“And the schematics of the silo are sound? We know what it looks like inside?”
“We have the layout of what the silo looked like in the late sixties, sir. According to OVERDRIVE, there was a vast amount of construction on Site X starting twelve years ago. If you want a more in-depth analysis, you would have to consult Prescott McGavran.” Carter let the name linger in the air, throwing it out like bait, hoping the president would bite—it was essential if McGavran’s plan was going to work.
“And where is Prescott McGavran?”
“He’s at Andrews, sir. Picking up Robert Gaines.”
The president thought for a moment. “I want both of them brought here. I want to hear everything from their mouths.” Turning to Macy, the president said, “And get the Russian ambassador on the phone. This shit with the Russians might have slid with the previous administration, but it won’t slide with mine.”
“Sir,” Carter said, “I would not recommend that. Tipping off the Russians that we know about their botched job to take Robert Gaines would be a mistake. For now, let them believe we’re ignorant.”
“I agree with Director Carter,” Bridgewater said.
“Fine.” McClintock motioned to Bridgewater and JSOC commander Spear. “In one hour, I want a full action plan laid out before me on how to handle this militarily. Commander Spear, which JSOC unit would you suggest?”
The coolheaded JSOC commander looked straight at the president of the United States. “I’d suggest the SEAL DEVGRU squadron that covers the region. Blue Squadron, the Pirates. They’re currently on standby at Dam Neck in Virginia Beach.”
“Good, make the call, and draw up an action plan on Site X. We reconvene back here in one hour.”
Chapter 51
PRINCE GEORGE’S COUNTY, MARYLAND
ANDREWS AIR FORCE BASE
GALE HAD NEVER been in a jet as fast as the Lockheed YF-8. It had taken them under two hours to make the jump from Anchorage to Andrews Air Force Base, just outside of DC.
Gale had sat, handcuffed and secured to his seat between two counterterrorism FBI agents. Special Agent Brower and Earl Marks had sat across from them in the small cargo hold being used as a makeshift passenger cabin. The plane had been too noisy to talk, and the agents hadn’t given Gale a headset, just earmuffs, so communication between the men had been impossible.
Earlier, Brower had told him that he was going to be taken to the Hoover Building in Washington for an interrogation, but Gale suspected that something else was afoot. There was no way the CIA would let that happen, not with his past. He didn’t know if Prescott McGavran was still working at the CIA, or if the old man was even alive. Susan Carter, on the other hand, was a different story. Gale had always tried to stay away from the news as much as possible. He found it generally enraging and time consuming, but he also paid enough attention to know that Susan Carter had been appointed as director of the CIA.
An old anger bubbled up inside Gale as he thought back to Carter’s decision not to alert him of the KGB threat on his family all those years ago. Deep down, Gale still blamed Carter for the death of his beloved Irina. If Gale had known about the threat, he could have done something. He could have saved Irina and stopped Viktor Sokolov.
As the Lockheed YF-8 landed at Andrews, the two agents to his right and left unclasped his restraints and stood him up. Earl scooped up the box of documents he’d taken from his office in Anchorage and gave Gale an uneasy look.
The door to the Lockheed’s side cabin opened and Gale was led down a set of stairs that had been pushed up to the jet. Instantly, Washington, DC’s muggy, hot summer air assaulted him.
The place was surrounded with military personnel, black SUVs, and agents dressed in dark tactical getups.
As Gale’s feet touched the tarmac, he watched as the back door to one of the SUVs opened. A familiar man stepped out and approached Special Agent Brower.
The man still wore his signature tweed jacket, but his face was more withered, his once-black hair now a brilliant shade of white, and he sported glasses that rested over his hawkish nose—
Prescott McGavran walked around Brower and stopped. Gale could see the emotion on the old spymaster’s face.
“Hello, Robert.”
“Been a long time, Prescott.” Gale looked back to the Lockheed YF-8. “Your idea?”
“Susan’s.”
Gale tensed at the mention of her name.
