Arctic Firepath (Sean Quinlan Book 2)

by Dominic Conlon

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why do you think we should go to the trouble, just for some specification documents?’

  ‘The papers didn’t contain just the specifications for the FNPP. They contained other information as well.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Something I have been working on for a long time. You could call it a personal crusade. I have seen so many of these projects fail simply because a politician in the party machine siphons off most of the money before it gets to the right place.’

  Cramer pursed his lips. ‘Someone was taking bribes on this project?’

  Khostov nodded in agreement.

  ‘Who?’

  Khostov was silent for several moments. ‘I am not prepared to say right now. Get my son, and I will tell you. You will have proof of this when I reveal where I have hidden the last remaining copy.’

  ‘But what is in this for us?’

  Khostov placed his coffee mug deliberately and turned to Cramer. ‘With this information you could bring down the Russian government.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ‘It’s for Captain Burak. What shall I say?’

  Feliks was expecting the phone call. ‘The Captain is indisposed. Give it to me.’ He grabbed the handset from the duty officer. ‘Chief Engineer Feliks Chayka speaking. Who is this please?’

  He knew damn well who they were. The polar whites worn by the intruders did little to mask their country of origin. He had observed them the previous evening from the bridge. First there were a few planes, making tentative approach landings on the ice no more than five kilometres from their position. Within an hour they had erected landing lights so that more aircraft could land.

  Some of the ice-breaker’s crew joined him on the bridge when the word got out. They passed the binoculars around so they might all get a glimpse of the Americans. Soon afterwards they heard the diesel engines of tractors and snow ploughs, levelling the ground and extending the short runway. Larger cargo aircraft began to arrive and they watched as lights were positioned, lighting up more and more of the airstrip. It reminded Feliks of the anticipation he felt as a boy when floodlights were first erected at his local football stadium FC Chelyabinsk.

  ‘Colonel Grey. I understand your Captain is unable to speak, is that correct?’

  Feliks listened carefully. At some point in the future he might be required to repeat the conversation word for word - in a court martial. At least he had managed to intercept the call, fearing that if the Captain became involved there would be an international incident. International incident! Feliks scowled.

  Felix had no wish to explain why his Captain could not come to the bridge. ‘The Captain is indisposed at the moment,’ he said in his best English. Can I be of assistance?’

  ‘Possibly. May I ask who you are?’

  ‘Chief Engineer of the ice-breaker LK-80. What do you want?’

  ‘We would like permission to visit your vessel to speak with you.’

  Feliks looked around at the sailors on the bridge. If his Captain not been so ill he would have taken the call and refused them permission. But the question confounded Felix. What on earth did the American’s want with them? He felt the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. What should he say? If he declined he might be accused of an international diplomatic snub. If he granted permission, the Northern Fleet might view his agreement as a capitulation.

  ‘Em, of course. You would be welcome.’ Felix tried to sound enthusiastic but inside he was reeling. Their presence could not be a coincidence. But what were the Americans up to? If they wanted revenge they could have blown the ship out of the water by now. Why were they asking to visit his ship in such polite terms?

  ‘How many of your personnel can we expect?’

  ‘Myself, Lieutenant Colonel Markus Cooke and our helicopter pilot.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll ensure the landing area is clear of ice.’

  Felix replaced the mike. He imagined the scene at his court-martial. They would ask him why he had not informed them earlier about his Captain’s incapacity. Why did he grant permission for the Americans to board his ship? The questions would not stop until he was sentenced. Felix hung his head. He would still need to inform his Captain, but he realised with a moment of clarity that his personal future was bleak in the extreme.

  He made his way down to the Captain’s office, fully expecting the door to be locked. When he knocked gently, there was no answer and he was surprised to discover the door opened freely. Captain Grigori Burak sat at his desk and turned to meet him.

  ‘I see you have been talking to the Americans.’

  Startled, Felix took a step back. ‘They called, wanting to speak to you. They are sending two of their senior officers.’

  ‘So you agreed to let them on board?’

  Expecting Grigori to object and launch into a rant, he replied defensively. ‘I felt I couldn’t refuse.’

  ‘Then we had better make them feel welcome.’

  Felix didn’t like the way a sly smile spread slowly over the Captain’s face.

  The tea lady handed Sean a mug overflowing with coffee and proceeded to mop his table with a cloth that had seen better days. He stared at the rag.

  ‘Are you alright dear?’ she asked in concerned tones.

  Sean drew a deep breath and held it for a few seconds.

  ‘You look awfully pale. Should I fetch the doctor?’

  He exhaled slowly. ‘It’s OK. Perhaps you could wipe another table now?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  She moved away and he took another deep breath. It was the cloth; it reminded him of the waterboarding. That in turn triggered the schoolboy incident in the swimming pool. Both hands were trembling, and he glanced at the waitress to see if she had noticed.

