Arctic Wargame (Justin Hall # 1) (14 page)

“Push away from the ice, quick,” Justin said, moving his paddle to the left and stroking hard on it.

“Careful, easy,” Carrie said, counterbalancing Justin’s swing by leaning to her right.

They avoided the collision with a large piece of drift ice. The waters were open, unlike a few miles farther back, when the narrow leads in the ice floes meandered in sharp curves. They had seen two icebergs so far, fairly small and a few hundred feet away. The raft was holding up against the fast-moving current and the occasional high wave. Still, their rafting downstream was not without problems. Justin had dipped his hands a few times in the ocean by mistake and was suffering from the bitter bite of the frigid waters, in addition to the general numbness in his hands and feet. Anna could hardly control her shivers.

“How long . . . how long has it been?” Anna’s voice was subject to her jolts.

“About an hour or so,” Justin guessed. “I’m sure we have done several miles. The current is carrying us south pretty fast.”

“So . . . how much . . . how much longer do we still have?” Anna asked.

“A little more,” Justin replied. “Just a little more.”

“We may need to stop soon for a short break,” Carrie said.

“That may not be wise.”

“I know, Justin, but it may be necessary.”

“I don’t see how, since we’ll not be any warmer on the ground.”

“We can make a snow shelter.”

“No, we can’t waste time. Things won’t get better if we make a shelter, and it’s only gonna get colder as the night falls. We have no food. Our only hope is to paddle.”

“Paddle to where?” Carrie drove her paddle into the water and pulled it toward her with a long, powerful stroke.

Anna coughed a wheezing gasp and fought to keep her fingers wrapped around the end of her paddle.

“South. Toward people. Toward safety.”

“Really? You really think we can make it?”

“Yes, Carrie. We’ve got to hope, OK? We’ve come so far. We can’t give up now. We’ve got to keep trying.”

“Let’s stop for a break. Just ten, fifteen minutes.”

“No, we can’t. It will be difficult to anchor the raft on the fractured floes. In the water, we’re out in the open and more visible than if hiding in a shelter.”

“Visible? You really think someone is actually going to rescue us?”

“Justin, can we stop, please?” Anna whispered, tilting her head to the left.

“How about we go on for another half an hour or so?” Justin asked.

“I guess . . . I feel kind of warm now, so . . . yes, we can continue,” Anna replied.

“No,” Carrie said and leaned over to Justin. “She’s sinking deeper into hypothermia,” Carrie whispered in his ear. “We may lose her. We need to stop. Now!”

“Hey, look at the bird, a cute little bird,” Anna said playfully, pointing straight ahead.

“Maybe it’s already too late,” Carrie muttered, shaking her head. “What bird, Anna?”

“There . . . oh,” she whimpered. “It’s already gone. But where did it go? It was right there, right there in front of us, just, just two seconds ago.”

“Keep paddling, Carrie,” Justin said.

“Shhhhh,” she said. “What’s that noise?”

“Noise? What noise?” Justin asked. “I can’t hear anything.”

“The buzz, the electronic buzz,” Carrie insisted. “There, look there.” She pointed high above her head.

Justin peered into the sky and saw nothing but endless gray clouds. “Carrie, it’s going to be OK,” he said. “I’ll take care of you and—”

“No, I’m not going crazy,” Carrie shouted. “Right there, at two o’clock. The bird Anna saw a minute earlier, it’s probably the same bird.”

Justin’s eyes caught a quick glimpse of the bird, hovering at roughly fifty feet to their right and maybe fifteen feet over the ocean’s surface. It resembled a grayish-white fulmar, and it was about the same size as the gull-like bird. Its wingspan was about four feet, but there was no wingbeat. The bird simply glided in midair, as if riding an updraft.

Suddenly the bird screeched a loud, electronic beep. It fluttered in small circles over their heads with uneven motions. At last it came to a standstill, before dropping a few feet, quite mechanically as if someone were pulling it with an invisible string. Justin wondered for a brief moment, unsure if hypothermia was playing a trick on him. Then he noticed the bright green eyes of the bird blinking twice.
That’s not a fulmar, it’s a machine. It’s a drone.

“That’s a drone,” he shouted.

“A what?” Anna asked. A quiver shot through her body.

