Supposedly, after the firefight on the Yukon shoreline, Alvin Petit and the Rockin’ R boys had found Trask lying next to the river. Two bullet wounds had pierced his massive body; one in the right side of his chest, the other in his abdomen. Maverick had already succumbed to his injuries by the time Petit and Cronin’s men got to his side.
Gale looked up from Trask’s damaged form and felt his eyes mist over, remembering what he’d said before he’d left for Anchorage.
You watch over her while I’m gone, Pete.
Gale stifled a sob. “You did your best, son.”
Outside in the hallway, Alvin Petit and Bill Cronin talked to a doctor. Behind them, Gale could see the handful of military personnel that had been ordered to escort Gale back to Anchorage.
After Susan Carter and McGavran pitched their plan to the president about Gale infiltrating the sharashka, the president had ordered Gale and Blue Squadron to JBER, where, with the help of a CIA special task force, they were going to prep him for his upcoming mission, which had been dubbed Operation SLEEPING BEAR.
Carter’s main argument in persuading the president to agree to her plan had been based on the fact that he, James Gale, would be entering Russia as a citizen of the United States looking for his daughter, and not an individual associated with the US military or intelligence services.
The proposal was to have Gale enter the premises of Site X rigged with the CIA’s most state-of-the-art video- and audio-capturing devices. Once Gale was close to Site X, his goal would be to infiltrate the sharashka by any means necessary, including getting captured.
The CIA would retrofit Gale with the audio and visual transponders that would be live-feeding back to Langley, JSOC Command, and the Situation Room where the president and the selected staff from the National Security Council would watch. Once the council got definitive proof that Americans were being held in the sharashka, Commander Spear would take over from JSOC Command in Fort Bragg and order the NSWDG, or Naval Special Warfare Development Group, to send in the SEALs.
In the halls outside the Situation Room, Gale had stopped Carter to thank her.
“After everything that has happened, Robert, it’s the least I can do.”
When the Lockheed YF-8 landed back in JBER, Gale met the DEVGRU Blue Squadron commander, Seamus Cafferty, as well as his assault troops who had flown in from Dam Neck.
When JSOC and CIA personnel briefed Cafferty and his lieutenant commander, Craig Anderson, about the upcoming mission, they’d initially been taken aback that Gale was to go in alone.
“It’s a suicide mission,” Anderson stated flatly to Spear through the video comm linking the Situation Room and Fort Bragg to the briefing room in JBER. “We can’t guarantee we can get every American out. We don’t know how many personnel the Russians have in that facility.”
It was one of the senior enlisted SEALs, a thirty-seven-year-old chief petty officer from Missoula, Montana, who spoke up first. “They’re saying they got a SEAL down there and who knows how many Americans. I say we get in the middle of it and sort this out ourselves. The Russians have one of our own; it should be our job to get him back.” The senior enlisted man gestured to Gale across the briefing room. “From one Montanan to another, first round of beer is on you when we get back.”
After Cafferty drew up a rough outline of the mission plan with his command master chief, he allowed the other senior enlisted SEALs and officers in his squadron to “murder board” or “critically review” their operational analysis.
Once the SEALs questioned, scrutinized, and then agreed upon their methods of operation, Susan Carter’s CIA task force took over, retrofitting Gale with the high-tech equipment needed to verify American proof of life within the sharashka.
Gale had been apprehensive about taking an audio and video transponder with him into the sharashka given the fact that it was a transponder that had blown BLUEMAN’s cover all those years ago.
But as the CIA team showed Gale the nearly invisible video-capturing contact lenses that would relay, in real time, everything Gale would see, he’d been impressed.
While the contact lenses eased Gale’s nerves, it was the nano-microphone and communications transponder that really surprised him.
