Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

The load-master listened to his helmet speaker, then gave the thumbs-up sign. Sean leaned over Khostov and shouted in his ear. ‘Time to go.’ With that, he pushed him off the ramp and they both dropped into the void.

The airstream hit Sean immediately and within seconds he lost sight of Khostov. Frantically he twisted round, looking for any sign. Seconds passed, and he caught a brown smudge in the periphery; Khostov had not fallen as far as he imagined. He pulled the chute cords to bring him closer, but the unexpected changes of wind direction didn’t help. Eventually he positioned himself above and to the side of Khostov so he could watch him land.

They descended slowly, but their speed over the ground was too fast. He saw Khostov land hard, legs straight and apart. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten to take Sean’s advice. He was dragged along by the wind, his body flopping behind his chute like a puppet.

Sean landed, kept upright and began running as soon as he touched down. He stabbed the release buckle and shrugged off the harness. The parachute was whisked away in an instant. Turning, Sean ran back.

Khostov lay still, face down on the ice.

The PM put the phone down.

‘I apologise for the interruption, gentlemen. That was a member of my security service.’

He turned to both of the Presidents. ‘Unfortunately this is turning into a bit of a marathon. You may terminate the meeting whenever you wish. I have kept you much longer than I intended.’

When both Presidents showed no signs of leaving, the Prime Minister Ashdown indicated some nearby armchairs. ‘Very well, let’s sit, shall we? My legs are not what they used to be.’

The PM waited a moment, then picked up the red file. He made a show of scanning the first page, giving the impression he was recalling the contents. He pressed the remote to display a still photograph of Khostov on the big TV screen.

‘This is Alexei Khostov, an eminent nuclear physicist. He left Russia and came to London several weeks ago.’

Ashdown studied Pavla Duskin. ‘We were puzzled why your government sent a team of people to the UK to hunt him down. As a direct result, four innocent men and women were murdered in London, before Khostov fled to France.’

The Russian President shrugged indifferently. ‘A gross lie.’

‘We can prove this,’ responded the PM, flipping a page. ‘Here is a copy of the report from our security services confirming the DNA of two of the group at both murders.’

‘Any evidence is fabricated.’

Ashdown’s eyebrows rose a fraction, plainly indicating his incredulity. ‘We tracked Khostov to France, and managed to extract him from the clutches of the remainder of the gang before they could shoot him dead.’

There was an uneasy stillness as both Presidents absorbed the information.

‘Khostov is now at a safe location,’ continued the PM. ‘In exchange for the return of his son from Russia, he has provided us with the real reason why he has been hunted so vigorously by your security apparatus.’

Prime Minister Ashdown flicked over a page in the file. ‘The phone call I received was from a team of translators. They deciphered the documents Khostov hid when he defected to us. They tell us why you wanted Khostov so badly.’

Pavla Duskin jumped up and regarded President Donahue. ‘Alexei Khostov was once a great scientist for Russia. Unfortunately he grew to like fame too much, and craved to become even more famous. He liked the good life, the lavish dinners and expensive cars. He is wanted in Russia because he embezzled 15 million roubles to sustain his lifestyle. But I repeat we did not send anyone to hunt him down, as you so crudely put it.’

‘Alexei Khostov,’ interjected the PM, ‘was a well-respected figure in Kremlin circles. Khostov was brought in to advise on the design of the reactor for your Floating Nuclear Power Plant program. Secretly he also wanted to find out about the embezzlement of millions of roubles from the project. He discovered the scam was achieved by setting up a shell company. Money was funnelled through a series of bank accounts to one person, someone at the top echelons of power.’

‘Your claim is preposterous. The man is a scientist, not an undercover agent.’

Prime Minister Terrance Ashdown smiled. ‘It was precisely because he was such a highly respected scientist he agreed to join the project.’

Duskin remained tight lipped.

‘All the money found its way back to one man,’ continued Ashdown. ‘And that man is in front of me now.’

The silence in the room was profound.

‘At least you have the decency to look stunned,’ barked Ashdown.

The Russian President smiled grimly. ‘I am stunned by the scale of your ignorance and the impertinence of your accusation. You have no proof of this whatsoever.’

The Prime Minister turned over another page. ‘There you and I differ. But it would be an interesting exercise, would it not, to see what the media and the press make about these claims. The story would run for a long time if they were fed small pieces. And there would be only one outcome.’

There was another protracted silence.

‘I need both of you to think about what I said. We will meet again in two hours’ time when you will have considered what is at stake. In the meantime, gentlemen, I bid you good evening.’

The Prime Minister collected the three coloured files and left the room. The Presidents eyed each other, gauging the other’s reaction. For a moment there was a hostile silence between them.

They both turned and walked out.

‘Well done Thomas!’

Captain White clapped his XO on the back. Thomas had honed the process of preparing the sailors for the rescue module down to a fine art. As soon as one group entered the Pressurised Rescue Module, Thomas was readying the next for the escape chamber. The second party took the longest because they included the injured. Two sailors required stretchers and that took up valuable room as well as making it awkward to manoeuvre them up the vertical shaft into the PRM. There had been a long delay when LK-80 was bombed, but apart from that the shuttle worked like clockwork.

For those remaining in the submarine, the conditions were much improved. The rescue pod brought fresh oxygen cylinders and more portable CO2 scrubbers, so the air became breathable. But their rescuers were not able to do much about the cold. Thomas encouraged those outside the escape hatch to move about and exercise in an effort to keep them warm. Whenever Thomas spotted any member of the remaining crew suffering seriously, he brought them to the front of the queue for the next trip to the surface.

Captain White was genuinely pleased with how his XO had moved about the men, checking to see if they needed anything, swapping a story here and there and keeping their spirits up. He made a mental note to recommend Thomas for a medal of commendation when he returned to Groton.

Once on board LK-80, each man was briefly checked by a medic before being transferred to a RIB, then to the base camp, and from there onto a waiting cargo plane. Two air round trips had already been made, each carrying a group from the submarine and part of the base personnel to safety. The plane stood on the runway, waiting for the last party.

The submarine looked almost empty with just 17 sailors left. They would need two more visits by the rescue capsule to return all the crew topsides. Captain White tried not to think about the five bodies laid out in the medical bay. Thomas volunteered to remain behind with the Captain, so they could man-handle the bodies into the PRM for the final transfer. It would make the journey to the surface a touch grim, but the Captain felt it would be only fitting to accompany the seamen who had lost their lives.