Ice War, page 16
What about the team? Wilton messaged back.
They’re on their own, Bilal messaged. There is an escape hovercraft on the island. They can use that. If possible, bring Able in for questioning.
“What is the status of our submarines?” Whitehead asked.
“Heading back to the naval base at Esquimalt, to rearm,” Hooper said.
“Sir, we’re all out of options,” Russell said. “We have to think about tactical nukes.”
“There is no nuclear option,” Whitehead said. “There will be no more discussion about that. What is the status of the ground defence forces?”
Russell took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Level One alert, and ready to go,” he said.
“Hovercraft teams?”
“First reconnaissance squadron is already out on the ice,” Russell said. “First and second assault battalions are waiting for the word.”
The reality of another ice war came home to Wilton with that statement. He was part of a hovercraft team. If not for this cushy assignment, he would be among those about to head out on the ice. Maybe not at first, because he was part of a reserve squadron, but undoubtedly sooner or later he would have been part of the action. He wasn’t sure which he preferred. There was something distant and sterile about this room. At least out on the ice he would have felt that he was making a difference.
“Tanks and artillery?” Whitehead asked.
“Second and third battalions are dug in around Wales, Alaska. First battalion is holding back in reserve. They’ll hold their fire until the last minute to avoid revealing their positions. Artillery batteries are ready for shoot and scoot.”
“Hundal, what can you give me?” Whitehead asked.
“In these conditions, nothing,” Hundal said. “Our aircraft can’t fly in this weather, but neither can theirs.”
“How long before those subs are back on station?” Whitehead asked.
“Four hours there, four hours back, a couple of hours to rearm,” Hooper said. “Minimum ten hours. But that’s not the problem. You can bet that the Pukes will have a heavy SAM defence. I doubt we’d get enough missiles through to do the kind of damage we need, and that’s it. These are our last reserves.”
“Okay, we hold the Tomahawks back,” Whitehead said. “This is going to be a ground war, not an air war.”
And I’m missing it, Wilton thought.
Big Billy stood for a long time over the body of his brother. His lips were moving. The language was ancient. The wind was whipping up into flurries and snow whirled around him, but still he stood. Alone in his grief.
Barnard stood next to Price. Mourners at this private funeral.
There was no sign of Able, but to be safe, Monster stood guard. He was on the roof, armed with the hunting rifle.
The Tsar was inside, working with Bowden, trying to figure out what was wrong with the sensors.
When Big Billy finished, Price helped him load Nukilik onto the sled.
Asungaq sniffed and pawed at the body of his master as it was carried past him.
“I’m sorry,” Price said.
“He is with the elders,” Big Billy said. “We have both lost loved ones.”
“Yes,” Price agreed.
“Your friend Janos, you call him Monster,” Big Billy said.
“Yes,” Price said, a little uncomfortably.
“He is strong,” Big Billy said. “Strong like Nanook, the white bear. And a good fighter.”
“Yes,” Price said.
“He tried to save your friend,” Big Billy said. “Emile.”
“Really?” Price said, regretting the cynical tone immediately.
“He probably doesn’t even know what he did,” Big Billy said.
She turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“Monster was hypothermic,” Big Billy said. “He was almost in a coma when my brother found him. He does not remember anything.”
“But he said …” Price said.
“He could not know,” Big Billy said. “Nukilik told me. My brother followed the footsteps for over a kilometre, with his dog. Monster carried Emile off the ice pack and halfway around the island. Then he lay down on top of him to shelter him.”
“He did that?” Price asked, blinking away sudden tears.
“I don’t know how,” Big Billy said. “In those conditions. Without furs. Without headgear. I could not have done it.”
Price looked up at the big man. She had needed to hear that.
“Thank you,” she said.
Big Billy just nodded.
“Please tell Corazon how sorry we are,” she said.
“I will tell her,” Big Billy said. “But there is something I must do first.”
She didn’t ask him what he meant. She didn’t have to. He slipped on the wolf coat then loosened a knife at his belt. Price got a glimpse of shiny steel. Then he took a single dart and an spear-thrower from the sled and, without another word, the tall Inupiat disappeared into the snow flurries as though he were part of them. The White Wolf was on the hunt.
