The fires shrank to flamelets as the Mosquito knifed away through the cold skies.
“No,” Sondra was saying over and over as strong hands reached down and grasped her shoulders.
“We’ve got to bring the ladder in”‘ lovino yelled back.
Newmeyer looked down at Sondra. “Come back in”‘ he cried over the howl of the wind. “Please!”
Sondra climbed into the helicopter, helped along by Newmeyer and Pupshaw. As soon as she was inside, Honda reeled in the ladder and the hatch slid shut.
His expression somewhere short of homicidal, Pupshaw used his first-aid kit to tend to Grey, then went over to the Russian. Except for Nikita’s moans, the silence in the Mosquito was awful and absolute.
“He was right there,” Sondra said at last. “Just a few more seconds, that’s all I needed
“The pilot was giving them to you,” Newmeyer said. “It was the explosion.”
“No.” she said. “I lost him.”
“That’s not true,” said Newmeyer. “There. was nothing you could have done.”
She snapped, “I could have done what my guts told me to-shot the bastard he was trying to save! We made our flying weight,” she said bitterly, then turned her glazed eyes toward the Russian. “And if it were up to me, we’d lose even more weight.”. Then, as though repulsed by her own inhumanity, she said, “Oh, God, why?” and turned away.
Beside her, Newmeyer wept into the sleeve of his coat as Pupshaw bound Nikita’s arm and leg as carefully and gently as his sorely tested charity would allow.
SEVENTY-THREE
Tuesday, 9:10 A.M., Washington, D.C.
Ishi Honda’s voice was thick and slow and weighed on Rodgers from his soul out.
“Newmeyer and Sergeant Grey were rescued from the train,” he said, choking, “along with a Russian officer. We … we were not able to extract Lieutenant Colonel Squires. He remained-”
Honda stopped and Rodgers could hear him swallow.
“He remained on the train, which has been destroyed. Our mission has been accomplished.”
Rodgers was unable to speak. His throat, his mouth, his arms were paralyzed. His spirit, accustomed to the suddenness with which battle could snatch away life, was still deadened by what he’d just heard.
Hood asked, “How is Sergeant Grey?”
“He took a bullet in the shoulder, sir,” said Honda.
“And the Russian?”
“Hit in the thigh and grazed in the arm,” Honda answered. “Because of the fuel situation, we can’t put him down. He’ll have to come with us to Hokkaido.”
“Understood,” Hood said. “We’ll sort all that out with the Russian Embassy.”
“Private,” said Rodgers, his eyes damp, “tell the team that I gave them the impossible to do, and they did it. Tell them that.”
“Yes, sir,” said Honda. “Thank you, sir. I’ll tell them. Over and out.”
Hood shut the speaker and looked at Rodgers. “Is there anything I can do, Mike?”
After a moment, the General said, “Can you get them to give Charlie back and take me?”
Hood didn’t answer. He just clasped Rodgers’s wrist. The General didn’t seem to feel it.
“He had a family,” Rodgers said. “What do I have?”
“A responsibility,” Hood replied softly but firmly. “You’ve got to hold yourself together so you can tell that family what happened and help them through this.”
Rodgers turned toward Hood. “Yes,” he said. “You’re right.”
“I’ll call Liz,” Hood said. “She can help. She’ll also have Striker to deal with when they get back.”
“Striker-” Rodgers started, choked. “I have to see to that. If they have a mission tomorrow, someone’s got to be ready to lead it.”
“Get Major Shooter to start the process,” Hood said.
Rodgers shook his head and rose. “No, sir. That’s my job. I’ll have recommendations to discuss with you by this afternoon.”
“Very good,” Hood said.
Bob Herbert rolled in then, braking his wheelchair and swinging toward the men. He was grinning broadly. “Just got word from the Pentagon this second,” he said. “They listened to the Russian aircraft as they flew over the target area. The pilots spotted the off-loaded Russians, saw the wrecked train, and didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of the extraction craft.” He clapped once, as though his hands were cymbals. “How’s that for ‘low observability’?”
Rodgers looked at him. Herbert’s smile froze as their eyes met.
“We lost Charlie,” the General said.
Herbert’s smile fluttered, then crashed. “Oh, man-man,” he said. Lines appeared in his forehead and his ruddy cheeks paled. “Not Charlie.”
