Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

When the squads reported ready, he whispered quietly into his mike.

‘All teams, go!’

‘Some news from London.’ Lomax twisted so he could see both Sean in the driver’s seat and DD in the back. ‘GCHQ picked up a couple of transmissions, and have just decoded them. It appears Zlotnik is getting nervous about the possible abduction of Levushka. The boy’s movements are to be curtailed.’

‘When will it come into effect?’ asked Sean.

‘At the weekend.’

‘That blows our plan to take him.’ DD sounded aghast at the news.

‘We’ll have to bring the kidnap forward. It has to be tomorrow.’

For a minute they considered their options in silence.

‘We’ll have to do the snatch after Nina has left for work,’ said Sean slowly.

‘That might work in our favour. The rush hour will be well underway,’ replied Lomax. ‘I’ll lead. There’s bound to be some opposition.’

‘I still think the odds are too high. Remember they have a chauffeur, two heavies that stay with him at college, and one more in the flat. Those are just the ones we know about.’

‘You’ll be there too.’

Sean pulled a face. ‘The chances are stacked too highly against us.’

‘Working together we could take out three easily enough,’ replied Lomax. ‘I’ll be the straw man.’

‘It feels wrong — too rushed.’

‘There’s no option — unless you have a better plan?’

Sean thought for a moment. ‘I go first.’

Lomax looked at him steadily. ‘Your job is to get the boy to London. I need you to be ready to grab him when the time comes. I go first.’

‘Lomax, let’s not disagree about this — I’m the bloody agent after all!’

‘There will be no argument. You’ll have to trust me on this. Besides,’ he said with a grin, ‘I’m the bloody Executive.’

For a fleeting second, Sean felt relieved. With Lomax leading the charge, the chances of getting a serious case of the jitters would be reduced. But how effective was he going to be if he was already starting to think that way?

The helicopter jinked in the airstream as snowflakes whipped furiously past the cockpit. Hail rattled against the Perspex screen like the sound of thousands of tiny pellets. The radio crackled.

‘LK-80 to helicopter. The landing area is clear.’

The pilot raised his voice to be heard over the wind and engine noise. ‘Thank you LK-80. We will approach from leeward. Would appreciate some help with securing the copter once we’re down.’ He glanced at his passengers, the highest ranking officers of the mission. Although used to flying in atrocious conditions, he would not have ventured out in this extreme weather. The commanders insisted, and he had no option but to obey. He took a deep breath, preparing for the tricky touchdown.

Chief engineer Feliks Chayka watched as the copter approached. He saw the machine turn into the wind, side-slipping to reduce height. A sudden squall drove the machine sideways and the pilot made quick adjustments to keep it on course. As it descended towards the after-deck, a gust of hail and snow blew the copter downwards, nearly snagging the undercarriage against the ship’s rail. Feliks shouted instructions to the deck hands. They quickly attached lines and dragged it back towards the centre of the deck. Without further ado, the pilot cut the engines and performed a hard landing on the helo-pad.

As soon as the crew had secured the copter, Feliks moved under the slowing rotors. Two men dressed in Arctic whites descended and Feliks went forward to meet them. There was a shouted exchange. No-one could hear each other in the cacophony so they followed him inside.

The saloon was a large space where lectures, presentations and socialising took place. Once inside, Feliks motioned for a seaman to telephone the Captain to let him know the men had arrived. The Americans appeared anxious about the time they might have to wait. ‘He will not keep you. I will make introductions when the Captain arrives,’ promised Feliks.

‘We were under the impression that your Captain was indisposed.’

Feliks flushed with embarrassment and flapped his hand. ‘It was just a temporary condition. He is much better now, thanks.’ Feliks hoped that Grigori would appear soon; otherwise he would be made to look like a fool. He set about offering drinks and the door opened. The pilot joined the group having just checked the helicopter. Less than a minute later Captain Grigori entered the room.

‘I see you are enjoying our meagre hospitality!’

Feliks noticed the Captain’s sly smile and couldn’t help wondering what had caused the sudden change in mood. He was glad he had persuaded the Captain to have a shave and shower before the meeting. It wouldn’t do to show the officers just how far the Captain had let himself go.

Feliks gestured to the Captain. ‘Captain Grigori Burak.’ He was astonished when Grigori formally straightened his back and inclined his head sharply in salute.

The officer bobbed his head, returning the salute. ‘I am Colonel Grey. This is Lieutenant Colonel Markus Cooke, and this is our pilot Chip Greaves.’

Grigori checked that everyone had a full glass, and raised his own. ‘A toast to our two countries. May we always continue to work towards peace!’

There was an awkward silence, and the Americans appeared not to know how to respond. At last Lieutenant Colonel Cooke took a step forward and cleared his throat. ‘Thank you Captain for agreeing to meet. I’m sure you realise the importance we are giving to rescue the crew of the USS Montana.’

‘It was a very unfortunate accident. The navigator concerned has been disciplined and will face a court martial on our return to port. In the meantime, Colonel, I understand your concern for those trapped in the submarine.’ Grigori glanced at Feliks, as if looking for support. ‘Unfortunately we are having problems with our main reactor and are unable to move; otherwise my ship is at your disposal. We will do anything we can to assist you in your efforts, absolutely.’

Colonel Grey looked quickly at his Lieutenant. Their last briefing had left them in no doubt that the Russian government had refused permission to use their ship. What could account for this change of heart? The Colonel sighed with relief. ‘We’re really grateful; your help is sorely needed. How long do you think it will take to get your reactor going again?’

Captain Grigori turned to look at Feliks. Feliks shrugged his shoulders, understanding the game Grigori was playing. He needed to exaggerate the time. ‘Several days, I’m afraid. Our primary coolant is contaminated.’

Colonel Grey nodded, beginning to understand the game too. ‘What about your backup reactor. Is that broken too?’

Feliks was surprised at the American’s knowledge. He felt the pressure as all eyes turn to him.

‘Not broken Colonel, no. But we have a shortage of fuel rods and we didn’t want that to stop our… expedition.’

‘So I suppose that it wouldn’t be possible to transfer the fuel rods in the working reactor to the backup?’ enquired the Colonel.

For a moment there was another expectant silence in the room. Then Feliks looked up, for a moment on safer ground. ‘We could, but that would take longer than to filter the coolant.’

The Colonel sighed, and then got up and walked over to the door. He opened it and immediately the temperature dropped as the bitter wind found its way in. Stepping outside he beckoned to an unseen shape, then re-entered the room.

‘Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to Major Robert Pierce.’

A huge figure in Polar whites filled the doorway.

‘LK-80 is now under our command.’