cavern. That was another spooky thing about them–their instantaneous
reaction to any change in their surroundings. Between the time the first
icy draft from outside had penetrated the cave and the time that Rogov had
stepped across the threshold, they’d all piled out of their sleeping bags
and grabbed their weapons. Now, looking at them, he could not tell that
seconds earlier they had all been asleep.
“An aircraft,” he said. “The radio–it occurs to me that maintaining
tactical communications with it is a dangerous idea.”
The Spetsnaz commander nodded. “As we discussed. However, I recall
you were not quite so ready to listen to that suggestion earlier.”
“Assemble your team,” Rogov ordered unnecessarily, ignoring the
intended rebuke. “I do not like the thought that the aircraft is headed
directly for us.”
The Spetsnaz commander spread his hands out, palms up, as if to say,
what preparations? Clearly, the men around him were already ready for
action.
“Then take your posts,” Rogov snapped, annoyed–and, he admitted to
himself, the tiniest bit afraid–that they’d readied themselves so quickly.
But then, that was to be expected, wasn’t it? These were, after all, the
finest unconventional warfare experts in the world.
The men slipped out of the ice cave quietly, each one heading directly
for a previously scouted position. They would be, Rogov knew, even now
snuggling down into the concealment they had either discovered or created.
The odds of their being detected by the overflying aircraft were zero.
Almost zero, he corrected himself. He glanced over at the Spetsnaz
commander, who was waiting.
“You will take the Stinger,” Rogov ordered. The Spetsnaz commander’s
smile deepened.
1615 Local
Pathfinder 731
“You see anything?” the pilot asked.
The copilot shook his head in the negative. “Not a damned thing
except ice and water. Too damned much of both.”
Toggling on the ICS switch, the pilot said, “You happy now?”
Eel glanced over at the technician, who shook his head wordlessly.
“We’re not detecting anything,” Eel admitted reluctantly. “One more
circuit, just to make sure. Then we’ll head home.”
“That’s all it will be, then,” the pilot said. “Flying this low–I’m
not doing anything that gets me below a real healthy reserve on fuel. Not
over this water.”
“Understood. If someone’s down there, they ain’t talking now.”
As the aircraft started its final circuit over the island, cruising at
barely three thousand feet above the land and water, Eel stared out the
small side window at the rugged, desolate terrain, wondering what it was
that made him so uneasy.
1620 Local
Aflu
From his concealed position in the scree located at the base of the
cliff, Rogov watched the black speck grow larger. Within minutes, he could
distinguish the stubby-nosed profile of a P-3 Orion.
He nudged the Spetsnaz commander at his side, who looked over at him,
annoyed. “You see?” Rogov pointed out. “Had we used the radios, they
could have undoubtedly triangulated on our position.”
The Spetsnaz commander shrugged. “That will not make any difference
in a few moments.” He shrugged himself up off the ground and raised the
Stinger missile tube to his shoulder.
1625 Local
Pathfinder 731
“Look! Over to the right!”
Eel moved over to a starboard window, trying to see what had excited
the two pilots.
“I saw movement–I know I did,” the copilot’s excited voice said.
“Just near the base of that cliff. In the rubble.”
Eel brought the binoculars up to his eyes and trained them on the
area. Nothing, nothing, nothing–wait. He tweaked the binoculars into
sharper focus. Against the shades of white and gray that made up the
arctic landscape, an odd shadow protruded at an awkward angle. He looked
at the ice above it, trying to decide what escarpment would cast such
a–damn it!
He snatched up the nearest microphone and shouted, “Get us the hell
out of here! There’s someone with a Stinger missile down there.”
“How can you be so sure?” the copilot’s surly voice came over the
circuit.
Eel felt the P-3 jerk sharply upward as the pilot ignored his fellow
aviator’s question. The pilot had been around long enough to know that if
the TACCO wanted the aircraft out of the area, it was better to just do it