Sleeping Bear

by Connor Sullivan

  Gale nearly jumped out of his seat. “You’ve found it?”

  “Quiet, Mr. Gaines,” the president snapped, turning his attention back to McGavran. “In your report, you said that you believe that the activity at the FSB’s Lubyanka Building in Moscow is correlated to the increase of drone activity around Site X.”

  “Yes, sir. That has been documented on twelve occasions by both surveillance outside the Lubyanka Building, as well as Keyhole surveillance of Site X. As I stated in OVERDRIVE, it is my conclusion that the siloviki watch from a highly fortified lounge deep under the FSB building the dealings of trials at Site X. The intelligence on that is sound, sir.”

  “But this is all speculation,” said Morgan Fray. “How am I the only one here who doesn’t see any definitive proof? OVERDRIVE is just some half-cocked intelligence report from a renegade CIA agent!”

  “I’d have to agree with Fray, sir,” DNI Nagle said. “This is purely speculation. In no way do we have any concrete evidence that Americans are being taken to this facility. The Russians could be doing any number of things at Site X.”

  McGavran didn’t back down. “Sir, I disagree. The intelligence I have gathered in regard to the activity off the east coast of the Kamchatka Peninsula at the Gazprom oil rig, as well as the shipments coming out of Vladivostok to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy and then north toward Site X, strongly repudiates that claim. If you take another look at OVERDRIVE, you would see that.”

  “But it still doesn’t say for certain that Americans are being taken in those stealth helicopters,” said Fray. “You can’t prove that.”

  “Sir, if I may,” Carter said, turning her chair toward the president. “At 1700, after I was first briefed on OVERDRIVE by Prescott McGavran, I spoke to my satellite directors at Langley. Given the patterns illustrated in OVERDRIVE in relation to the Russian-owned Gazprom oil rig in the Bering, I thought it was prudent to aim a series of our spy satellites at the Gazprom oil rig in question as well as over Site X.”

  Carter opened the message on the computer screen in front of her and transferred the images to the big screen behind McClintock. “According to witnesses in Eagle, Emily Gale was kidnapped around 9:23 a.m., Alaska time. That would mean the men who captured her got to Jack Wade around 10 a.m. Considering it would take a prop plane nearly two hours to get to Anchorage, or any of the coastal towns in Alaska—we can deduce they hit the water by boat or even aircraft by noon. According to the FBI, all planes were grounded by that time and the navy was searching the Bering with radar.”

  “You’re saying they took a speedboat to Russia?” Fray said sarcastically.

  “No,” Carter said, “I’m saying they could have used multiple modes of transportation. Possibly that missing fishing boat to get off the coast and out to sea, but then they could have used anything.”

  “Where are you going with this, Director Carter?” the president asked.

  “Sir, we don’t know for certain how the Russians transport Americans across the Bering.” Carter put a slide of the satellite imagery up on the big screen. “But I can tell you that approximately one hour and twenty minutes ago, one of our satellites looking at the Russian Gazprom oil rig just off the Kamchatka Peninsula picked up a Kamov Ka-82K Russian stealth helicopter landing on the rig. The helicopter came in from the east, sir. Shortly after, we believe that the Kamov refueled and then flew directly west in the direction of Site X.”

  Carter flipped to another picture. “This was taken nearly three hours ago over Site X.” The picture showed a topographic view of a mountaintop where two large helicopters sat under camouflaged netting and an even larger helicopter sat unobscured on the peak. “The unobscured helicopter is an AgustaWestland AW101, which arrived at Site X from Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy.” She clicked another slide. It showed two unobscured helicopters parked on the peak of Site X. “Thirty minutes ago, the Kamov Ka-82K from the Gazprom oil rig arrived at Site X. Take note that a group of individuals can be seen carrying something through the concrete bunker doors.”

  The room went deathly silent for a long moment. Gale gazed from the screen to the president of the United States.

  “Still doesn’t explain how that stealth helicopter was able to fly across the Bering undetected by our navy,” muttered Fray.