  He hadn’t wanted to offend her. Agents, toughened by training and previous experience occasionally returned suffering from PTSD or other stress related disorders. More often they would come back physically damaged, and sometimes they didn’t return at all. The tea lady must have seen her fair share in the Section café.

  Shortly after Khostov’s thunderbolt announcement regarding his son, things went quiet. It had given him time for some rest and relaxation and a chance to phone Natasha. Sean recalled how distant she had been when they last met. He told her he had asked for early retirement and they were considering his request. He didn’t tell her it would take six months before he could leave. She told him she had changed jobs and was about to move. The conversation was polite, but much of the warmth they had before was missing.

  The telephone on the counter rang, and the tea lady answered. She came over to his table. ‘Mr Abbott is waiting for you in room 603.’

  During the pause in the mission Lomax had disappeared, presumably to cook up the ingredients for the next phase. Sean was about to find out what it might entail. When he entered he saw Lomax and Abbott seated, wearing serious expressions. He dropped into the nearest chair. ‘You’re going to tell me we must get the kid back.’

  Abbott nodded. ‘Correct.’

  ‘In God’s name why? We have Khostov.’

  ‘It was never just about Khostov.’

  ‘You know what? You people piss me off. Why can’t you be straight with me?’ He glanced across at Lomax. ‘When you briefed me on the mission it was about Khostov and his work. Now you have him you want to send me back for his son?’

  ‘Bit of a bummer, eh?’ Abbott smiled, handing him a picture of a young lad.

  Sean sighed, realising his anger was not helping anyone. From experience some missions twisted and turned like a snake before reaching a conclusion. This was going to be one of those cases.

  He considered the photograph. The snapshot showed a youth in a checked shirt and narrow jeans standing in front of a flock wallpaper. The kid was plainly embarrassed.

  ‘That was taken by Khostov. But we found a lot more on VK.’ He passed over a folder.

  Sean spread out the photos on the desk.
‘VK?’

  ‘VK.com. It’s the Russian equivalent of Facebook. I believe it’s very popular all over the former Soviet Republics too.’

  Sean poured over the prints. Khostov’s son Levushka was in nearly all of them. There were many snaps of him with his friends, at parties, drinking at a bar, in his bedroom with posters of rock bands adorning the wall.

  ‘Where do we find him?’

  ‘Khostov thinks he’s moved in with his ex-wife. She lives and works in Moscow. Obviously she and the boy will be watched, 24 hours a day. Khostov believes the authorities let him continue with his education, rather than placing him under house arrest. Khostov’s reputation means he operates in the highest circles of government and he rubs shoulders with some of the most important members of the politburo. He reasons they won’t do anything to harm Levushka - so long as Khostov keeps quiet about what he knows.’

  ‘How will I tell we’ve got the right person and not a look-a-like the Russians planted in his place?’

  ‘After Khostov’s divorce, when Levushka was seven, Khostov bought him a puppy to take the lad’s mind off their breakup. He was called Petra. The dog only lived a year afterwards - it was run over on a busy road.’

  ‘Access?’

  ‘Lomax is still your Executive. He will arrange that.’

  ‘Ex-fil?’

  ‘You’ll have to play that by ear. Obviously when the boy goes missing they will be watching all exit points around Moscow. I’ll leave it up to you both to sort something out.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Abbott shook his head. ‘I appreciate this is a tough assignment, Sean. We’re all behind you - don’t forget that.’

  Sean grimaced. He had heard that one before.

  The interior of the submarine was damp with moisture. Droplets formed, coalesced and ran down the walls. The XO wiped a finger across the surface of his console. Some of the dampness was turning to ice. Many of the men on the downed submarine USS Montana had their arms wrapped around themselves to keep them warm, even though they all wore survival suits. Most were shivering, and their breath fogged the air.

  Captain Gerry White beckoned to his XO. ‘What’s your view, Thomas?’

  Thomas realised the Captain was referring to the crew. He gestured to a group of men sat on the floor. ‘Not good, Captain. They know HQ are making a big effort to rescue us. But Groton is a long way away, and the men realise we are running out of time.’

  ‘According to your calculations, how much time have we got?’ The Commander was naturally concerned for his men, but he wanted to see if his second in command had fully grasped the situation.

  ‘Ten hours. I don’t think they will reach us in time.’ Thomas sounded despondent.

  ‘And the rescue team’s ETA?’

  ‘18:50.’ Thomas looked at his watch. ‘But don’t forget, they need to install a lot of equipment on board ship before they can start the process. I reckon that will take around twelve hours alone.’

  The Captain looked thoughtful. ‘As much as that?’

  ‘They’ll be working in extreme conditions of cold and wind, and driving snow and ice. They have to send down an exploratory module to check where and how we are lying on the seabed. Say another two to three hours inspection. Then maybe an hour for the first rescue pod.’