One of the CIA techs held up an almost imperceptible skin-colored fleck and placed it on Gale’s Adam’s apple. “This nano-microphone is impervious to detection. They can hold you up to any sort of scanner and this baby won’t show, same with the contacts and this.” The tech held up a small red-and-white capsule. “This is how we track you, as well as communicate.” The tech opened the capsule and a miniature tick-shaped device fell on his hand. “This is the latest in nanorobotic technology. This little guy is untraceable, and after it’s swallowed, will latch on to the wall of your stomach.”
“How am I supposed to communicate through something in my stomach?”
“You won’t be able to communicate directly to us, but we will be able to communicate with you.” The tech explained that once the nanobot was latched to Gale’s stomach lining, it would vibrate based on what the CIA was trying to tell him. “One jolt from the nanobot means we’ve got confirmation from the president to send in the SEALs. It will take them exactly thirty-eight minutes once leaving their takeoff point from a navy aircraft carrier in the Bering, one hundred and forty miles from Site X.” The tech explained that JSOC wanted the SEALs as close to the peninsula as possible, but still in international waters, so as to not alert the Russians of their presence.
“Three jolts mean that the rescue mission has been aborted and you’re on your own,” Spear added.
“Fair enough.”
That had been two hours before Gale stood over Trask.
After Gale had been fully briefed and the brass felt confident on getting him into the Kamchatka Peninsula via a HAHO jump, a High Altitude High Opening descent from a military aircraft, they’d allowed him to leave the base and see his son-in-law who had just been life-flighted from Fair-banks.
As Gale stood over Trask, he’d thought over all the events in his life that had brought him to this terrible moment. Gale knew his odds of success on this mission were incredibly low. But he didn’t care. Viktor Sokolov had taken his wife from him—he wasn’t going to let him take his girls, too.
Looking down at his watch, he saw it was time to head back to JBER.
“You stay strong, Pete. When you wake up, we’ll all be here.”
Chapter 56
BERING SEA
ATTU STATION
EXACTLY THIRTY-SIX HOURS after Gale crash-landed the G650 on Middleton Island, the MC-130 Combat Talon II took off from JBER with Gale and the SEALs in the cargo hold.
The mission was designed so that Gale would dive out of the MC-130 on the border of the Kamchatka Peninsula in the middle of the moonless night, allowing him to parachute into Site X undetected.
Gale tried his best to get some shut-eye as the MC-130 flew east over the Aleutian Chain—the Alaskan Islands that stretched across the Bering Sea into Russian territory. For four hours they flew, until reaching Attu Station, Alaska’s most westerly island nearly three hundred miles from the eastern shores of the Kamchatka Peninsula, and almost three hundred sixty miles from Site X.
As the MC-130 landed to refuel and drop the SEALs at Attu, Gale exited the plane and made his way to a small building near the landing strip where the CIA task force would give him his last briefing. As Gale moved with the SEALs to the building, which served as an FOB, or forward operating base, he looked over at the flurry of activity near the western end of the landing strip. Four sleek military helicopters sat idly while a group of mechanics worked on the birds.
“The 160th SOAR are going to be taking us in. The Night Stalkers, best pilots in the world. Coupla’ those guys flew us in during the Bin Laden raid,” the SEAL chief petty officer from Montana said as they walked into the FOB.
Inside, the CIA’s task force had set up a multitude of equipment: computer screens and small satellite
dishes sat on tables, next to high-tech comm links used to keep contact between Gale, JSOC Command, Langley, and the White House.
The SEALs watched intently as the CIA tech inserted the visual-capturing lenses onto Gale’s irises as well as the microphone placed on his throat and the nanobot that would latch on to his stomach lining.
After the CIA group confirmed that everything was in working order, they let Commander Cafferty and his SEALs help Gale put on his gear. He was given dark op cammies with a corresponding Kevlar vest and bulletproof plates. His face and neck were painted black and dark green, the same color as the bump helmet that was fitted to his head.
