“These are still international waters,” Gray reminded everyone. “An unprovoked attack here, one witnessed by the world, would risk triggering a global war. Such a threat might make the Russians pause.”
“Mightdoes not instill a lot of confidence,” Tucker said.
Kelly had a worse response. “Doesn’t matter. Byron says the solar storm will keep us blacked out for at least another three hours. Until then, we’re on our own. Which means we have onlyoneoption.”
“Does it involve surrendering?” Kowalski asked.
Kelly ignored him. “We need to delay that patrol boat.”
“How?” Gray asked.
The captain surveyed the newcomers. “Which one of you is Kowalski?”
Eyes turned his way.
Oh, crap.
Kowalski stepped back with a groan, suspecting why he had been called out, what it probably meant. He didn’t want to raise his hand, but those stares forced his arm up.
As he did, he made a firm promise to himself.
This is the last time I travel to the Arctic.
But first he had to survive this outing.
“You’re coming with me,” Kelly told Kowalski in a voice that brooked no argument. He pointed to one of his crew. “Ryan, you’re with us, too. Grab the demo kit.”
The man nodded and strode toward one of the Snowcats.
Kelly turned to Monk. “Can you taxi us back to thePolar King? We’ll need your plane after that, too, if you’re willing to fly again?”
Monk nodded. “Whatever is needed.”
Kelly passed him with a pat on the shoulder. “Good man.”
Kowalski sighed heavily and prepared to follow, but first he called over to Gray. “What’re you all going to be doing while we’re gone?”
Gray turned to the blasted wall of ice and a steep tunnel descending into darkness. “We’re going to see if this patch of rock is worth dying over.”
42
May 14, 3:07P.M. ANAT
Airborne over the East Siberian Sea
Captain Turov strode through the stark cabin of the An-74 transport plane. He nodded to his strike team, patting shoulders along the way. Several of thespetsnazsoldiers lounged or slept, conserving their energy for the threat ahead.
The team, including Turov, wore the latest in tactical gear designed by the Russian arms manufacturer Kalashnikov. It included multilayered, vented outerwear for cold-weather maneuverability, along with camo helmets and body armor. The team carried upgraded AK-12s, fitted with underbarrel GP-34 grenade launchers. Their kit also included bayonets that could be quickly attached for close-in fighting.
He had offered the same weaponry to the final two members of the group: Valya Mikhailov and her lieutenant Nadira Ali Saeed. The two women had refused the weapons, preferring their own rifles, side-arms, and daggers. The pair also wore body armor that was clearly customized to their form, hugging snugly, patterned in grays and blacks.
The two were seated behind the five-man cockpit. Across from them, Sychkin dozed next to his hulking aide-de-camp, Yerik. The two wore the same body armor as Turov’s team, except the archpriest had declined any weapons, not even a side-arm. Sychkin trusted Yerik to keep him safe. The monk had a steel ax hanging from his belt and an MP443 Grach strapped to his thigh.
Turov reached the cockpit and leaned inside. “Have you been able to make contact with theIvan Lyakhov?”
“Only sporadically,” the radioman answered. “They’re still following the trail left by the other icebreaker. From the condition of the water and ice, theLyakhov’s captain estimates he’s running two hours behind the enemy.”
“And no radar contact?”
