Artur turned to the voice, then looked at Marko. “The general is summoning me.”
“You are a coward,” Marko said.
“I am trying to survive—just like you,” Artur said, then walked out of the cellblock.
Chapter 58
POST 866
CONTROL ROOM
CAPTAIN YERMAKOVA SAT in the control room and fingered the key hanging from her neck. The drone operators and technicians were at their stations, bent over their work.
It had been nearly ten hours since General Sokolov killed William French in the white-tiled room. The barbarity of Sokolov’s actions had driven Yermakova up to her executive living quarters, where she’d calmed her nerves with a glass of vodka. She’d planned on staying in her residence for as long as possible, but Sokolov’s men had quickly kicked her out so the general could sleep.
The general had looked terrible as Yermakova grabbed some personal items and left her quarters, heading to the control room, where she sat now—deep in contemplation.
One thing that Yermakova despised was needless torture. Science experiments and sport were one thing; they had a purpose, but what Sokolov was doing downstairs was sickening.
She understood that Cassandra’s father supposedly killed Sokolov’s son and Sokolov was hell-bent on revenge—but why kill William French?
And more importantly: Why had Putin authorized all this?
Her thoughts went back to the FAPSI line when Sokolov had ordered her intelligentsia to find the man in the picture—Cassandra’s father. KODIAK had located the man and his family, and Sokolov had sent in his Vympels to extract him.
Now, KODIAK had gone dark and Yermakova feared the worst.
Another thing irked her: Sokolov and his men were able to extract Emily Gale, but where was James Gale aka Robert Gaines? Had the Vympels been unable to extract the father?
Did something happen?
In order for Sokolov to execute a mission on foreign soil, he would have to ask Putin for permission. She knew that the general and the president were extremely close, but she couldn’t figure out a scenario where the president would authorize such a brazen mission.
Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin was an extremely calculative man. The fact that the president would authorize an SVR-led extraction on the Gale family, after Cassandra was already taken, didn’t fit into Putin’s modus operandi.
Yermakova flipped through Cassandra Gale’s dossier and got to the picture of her family. She stared at the image of her father.
Sokolov wanted you, so why aren’t you here?
Yermakova fought the urge to walk over to the FAPSI line and dial the Kremlin directly.
No.
What she needed to do was gather more information first.
In the front of the room, she could see her GRU lieutenant, the point man of the sharashka’s intelligentsia, huddled over his workspace.
“Lieutenant Klimentiev, a word, please.” The lieutenant hurried to Yermakova and stood at attention. She spoke softly, as to not be overheard by any other technician in the room. “Lieutenant, I have an assignment for you. I need you to do this quietly.” She handed him the picture of James Gale. “The general and his Vympels ran an operation to capture this man. I want you to figure out why he is not here. Scour the news in America, see if anything of note happened in Alaska. Find out why Viktor Sokolov was unable to extract him. Then get back to me.”
As Klimentiev saluted and left the room, she looked at the monitors on the wall in front of her. They showed the night-vision drone feed that scanned the top of the facility and the surrounding wilderness. Yermakova noted the harshness of the wild terrain, then her attention went to the concrete bunker at the top of the mountain that served as an elevator entrance into the facility. Next to the bunker was the emergency hatch that had been closed after Subject 8831’s escape attempt. Idiot girl, Yermakova thought, then gazed at the two helicopters on top of the facility used to bring in Emily Gale and General Sokolov.
She made a mental note that both helicopters needed to be covered in camouflage netting as soon as possible, but telling Sokolov and his men to do anything was proving incredibly difficult. Upon their arrival to the sharashka, Yermakova had forbidden Sokolov and his Vympels from bringing weapons into her facility. Challenging the general had almost proved disastrous, causing a standoff on top of the mountain between Sokolov’s men and her guards. After nearly twenty minutes of debate, it was decided that all firearms would be locked in the facility’s armory, but the Vympels would be able to keep their combat blades.
The compromise made Yermakova feel like she was losing control over Post 866.
She turned her attention away from the monitors and the technicians below her, and fingering the key around her neck, looked at the small green door on the west wall of the control room.
Only she had access to the room.
Only she held the key and knew the codes.
As the director of Post 866, it was her responsibility to enact the fail-safe switch if she ever felt the sharashka was compromised.
She hoped it would never come to that.
Until then, she would have to see what information Lieutenant Klimentiev came back with.
Chapter 59
KAMCHATKA PENINSULA
0300 Local Time
AT TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND feet, Gale deployed his chute and relaxed, breathing slowly from his oxygen mask. The air was frigid, nearly -60 degrees Fahrenheit. He was glad he was retrofitted with the necessary SEAL-issued thermal-wear to keep him warm. Gale double-checked his GPS bearings with his backup wrist compass and reoriented himself so he was parachuting west along the predesignated route. According to his calculations, and glide ration indicator, it would take him just under twenty-five minutes to reach Site X.
Back at his time in Delta Force, before he’d been scooped up by agency recruiters, Gale had always loved HAHO jumps. Developed and tested in the late sixties, HAHO jumping was created for US Special Forces operators to deploy at high altitudes far away from the reaches of enemy radar and to “glide” into hostile territory undetected.
