Sleeping Bear

by Connor Sullivan

  Cassie and Brady looked to the sky.

  The gunfire ceased.

  White contrails arced over them. The whistling grew louder. The contrails turned and headed straight for them.

  Cassie could see at least half a dozen of the white streaking lines.

  Brady started pulling at her again. Billy got up when two of the metal canisters punched into the rocks just feet away.

  Cassie stared down at the canisters as if in a trance. In the distance, she thought she could hear the sounds of helicopters.

  Cassie watched as Brady reached down, grabbed one of the canisters, and threw it down the mountain.

  But before he could grab the second one, it blinked red and opened.

  The orange cloud exploded in front of them.

  Cassie didn’t try to fight it.

  She inhaled and felt something in her head loosen. Her body slumped and the world around her fell away.

  Chapter 26

  POST 866

  CONTROL ROOM

  CAPTAIN YERMAKOVA WATCHED via the aerial drone feed as Subject 8831 lost consciousness among the other Americans. According to her health monitor bracelet, the woman’s vitals were becoming erratic.

  “She’s been shot,” Artur said, his face angry, pinched.

  “I can see that; prep your lab for surgery,” Yermakova replied, and Artur ran out of the room. On the screens, the military helicopter was swooping down over Subject 8831’s position. Yermakova keyed the microphone on the control console to talk directly to her guards in the chopper. “Subject 8831 is to be taken first. Team Two can come back for the others.”

  She got a confirmation from her guards in the chopper and then had the drone operator pull back in a wide shot over the mountaintop. Two Black Dolphin prisoners lay dead, the other four unconscious from the heavy doses of knockout gas that had been rained down on them. A wave of relief spread over Yermakova as she watched Subject 8831 being lifted into the helicopter.

  “ETA twenty-two minutes,” a guard said over her mike.

  “Copy that.”

  Yermakova looked out over the control room and cursed under her breath for what the general had made her do. The glossy black phone that connected the sharashka to Lubyanka still lay with the receiver resting on the table. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to Viktor Sokolov, but she knew she didn’t have a choice. Yermakova had only heard rumors of what this place used to be during the days of the Soviet Union. Rumors of what the KGB used it for, what Viktor Sokolov and his late son had used it for.

  She knew that as soon as she picked up that phone she would be victim to Viktor Sokolov’s world.

  Why the senile old man was so interested in Subject 8831 Yermakova could only guess, but she knew that whatever the reason was, she was now complicit. She took a step toward the phone and then envisioned herself walking out of the control room and straight to her executive living quarters. Drawing a warm bath, turning on some Bach, and relaxing with a glass of red wine before dealing with the general. Or maybe she could call her colleagues in Moscow about the motives of the old generalnyi.

  Nyet.

  That would be suicide. The general had eyes and ears everywhere. He had moles and resources so vast it would be a mistake to go behind his back.

  If Yermakova wanted to get out of this godforsaken place in the next year or two, she would play the game the way it was meant to be played.

  Kiss their asses. And be granted admission into their inner circle.

  Her career flashed before her eyes. A young GRU intelligence officer stationed in the West. She thought of all the assets she had run over a decorated twenty-nine-year career. LIPSKI in Washington, ICARUS in New York. Her times in the rezidenturas had been paramount in establishing a name for herself in Moscow. But it wasn’t until KODIAK walked through the embassy doors in Ottawa that Yermakova really made a name for herself. KODIAK was her baby, an asset so valuable in seizing Western military intelligentsia that Moscow had given her a promotion just for running him. She had run KODIAK for years and gathered more than valuable intelligence. When it was time for KODIAK to retire—she had offered him a lucrative deal to work for her in her new position.

  The offer was to move KODIAK somewhere desolate so he could build an extraction team for the revamped sharashka.

  It frightened her that KODIAK had extracted Subject 8831 and would now be in the cross hairs of General Sokolov.

  KODIAK was hers. KODIAK’s team was hers.

