats certainly helped. She knew that dozens of electronic eyes were focused on them, so they’d kept to the crowds. Moreover, they weren’t the only ones boarding the yacht. A group of about fifteen others did so as well, all part of the guise. The Ganjin, it seemed, had a much larger network and sphere of influence than even the Snow Maiden had imagined. And that unnerved her.
The rest of the full-day road trip from Calais to Geneva unfolded uneventfully, though she imagined that Chopra and Hussein were plotting an escape. They occasionally glanced at each other, and when it became a little too obvious, the Snow Maiden addressed their unspoken communication outright: “If you run, I shoot you in the legs. Believe me—most gunshot wounds hurt. It’s not like TV or the movies. It’s serious pain. And I’ll still drag you to Dubai. It’s not worth it.”
“Don’t you ever sleep?” Hussein had asked her.
“My record is seventy-two hours.”
When they were just an hour away from Geneva, the Snow Maiden had called Patti and once again had asked what was going on with Nestes—and how did he know about the Ganjin? Patti said it was “complicated” and that she wasn’t prepared to discuss the matter at the present time.
Because of her reticence, the Snow Maiden decided to drop off the grid for a while. There were a few people she could call to follow up on Nestes’s actions, but Patti would, of course, be privy to those conversations.
When they arrived in Geneva, she spoke with the owner of a coffee shop where a friend, Heidi Lautens, stopped every morning. Heidi lived in an apartment near the Rhone River and was a professor at the University IFM Geneva, an international business school where she taught economics. Her husband, Aldo, had also been a professor and operative working for the GRU for more than ten years. He’d been killed in a terrorist attack in Paris while on an assignment for the Russian government, an assignment that the Snow Maiden had planned. That was just a year before the war, and because the Snow Maiden had worked closely with the man, she felt responsible to help his widow, despite the GRU’s insistence that she not make contact. Consequently, the Snow Maiden was vague regarding the details of Aldo’s death and only identified herself as one of Aldo’s research assistants. Izotov himself had learned of this security breach and had threatened her if she continued offering assistance. She’d threatened him: It was the humanitarian thing to do, a word, she’d said, the Russian government had never understood. If they didn’t allow her to help, a security breach unlike any they had ever experienced would occur. Izotov had snickered, “Your soft heart will get you killed.”
During the last few years, the Snow Maiden had kept in touch with Heidi and had even visited to have lunch with her several times. They’d had a lot in common and e-mailed each other a few times per month. Heidi was like the sister the Snow Maiden had never had and truly the only “real” female friend she’d ever had.
The trouble was, the Snow Maiden had never been honest with Heidi, but that was part of the Snow Maiden’s protection, her armor, and she’d always known that having a friend in Geneva who was in her debt would someday prove invaluable.
At the Snow Maiden’s request, the coffee shop owner contacted Heidi, who came to the shop and went into a back room, where a table had been set up for them. The Snow Maiden had, of course, paid the shop owner handsomely for this small luxury.
Heidi wore her hair a bit shorter than the Snow Maiden had remembered, and her new “academic” plastic-framed glasses reminded the Snow Maiden of the woman’s devotion to scholarship.
They spoke in English, as was Heidi’s wont. She was more than a little surprised. “Viktoria, I didn’t know you were in Geneva! It’s so good to see you! But why are you back here? Why all the secrecy?”
Chopra and Hussein were seated nearby and watching, and their uneasy expressions caught Heidi’s attention. “Are they your friends?”
“No, we are not,” said Chopra.
The Snow Maiden looked fire in the old man’s direction. “Please ...”
“Viktoria, what’s going on?”
“I’m wondering if we can stay with you for the night.”
“We? You mean them as well?”
“Yes, I’ll explain everything, and I’ll take care of your rent for the rest of the year.”
Heidi shifted in her seat. “This is, uh, quite strange. You drop in unannounced with these people. Can’t you get a hotel?”
“No, I can’t right now. It’s complicated. I just need you to trust me. And we need to talk.”
“You know I don’t have much room.”
“We’ll sleep on the floor. I just need this right now, and I can explain everything once we’re up there.”
“I was about to have dinner. I don’t have enough food for us all.”
The Snow Maiden grinned. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Viktoria, what’s wrong? What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
The Snow Maiden reached across the table and clutched both of Heidi’s hands. “You can trust me.”
Brent had bought himself a little condo just thirty minutes away from Fort Bragg. In fact, the place was almost paid off, and the resale value wasn’t bad, despite the ever-fluctuating market. Most folks who lived in his complex were military, and demand for such housing remained high. A condo was the way to go for a single military man: no lawn to worry about mowing, no building maintenance to perform, but the HOA fees would eventually bankrupt him, he knew.
He was on his way home after heading down to central Florida to see George Voeckler’s parents. They lived in a small retirement home in The Villages, and it was with great sorrow and resignation that he expressed his condolences in person. The NSA had already sent representatives to notify them of George’s death, but Thomas had beaten even them to the punch. He’d called his parents while en route back to the States, and as expected, neither Frank nor Regina Voeckler had taken the news very well.