“Since your audio and visual will be feeding through your eyes and throat, there is no need to set you up with any cameras, but you’ll obviously want a pair of these,” Cafferty said, securing a pair of four-tubed quad NODs—high-tech night-vision devices—to Gale’s helmet. Next, Gale was given a GPS unit with a built-in altimeter that was secured to his wrist, as well as a black parachute bag and oxygen mask for his HAHO jump.
“You ever make a jump like this, old man?” asked the chief petty officer from Montana.
“Unlike you frogmen, us Delta boys learn to fly before we learn to swim. I was doing HAHO jumps before you were even born, son.”
The SEAL smiled. “And when was your last jump?”
“Before you were born.”
That got a laugh from all the SEALs except Cafferty, who had finished cinching Gale’s weapons of choice, a Delta 1911 pistol and an HK 416, into Gale’s belt and parachute rig.
Even though Gale was trying to give off the appearance of being cool, calm, and collected in front of the younger SEALs, internally he was second-guessing both the HAHO jump and his mission into Site X. Mostly, he was worried about his hip not being able to take the parachute landing. It had been nearly three decades since he’d jumped out of an airplane. He hoped to God that his body would hold up.
“Let’s go over this again,” Cafferty said. “Once we get the green light to come get you, that thing in your stomach will buzz you once. That means it will take us thirty-eight minutes from the moment we take off from the navy carrier to the time we land on target and come knocking on your door. CIA will be tracking you via your iris video feed. So what you see, they see. Good luck.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
Ten minutes later, Gale walked out of the FOB and across the tarmac to the now refueled MC-130. After the SEALs loaded into the four UH-70s, Gale watched as they lifted off the tarmac and headed east toward the navy carrier waiting for them outside the peninsula.
“You ready?” an airman from the Twenty-Fourth Special Tactics Squadron, STS, asked, coming out of the MC-130.
“As much as I’ll ever be.”
Five minutes later, Gale double-checked his kit and then leaned back in his seat as the plane took off from Attu Station and headed toward the Kamchatka Peninsula before banking north. During the flight he repetitively kept going through his parachute emergency procedures until he got the two-minute warning signal and stood. Cinching the oxygen mask over his face, Gale rechecked his altimeter and GPS: the small LED display determined he was just under thirty thousand feet and roughly fifty-eight miles due east from Site X.
After the one-minute warning, the back of the MC-130 opened and the noise became deafening. Gale began the breathing sequences necessary for a HAHO jump, and for a split second, fear shot up his throat. Was he up for the challenge?
As the STS airman counted down from five with his hand, Gale pushed all that self-doubt aside.
Walking forward, arms and legs outstretched, he jumped and felt himself go weightless.
Chapter 57
POST 866
RED BLOCK
“CASSIE, YOU NEED to get up!” Brady hissed.
Knees pressed against her chest, Cassie sat on the concrete bed in her cell in Red Block, staring through the darkness, only cognizant of the bubbling of the fountain and the sound of the water moving through the runnel. She hadn’t moved in hours, as the image of Billy bleeding out in front of her held her paralyzed.
She heard Brady whisper, “You’re her sister, make her talk.”
“Cass…” Emily’s small voice said. “Cassie, are you okay?”
“Let her be,” Artur said, tersely. The scientist had come down into Red Block some time ago to treat the prisoners and was currently running an IV into Emily’s arm. “She’s in shock.”
“Now is not the time to be in shock!” Brady said. “We can’t continue like this. We won’t survive another session in that room.” He shot a searing look at Artur. “Give her something—we need her clearheaded!”
“And why would I do that—”
Cassie shut her eyes, not hearing Brady’s retort to Artur’s remark. She was trying to get rid of the image of Billy dying on the floor. She thought of Derrick—is this how he felt after witnessing so many traumatic events?
Thinking back to what Artur had said in his lab earlier about her having received the intervening drug to prevent a response like this—is the drug intervention not working?
If she had the drug in her system, how come she felt like this?