  She would protect them by whatever means necessary.

  She grabbed the black receiver of the FAPSI line and envisioned herself in two years’ time in a luxurious Black Sea dacha. If all went to plan with this sharashka, if she pleased the siloviki and the president, her future would be beyond bright.

  She heard the general breathing on the other line and tried speaking with confidence. “General Sokolov, the trial has been stopped. Subject 8831 is safe and on her way to the sharashka for medical attention.”

  Yermakova felt a sick sense of foreboding as she spoke into the phone. Bigger things were at play now and she felt like a pawn on a chessboard.

  A cog in a defective machine.

  It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed.

  * * *

  General Sokolov’s arm was growing numb from keeping the phone pressed to his ear for so long. He listened to Captain Yermakova’s deep voice come over the other line.

  Cassandra Gale was safe.

  He felt himself relax.

  “What is going on, General? Why was I made to stop the trial?”

  Sokolov chuckled, caressing the photocopied picture in the dossier with his finger. “You have Cassandra Gale’s file in front of you, do you not?”

  “I do.”

  “The picture found in her wallet?”

  “Da.”

  “You see the man holding the dog? The man with the blue shirt—what was GRU intelligentsia able to find on this man?”

  “What does he have to do with anything?”

  “He has to do with everything!” Sokolov snarled, picking up the photo and waving it in front of him as if Yermakova could see it. “I want your GRU intelligentsia to find out everything they can about this man. I want to know who he is, what his relationship to Subject 8831 is. I want you to find out if he is looking for her!”

  “Looking for her? How could I possibly find that out?”

  “Your dossier stated that she was picked up by your extraction team, KODIAK. Is that correct?”

  “Da.”

  “Ask KODIAK if they have had contact with this man. Your team is to drop everything and focus their efforts on this task, is that understood?”

  “Da, Generalnyi.”

  “You will have until the end of the day to send your report to Captain Kryuchkov before it is to be reviewed at the Senate Building.”

  “The S-Senate Building?” Yermakova stammered, knowing full well who would be reading the report. “I cannot guarantee if it is possible to get into contact with KODIAK in such a short amount of time. I don’t know if my intelligentsia department will be able to pinpoint what you desire—that could take days!”

  “Then maybe I will have an SVR team take over, maybe I will inform the president that Captain Yermakova is no longer of any use to us. That her games are of no use to the siloviki—that the sharashka’s macabre games are not—”

  “Nyet, that will not be necessary! I will get my team on it immediately. I will establish contact with KODIAK and a report will be sent to Kryuchkov this evening. We will determine who this man is.”

  Sokolov gave Yermakova the exact time her report was due before hanging up and exiting the room.

  In the hall, a sweating Kryuchkov was pacing in front of the startled FSB guard who snapped to attention as soon as Sokolov emerged from the room.

  Sokolov felt charged. He checked his watch, remembering the heavy clouds over Moscow, the undeniable smell of imminent rain. Traffic heading north would be a disaster this time of day. Driv
ing was out of the question; he needed something faster.

  “Kryuchkov, notify your director. Tell him we will be using his helicopter. It still sits on the roof, does it not?”

  “I assume it does—”

  “Then get it ready.”

  Kryuchkov barked the order to the FSB guard who saluted and tore off down the hallway.

  “And where are you going, General?”

  “We are going to see my nephew. We are going to see the president.”

  * * *

  Captain Yermakova stood in stunned silence, the FAPSI line still pressed to her ear. She could feel the technicians, the drone operators, all staring at her as she tried to wrap her head around the conversation that had just taken place.

  How the hell was she going to find that man in the picture in such short time? How could she guarantee that she could even get ahold of KODIAK? Her GRU intelligentsia team was one of the best in the whole Federation, but what Sokolov was demanding could prove impossible.

  Lieutenant Klimentiev, the head of her GRU intelligentsia, stood expectantly from his station.