“Bob,” said Hood, “we need you to help us tie this up with the Russians. One of their officers is on the extraction craft. We’d prefer if he could be snuck out of-”
“Paul, are you effin’ crazy?” Herbert yelled. He rolled forward menacingly. “Give me a second to swallow this shit!”
“No,” Rodgers said in a firm voice. “Paul is absolutely right. We’re not finished yet. Lowell has to inform Congress about what’s happened, Martha has to work her charms on the Russians, the President has to be briefed, and if the press finds out about this-as I’m sure they will-Ann will have to deal with them. We can mourn later. Right now, we’ve all got work to do.”
Herbert looked from Rodgers to Hood. The red from his face had pooled over his collar. “Yeah, right.” He turned his chair around. “Gotta keep the wheels of government spinning, with blood for oil. Nobody did much for me either when I got half blown up. Why should Charlie be any different?”
“Because this is what would have made him feel like he hadn’t died for nothing,” Rodgers shouted at Herbert’s back. “We’ll honor Charlie Squires, I promise you.”
Herbert stopped and his head slumped forward.
“Yeah, I know,” he said without turning. “It just hurts like a bitch, you know?”
“I know,” Rodgers said quietly as tears finally spilled from his eyes. “I surely do know that.”
SEVENTY-FOUR
Tuesday, 4:15 P.M., Moscow
Five minutes after the Pentagon intercepted the communication from the Russian jets to their base, Interior Minister Dogin received a call from Air Force General Dhaka’s office.
“Mr. Minister,” said the caller, “this is General Major Dragun. The intercept craft you requested found no sign of foreign aircraft. Only military and civilian passengers from the train.”
“Then the team must still be down there,” Dogin said.
“Moreover,” Dragun persisted, “the General has asked me to inform you that a train you commandeered in Vladivostok has been spotted at the bottom of the Obernaya Gorge, east of Khabarovsk.”
“In what condition?” Dogin asked, even though he knew the answer. Damn Orlov and his team, he knew.
Dragun replied, “The train has been destroyed, utterly.”
Dogin’s mouth opened as though he’d been punched. It was several moments before he could draw breath to speak. “Let me talk to the General,” he croaked.
“Unfortunately,” said Dragun, “General Dhaka is in a meeting with representatives of President Zhanin. It will be quite some time before they’re it finished. Would there be a message-Mr. Minister?”
Dogin shook his head slowly. “No, General Major. There will be no message.”
“Very good,” Dragun said. “Good afternoon, sir.”
Dogin slashed the cradle with the side of his hand.
It’s over, he thought, all of it. His plan, his dreams, his new Soviet Union. And when Shovich learned that his money had been lost, his life would be over as well.
Dogin lifted his hand. When he heard a dial tone, he buzzed his assistant and asked him to get Sergei Orlov on the phone.
Or will he avoid me too? Dogin wondered. Maybe the Soviet Union had returned, though not in the way he’d expected.
Orlov came on immediately. “I was about to phone you, Minister. There’s been a shoot-out in the museum. Colonel Rossky is in very critical condition, and one of his operatives, Valya Saparov, has been slain.”
“The perpetrator-?”
“An agent who came in via Helsinki,” said Orlov. “She escaped into a crowd of striking workers. The militia is looking for her now.” He hesitated. “Do you know about the train, Minister?”
“I do,” said Dogin. “Tell me, Sergei. Have you heard from your son?”
Orlov’s voice was cosmonaut-professional. “There has been no communication with the people from the train. I know they were taken off-but I don’t know about Nikita.”
“I believe he’s all right,” Dogin said confidently. “There’s been so much carnage, like in Stalingrad. Yet one or two flowers always survive.”
“I hope you’re fight,” said Orlov.
Dogin took a deep breath, trembled letting it out. “I appear to be one of the casualties. I, General Kosigan, perhaps General Mavik-the ones who didn’t stay to the rear. The only question is who will get to us first, the government, Shovich, or the Colombians who gave the money to him.”
“If you go to Zhanin, you can request protection.”
“Against Shovich?” Dogin snickered. “In a country where one hundred American dollars can buy an assassin? No, Sergei. My fortunes burned with the train. It’s ironic, though. I hated the gangster and everything he stood for.”