Prescott said, “You’ve caused quite a stir in Washington, Robert.”
“Carter’s letting the FBI handle me? I didn’t know the agency had gone soft.”
Prescott chuckled. “Actually, your presence is requested at the White House. The president has ordered us there personally.”
Gale chewed that over for a few seconds and pointed at Earl. “This is Earl Marks. He’s coming with me. He knows more about what’s happening in Alaska than anyone.”
“Hello, Prescott,” Earl said.
“Agent Marks, it’s been a while.”
Gale turned to Earl in surprise. “You two know each other?”
“Prescott and I have been in contact with each other for the last two decades or so. He seemed to have had an interest in the missing in Alaska.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The relationship I have with Earl has nothing to do with you, Robert. I’ve requested his services a handful of times over the years. Now, if you don’t mind, we need to hurry.”
* * *
Susan Carter made it a point to stay away from the men she’d just briefed in the Situation Room. After everyone had exited, Carter had secured OVERDRIVE to her wrist and walked back into the basement hallway and grabbed her special assistant, Jack Crowley, leading him to a corner where they couldn’t be overheard.
“Have the satellite analysts gotten back to us?”
Crowley, going through his secure phone, said, “Yes, they’ve sent over two encrypted files about thirty minutes ago. Do you want to see them?”
“Yes,” Carter said, grabbing the phone and directing Crowley to turn around.
She opened the first file and typed in the necessary passwords to access the series of Keyhole, or highly secretive spy satellite, photographs she had ordered to be taken from the CIA’s KH-11 surveillance satellites.
The first series of photographs came up on the screen and Carter read the intelligence notes provided by the analysts. Relief spread over her body as she swiped through the pictures and read the reports below them. She opened the second file and felt a sense of elation and justification but also a sense of fear.
The old spymaster had been right.
A slew of Secret Service agents rounded the corner followed by President McClintock and Morgan Fray and led them into the Situation Room. Carter glanced down at her watch, surprised that the last hour had flown by so quickly.
She closed the files on Crowley’s secure phone and pocketed it as the rest of the men filed into the Situation Room. General Bridgewater and Commander Spear went in last.
As Carter marched back down the hall, a second group of Secret Service agents rounded the corner, escorting three men.
One of the men was Prescott McGavran, the other an older gentleman with a large gut, the third—
Carter felt as if a lead weight had dropped into her stomach, and her hand shook as it gripped the brass handle of the Situation Room. She looked into the eyes of the man she had betrayed, of the man she had thought dead thirty years before.
“Hello, Robert.”
Chapter 52
KAMCHATKA PENINSULA
POST 866
THE PAIN IN Cassie’s shoulders was searing and electric.
The cuffs cutting into her wrists had caused her fingers to go numb ages ago. She didn’t know how long she had been in this painful position. Hours? Days?
After her escape attempt, the old man in the Russian military uniform had ordered both his men and Yermakova’s to ready the interrogation room. A foul, sour-smelling blackout ba
g had been forced over Cassie’s head as she was marched back into the underground facility and into a room that reeked so badly of ammonia it cut through the putrid smells of the blackout hood.
She had been forced to kneel on a frigid tile floor, her wrists cuffed and wrenched behind her back. Soon after, she felt a metal clasp hook to her cuffs—then the sound of a chain rattled and a ratchet cranked. Cassie’s wrists had been forced higher and higher behind her until she was forced to stand—but the winch continued to whir, and her shoulders were stretched up behind her in the most unnatural position until she was completely off the floor and hanging.
Cassie moaned as she felt a blast of cold air hit her body and realized that she wasn’t wearing the guard’s uniform anymore.
Suddenly, the blackout hood was whisked off her head and she sputtered at the sight before her.
Fastened to three chairs were three familiar figures. Marko sat in the middle, a filthy hospital smock covering his body. His greasy black hair fell around his shoulders as blood dripped from a cut on his puffy lips. To either side of him sat the equally disheveled figures of Paul Brady and Billy French.