“A machine,” Carrie said. “The bird you saw is an aircraft without a pilot.”

“So, is that . . . is that our rescue?” A faint glimmer of hope marked Anna’s trembling voice.

“The airplane will transmit our coordinates to whoever sent it, and rescue will be on its way,” Carrie replied.

“Great, it will be nice . . . to be safe . . . and warm,” Anna mumbled.

The drone disappeared into the clouds.

“Maybe we should wait for the rescue team onshore,” Carrie suggested. “Since they have our current position, it’s not wise to drift further south.”

“Good idea.” Justin nodded. “Let’s look for a landing spot.”

He scanned the ice floes for a flat area, away from the water current. A small inlet would have been the ideal choice. But this part of the coastline offered nothing of the kind. The edges of the ice floes were tall and sharp. Small sections of drift ice made their landing attempts even more difficult.

“Push to the left, harder,” Justin encouraged them.

The raft gained a few precious feet, but the current dragged it further than their intended dock. They were forced to swerve around a chunk of drift ice.

“There, that’s a good place.” Justin pointed at the spot where two ice floes had collided, pushing over and under each other, forming a finger rafting. The ice sloped gently into the water, and it was clear of any loose debris. Carrie clenched her teeth and held a tight grip on her paddle. In quick, short strokes, she doubled her rowing. The raft moved closer to the shore.

“Careful, the current’s stronger here,” Justin shouted.

His warning came one second too late. The waves carried Anna’s paddle away.

“Carrie, one last good paddle,” Justin said. “One more time.”

She flexed her shoulder muscles and biceps, jolting the raft to the right. Eight more feet and they could anchor their raft to the ice shore. Justin kept paddling furiously, realizing he was testing the limit of his strength and the balance of their raft.

“Huh,” he panted, feeling a burning sensation between his first two ribs. The end of the paddle had slammed against his chest.

The pain tolled the bells of panic in his brain. This was their last chance to step ashore; otherwise, the current would drag them to the open ocean. Justin took a deep breath and paddled faster and harder than he had the entire trip. He smiled to himself, surprised by this unexpected strength, as well as the hoped-for result. The bow of the raft rubbed against the ice floe, but Justin did not stop driving the paddle into the water until half of the raft was on the shore. He helped Carrie drag Anna’s unconscious body away from the slippery edge of the ice. Then he fell on his knees, praying for the quick arrival of the rescue team.

Chapter Twelve

Søndre Strømfjord, Greenland

April 13, 5:10 p.m.

The discovery of the Sirius Patrol weapons cache in Cape Combermere highlighted the urgency of the wargame. Gunter did not like the rush. It increased the risk of the entire operation being discovered by his close associates. But his hands were tied. The Russians were pressing hard.

The FSB wanted immediate concrete results, and Gunter had no other option but to follow their orders. He pulled in all favors, made promises he could not keep, threats he could not carry out, all for the purpose of pleasing his wife’s kidnappers. He was in constant agony over any exposure, as the circle of senior officials to whom he was lying grew by the hour.

Finally, the platoons’ aerial transport was authorized and the two-stage Arctic Wargame began. At exactly 1:00 p.m. local time, three C-130J Super Hercules airplanes, part of the Squadron 721 of the Royal Danish Air Force, took off from their Transport Wing center in Aalborg, Denmark. True to their motto
“Ubicumque, Quandocumque”
––Anywhere, Anytime––the pilots of the Squadron 721 completed their trip on time and without any problems. The Air Force Command Post barracks in Søndre Strømfjord became the temporary stopover for the contingent force, while Gunter awaited FSB orders about the second stage of the operation.

Søndre Strømfjord, situated at less than one hundred and twenty miles inland––at the head of the fjord by the same name––offered easy access to Davis Strait separating Greenland from Canada’s Baffin Island. At its narrowest point, the strait was one hundred and eighty miles wide.

Gunter was confident Alisha was taking care of sabotaging the Canadian surveillance. But there was some small danger of being detected by the United States spy satellites. At more than seven hundred miles southeast of the 821st US Air Base Group in Thule, and tucked away between impenetrable mountains, Søndre Strømfjord stood at a supposedly safe distance from the US prying eyes in the skies. But Gunter’s troops would become vulnerable to radar detection during their short flight. He could only hope their Hercules airplanes would go unnoticed.