  “It’s called a stealth helicopter for a reason,” grunted Bridgewater. “And Director Carter might be correct; maybe they used a different mode of transportation to cross and the stealth helicopter picked them up halfway.”

  “Like a boat?”

  “Or a submarine,” Gale said. “When I was captured by the Russians, I heard them say that two other teams were rendezvousing together with the captured subject in Eagle—they said they would take the secondary extraction route out of Anchorage and that it would take longer. I also noticed that my captors all had rebreathers with them. Correct me if I’m wrong, but from the limited intelligence I’ve seen so far, it strongly suggests that the Russians are taking Americans to Site X and from what the Vympel operators told me before they got me on that plane—”

  “What exactly did they tell you?” asked Carter.

  “They said: Viktor Sokolov is looking forward to seeing me at the sharashka. That they had my daughters and it would be a family reunion.” Gale watched as Carter took a deep breath, then he said, “My daughters are there”—he pointed to the screen. “Viktor Sokolov has them. The Russians have been taking Americans for decades. Torturing them. And now we know where they do it.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” said Fray.

  “What more evidence would you need?” Gale yelled. “Would you like Russian foreign intelligence to drop a pin? Maybe they can send you a picture of my daughters while they are at it.”

  “Enough,” the president said calmly. For a long moment the president said nothing, then he began to shake his head. “I think my chief of staff is correct, we can’t prove that your daughters are at Site X. I cannot in good faith send American operators on a mission like this, given the lack of intelligence.”

  “Sir,” Commander Spear said. “After listening to the contents of OVERDRIVE and looking at these satellite images of Site X, I can say in confidence that I’ve sent men into battle on far less intelligence.”

  “But we’re not talking about sending men into Pakistan, Commander. We are talking about sending operators into the land of a global superpower—Russia for God’s sake. That is an act of war.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. President,” Spear said, “that didn’t stop the Russians from operating on US soil. Those men in Alaska have been identified as Russians. Russians are kidnapping our citizens. It is the consensus of both myself and General Bridgewater that JSOC has the capability to infiltrate and rescue any Americans within Site X under Article 51 of the United Nation’s Charter.”

  Article 51 was a nation’s inherent right of self-defense.

  The president took in the JSOC commander for a long moment.

  “You’re not really considering this, are you, sir?” Fray asked, always thinking of the political ramifications of the president’s actions. “It would be a suicide mission that would result in an international crisis. If it went south, it would ruin this administration.”

  McClintock continued to think.

  “Sir,” Gale said, “if you don’t send in the United States military, I am going to go in anyway.”

  Fray laughed. “You think we’re just going to let you go to Russia? You’re a loose cannon. We heard what you did in Moscow; you should be in a cell in Leavenworth!”

  Gale shot the man a serious look. “My actions in Moscow were warranted. President Reagan and Director Casey gave McGavran and me permission under Directive 138 to go after Sokolov and the men working with him. Those assassinations were sanctioned and legal.”

  “Is that true?” asked Carter, looking at McGavran.

  The old spymaster nodded.

  “Then why were you demoted?”

  “I wasn’t. I persuaded Bill Casey
to put me at OREA—so I could keep looking for the sharashka.”

  “So Casey was a trigger-happy lunatic. No surprise there,” muttered Fray.

  “You weren’t there. You weren’t on the ground. If this administration decides to throw me in Leavenworth, so be it,” Gale said. “But help me get my daughters first. They are innocent Americans who have been captured by a foreign state.”

  The president shook his head. “I can’t in good faith order Americans to execute such an operation—even if it falls under Article 51.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. President,” Earl Marks said, introducing himself and putting his box of research onto the oval table. “Sir, it wouldn’t just be saving the Gale daughters. It would be saving the hundreds, if not thousands of American souls who were lost at Site X over the decades.” He opened the box and plopped dozens of the MPRs representing the missing who had stayed through the Northern Breeze only to disappear days later. He started reading off the names of individuals who vanished in the Alaskan wilderness. The last folder in the pile, he held up, and read off the name: “Paul Brady, sir. Retired Navy SEAL. Went missing six weeks ago, after staying at the Northern Breeze—he was last seen near a town called Chicken.”