All three men were fastened to the chairs, their limbs anchored by tight wires.
“Vy govorite po-russki?” an excited voice asked to Cassie’s left. Do you speak Russian?
Cassie cocked her head and saw the old man who had exited the helicopter. He’d changed out of his military uniform and was now wearing a stained cowhide apron with the Soviet hammer and sickle emblazoned on the front. His hands were covered in blue surgical gloves as he sharpened a curved blade on a whetstone.
“What?” Cassie sputtered.
“Your mother was Russian but you never learned the language?”
Behind the man was a long, stainless-steel table with dozens of instruments of torture: knives in varying lengths, axes, picks, and prods. A small chainsaw sat on the edge next to a series of multicolored syringes and vials.
Cassie took in the white-tiled room. It was circular and reminded her of an old operating theater.
A pair of rubber soles squeaked behind her and the ashen faces of Artur and Captain Yermakova appeared.
Billy whimpered behind his gag, and Cassie could see a stream of yellow urine begin to flow down his bruised leg.
The old man smiled and said something to Artur and Yermakova in Russian, and they immediately headed toward the far wall of the room. Then the old man stood in front of Cassie. “Do you know who I am?”
Cassie shook her head.
“You don’t remember me? You were quite young, no? My name is General Viktor Aleksandrovich Sokolov. I am a chief in the Sluzhba vneshney razvedki, the SVR. Welcome to my old post, Cassandra Gaines.”
Cassie didn’t say anything, instead she just stared at the man, trying to figure out what the hell he was saying.
We’ve met before?
Why had he called me Cassandra Gaines?
The man held the sharp, curved blade up to Cassie’s cheek and slowly caressed it.
“Oh, how much you look like him. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you from the picture in your file. You both have the same eyes. Pity he won’t be able to see your fate today.” Sokolov traced the blade down Cassie’s chin, down her throat, and then to her straining right shoulder and added pressure.
Cassie grimaced in pain as hot blood poured out of the wound and dripped onto the floor. Sokolov then made his way behind Marko, Brady, and Billy. He placed a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “I thought we could invite your friends to watch and participate in this little party of ours. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Don’t you dare hurt them.”
Sokolov laughed. “Or what? You don’t seem in a position to be making demands.” Suddenly, he grabbed Billy by the hair, wrenched his head back, and brought the curved knife to his throat.
“NO!” Cassie screamed. “STOP IT! DON’T HURT HIM!”
Sokolov laughed and retracted the blade.
“Why are you doing this? What do you want?!” Cassie sobbed.
“I want to hurt you, Cassandra Gaines. I want to hurt you just as your father hurt my son!”
“What are you talking about?!”
“He never told you?” Sokolov asked, his face contorting in mock surprise. “Of course he didn’t. Robert Gaines would never have the decency to be held accountable for his actions.”
“My father’s name is James Gale, not—”
“So he lies to you more.” Sokolov walked back to Cassie. “He never told you who he was?”
Utterly confused, Cassie shook her head, wondering what this maniac was talking about.
“He never spoke about his old job? His time in Moscow? What he was?”
“He… he was a diplomat—”
Sokolov laughed harder, shaking his head then turning suddenly serious. “Oh no, Cassandra… He wasn’t a diplomat. Your father was a killer. A hunter, a monster.” Sokolov raised his arms in the air. “Do you know he was trying to find this place? Did you know he was trying to find what my son and I created? What a coincidence you ended up here.”
Something chirped and Yermakova fumbled with her tablet, before saying something to Sokolov in Russian. A wide smile appeared on his face.
“Do you remember that night in Paris, my dear? You were such a little girl, as was your sister. Do you remember the night your mother died?”
“My mother died in a car crash.”
