He would have to beat the guy to his helipad. He knew where it was—he’d studied the house very carefully on previous visits to secure alternate escape routes if it came to it. Unfortunately, it had come to it. They were under attack of some kind, or at least Haglemann was under attack, and Moscovich knew chances were good he’d get caught in the cross fire if he didn’t act.
Moscovich rushed out of the study and headed for a back staircase he knew led to the third floor where he could gain rooftop access. Only one man would be leaving on that chopper, and it was going to be Vladimir Moscovich. No matter what the cost.
* * *
BOLAN STEPPED INTO the house with the FN-FNC carbine held tight and low, ready for any resistance. He met it—he responded. Two of the house guards stood side by side near the grand staircase and had pistols pointed in his direction. They were close, but the smoke and heat and light of the explosion had apparently stunned them, because their aim was off. Rounds from their pistols went high and wide, not coming even close to Bolan. He knelt, settled on his targets and squeezed the trigger, sweeping the muzzle in a rising, corkscrew pattern and cutting through the pair of guards with unerring accuracy. The high-velocity rounds punctured vital organs and ripped flesh from bone. The men danced under the impact of the rounds as Bolan cut them down.
Another man sprinted up the hallway, triggering his pistol on the run. These had obviously been bodyguards, because none of them carried arms of a paramilitary type. Typical for executive protection. They might have been trained with assault weapons, but they would not have access to them while on house duty. A guy like Haglemann probably hadn’t seen a need for it, a stupid decision for a man in his line of business, dealing with terrorists.
Bolan leveled the muzzle of the FNC and squeezed the trigger. Only one round left the weapon before he sensed it had ceased recoiling. Jam! The soldier cursed and tossed the useless weapon aside. He dropped to the floor, drawing his Beretta 93-R as he did. He rolled out of the line of fire just as the guard adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger three times. The rounds thwacked into the polished hardwood floors in a spot Bolan had occupied a heartbeat before.
The soldier was now on his back, neck arched and looking above and slightly behind him. The Beretta came into target acquisition. The guard had a flash-frozen look of surprise on his face as if stunned he’d missed an enemy he thought he had dead to rights. It was the last thought that went through his mind as Bolan squeezed the trigger. A single, 9 mm round blasted into the man’s face and continued up into his brain with enough force to blow off the top of his skull. His head snapped back, and his body followed a moment later, collapsing to the hardwood floor.
Bolan leaped to his feet and shook his head, taking only a moment to catch his breath. He’d trusted his instincts about the FNC, and that wasn’t something he should have done. He knew that any weapon subjected to that kind of damage might well malfunction, and he’d ignored his experience in a moment of expediency. Well, no point in beating himself up. That wouldn’t accomplish anything, and it was a lesson learned.
As Bolan made his way to the stairs and cautiously climbed them, he was aware of the fact things had gone easier than planned. He was ahead of schedule by at least ten minutes, which meant he’d have to stall for time once he located Haglemann and got to the roof. Grimaldi had affirmed touchdown for 2320, which meant Bolan and Haglemann could have a nice little chat while waiting for extraction. The only thing that could throw a monkey wrench in the works would be if Haglemann’s chopper somehow got airborne and arrived first. Bolan didn’t see how the guy could call for his bird to be in the air that fast, even in the case of an emergency. His people probably hadn’t been trained to respond in such a way.
The other thing to consider was the resistance, although Bolan was sure the men he’d just encountered were the last real line of defense for Haglemann. He doubted the union leader had any reinforcements. He wouldn’t have expected anything like this—Bolan was confident he’d been acting with surprise on his side. Based on what had just transpired and how easily he’d penetrated Haglemann’s defenses, it was obvious that the man hadn’t been equipped or prepared to repel such an assault. Ultimately, only time would tell the tale of the victor.
And time was running out for the good guys.
Fairbanks, Alaska
DR. IVAN BORGSTROM watched the seismometers with interest as he sipped at his coffee. He’d been awakened to a buzzing cell phone, and on hearing the news, he’d climbed into his Jeep and driven as fast as he safely could to the AVO offices.
The Alaska Volcano Observatory was a joint program between the United States Geological Survey, Geophysical Institute of the University of Alaska Fairbanks and the State of Alaska’s Division of Geological and Geophysical Surveys. The communal mission of the USGS, UAFGI and ADGGS was the monitoring and studying of all hazardous volcanoes in Alaska, and to predict and record eruptive activity.
Their mission was in full swing that morning.
As soon as Dr. Borgstrom arrived, he went straight to the main observatory lab and began to direct the operations. Staff was in a scramble as no one had ever encountered something quite like this before. Leaning over the technician’s shoulder, Borgstrom peered at the varying screens with great anticipation.
A staff member rushed up to him and shoved a stack of printouts into his hand, pointing to a particular set of readings she’d highlighted.
“All the data you asked for on Semisopochnoi, Dr. Borgstrom,” Dr. Leann Leyna said.