The minutes ticked by, and Gale kept his flight path on course as he floated into Russian territory. Through his NODs he could see the ground, and he used the larger terrain features he’d memorized earlier from the satellite photos to make sure he was gliding to the correct location. When his altimeter told him he was at two thousand feet and his GPS indicated he was roughly a half mile from Site X, an old sense of excitement coursed through his body.
Then he spotted the mountain.
My target.
Pulling on his left parachute cord, Gale circled in and noticed what looked like a concrete bunker built into the mountaintop just like the OVERDRIVE case file had detailed. As he got lower, he could make out four helicopters, two covered in camouflage netting and two others sitting one hundred yards from the concrete entrance, just as they were shown on the CIA’s satellite imagery. Strangely enough, there were no guards or visible detection devices of any kind outside the entrance.
Gale landed softly on the peak, detached himself from his parachute, and oxygen tank, then unclipped the HK 416 from his parachute harness and brought the stock of the weapon into his shoulder. Double-checking the settings of the holograph site on the HK, he moved quietly toward the hatch he planned to breach.
* * *
WHITE HOUSE
SITUATION ROOM
“We’ve got a confirmed landing, sir,” Susan Carter said from her seat in the Situation Room. She had been watching Robert’s live descent into Site X from her secure computer.
“Good, put it on the big screen,” President McClintock said, coming into the Situation Room.
Carter rerouted Robert’s live feed from her secure laptop so it displayed on the Situation Room’s main screen. The smaller, ancillary screens showed a live feed from the command center at Fort Bragg where JSOC commander Spear kept in constant communication with the SEALs now on the navy carrier southe
ast of the Kamchatka Peninsula. The rest of the screens showed live infrared and thermal feeds of Site X.
The select members of the National Security Council sitting in the Situation Room included: General Bridgewater, Director of National Intelligence Nagle, SecDef Macy, and National Security Adviser Thomas Bowman. To the president’s left was his chief of staff, Morgan Fray, who looked despondently at Prescott McGavran, seated next to Carter.
“Commander Spear, notify both the NSWDG and Blue Squadron commanders to get ready, this could happen fast,” President McClintock ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Commander Spear said through the screen.
Carter watched as Robert scanned the area, then moved forward. Taking out two brick-shaped plastic explosives from his cammies, he began priming and double-priming them over the hatch.
McGavran had had a great debate with Commander Spear on whether the explosives would be able to breach the steel hatch that supposedly led to the sharashka’s emergency stairwell.
McGavran had insisted that it didn’t matter whether the explosives worked in opening the hatch. If it did, great, if not, the explosion would be so deafening it would only be a matter of seconds before the alarms would sound and Robert would be apprehended.
Either way, Robert would enter the sharashka. The mission, after all, was to obtain a proof-of-life of Americans inside.
All eyes in the Situation Room were on Robert as he finished setting the explosives and backed up.
Ten seconds later, an explosion blew the hatch off its hinges, the downward force of the blast cratering the ground around it.
They watched as Robert heaved the broken hatch aside and jumped down onto a spiral staircase that seemed to descend forever.
As Robert found purchase on the first landing, the resounding wail of an alarm sounded from the screen in the Situation Room and a bright, strobing light flashed in Robert’s feed.
“Okay, gentlemen,” Carter said, “let’s begin.”
Chapter 60
POST 866
EXECUTIVE QUARTERS
GENERAL SOKOLOV SAT at the end of the bed in Yermakova’s suite and breathed in deeply as Yermakova’s scientist pressed the cold stethoscope to his chest. Sokolov eyed the scientist curiously—something about him was eerily familiar.
“What is your name?” wheezed Sokolov.
The scientist pulled the stethoscope from the general’s chest and frowned. “My name is Artur. Tell me, General, how long have you been sick?”
“That is none of your business,” snapped Sokolov, who was still feeling weak even after nearly ten hours of sleep. “Just give me one of your cocktails. I need energy to continue downstairs. How are the prisoners?”
“They are fine,” Artur said and went to his little black bag.
Sokolov again tried to figure out why the scientist looked so familiar, then gazed around the room. His four Vympel operators guarded the door and Dmitry clicked away on his tablet from a chair. Artur returned with a milky vial and syringe.
“How long have you worked under Yermakova?” Sokolov asked.
“Eleven years.”
“And she gives you the freedom to conduct your own experiments?”
Artur didn’t respond, and Sokolov chuckled. “Back when I ran Post 866, I had some of the most brilliant minds in all of the USSR working in this facility. They did groundbreaking research for the state. We were organized, effective—not like this clown show.”
Artur injected the cocktail into Sokolov’s shoulder, and the general instantly felt a cold wave rush to his brain. He felt refreshed, alive. Looking at the scientist, he said, “You remind me of someone—”
As he said it, a muffled bang resounded from above. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Everyone looked up. Sokolov looked at his Vympels.
“Find out what that was!” he shouted.
* * *
POST 866
CONTROL ROOM
Captain Yermakova had been pacing around the control room and checking her watch constantly during the last twenty minutes, until the door to the room whooshed open.
