Still, the monk turned his face away. There was clearly a well of pain attached to that disfigurement that had nothing to do with the touch of flames. She knew the man had been burned in a fire that had killed his mother, and that Sychkin had taken him in afterward, as ward and mentor.
Valya scowled.
Better you had died in that fire.
For now, she had no choice but to remain with these others. They were taking her where she needed to go. She pictured the dark figure rushing through smoke in the apartment building opposite the Vaticanembassy. The firefight had been short, and Valya had not escaped unscathed. Her shoulder was no longer in a sling, only wrapped against the fight to come. The pain remained, but it helped focus her.
She would not be caught off guard again.
Next to her, Nadira slept, her arms crossed over her chest. Valya had wanted to bring along a larger contingent of her own people, but she had been refused. Still, she had already taken measure of the team that Captain Turov had handpicked. She could not fault him. Hisspetsnazcrew kept silent, reserving their strength. None of them bothered to double-check their weapons. True professionals had them ready at all times.
She caught one staring toward her, his eyes cold and hard, likely sizing her up as well. She turned away, feeling no need to impress anyone.
She returned her attention to the landscape passing under the plane. They were due to rendezvous with the other prong of this assault, an icebreaking patrol boat that was following the path left by the enemy’s ship. TheLyakhovcame with guns, missiles, and a complement of a hundred Arctic-hardened soldiers.
Turov clearly thought such a force was overkill.
Valya did not.
As she stared below, a fiery glow flickered through the gray-white fog. But in a blink, it was gone. She squinted toward it, but it never repeated. She cocked an ear to listen for any indication that the flight crew had spotted it, too, but the low murmur up front remained steady. Still, she trusted her eyes and continued to watch that section.
Concentrating there, she noted another brightness in the same region, just north of where she had spotted the flicker. It appeared to be a patch of open ice, reflecting the afternoon sun.
She clenched a fist and shoved up, stirring Nadira, who looked inquiringly at her.
Valya shook her head and stepped over her lieutenant to reach the cockpit.
Turov was bent next to his navigator, both studying a plotting map. The captain tapped at it. “This is where theLyakhovshould be?”
“By my best estimate, from speed and last known position, yes sir. We should rendezvous in the next fifteen minutes.”
Valya interrupted. “Captain Turov.”
He turned to her, clearly noting the urgency in her voice. “What is it?”
She answered tersely. “An open area of ice. Free of fog. At least for now. If you’re looking to land, this might be our opportunity.”
He straightened. “Show me.”
She scooted into the cramped cockpit, searched through the front windshield, oriented herself, then pointed. “There.”
Turov leaned forward and stared for a breath. “You’re right.”
The navigator also looked. “I don’t think that’s far from where we plotted theLyakhov’s location.”
Turov confronted the pilot, sounding peeved that the man had depended more on his instruments than his eyes. “Can you land us there? Is there enough clearance?”
“I’ll have to make a sweep to be certain, but yes, it looks good.”
“Then do it.”
Turov turned to her and nodded his thanks, but she was already recalibrating, taking this new factor into account, as she returned to her seat.
Still, she pictured that brief flash in the gloom.
What the hell was that?
4:25P.M.