Born in Japan and raised in Hawaii, Leyna had never been a stranger to volcanoes. They’d fascinated her since childhood, and she’d lived in some of the most volcanic regions on the planet. It’s one of the many reasons he’d hired the young grad student and guided her through her PhD. While she’d never really gotten used to the cold weather, she’d proven an invaluable resource and good friend. Borgstrom considered her much like one of his own daughters.
“The last confirmed EC had been noted on April 13, 1987,” Leyna added. “You can see there it had a VEI of only two.”
Under other circumstances that wouldn’t have been any indication, but Semisopochnoi was a bit different. In June 2014, AVO had noted a significant increase in seismic activity on the island in the form of an earthquake swarm, and the continuation of the anomalous activity had prompted them to kick up the Aviation Color Code to Yellow, but it had not warranted any other action than the continuous monitoring. Flybys had continued for the area, at least until the recent shutdown of air traffic by the military for reasons that were as yet unknown.
AVO had sent some recent information as requested about any potential dangers posed to military personnel, particularly air force, navy and US Coast Guard that were on maneuvers in the area. That seemed strange, since Borgstrom typically received that data months in advance, even if it were a planned alert exercise. He wasn’t technically supposed to have that information, but he had some friends in high places, and they kept him abreast of the basics more as a courtesy. Borgstrom could understand the need for security when it came to military operations, but he was responsible for the safety of everyone operating near volcanic regions. Was it too much to ask he be shown a little courtesy now and again?
This most recent information was disturbing at best and the activity and tension in the labs almost palpable. Sugarloaf Peak was a stratovolcano feature at an elevation of 856 meters. And that puppy was definitely rumbling. In some subterranean caves, thermal imaging revealed that practically overnight they had experienced increases of temperature by a couple hundred degrees.
“If I didn’t know better,” Borgstrom muttered, “I’d say this could be a full eruption with a VEI of... Oh, wow, maybe as high as five?”
VEI was a measure of the eruption explosiveness on a scale of zero to eight. The Mount St. Helens eruption in May 1980 had been rated a five, and the Pinatubo in the Philip
pines back in 1991 had rated at a six. The latter had also been stratovolcano, just like Sugarloaf on Semisopochnoi, and the sudden activity after seemingly no real threat for hundreds of years of benign readings could indicate they’d missed something along the way.
Borgstrom advised he’d be in his office and went straight there. He verified the data three times, checking it against the history of the island, before finally picking up the phone and calling the special hotline they had installed. Because of his unique position as overseer of AVO, Borgstrom had direct access to certain highly placed personnel and had been invited to use the hotline if he ever thought something might threaten national defense in Alaska as it related to volcanoes. This call would mean he’d have to reveal his knowledge of such activities, but that could hardly be something to worry about right now. The lives of potentially thousands of service members could be at risk.
The line was picked up on the third ring, and Borgstrom was thankful it was monitored twenty-four hours a day, three-hundred sixty-five days a year.
“This is Dr. Borgstrom with the Alaska Volcano Observatory in Fairbanks. I need to speak with the Secretary of Defense on a Priority Alpha matter.”
“Please, stand by, sir.”
Borgstrom drummed his fingers nervously on his desk while he waited to be patched to the highest-ranking military official in the US government. He knew he might be overreacting, but it was better to cry wolf and have it not be true than do nothing and let potentially hundreds or thousands get killed. Not to mention the fact the information and data they collected was open to the public.
The Secretary of Defense’s sleepy voice finally cut through the secure airwaves. “Dr. Borgstrom. This is unexpected. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to wake you, Mr. Secretary, but I have some very disturbing information, and I thought it prudent to contact you.”
“Quite all right. What’s going on?”
“Sir, we...” Borgstrom’s words caught in his throat, and he paused only a moment to wonder if he was about to commit career suicide. No, he couldn’t think that way. He was a competent and respected scientist. They would have to listen to him.
“We have been monitoring for the past six hours an unusual amount of seismic activity on Semisopochnoi Island.”
“Where?”
“Semisopochnoi. It’s one of the island bodies in the Aleutians, Mr. Secretary.”
“Oh, of course, of course,” he replied. “Please, go on.”
Borgstrom knew the pedantic blowhard didn’t have the first clue where it was, but he ignored that fact. “This activity is significant because it started very suddenly, and we had no reason up to this point to be concerned. There were no indications that it could or even would erupt—”
“Hold up there,” the secretary cut in, clearing his throat and still trying to come fully awake. “What are you talking about? Are you saying there’s a volcano about to erupt in Alaska?”
“Yes, sir,” Borgstrom replied. “I’m calling you because I have it on good authority there are currently significant military operations going on in that region.”
“How did you know that? Oh, never mind. That’s unimportant right now. So you’re calling because of concern for those personnel.”
“Yes. Mr. Secretary, I can’t emphasize enough the dangers of this development. I’ve triple-checked the data, and I predict the Volcanic Explosivity Index of this eruption at five, the same as Mount Pinatubo in the Philippines.”
“Could you elaborate on those effects? I’m not familiar with that eruption.”