Lieutenant Klimentiev entered in a hurry. “Captain, I have some news!” He held out a tablet and handed it to Yermakova.
On the screen were multiple American press articles of a plane crash off the coast of Alaska. Yermakova scanned the clippings. Each article reported that a private jet had crash-landed on Middleton Island with one reported survivor and five casualties.
“Who is the survivor?”
“Authorities have not released a name yet.”
Yermakova cursed under her breath.
“That’s not all, Captain. Keep looking through the tabs.”
The next tab showed a news clipping of a shooting in Eagle with two Canadian citizens confirmed dead. The article was sparse in detail but Yermakova could fill in the blanks. This was the work of General Sokolov and his Vympels.
Yermakova handed the tablet back to Klimentiev and pointed to the FAPSI line. “Get me Kryuchkov!”
As Klimentiev rushed over to the FAPSI line, Yermakova began to feel herself shaking.
She’d been tricked, taken advantage of. KODIAK was most certainly exposed and probably dead. The plane crash and the events in Eagle had most definitely cast a spotlight on her operations. I will be ruined.
“Captain, I have Captain Kryuchkov for you!”
In a rage, Yermakova grabbed the receiver, not caring that the technicians in the room could hear her. “Kryuchkov! I want to know why General Sokolov is at my post! I want to know why his Vympels have been operating in the United States—get me the Kremlin!”
As Yermakova took a breath to continue her verbal assault on the captain of the FSB’s Department Fifteen, she heard a sound that made her blood run cold.
A muffled boom!
For a paralyzing moment, Yermakova locked eyes with Klimentiev—then the alarms in the control room began to blare. The screens in front of the room all woke up, flashing red warning displays.
“There’s been a breach in the emergency stairwell!” a technician cried from his workstation. He toggled through a series of camera views, before settling on the one showing the stairwell.
An armed figure dressed in black dropped to the first landing and slowly began descending the stairs.
Yermakova dropped the FAPSI line, and the receiver clanged on the floor. “Initiate an emergency lockdown, and gas that stairwell!” Yermakova’s hand flew to her earpiece and keyed the mike that connected her to all the guards in the facility. “All guards put on your gas masks and proceed to the emergency stairwell. There’s been a breach. I repeat, all guards proceed to emergency stairwell!”
Chapter 61
POST 866
EMERGENCY STAIRWELL
EVEN THOUGH GALE expected to trigger an alarm, he still jumped at the shrillness of the bleating noise and the loud hiss of gas being deployed in the stairwell.
Thankfully, he’d packed a gas mask in his kit. After securing the mask over his face, he looked under the tubes of his NODs so he could see the stairwell through the blaring red strobes that flashed from the walls. Gale readied his HK 416 and tore down the steps two at a time, grimacing from the pain in his hip.
McGavran’s OVERDRIVE schematics of the sharashka revealed that Gale would have to climb down at least forty spiraling flights until he’d reach a door for the main level of the facility. From there, he’d have to improvise.
As he bounded down the steps he tried to keep his head on straight and not wonder what the people watching his feed were thinking as they observed him infiltrate the facility. The thought had crossed his mind that maybe they weren’t seeing anything, that the video feed from his lenses had cut as soon as he went below ground. The CIA techs had insisted that wouldn’t be the case, and that the frequencies that they transmitted through wouldn’t be blocked by any terrain or any electromagnetic fields set up to defer communications. Gale could only hope that the CIA techs knew what the hell they were doing. I
f the SEALs weren’t going to come save his ass, he’d be screwed.
On the nineteenth landing, he heard shouts and heavy footfalls pulsing over the blaring sirens and gazed down through the grated steps. Not ten floors below, he saw dozens of black-clad figures thundering up toward him.
Gale stopped, caught his breath, and wrestled through his options.
Engage or surrender?
He knew the 77 grain Black Hills 5.56 mm rounds in his HK would get the job done, but instead he decided on putting his weapons on the landing in front of him. Getting down on his knees, he extended his hands over his head and spoke loudly enough so the nano-microphone embedded on his throat would hopefully reach those keeping an eye on the mission.
“Bear in den. First phase complete.”
* * *
EXECUTIVE SUITE
“What’s happening!” Sokolov spat at Dmitry.
Three of his Vympels had left the room minutes before to investigate the loud noise that rocked the facility. Moments later, the blaring alarms had sounded.
“I don’t know, General!”
Over the bleating noise, Sokolov pointed his cane at Artur. “I know this alarm! It means the facility has been breached!” Walking over to the door that led to the hallway, Sokolov gripped the handle and tried to pull, but it wouldn’t budge.
“We’re on lockdown,” Artur said.
“Can you override it?” asked Sokolov.
The scientist fingered his keycard hanging from the lapel of his lab coat and walked toward the door. He scanned the card for the general, but the scanner blinked red.
Sokolov turned to the remaining Vympel operator next to Dmitry.
“Open this door, Lieutenant.”
The Vympel reached into the pocket of his black cargo pants and produced a small brick of C4, stuck it to the door, and motioned for Sokolov, Dmitry, and Artur to take cover in the next room.
Thirty seconds later, the C4 blew the door off its frame.
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