“Another lie, told to you by your disingenuous father. No, your mother died from a bullet to the head, fired from my gun. You were there, my dear, as was your sister. It was a dark, snowy night, your mother hid both of you in a bedroom closet. Your sister was crying like a stuck pig—screaming for her mother when I put a bullet in Irina’s head. I was going to kill all of you—ship you back piece by piece to your father, but I was interrupted. I will not be interrupted again. I will finish what I started in Paris.”
A loud knock on the door reverberated through the small room and three guards entered, carrying a limp figure with a blackout hood over its head. They dropped the figure before Cassie.
“Our final guest has arrived,” cried Sokolov and lifted the blackout bag.
Overwhelming dread consumed Cassie as Emily Gale blinked and squinted up at her sister.
“Cassie!”
Chapter 53
WHITE HOUSE
SITUATION ROOM
“ARE THEY HERE?” the president asked, as Susan Carter entered the Situation Room after her awkward encounter with Robert Gaines. She shut the door behind her.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Good, sit, I’ll call him in shortly.” McClintock motioned to Connelly, asking, “Any updates?”
“Yes, sir,” Connelly replied, opening a file. “Max Tobeluk, the Eagle village public safety officer has just told one of our counterterrorism agents that two Canadian citizens, Ned and Darlene Voigt, are responsible for the abduction of numerous individuals and that the two deceased men found near Jack Wade worked for the Voigts. We are currently working with the RCMP to search their places of residence across the border.”
“What else?”
“Tobeluk claims that he was only a cleanup man for the kidnappers. But he did give us some new information, something he overheard the Voigts saying before, that they deliver the victims to someone named ‘Whiskey’ in Anchorage.”
“Whiskey?” replied the chief of staff, Morgan Fray.
“Most likely a code name,” Carter said.
“We are following up on a couple leads.” Connelly gave details of the missing fishing boat, the Lady Alaina, and the missing Bulgarian captain who had disappeared the night before the Gaineses’ kidnappings. “Navy and Coast Guard are searching the Bering and the Cook Inlet as we speak. The FBI is trying to get a warrant for the missing captain’s house.”
“Good,” McClintock replied. “General Bridgewater, Commander Spear, what have you got for me?”
“Sir,” Bridgewater said, “JSOC has the
Blue Squadron SEAL Team ready at Dam Neck. They are on standby and ready if need be.” He pointed to the large television screen on the wall behind the president. “The commander of Blue Squadron is Seamus Cafferty. He is currently awaiting via videoconference if we need him.”
“Thank you, General. Okay, send in Prescott McGavran and Robert Gaines.”
* * *
This wasn’t the first time that Gale had been in the Situation Room. Nearly thirty-five years ago, the old director of the CIA, William J. Casey, had him sit in on an operation during the Reagan administration. Gale’s role had been as an adviser to a clandestine operation the CIA was trying to pull off against one of Muammar Gaddafi’s Libyan assassination teams.
Gale was escorted into the room now with McGavran and Earl Marks and cuffed to a chair by two Secret Service agents. Earl and McGavran stood behind him. The first thing Gale thought when he looked around the room with the low ceiling, the television screens, and the rich oak wainscoting was that everyone looked to be his age, everyone except the man directly opposite him, who looked much younger in person than he did on TV.
The president of the United States sat in his high-winged leather chair and took in Gale. Farther down the table to his left, he saw Susan Carter avoiding his gaze, a metal briefcase in front of her.
“Which one of you is Prescott McGavran?” the president asked.
“I am, sir.”
“Director Carter has just briefed us on your OVERDRIVE case file. I want you to tell us how sound this new intelligence is. How certain are you of the location of Site X?”
Gale frowned at the mention of OVERDRIVE and immediately turned his head to look at the old spymaster.
OVERDRIVE still exists?
“As I told Director Carter, I’d stake my life on it, sir. I believe Site X is indeed in the old Soviet missile silo. Given the Keyhole images, plus the HUMINT and SIGINT intelligence documented in OVERDRIVE about the shipment of drones north out of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy with the specialized chemical cannons, it is safe to say that we know the location of Post 866.”
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