“It produced the second largest eruption of the twentieth century, exceeded only by Novarupta, which also occurred in Alaska, incidentally. The results were cataclysmic and had atmospheric consequences around the world. More than ten billion tons of magma were ejected, and twenty million short tons of minerals and metals were deposited surface-side. At present, we’ve noted phreatic explosions on Sugarloaf, that’s the designation of this stratovolcano on Semisopochnoi, which would indicate that magma is already heating groundwater. There are steam blasts already visible to satellite cameras. Normally such activity would be an indication of eruption in the very near future, but in this case I don’t think we have that much time.”
Borgstrom could hear the Secretary of Defense utter a number of blasphemies under his breath before asking, “How much time are we talking about?”
“If these readings are correct, and I have little doubt to think they aren’t, we have less than twelve hours. If you have any personnel on that island, or anywhere near it, you need to evacuate them immediately.”
“Dr. Borgstrom, you have to be sure about this. I have information that indicates our activities are presently confined to Dutch Harbor, so there shouldn’t be any military personnel near there. But there are some pockets of civilian population we should concern ourselves with.”
“We have equipment on Semisopochnoi, Mr. Secretary, and I assume the navy does, too. However, the island is unpopulated, as are those islands closest to it. But given the circumstances, I thought it prudent to contact you immediately.”
“You did the exact right thing, Doctor,” he replied. “I’ll need to contact the Joint Chiefs and President and brief them immediately. I will also need you to forward any and all data you have to my offices, so we can begin to put together an action plan. I’ll have someone call you within a half hour with details.”
“Understood.”
“Thank you, Dr. Borgstrom,” the secretary said, and he hung up.
Borgstrom looked at the receiver a moment before hanging up himself. The man on the other end of the line had sounded strange, to be sure, but then he’d woken the poor guy up at home with some very disturbing news. Had roles been reversed, Borgstrom probably would’ve sounded strange, as well.
In any case, he’d done his best to go through the proper channels and notify them of the impending eruption of Sugarloaf. He wondered now what he should do next, but even as he pondered the thought, he knew the answer. He could turn over the updates to Leann. He needed to get into the chopper and get out to the area as quickly as possible, so he could witness the situation firsthand. But could he really afford to do that? The Secretary of Defense would be contacting him soon, or at least someone from his office, and Borgstrom knew he should stay available in the event he’d have to brief the President.
Such a possibility was likely, perhaps even inevitable. He couldn’t afford to leave that duty to an underling, no matter how good.
Damn. He’d have to send Leann! Not that he didn’t trust her—she was the best in her field and as trustworthy a soul as they came. It would just mean he’d miss seeing the eruption, and that was something most every volcanic scientist lived for. It was exciting and at once terrifying to watch the Earth cough up her lifeblood while showing off her fierce terror and power all at the same time. It was almost like witnessing the birth of a human baby, but with so many more ramifications. Well, nothing could be done about it. His duty was here, his dedication to the safety and conservation of human life came first.
Ivan Borgstrom was just glad for one thing—no human life was presently on Semisopochnoi.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Semisopochnoi Island
Benyamin Tokov felt his skin might be boiled off his body. Temperatures inside the cavern seemed to have increased dramatically, and the walls were drenched with moisture.
He’d been sleeping in an antechamber, back to the wall, when the sudden sounds of rumbling and heavy vibrations yanked him from his dreams. The change of environment seemed to have come like the spring of a pole vaulter, and Tokov wondered if there had been a change in the volcanic activity. Tokov was no volcanologist or seismologist, but he knew something about volcanoes. The sudden rise in ambient temperature within the cavern seemed to be a pretty good indication of inc
reased thermal energy emanating from the crevasses of magma running beneath them.
Tokov looked at his watch. They still had more than six hours before the Belsky would be within signaling range. It would be at least another hour before the launches arrived to take them off the island and another hour after that before they were safely aboard the Russian submarine and away from this place. Tokov couldn’t wait, but he also had to admit that these new developments had him a little concerned.
Of course, no volcano had ever started rumbling to life and then suddenly erupted after only a few hours of activity. They had looked carefully at the data before choosing this island, and there were no indications that an eruption would occur. The previous year about this time there had apparently been some sort of gaseous escape and seismic activity, but there hadn’t been any earthquakes. And this activity couldn’t have even been deemed a seismic event of any significance. The walls of the cavern remained standing, and nobody had been injured.
While Semisop was definitely coming to life, they were still a long way off from seeing any sort of serious eruption. Tokov knew enough to understand that. Still, there was no longer any reason for them to stay below ground, and he was sick and tired of the heat. Tokov climbed to his feet, dusted himself down and headed to where his men were waiting to tell them it was time to head into open ground.
Better safe than sorry, Tokov thought.
* * *
PART OF COMMANDER Louis Ducati felt as if he might just expire right there, but he forced such thoughts from his mind. He could not, no, he would not abandon his crew that easily. He would not die, and he would not succumb to his need for rest. There would be plenty of time to rest after they were rescued, and Ducati knew they would be rescued. He could feel it in his gut. Their people were coming for them, and they would be there soon.
War Everlasting (Superbolan) Page 21