  Gale watched as both Spear and Bridgewater snapped their attention to Earl.

  Earl continued: “He might still be alive, sir. Max Tobeluk confirmed to the FBI that Brady was picked up by Ned Voigt and his crew. Paul Brady might still be at Site X, sir.”

  The expression that crossed Commander Spear’s face was visceral and the president nearly winced as he caught the commander’s stare.

  “Let me go in, sir,” Gale said.

  The president shook his head again. “My chief of staff is right. We do not have complete verification that Americans are at Site X. Until there is proof, I will not send our operators onto Russian soil. The risks are too high.”

  “Sir,” Carter said, “what if we could get verification? Would you send the SEALs in then?”

  “What do you have in mind, Director Carter?”

  “Due to some technological advances in the recent years, I think we might have a way to get a camera into Site X to verify the possible American prisoners.”

  “And how would we go about that?”

  McGavran cleared his throat. “We give Robert his wish. We send him to Site X.”

  Chapter 54

  POST 866

  TORTURE ROOM

  “Suka!” BITCH! SOKOLOV yelled, slamming his cane into the small of Emily’s back as she let out a wail of pain.

  Cassie flailed from her compromised position in the air, the sight of Emily completely breaking her.

  Emily sobbed uncontrollably, a maelstrom of tears, snot, and drool falling down her trembling face.

  Sokolov glared at Cassie. “How does it feel? How does it feel to know there is nothing you can do to save your sister’s life?”

  “Cassie, where are we?” Emily whimpered. “What’s going on?”

  “I am righting a wrong!” Sokolov said. “I am seeking retribution for the sins of your father. I am showing Cassandra what it feels like to have the one you love suffer at your feet!”

  “If you touch her again, I will kill you!” Cassie screamed.

  “You mean like this?” Sokolov raised his cane and brought it down over the back of Emily’s head. Thwack! The impact of the cane made a sickening noise, and Emily buckled to the ground, moaned, and became still.

  “EM!”

  “Stop it!” Billy yelled from his seat.

  Cassie looked up to Billy secured to his chair, both Marko and Brady looking at him with expressions of caution on their faces.

  “Yeah,” Billy continued, “I’m talking to you, you sick fuck! You want to pick on someone, pick on me!”

  “Billy—” Brady whispered.

  “No,” Billy said. “I can’t just sit here and let this happen. I’m done with this. I’m done with this place. I’m done with being your little lab rat. I’m done with your experiments and your sick sport!”

  Sokolov smiled. “There is always a geroy, a hero.”

  The old general looked at his Vympels, then to Captain Yermakova and Artur, seeing if they thought Billy’s outburst was as funny as he thought it was. But both Yermakova and Artur looked like they were about to be sick while the four Vympels in the room grinned with amusement. Sokolov hobbled in front of Billy. “I read your file, William French. You are an outcast, a coward, an unremarkable person. A forgettable human being, no? I heard that you cried like a baby when you were put into Yermakova’s trials. Yet you stand up for Cassandra, why?”

  Cassie made eye contact with Billy and mouthed, Don’t.

  Billy remained stoic and kept his chin high.

  Sokolov pointed down to the puddle of urine at Billy’s feet. “Here is what I think, William French. You are scared. People lose control of their faculties when they are afraid, no? I’ve seen it many times. Brave men, when confronted with the inevitable, are not able to control their terror. But now, in the face of death, you are trying to stick up for Cassandra.”

  Billy glanced again at Cassie who shook her head, pleading with her eyes for Billy not to talk.

  “It’s because you love her, no? It’s because you love Cassandra.”

  Billy swallowed hard.

  “You love her, so you will stick up for her. Let me tell you something, William French, I know exactly how you feel. I loved my son more than anything. I watched him die at my feet. I watched him suffer like an animal at the hands of a monster!” Sokolov pointed his cane at Cassie. “Her father tortured and murdered my son in front of me while I pleaded for him to stop. I begged him. I said, take me, not him! I watched the person I loved most in this world be slaughtered at my feet.”