Thomas had not been present during Brent’s visit. Regina had said he’d gone off to his time-share on Captiva Island. The Voecklers were exceedingly proud of their two boys and made a point of telling Brent about the great influence George had been on Thomas. They feared that without George’s continued guidance, Thomas might slip back into a depression and into his “old ways.” He’d already been talking about quitting the NSA job when he’d come home. Regina had taken Brent’s hand and had begged him to talk to Thomas. Brent said that he would.
But for now, he needed to get back home for a meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Susan Grey, DCO, 1st Bn, 5th Special Forces Group, a long title for a woman short on patience. Grey was a lean, athletic woman with short blond hair who seemed demure before she smiled and ate you for breakfast. She headed up Ghost Recon and had not endorsed Dennison’s selection of Brent to lead the Snow Maiden mission. She would remind him of that, and the meeting would, of course, determine his future in the military, if there was one at all.
As he’d suspected, the team had been pulled off the hunt and sent back home, and were about to be reassigned. Lakota’s eyes had burned when she resignedly had taken his hand at the airport.
Brent did something stupid and said that now that they weren’t working together, he’d like to take her out and buy her a beer.
“You mean a date?” she’d asked.
“I don’t know what I mean.”
“Well, when you figure that out, give me a call.” She’d given him a curt nod and walked away.
Oh, yes, he was quite an operator when it came to the ladies .. .
It was late afternoon when he got back home and he was too tired to cook, so he drove down to the Liberator for a burger and a drink or two. He sat alone in his usual booth, and Schoolie, the big boy with the scarred face, drifted over and slid into the seat opposite him. “Back from Europe.”
; Brent made a face. “I know why you’re here, and I’m not talking.”
“You don’t have to. I got some scuttlebutt.”
“We’re friends now? Sharing secrets? I thought you wanted to bust my chops.”
“Well, that, too.”
“Then why are you talking like my buddy?”
“I’m still your buddy, Brent. But when I offered my hand before the mission, you should’ve taken it. You jinxed yourself.”
“Okay, whatever.”
“Look, let me tell you what’s going on ...” Schoolie leaned in closer and scratched his stubbly jowls.
Brent rubbed his eyes, leaned back, and sighed deeply.
Schoolie’s tone grew emphatic. “Word is they’ve just assigned a new team to your old operation.”
“Yeah, so?”
“I’m on the new team. We just got briefed. You didn’t hear this from me—but they found her again.”
Brent nodded. “We knew she’d turn up.”
Schoolie winced, took a deep breath, and said, “This isn’t the kind of stuff we should be doing.”
“It’s a different war now.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I don’t like it.”
“So why’re you telling me this?”
“Because I know you, Brent. You won’t take this lying down.”
Brent accepted his beer from the waitress and, after a long pull, said, “Maybe I will.”
“Why don’t you talk to Dennison? I’ll drive you down to the comm center.”
“I need a chauffeur?”
“You parked on the grass again, and they just towed your car. You didn’t learn your lesson from the last time?” Schoolie tipped his head toward the front windows, where a tow truck was just leaving with Brent’s car hanging from the back.
Brent burst up from the table, cursed, and started toward the door.
“Get it later,” said Schoolie. “Come on, I’ll take you for that call. See if you can have a little video chat. Do it now before your meeting with Grey.”
“Yeah, I came back here to call down to Florida, where I just was ...” he said wearily. “Maybe I should’ve dropped in on Dennison while I was there.”
“Maybe. Have a seat, finish your beer and your dinner. Then we’ll go.”
Brent complied, and Schoolie tried to probe him for what had happened on the mission. Brent gave him the look that said even asking was breaking the law. That Schoolie had mentioned his own assignment was certainly a violation, not one Brent would ever report, but a violation nonetheless.
“Why are you trying to help me?” Brent said, after taking his last sip of beer.
Schoolie averted his gaze. “This is going to sound stupid.”
“I figured.”
“Seriously, I’ve served under a lot of people. I’d be honored to work with you. I’d like to see Boleman out and you in. I’d like to see that happen.”
Captain Jay Boleman was a few years younger than Brent and regarded as one of the top three team leaders in the entire organization. Unfortunately, his skill was equaled by his arrogance.
Brent grinned broadly. “So you’d rather work for a junkyard dog than a greyhound, is that what you’re saying?”
“Jay’s an ass. We both know it. Anyway, I thought I’d help you out.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
They left the Liberator and went to the comm center for a secure line. Brent made the call to Tampa, only to be told that Dennison was gone for the day and that if the matter wasn’t urgent that he should try again at 0800. He cupped the receiver.
“I guess you’ll have to call her tomorrow,” said Schoolie.
Brent swore to himself. “The meeting’s tomorrow. I need to talk to her now.”
So he told them the matter was urgent, and they patched him through to Dennison’s home via an encrypted signal.
“She’s going to be pissed,” said Schoolie.
“Frankly, fat boy, I don’t give a damn.”
