Humphrey Hawksley - Man on Ice - Russia vs the USA - in Alaska

‘Alexander, are you there?’ Lagutov’s voice was hesitant and tired.

‘Yes, sir.’ Vitruk pulled off his coat.

‘Holland called President Lo in Beijing and Lo called me. He is worried. I am worried. If we do not resolve all this before the inauguration there may be a war of such strength as the world has never known before.’

‘What did Holland want?’

‘For China to condemn Russia. Lo cut him off. But he is nervous about his economy.’

‘We need to hold firm,’ said Vitruk. ‘Not even Holland would risk taking on both China and Russia.’

‘But will China hold its course?’

‘The Chinese do not like direct confrontation. Leave it with me, sir, and I promise we will win.’

‘You mean I should trust you as my successor.’

‘Yes, sir. And sacrifice me as a renegade, should I fail.’

‘Which you will not.’

Vitruk had not told Lagutov about the deal he had made with General Bu Zishan, commander of the neighboring Shenyang Military Region when, a year earlier, he had hosted General Bu and an official from the North Korean People’s Workers’ Party to an extravagant banquet at his headquarters in Khabarovsk. He had won agreement from both men in exchange for promises to transfer Russian missile technology. Nine months later, he had covertly sent to North Korea two dismantled long-range intercontinental ballistic missiles, the Topol-M – ‘topol’ meant ‘poplar,’ the tall evergreen tree. A Russian team assembled them in the massive underground facility at Toksong where North Korean engineers rebuilt the launch pad to fit, then left. The Topol-M was generations ahead of North Korea’s own missile design, which was basic and untested. The Topol’s speed of 15,000 miles an hour meant it could avoid detection to penetrate America’s anti-ballistic-missile shield. To launch, they only needed to arm and fuel it.

Lagutov would have known that Vitruk had plans to ratchet things up. He might even be aware of the North Korea operation. But, so far, he had not asked. Lagutov was half urbane courtier, half brutal apparatchik, but his soul lay in the warmth of an academic library where decisions and their impact were safely embedded in the pages of history books.

‘I am tired, Alexander, and you are full of energy,’ he said. ‘Your television interview was inspiring. Russia needs you in Moscow.’

This was Lagutov, offering Vitruk the mantle on condition that he won. His return to Moscow would need a dramatic entrance, an arrival at the Kremlin from a far-flung part of Russia’s newly expanded empire.

Vitruk calculated distances and obstacles. Alverov and his team had successfully crossed the border and were now at the Toksong site. One missile would be fueled and prepared for launch from a silo. The other would be taken in a trailer and hidden above ground. It was on a robust carrier that could handle off-road terrain and, like a nuclear-armed submarine, would be near impossible to find. If they began fueling now, there could be a launch before the inauguration with the hidden missile still at large as President Holland took office.

‘Leave China to me, Viktor,’ said Vitruk, deliberately using the Russian President’s first name.

‘Is it dangerous?’ asked Lagutov.

‘It is necessary.’

Vitruk waited for the secure line to clear, then put a call through to General Bu in China’s Shenyang Military Region.

Big Diomede, Chukotka, the Russian Far East

Carrie shut the door of the small en-suite shower. There was no bolt, but the door to the main room was locked, the same one where she had been taken when she arrived. Food remained on warmers, the coffee stewed and tepid. The shower water ran ice cold, then jumped to steaming hot. Carrie peeled off her damp clothes and felt cold sweat on her back. Sweating under thermal clothing was dangerous. Outside, once human movement stopped, sweat froze on the skin, sealing it. She needed to wash it off before going out again. The shower temperature settled and she stepped under.

Head tilted back, water running down her face and soaking through her hair, she processed what had happened, absorbed images so they didn’t lash back at her and skew her judgement. The way a helicopter burnt; how a young man died; how she clung to her medical bag, always hunting out the injured; pushing Rake from her mind, admiring and despising his skill at killing all at the same time. There was madness in the human mind. If she hated this life so much, why did she seek it out? Except, on Little Diomede she hadn’t hunted for war. It had found her.

The bathroom door opened to a rush of cooler air.

‘Finish up,’ said Vitruk from outside. ‘I need to talk to you.’

A cloud of steam covered her. ‘Give me a moment,’ she said, keeping hidden her anger that he was trying to exploit the vulnerability of her nakedness. She was a doctor. She knew the human body better than he. She pulled a towel from the rack, dried quickly, and dressed.

‘You OK, Admiral?’ she said, stepping out. ‘Are you finished with fucking things up? You need to rehydrate, check for frostbite—’

‘I was raised in these parts. You don’t need to tell me.’

If he wanted to play the psychological intimidation game, bring it on. ‘Sure as hell a lot’s going wrong for you. Two helicopters, thirteen men, and you’re holding women and children hostage in a school. I can’t see any hero fighting for his country here.’

Vitruk lifted the lid off a stainless-steel food container releasing a sweet, poignant smell of beetroot and beef. ‘Just borscht, and in here it looks like potatoes and seal meat,’ he said. ‘We’ll eat.’

He ladled food onto a plate, handed it to Carrie. She took it. No point in not doing so. The human body needs nutrition, water, and sleep. Vitruk helped himself, taking a seat on the other side of the table. Carrie kept her eyes on her meal. The food, bland and over-salted, warmed her. Vitruk pushed a phone toward her. ‘You need to call Ambassador Lucas. She is working with President Swain in the White House. Tell her your fiancé must be ordered in. He must stop, or more of us will be killed.’

Carrie didn’t touch the phone. She kept eating, taking time to chew and swallow. Vitruk kept his gaze on her, waiting. Carrie said, ‘Do I tell her where I am, who I’m with, describe the layout of this base that you said was so dangerous to know?’ She wiped her lips clean with a brittle white paper serviette and looked straight back at him. ‘Or do I tell her it’s all over and you are taking your men off Little Diomede, and everyone can go home?’

‘You tell her to stand down Captain Ozenna.’

Carrie forked her food. ‘You’ve got the number; you talk to her.’

Vitruk leaned forward. ‘You know Stephanie Lucas.’

‘Not that well.’

‘Enough to call her and say she needs to order your fiancé to surrender.’

‘She can’t. She’s British.’

‘She’s in the White House. It can be done.’

Carrie took another mouthful and washed it down with bottled water. Vitruk waited, his stare intrusive, threatening. ‘Even if he’s ordered to, he won’t surrender,’ she said.

Vitruk picked up a remote, turned on a television screen on the wall, and flipped it to what looked like a military surveillance feed. ‘There are eight hundred American troops on the north side of the island. Work with me, Dr Walker. Please. These men are like sitting ducks and I can call an airstrike on them at any time.’

‘Why would you do that? Lose more men and helicopters?’ Carrie kept eating. She knew Vitruk would ratchet things up and she tried to keep her expression casual. ‘I will not be part of bringing Rake in because, like you say, he is my fiancé, and if I were in your shoes, I would kill him for what he’s done.’