  Sokolov lifted Billy’s head and snapped at Artur, pointing to the table holding the syringes. “Give him a double dose of amphetamines. I don’t want him passing out.”

  Artur took a reluctant step forward and grabbed a milky syringe and approached Billy. Artur lifted the sleeve of Billy’s smock and injected the needle into his arm. Billy’s eyes immediately grew wide, his pupils dilating. His muscles spasmed slightly, his arms and legs flexing against the cables holding him down.

  Sokolov pointed to Emily’s limp figure on the ground. “Give her a dose, too; I want her awake for this!”

  Artur returned to the table, grabbed another syringe, and injected Emily. She shuddered awake.

  Sokolov grabbed the curved blade and told two of his Vympels to release Billy from his chair and stand him up.

  On trembling legs, Billy swayed in the middle of the room.

  “Take two steps forward,” Sokolov ordered.

  Billy took two wobbly steps and stopped.

  Then, handing the curved knife to one of his Vympels, Sokolov said, “January 27, 1987. Your father marched my son in front of me, just like William French is standing before you now. My Evgeny was sick, beaten and bruised, hypothermic and extremely ill. Your father had stripped him of his clothing, marched him through the snowy wilderness before bringing him to my dacha. As my son fought to stay alive, your father placed him in front of me and immobilized him.” Sokolov snapped his fingers and the Vympel operator holding the curved knife bent behind Billy and in one fluid motion sliced through both Achilles tendons.

  Billy’s screams of surprise and anguish echoed through the room. He fell, flopping around like a fish out of water.

  Both Marko and Brady jerked in their chairs.

  Sokolov grabbed the knife, making eye contact with Cassie.

  “And as my son struggled in front of me, your father grabbed him, just like I am grabbing William, and sliced his throat.”

  The glint of the curved blade flashed in a fluid arc across Billy’s throat. The surprised look on his face, and the flow of crimson falling down his dirty hospital gown made Cassie scream louder than she’d ever screamed before. The screams filled the room as Billy collapsed to the floor.

  The memory o
f finding Derrick hanging from the barn scaffolding last January filled her mind. It was all too much. The agony was so acute she vomited on the floor. The room began to swim so fast that she hadn’t seen Captain Yermakova cover her mouth and dart out of the room. Hadn’t seen Artur backpedal so his back was plastered to the wall in surprise.

  Cassie’s shock and revulsion was so traumatizing that she hadn’t heard Sokolov break out in a coughing fit. Hadn’t seen the old general fall to one knee, blood dotting the palm of his hand as he lifted it from his mouth.

  Cassie just wanted all this to end.

  * * *

  General Sokolov felt like his lungs were on fire as he collapsed to the floor, coughing forcefully into his hand.

  “Are you all right, General?” asked Dmitry, grasping him by the elbow, as two of the Vympels helped him to his feet.

  Cassandra Gaines’s screams filled the room, making Sokolov’s nausea worse.

  “When was the last time you’ve slept, General?”

  Sokolov pointed a finger at Cassie. “Will someone shut her up!”

  A Vympel operator grabbed a leather gag from the metal table and secured it over Cassie’s mouth.

  Sokolov breathed in deeply, trying to catch his balance. His body felt off, weak and exhausted. Maybe he should take a break; it had been days since he’d slept. Pointing to William French’s body, he said, “Clean this up. Find Yermakova, tell her I will use her residence for the time being.”

  Dmitry asked, “What do you want to do with the prisoners?”

  Sokolov, hobbling out of the room, stopped. “Return them to their cells.” Then he looked to Artur and said, “Go with them. Make sure they are cared for. I want them healthy when we reconvene.”

  Chapter 55

  ANCHORAGE, ALASKA

  Seven Hours Later

  GALE STOOD OVER the hospital bed in the Anchorage Regional ICU and put a hand on Peter Trask’s bandaged forearm. His son-in-law lay unconscious, a breathing tube down his throat, his chest rising slowly up and down. Trask’s head and beard had been shaved in Fairbanks after he’d been life-flighted out of Eagle.