“Captain Brent?” Dennison began, tugging her robe more tightly around her shoulders. She had a quart of rocky road ice cream in her hand with a spoon jutting from it.
“Major, we need to talk.”
“Look, Brent, there’s no more discussion. If you take issue with what’s happened, you need to bring that up to Colonel Grey. I shouldn’t have to remind a career officer about the chain of command.”
“Colonel Grey and I have different perceptions regarding my After Action Report.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I was removed from the mission before being allowed to finish it.”
“I see you’ve had time to think. And in your case, that’s dangerous. Look, I’m sure they’ll have a place for you. I’ve heard a lot of great things about your skill as a trainer. You’d be excellent at the JFK School.”
“Someday, yes. But not now.”
Dennison glanced at her ice cream. “Is there anything else?”
“Don’t give this to Boleman. It’s mine. Let me finish it. I was close. Very close.”
“I’m sorry, Brent, but it’s too late for that. This call is over.”
“How did you find her?”
“I’m tired, Captain.”
“I’m just asking.”
She sighed. “Doletskaya gave us a list of her contacts, and a name came up in Geneva. We had some eyes on that zone and spotted her. We’d tried to bait her, even had him leave messages. She either didn’t get them or wasn’t taking the bait. But the analysts picked her up right away. The NSA’s already got people moving in.”
“She’ll be long gone.”
“We need to figure out where she’s going.”
Brent assumed his best poker face. “I know where she’s going.”
“Oh, really?”
“Ma’am, I need to finish what I started.”
“Good night, Captain.”
She abruptly ended the link.
Brent turned back toward Schoolie, who was now engulfed by a fiery car crash, the flames rising up his body and burning him into a skeleton whose bones turned black.
Brent blinked.
“Damn ...” Schoolie said, glancing away. “Tomorrow you’re busted out of the Ghosts. Ah, it’s not so bad.”
Brent looked incredulously at him. “You think I’m going to let that happen?”
“What do you mean?”
Brent cocked a brow. “You know what I mean.”
“Aw, no, you’re crazy.”
Brent widened his eyes. “Am I?”
The Snow Maiden spotted the man on the rooftop of the building across the street, so she, Heidi, and the others ducked back into the coffee shop.
“What’s going on now?” cried Heidi. “I thought we were going to the market, then my apartment.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about coming here,” said the Snow Maiden. “It was a mistake. I need a car right now.”
“You know I don’t own a car.”
She looked to the coffee shop owner. “Him. Tell him I need to borrow his.”
Heidi did so, and although the Snow Maiden couldn’t hear what they were saying, the shop owner’s expression was enough. The Snow Maiden crossed to the counter, waved the man into the back room, then drew her pistol, put it to his head. “Keys. Now.”
He fished into his pockets. She took the keys, then motioned for Chopra and Hussein to head out the back door.
In the alley, they found the man’s little Kia. She ordered Hussein into the trunk, told Chopra to lie across the backseat, and gave the keys to Heidi. “You need to drive.”
Heidi was beginning to hyperventilate. “Viktoria!”
“Stay with me, and I’m going to tell you what’s going on. Okay? I need your help.”
Heidi fought for breath, took the keys, and climbed into the car.
“We need someplace secure. Maybe at the university?” the Snow Maiden asked.
“Okay, okay.”
As they pulled out, she called Patti. “Unexpected f
riends here. Are they yours?”
“Yes, they are,” said Patti. “And you should be thankful. The Americans sent operatives. We took care of them for you. Don’t try to drop off the grid again, are we clear?”
“We are,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Meet me tomorrow at eight A.M. Café Gavoroche. I’m sending you the map now.”
“All right.”
“Now there’s no need to rush off just yet, if you’d like to spend some time with your friend.”
“I’m afraid the evening’s already been ruined ...” She hung up and told Heidi to turn the car around; they were going back to Heidi’s apartment.
Hussein began pounding on the trunk partition. “I want out of here! Right now!”
Chopra sat up. “I assume our little clandestine exit has been canceled?”
“Quiet,” the Snow Maiden told him.
Heidi suddenly pulled over to the curb. “I need to know what’s going on right now. I’m sure Hans back at the coffee shop has called the police.”
“You’re right. So maybe we’re not going back to your place,” said the Snow Maiden. “You can check us into a hotel. That’ll work now.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Heidi, I never told you this, but Aldo was working for the CIA. That’s why he was killed. And the same men who tried to kill him are trying to kill me.”
“No, that’s not true.”
“Come with me, and I’ll explain. I’ll tell you everything. Just help us get a room.”
“I don’t even know who you are.”
“I want to tell you. I really do. But it’s important that you just do as I say. All right?”
“No, no, I won’t do this, I can’t,” cried Heidi. “I don’t know if you’re a criminal or a prostitute or who you are!” She reached for the door handle and opened the door.
The Snow Maiden bit her lower lip, drew her pistol—
And as Chopra shouted, “No!”
—she killed her old friend.
SEVENTEEN
MacDill Air Force Base
U.S. Special Operations Command
Joint Strike Force Command Headquarters