“GI Jane,” Marko said, standing in his cell. “We need you to answer us… I know you are in pain, but we need your help.”
Cassie sat up slowly and took in the half glow of the cellblock. Brady and Artur were still squabbling as the scientist continued to run an IV line into Emily’s arm.
“It’s not working,” Cassie said.
“What’s not working, GI Jane?” Marko asked.
Cassie looked at Artur, who had stopped arguing with Brady. “Those drugs you’ve given me, your PTSD drug.”
“You haven’t received a dosage in nearly forty-eight hours,” Artur said. “It has to be administered every twenty-four hours, you’ve missed your window.”
“Then give me some.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Artur said. “You’ve experienced trauma in between doses.”
“Cass,” Emily said. “Who was that man? Why was he saying those things about Dad?”
Cassie walked to the bars and stared at her older sister. She’d been thinking over everything the general had accused her father of. “I don’t know, Em.” Deep down, though, Cassie knew it was true. Her father had always been a complicated man, an enigma of sorts. But a CIA assassin? A murderer? Her mind went back to what Sokolov said about the death of her mother.
But my mother died in a car crash!
“Listen,” Brady said. “We need to have a plan. The general could take us up there at any moment. We need to find a way to fight back.”
“There is nothing we can do,” Cassie said. “There are too many of them. We are going to die here.”
“I will not accept that,” Brady said. “We owe it to Billy. You saw how sick Yermakova looked when Sokolov killed him. We can get her on our side!” Brady motioned to Artur. “You can help us. I saw you in there, too; you looked like you were going to faint.”
“Subject 8831 is correct,” Artur said. “You will die here. There is nothing I can do.”
Marko banged a fist against his bars. “You are not just a prisoner here. You have the power to help us!”
“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” Artur said.
“But you are!” Marko yelled. “You once told me you knew this facility better than anyone. You told me that you do have some control!”
Artur shook his head.
Marko spat out his words. “You do! It’s why I am alive; you’re keeping me alive for a reason!”
“What are you talking about?” asked Brady.
“He knows I am helicopter pilot! He keeps me alive because I am helicopter pilot. I haven’t been in a trial in months—because he wants me to help him escape.”
“That’s not true,” Artur said. “You’re being kept alive because you are participating in a longitudinal study of the drug. You are here because I am monitoring your brain over a lon
g period of time. All of you have to get it through your heads—there is no way out of this facility. There is nowhere for you to run. If the guards don’t get you, the drones will. And if by some miracle you escape the drones, you will be out in the wilderness all by yourself. You wouldn’t last a week.”
“You must know where we are,” Brady said.
Artur heaved a sigh. “Yes, I know where we are.”
“Where?”
For a long moment, Artur was silent, then he said, “We are on the Kamchatka Peninsula. Hundreds of kilometers away from any sort of civilization.”
“Kamchatka Peninsula, where is that?” asked Emily.
“Russia.”
“Russia?” said Emily in disbelief.
Artur continued, “This place was designed to keep people inside. You can’t reason with the people who run sharashkas. Once you’ve been placed inside, there is no getting out.”
“Reason…” Marko said, then grabbed his cell bars and pressed his face farther into the light. “Of course.”
“What?” Brady asked.
“Devil’s Breath.”
Artur looked up curiously at Marko. “What about it?”
“It made me useless, it made me obey your every command, it made me tell the truth. I had no control of my actions.”
“Scopolamine and sodium pentothal,” Artur said.
“Yes!” Marko said excitedly. “You can use it on the general and his men! You can use it to get us out of here. They come here by helicopter, right? I can fly us to safety—we could even steal a helicopter from Yermakova’s fleet.”
Suddenly, the doors to the cellblock opened. Footsteps could be heard coming toward them.
“I only have one dose left of Devil’s Breath—there are nearly a hundred personnel in this facility.”
“You hate it here!” Marko hissed. “We need your help—”
A voice broke through the darkness, “Doktor, idi s nami!”
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