  The Captain indicated his agreement. ‘So how long until the pod arrives?’

  The XO eyed the Captain, wondering at all the questions. ‘Sixteen hours, minimum. There will be casualties before then, possibly some deaths before they get here.’

  ‘Is there anything else you think we could be doing?’

  The XO shrugged. ‘Perhaps we should all conserve more energy by lying down and not talking?’

  The Captain looked sideways at Thomas, unsure if the remark was intended as a jibe. ‘Let’s suppose they arrive on time. The rescue party will use the Escape Trunk to evacuate the crew. I think we should be getting some of the men ready.’

  ‘If you say so Captain.’

  ‘You have reservations?’

  ‘The escape trunk can hold 22 men. But the rescue pod capacity is a maximum of 16. Obviously you will put the most seriously injured men first?’

  The Captain agreed.

  ‘But would you want to raise their hopes so early? They will have to sit there for at least 16 hours.’

  ‘Good point, Thomas. But I want the crew to know that help is on the way. By making preparations now, everyone will comprehend that fact. A psychological boost is what we need right now - even if we have to wait a day.’

  ‘Ah, I understand sir. Point taken Captain.’

  ‘Good. I would like the first 16 all suited up, and moved in preparation. We can’t afford to lose a minute - once they start to evacuate the men, we’ll need to get the next sixteen ready, and so on. Can you see to that for me?’

  ‘Yes sir. And Captain?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry if I sounded so negative just then. It won’t happen again.’

  The Commander acknowledged his apology. ‘OK, let’s get a move on.’

  Sean parked the hire car on Rozanova Street. Five minutes later, Lomax slid into the passenger seat.

  ‘What have you got?’

  Sean sensed Lomax was enjoying this phase of the mission. He flicked a look at DD, sitting quietly in the back. Neither of them appeared to share Lomax’s enthusiasm. ‘I‘ve been watching the flat where Levushka is staying. It’s near the Begovaya metro stop in Khoroshevskoye. The block has seven floors and theirs is on the 2nd floor. There’s only one entrance and exit at the western end.’

  ‘Security?’

  ‘A concierge with video intercom and a guard patrols at night.’

  ‘Access?’

  ‘A tall fence surrounds the flats and there’s an underground garage.’

  ‘That’s not much to go on.’

  ‘We only arrived last night, Lomax. What do you expect?’

  Lomax remained silent.

  Sean turned back to continue his observation of the street. Traffic patterns appeared normal and none of the pedestrians were taking an unusual interest in the car. ‘I followed Levushka this morning to school.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They took him in a black Mercedes. There’s a driver and two men and Levushka sits in the back between them. They went to the English Universal School in Beregovaya Street next to the Tushinskaya metro stop. The traffic was so bad it took them an hour. The guards get out first. They survey the environment and when they think it’s safe they accompany him in and stay until it’s time to come home. When they arrive back they use a remote to operate the gates to let the car through.’

  ‘Could be a way in.’

  ‘I’ll check it out,’ piped up DD from the back. ‘But I’ll need to be around when they use the remote. I should be able to scan the codes it uses, but I’ll have to place a receiver unit somewhere close where it can pick up the Wi-Fi signals.’

  ‘When the gates opened I could see beyond into the underground car park,’ Sean continued. ‘There must be a lift because they don’t come out again.’

  Lomax turned to question to DD. ‘Routine and habits?’

  ‘We know Lev likes the night life - his dad told us that. I plan to follow him at the weekend. The guards never leave his side, so Lev has to feel smothered. Maybe they’ll let him out to a bar, or even a nightclub. If so, I’ll tail him - I’m bound to stand out less than you two.’

  Lomax rolled his eyes. ‘Khostov’s ex?’ The question was directed at Sean.

  ‘Nina. She’s a doctor. Travels in her own car - a white Volkswagen Golf. She has a surgery in Koptevo north of the city centre. She leaves the flat about 7 am. Levushka leaves around 8 am.’

  ‘What’s the best time to make the snatch?’

  ‘The nightclub sounds good - if he’s allowed out.’

  ‘DD?’

  ‘I agree. Apart from everything else it will be dark in there. Also the volume of the music systems coul
d cover any loud noises.’

  ‘The nightclub it is, then.’

  In the darkness three Rigid Inflatable Boats slipped from the ice into the cold Arctic waters. Each RIB carried 8 US Navy SEALs, helped by 4 special warfare combatant-craft crewmen known as "swicks".

  The boats quietly traversed the open stretch of water between their base and the icebreaker. Despite a biting 20 knot wind each crewman was warm under his parka, black camouflage gear and wet suit. Over their shoulders they carried FN SCAR STD assault rifles fitted with 13″ barrels for close-quarter fighting.