* * *

Magnus glanced at the snow-covered fields and the Tarajornitsut Mountain ridges in the distance. At the main command post—a revamped, whitewashed military barracks—he was assigned a small office, with small windows but large desks and comfortable chairs. Valgerda was typing a status report on her laptop, while he paced back and forth, the constant thuds of his boots interrupting her concentration.

“You’re still thinking about Gunter’s choice, aren’t you?” she asked without looking up.

“I can’t help it.”

Valgerda sighed. “We went over this. Twice. He thinks you’re the right choice to lead this op and so do I.”

“OK, so why is he sending us a babysitter? I heard he may take over the operation himself. Something’s up. He doesn’t trust us?”

“Gunter’s a control freak.” Valgerda stood up and walked toward Magnus. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “He trusts you. He just wants to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“Nothing will go wrong.”

“I know, I know. We’ve done such ops many a time. But we’ve never worked with Gunter before this mission. And trust only goes so far in our business.”

Magnus’s BlackBerry began playing the first notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. He walked over to his desk. “It’s her,” he said after a quick glance at the smartphone’s screen.

Valgerda sat on the other side of the desk. Magnus picked up the phone. “Hello, Yuliya,” he said.

She replied in a pleasant voice, “Hi, Magnus. How was your trip?”

“It was great. Has Gunter made a decision yet?”

“He’s still talking to senior officials as we speak. It seems very likely they’ll agree to an air operation.”

“I’m glad to hear that. The information provided by your agent in the Canadian Army, has it been confirmed by other sources?”

Yuliya’s voice turned cold. “Negative, Magnus. We don’t have another source. The area’s too hot, and there’s no time to develop another asset. We trust our agent and her information. Did you encounter any difficulties at the base?”

“Not at all. The folks here didn’t exactly roll out the welcome wagon but also didn’t lock us up. Is there any change to our ‘standstill’ orders?” Magnus glanced at Valgerda, placed his BlackBerry back on the table, and put Yuliya on the speakerphone.

“That’s correct. Maintain your positions and make sure our pack of dogs is behaving decently.”

Magnus smiled.

“They are,” Valgerda replied.

“Oh, hi, Valgerda,” Yuliya said. “I didn’t know you were listening in. That’s great. I’ll be on the next plane, and I should land shortly after midnight. Call me right away if there’s anything new. Anything else?”

Magnus swallowed. He was afraid of the answer, but he could not hold back the question haunting him all along. “Is Gunter coming here?”

Yuliya hesitated for a second. Magnus crossed his fingers and muttered a silent wish.

“Gunter and I will be on the same plane.”

Her words cut deep, but Magnus held his cool. His throat and his lips became suddenly dry.

“There’s . . . there’s nothing else,” he said.

Valgerda shook her head.

“OK, see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” said Valgerda.

“Rumors fucking confirmed,” Magnus blurted after turning off his phone. “The bigwig is coming to hold my hand.”

“It could have been much worse if the wargame was cancelled altogether,” Valgerda replied with a sad look in her eyes.

“I don’t know which one is worse: sitting here doing nothing or fighting a battle out there with Gunter’s strings around my neck.”

“It’s not like that. He’ll realize soon enough he can trust you completely.”

Magnus said. “I hate delays and hesitations.”

“Tomorrow morning, hopefully, we’ll be good to go. We can take a few hours to relax before that. I last checked on our recruits about half an hour ago, and I’ll make another round in a couple of hours. The barracks’ west wing is completely secured and perfectly isolated from the rest of the complex. I don’t anticipate any problems overnight.”

“Have you double-checked their surveillance bracelets?”

Valgerda nodded. “I have. They’re all fully functional. I installed the monitoring software on my laptop, and I’ve transferred all data from our office network. We know the exact location of each and every recruit at all times.”

Magnus stood up and walked to the window. He squinted, staring at the sun, barely visible over a high ridge at the end of the horizon. He guessed there were a few good hours of light before the fiery disk burned out for the day.

“I’ll take your advice and try to relax,” he said, still looking at the sun. “Tomorrow, we’ll have no time.”