Kelly crossed to them. “Let’s get you in the water,” the captain called over. “You’ll not have much leeway once Ryan’s charges go off.”
His fellow divers—Mitchell and Renny—nodded and stepped toward the winch. Across their chests were strapped underwater ordnance packages, already primed with blasting caps. Kowalski carried another. All were his own design, after cannibalizing the resources aboard thePolar King.
The captain held Kowalski back. “Ryan’s efforts should force the patrol boat to slow, to cut its engines temporarily. That’s the window you’ll have to complete this mission.”
Kowalski stared off into the fog, picturing the other team planting charges across an arc of drill holes. They were all counting on Ryan’s ability to read the ice. The plan was to break free a massive ice floe from one side of the channel and send it careening across the path of the patrol boat. It would create a temporary dam, one that would challenge the smaller boat.
“Will a floe like that truly intimidate the Russians?” Monk asked. “Their vessel is an icebreaker, too.”
Kelly scoffed. “TheKingis a nuclear-poweredicebreaker. The patrol boat is anicebreakingvessel. There’s a difference. It runs on diesel engines. It can only break ice six feet thick. That floe we’ll be sending their way will be fifteen to twenty feet thick.”
“Then won’t that be enough to stop them?” Kowalski asked, hoping to avoid a dip into the freezing waters.
“It’ll no doubt slow them. But that floe will be loose. They can push it, and failing that, they have guns that can chew the blockage into slush.” Kelly pointed to the first diver riding the winch down. “The only way to stop the boat is to take out its propellers after it slows to address the ice floe.”
“What about the patrol boat’s helicopter?” Monk asked. “We spotted it from the air. Even if the vessel is stranded, they could send it aloft.”
“Better that than the ship’s entire arsenal,” Kelly reminded them. “And the Russians certainly can mobilize ground forces, too, and send them overland across the ice.”
Monk looked grim.
“Remember our goal is adelayingtactic. To buy us time until this infernal solar storm ends. There’s little more we can do. TheKinghas a small armory, but it’s meant to ward off polar bears, or in a worst-case scenario, a small pirate attack. Not the full force of the Russian Navy.”
Kowalski sighed heavily. “So, it looks like I’m going for a swim.”
Kelly nodded as the second diver vanished over the edge. “Remember, the patrol boat hastwostern propellers. You’ll need to destroy both. Even ifoneis left functioning, they could still keep moving.”
Kowalski nodded and pointed to the ordnance package strapped to his chest. “I know. That’s why I’m bringing a spare charge. Just in case.”
The radio, still in the captain’s hand, squawked. Ryan’s voice reached them. “Blowing in thirty, Cap. Counting down now.”
Kelly pointed to Kowalski. “Move it, soldier.”
“Seaman,” Kowalski corrected him as he turned away. “I’m former navy, like I told you.”
“Then why are you whining about a swim?” Kelly asked, following him to the winch. “I thought seawater was in a sailor’s blood.”
“Not when it’s colder than a polar bear’s nutsack.” He yanked onhis snug dive suit. “And speaking of nutsacks, your ship’s tailor really sucks.”
Kelly looked back at Monk, as if wondering how he put up with his teammate.
Monk merely shrugged.
Kowalski crossed to the edge. He secured his mask and dry hood, then hooked his foot into the line’s loop. With a huge breath, he dropped over the edge. The winch operator swiftly lowered him.
The captain called down. “Good hunting!”
Kowalski saluted back with a raised middle finger.
Then he hit the icy water.
4:24P.M.
Valya Mikhailov had no tolerance for fools—especially those who put their faith in anything more than bone and steel. She ran a thumb over her holstered Glock 21 as she stared out the window of the transport plane.
The featureless expanse of the fogbank failed to hold her attention.
She listened as the archpriest whispered to Yerik Raz, their two heads bent in prayer. She cast Sychkin a sidelong glance. She knew the man had no true faith in anything but himself and the power he could wield. The monk, on the other hand, seemed devoted, both to the priest and to his faith. She noted Sychkin placing his palm on Yerik’s fire-ravaged cheek, not shying from the scarring.