  Yermakova knew she had to maintain an air of confidence, so she put the receiver back on the FAPSI line, held up the photocopied picture of the man, and began to shout orders. The man’s face was to be run through every GRU, FSB, and even SVR facial recognition database they had. Everything they could find on Subject 8831 and her family was to be dug up and put into a report. She told them the time constraint, told them the stakes, and listened and watched as everyone in the room tensed.

  They understood how serious this was.

  This was going straight to the president.

  Everyone jumped to work, then Yermakova called over Klimentiev. As he hurried to her, Yermakova gazed back at the aerial footage of the helicopter transporting Subject 8831 back to the sharashka.

  Who the hell was this Cassandra Gale?

  Who the hell was that man in the picture?

  And why was General Viktor Sokolov so interested in them?

  Klimentiev snapped to attention. She rounded on him. “Get me a secure line to KODIAK straightaway. Today is not a day to play games.”

  Chapter 27

  EAGLE, ALASKA

  Sunday, June 30th, 1:28 a.m.

  NED VOIGT ROSE out of bed, walked to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on his face. He gazed at himself in the mirror and tried to remain calm. Staying asleep had proven impossible not because of the uncomfortable bed, or the rattling radiator in the old motel room, but because his mind couldn’t stop going over what a colossal, fucked-up situation he and his team were in.

  Ned checked his wristwatch, it was nearly two in the morning. Trooper Ross and Ralph Condon should have been back from Clinton Creek by now. He’d tipped off his men that they were arriving and what kind of questions they were going to be asked. He had them double-check that the surveillance footage from the last week wouldn’t show any incriminating evidence of Jake’s and Curtis’s actions, or his own for that matter.

  His men had insisted the footage would show nothing and that they’d all have their stories straight.

  It was what they were paid to do, after all.

  But that wasn’t the main reason why Ned couldn’t sleep. It was a sense of failure that kept gnawing at him. For eleven years, he and Darlene had been running their extraction team in this desolate part of the world. His men came and went, like any organization, but never before had they experienced a hiccup like this.

  Hell, he thought, it wasn’t a hiccup. It was a complete clusterfuck.

  Picking up and extracting loners from the woods wasn’t exactly rocket science, so how the hell had this blown up so magnificently?

  Well, he knew the answer.

  It was all because of one person.

  Max fucking Tobeluk.

  The VPSO had been on his payroll for years with the simple job of keeping his damn mouth shut and turning a blind eye to the dealings of Ned and his team.

  For years, Tobeluk had done just that. He’d taken his money and never made a peep. Until this spring—when the little bastard had come knocking on Ned’s door, demanding not only a pay raise, but also insisting that he participate in the extractions. Tobeluk had warned Ned that if he refused to let him join the team, he was going to sing like a bird to the authorities.

  Ned should have listened to his gut then and there. He should have shot the VPSO and thrown his body in the river. But Ned needed a man on the west side of the border, so he gave Tobeluk a bump in pay and let him do cleanup on the campsites.

  And what had Tobeluk done?

  He screwed it up.

  And now he was gone.

  Max Tobeluk, the witless wonder, had escaped under their very noses.

  Ned knew only he could make all of this right.

  The day before, when Mountie Ralph Condon had come to the logging site asking about Cassandra Gale’s and William French’s stay at the Northern Breeze, Ned knew something had gone spectacularly wrong. He’d asked Condon delicate and concerned questions—found out that Cassie and Billy were both missing and that the ABI had opened a criminal investigation and had instructed Condon to dig into the Northern Breeze.

  Ned knew not to lie. Well, not to lie too much.

  The best lies were the ones that were closest to the truth.

  Ned understood that the fight between Jake, Billy, and Cassie would get out sooner or later if the patrons in the Northern Breeze were questioned. So he’d had no choice but to tell Condon about the altercation.