“He didn’t take a gun,” Barnard said.
“He doesn’t need one,” Price said.
Once back inside, they locked the door, and Price went to check on The Tsar. He was lying on the floor with his head inside an inspection panel below the desk. Bowden was leaning over the desk.
Out of her bulky parka, Price saw she was a compact woman in her thirties, with close-cropped hair and a firm jaw. She seemed shocked by recent events but it was clear that her training had kicked in. She was a professional, Price thought, and in the midst of such turmoil, that would get her through.
“Any progress?” Price asked.
“The firmware on one of the circuit boards has been replaced,” Bowden said. “The new code has a deliberate bug. It no longer relays any signals from the sensors, yet if you run diagnostics on it, it checks out fine.”
“What can we do?” Price asked.
“We have backups of all the firmware upgrades,” Bowden said. “If we revert the firmware using an older backup, we should get a version without the bug.”
“How long will it take?” Price asked.
“Not long,” Bowden said.
“Great,” Price said. She raised an eyebrow at Barnard.
Barnard nodded. “I’ll find a phone,” she said.
“And somewhere private,” Price said, looking at Wall.
“Still don’t trust him?” Barnard asked. “He helped us escape, tackled Able, and Bilal vouches for him. You want my opinion? I think he’s with us.”
“I trust him,” Price said. “I just don’t trust him that much.”
A telephone handset sat in a cradle on the control desk. Barnard took it and they moved into a rest area behind the main room.
“You know Chisnall better than me,” Barnard said. “Give me a thumbs up or a thumbs down as soon as you’re sure.”
“Either way, don’t give away any more than you have to,” Price said. “Something’s fishy about this whole thing.”
Barnard put the phone on speaker and dialled. The phone rang. Price’s heart was pounding at the thought that Chisnall might still be alive. Barnard seemed emotionless.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang.
After the build-up, the tension of making the call, the lack of an answer was a painful anticlimax. And in one way, a kind of a relief. It would turn out to be a hoax, or a trick, Price was convinced of that. Once they talked to the person they would know for sure, but until then, she could hang onto the slender hope that Chisnall was still alive.
“We’ll try again later,” Barnard said.
Price wanted to wait, to hang on longer in the hope of an answer, but The Tsar’s voice called out from the main control room.
“Price, I got Wilton on the radio.”
Barnard hung up and followed Price into the main room.
“Wilton, it’s Price,” Price said. “What’s happening?”
“You’re being shut down,” Wilton said. “They want you out of there.”
“How can we be shut down?” The Tsar asked. “We’re not even here. Not officially.”
“They found out about the mission,” Wilton said. “They’re kinda upset about wasting all their missiles on the decoys.”
Price and Monster exchanged glances.
“We just told them what we saw,” Price said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Wilton said. “Mission is over. Nothing I can do about it. The orders are for you to return to base as soon as possible.”
“And how do they expect us to do that?” Barnard asked.
“You have permission to use the escape hovercraft,” Wilton said. “If possible, they’d like you to bring back Able for interrogation.”
“In pieces maybe,” Barnard said. “Once Big Billy is through with him.”
“Only if you can,” Wilton said. “If it was me, I’d get the hell out of there.”
“We’ll see what we can do,” Price said.
“Wilton,” Barnard said. “I tried that number you gave Monster. No answer. Question for you. How sure are you that it was … who you said it was?”
“No doubt in my mind,” Wilton said. “I know … him … well. It was him.”
“Okay,” Price said, although still far from convinced.
“Can you help me with something?” Wilton asked.
“Shoot,” she said.
He quickly explained the problem of the Temporary Duty Assignments. She listened patiently.
“What do I do?” he asked. “What would you do?”
“Think like a spy, Wilton,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Wilton said.
“Look at it from the traitor’s point of view,” Barnard said. “If he or she was involved, somehow, and he or she wanted to ensure that the right people got the right TDAs, how would they do that without leaving a paper trail?”
“I don’t know,” Wilton said.
“They’d have to have a cut-out,” Barnard said. “Someone where all the trails ended cold, with nothing to connect them to the traitor. Perhaps a non-existent person, so there’s no one to interrogate. Perhaps a ghost.”
