Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

‘I’m listening.’

There is a major problem with the nuclear power plant on board a Russian ship. We received an urgent request from the Americans.’ Stern paused. ‘The PM wants you to escort Khostov to the icebreaker where his expertise can be used to resolve the problem, and allow the Americans to continue with their rescue efforts.’

There was a long silence.

‘Sean, are you still there?’ Stern sounded worried.

‘Sir, do you appreciate what lengths we went to, to find Khostov and bring him back to the UK? Including returning to Russia for his 15-year-old son?’

‘I do.’

‘Do you know how many people died in this operation? The Russians murdered at least five people in the UK, including two innocent couples and my original Executive.’

‘Sean, I know all this. I wouldn’t be asking you directly if I didn’t think you were the man for the job. There’s something else you don’t know.’

‘Go on.’

‘The icebreaker is nuclear powered. Its reactor is about to go into meltdown. The resultant explosion will contaminate the whole of the Arctic for the next thirty years. And we’re running out of time.’

There was another long silence before Sean responded. ‘How much time have we got?’

‘Ten hours.’

Sean paused, feeling breathless and a little dizzy. The assignment sounded hugely complex with many unknown factors which could stop the mission in its tracks. He doubted if anyone could achieve success if they were given 48 hours, never mind 10.

‘Sean, I appreciate this is a huge undertaking. You are perfectly entitled to decline. We will find someone else to carry on. But I must have your answer now.’

The plane rocked as it descended, jolting Sean’s thoughts back to the present. ‘Do you have to deal with politicians in your country?’

‘Yes, unfortunately. I would advise you to stay clear, if you can.’

Sean scowled. ‘It’s already too late for that.’

The plane landed smoothly, and Khostov and Sean were driven across the airfield. As they approached the take-off runway, the driver pointed out the only aircraft standing ready on the tarmac. ‘There’s your transport!’

They couldn’t miss it. The A400M Atlas was huge, a military version of the commercial European Airbus.

‘It’s been fitted with additional tanks from a previous exercise. That more than doubles its normal range. Should see you OK for six and a half thousand kilometres.’

‘Will we have an escort?’ asked Sean. ‘I heard we could expect trouble at the other end.’

‘We’re sending two of the new Lightning II war birds. They won’t join you until later.’

‘Who is based here?’

‘617 squadron, sir. That’s the old Dambusters squadron, if you remember. They were disbanded a few years back, but reformed again last year.’ The driver glanced at Sean. ‘Don’t worry sir, you’ll be safe with them.’

He deposited them on the tarmac where they were greeted by the Load master for the Atlas. He walked them up the rear ramp of the plane, and pointed to a large pile of equipment.

‘Special Arctic clothing and parachutes. You can kit up when you’re in the air. We’ve been told to take off as soon as you arrive, so make yourself comfortable and strap in.’

President Pavla Duskin was the last to arrive in Vienna for the summit. Because of the mounting tension with the US he had decided to stay at the Russian embassy in Reisnerstrasse where he could use their secure communications facilities. His first task was to contact his deputy.

‘Dimitry, what is the position?’ The encrypted line was clear, with a slight hollow echo.

Dimitry sounded apologetic. ‘It appears that your orders have been countermanded, Pavla. One plane has attempted to bomb the American base on the ice.’

‘Who gave the order?’

‘Vice-Admiral Kostya Duboff. I have spoken to him. He says he gave LK-80 secret orders to proceed to the Lomonosov ridge. Were you aware of his plans to start a drilling operation there?’

‘Ah yes, I did know. But I’m surprised he brought the plan so far forward. I wasn’t expecting the project to begin until summer.’

‘He told me the drilling platforms were ready and he needed a presence on the ridge until they arrived. But he wouldn’t say why he countermanded your command.’

‘I suspect he was protecting his pet project. And now he’s sent a message to the Americans!’ Duskin chuckled. ‘I bet they’re buzzing about like hornets around a nest.’

Duskin’s predecessor planted a titanium flag on the sea bed above the Lomonosov ridge in 2007, claiming the territory for Russia. Duskin planned to follow through with a mining venture later. He knew the Arctic communities would object strongly, but he was in no mood to compromise. ‘How is progress with setting up a base?’

‘You may recall we re-established a military complex on the island of Kotelny a few years ago. It’s part of the North Siberian Islands. We’re strengthening the installation with aircraft and supplies.’

‘Why not closer to the icebreaker?’

‘There’s a storm in the area, Pavla. The Americans were able to lay their air strip before the depression moved in.’

‘What’s next?’

‘In two hours we declare a protection zone around the ship. To back that up we’ll have…’ Dimitry referred to a list. ‘Two fighter squadrons with MiG-29s; two bomber squadrons using the Su-24M; one assault squadron flying the Su-25 and 1 intelligence squadron. All operating out of Kotelny.’

‘Any signs the Americans are leaving?’

‘No, Pavla. More aircraft are arriving at their base, even as we speak.’

‘They promised they would be all gone by now! Dimitry, I want you to take back control of the ship. Use all means to achieve that end.’

‘We will need to deal with the American forces to do so. Are you authorising me to do that?’

‘Dimitry, have I not just told you?’

‘Very well, Pavla.’ One thousand two hundred miles away Dimitry put the phone down, his face a mask of disgust and fear. With no written orders he was being ordered to wage war. If it all went badly wrong he had no doubt the President would blame him for misinterpreting orders. But if he didn’t carry them out he would be hounded out of office.

Dimitry sat for a few moments, thinking through the conflicting tangle of impossible demands and loyalty to his office. Maybe there was a way to show he was carrying out orders, yet not implement them in full. He would need a little time to work out the details, but in the meantime his President expected him to execute his command.

If that was what he wanted, who was Dimitry Kamenev to refuse?

Inside the Airbus the Load-master handed Sean and Khostov mugs of coffee. Khostov put the internal phone back on its cradle.

‘That was a long conversation. How are they doing?’

Khostov sighed. ‘OK. I’ve advised them what they should do.’

‘Is it helping?’

‘Yes, I think so. They understand the concepts, but it is difficult to describe what procedures they should follow at the end of a phone. How long before we arrive?’

‘About five hours. You should get some sleep if you can. You won’t get a chance once we land.’

Khostov gazed at the vast empty belly of the plane, taking in the constant vibration and drone of the four Europrop TP400-D6 engines.

Sean laughed. ‘When you’ve been in as many aircraft as I have, you learn to sleep just about anywhere.’

‘I suppose you don’t often fly normal commercial flights,’ observed Khostov dryly.

‘Not really. I started by flying helicopters for some of our elite soldiers.’