  Before Condon had time to grow suspicious, Ned had called in Jake and Curtis from the field. He’d told Condon the two boys were on his shit list and were working triple shifts until Ned deemed them worthy to take up their regular schedules.

  Condon seemed to take him at his word, but Ned knew that the buck wasn’t going to stop there. The ABI could be meticulous. Ned needed to get in front of this and find out as much as he could in order to gain some semblance of control.

  He’d offered to take Curtis, Jake, and Darlene to Eagle to help out in the search.

  Condon had agreed.

  As they drove, Ned raged at Curtis and Jake in the back seat. Ned was terrified of the unknown more than anything. Terrified what the ABI had discovered. He cursed Jake for his impetuousness at the bar, cursed Curtis for egging it on.

  By the time they arrived in Eagle, he’d calmed down significantly, but that went out the window when he saw Tobeluk in the VPSO’s office and a picture of the “knockout” canister on the desk. Right then and there, Ned knew that the little prick had messed up royally.

  “Ned, honey, what are you doing?” Darlene came into the bathroom, clearing the tired from her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her husband. Their eyes met in the mirror. “What are you worried about?”

  “You know what I’m worried about.”

  “The workers in Clinton Creek won’t say anything. The surveillance footage won’t show anything. There’s no hard evidence against us. Vance has seen Sergeant Plant’s report. We’re in the clear.”

  Trooper Elliot Vance was one of Ned’s best men. A damn fine soldier for Ned and a damn fine pilot. When Vance wasn’t working his day job, he was flying the captured subjects to the rendezvous points in his AST plane. It was perfect cover.

  “I’m worried about Tobeluk and what he could tell the authorities.”

  “What could he say? He doesn’t know—”

  “He knows enough. He knows we take people. It would be enough to put us away for life. Enough to end this whole operation.”

  “We’ve planned for that.”

  In fact, they had planned for this. Deep down Ned knew that they were too old to be living this kind of life. But he was addicted to the money, addicted to the adrenaline of it all. It made him feel young. But in reality, they had enough money stashed away, they could live anywhere they pleased, be anyone they wanted to be. Then why was he so hesitant to walk away from it all?

  If he was being totall
y honest with himself, it wasn’t just the money, and the adrenaline—it was the power he was truly addicted to.

  He’d been an agent of a foreign government for the better part of his life. First spying for the Soviets while he worked for the Canadian Maritime Command, then as the Soviet Union fell, he continued his spying with the same GRU handler.

  The cash had been great, the expensive vacations, the hunting trips…

  As his navy career ended, his handler approached him with a new job opportunity. The money would be exceptional, the operations thrilling. She’d promised him he would be in charge of recruiting his own team and even given the liberty to pick a predetermined destination to begin extracting.

  They had picked Dawson due to its proximity to the US border, and the number of drifters heading into Alaska. Plus, Ned loved the fishing, camping, and hunting that the region offered. And, in the off-season, when the snow closed the area for half the year, Ned and Darlene could travel wherever they pleased.

  It had been a hell of an eleven years. Ned had lost count how many people they had extracted for the Russians.

  Hundreds?

  God only knew what they did to them in Russia.

  “What are you so afraid of, Ned? If Tobeluk starts blabbing, we send out our distress signal and we follow the extraction procedure. Just you and me, like we always planned.”

  Like always, Darlene was acting sensibly.

  “And if Yermakova doesn’t let us leave?”

  “You know we’ve taken precautions for every eventuality.”

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Then hope that Vance can find Tobeluk before the real authorities find him. What orders did you give him?”

  “Vance? To find Tobeluk and silence him.”

  “Then that is what will happen.”

  “We’ve been too greedy, Darlene. We’ve been extracting too many people. Calling too much attention to ourselves. It’s my fault. I let Tobeluk in. I let that drunk do a cleanup on the two subjects—what the hell was he thinking, putting Cassandra Gale’s pistol in French’s backpack? Slicing the damn tents like that, and the knockout canister? He made both campsites look like a damn circus!”