“A ghost?” Wilton asked.
“Someone who died, perhaps in the course of duty, just before these assignments were made.”
“Say there was a ghost,” Wilton said. “How would I link that back to the traitor?”
“They would have to have logged in as the ghost to issue the assignments,” Barnard said. “They wouldn’t do that from their own computer, because that would leave a trail. But it would have to be a computer in the Pentagon, to have access to that level of security.”
“Ummm,” Wilton said.
“Listen, Blake, it’s easy,” she said. “Find the computer on which the assignments were made. Then access security camera footage from the Pentagon corridors on the day in question. Find out who was using that workstation. If you can, you’ve got them. But you’d need top security clearance to get access to the security camera footage.”
“I kinda have that already,” Wilton said. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
THE BRIEFCASE
[MISSION DAY 2, FEBRUARY 17, 2033. 1900 HOURS LOCAL TIME]
[THE PENTAGON, VIRGINIA]
The man with the olive green briefcase walked casually along the Pentagon’s C-ring towards the sloping ramps that had been a part of the building’s design since its origins during World Wars One and Two. The ramps took him down into one of the inner rings where an elevator led to a heavily guarded underground level. Here the security was not handled by the PFPA, but by military police, and the weapons were not pistols, but snub-nosed submachine guns.
Again, the man’s credentials were checked, and again they passed scrutiny.
When the elevator doors opened on the lower level he entered casually and nodded to a few people as if he knew them. Most of them nodded back, certain that they had met him before somewhere, in a meeting perhaps or at a barbecue or a bar mitzvah.
No one doubted his credentials. If he had made it past all the layers of security that surrounded this room, then he had the right to be there.
He moved to one of the workstations on the outside wall and sat down, placing the briefcase beneath the table.
He dialled a short number on his phone and let it ring six times. He was rewarded by an almost inaudible click from the briefcase.
He dialled another number and hung up immediately.
A moment later his phone rang. He answered it, speaking the first words he had spoken since arriving at the Pentagon.
“Certainly, sir,” he said. “I will be there immediately.”
No one could know that the other end of the line was completely silent.
The man rose and walked towards the exit. He did not make eye contact with anyone. A naval officer, adjutant to Admiral Hooper, noticed that the man had left his briefcase, but thought nothing of it.
The bunker door slid shut behind the man. He was gone, as if he had never existed.
[MISSION DAY 2, FEBRUARY 17, 2033. 1510 HOURS LOCAL TIME]
[LITTLE DIOMEDE ISLAND, BERING STRAIT]
They gathered in the main control room. Fierce gusts of wind hurled snow at the narrow windows. Monster had come down from the roof; there was no longer any point in being up there. He couldn’t see past the end of his rifle. Able was still outside, somewhere. And Big Billy was hunting him.
“We’re out of here,” Price said. “Mission’s over.”
“So we can relax in comfort while the Pukes take over the world?” Barnard said. “I can’t get behind that.”
“There’s nothing we can do,” Wall said.
Barnard stared at him. “Or is that what you’d like us to think?”
“He’s right, Barnard,” Price said. “We’re a recon unit. It’s not up to us any more.”
Instead of replying, Barnard twisted around and punched a button on the control panel. Monster’s video began playing on a screen above their heads.
“See these?” Barnard said. “Bzadian bridgers. If we could take those out somehow, we could stop the whole Bzadian advance in its tracks.”
“Only if they run into another crevasse,” Wall said.
“They will,” Barnard said. “Our last line of defence is a minefield that stretches for kilometres around the western tip of Alaska. Pukes get within spitting distance of the coast and ACOG will blow it, leaving a dirty great channel of water right in their path. The way the currents are around the tip of Alaska, it could be days before it refreezes enough to carry tanks.”
“Wouldn’t they just bring up more bridging units from Chukchi?” Price asked.
“Probably,” Barnard said. “But that would mean a big delay. All that time their invasion would be stalled and vulnerable. The weather could change, and who knows what could happen?”
“These bridgers are very huge,” Monster said. “Heavily armour also. What can we do?”
“The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” Barnard said.
“Meaning?” The Tsar asked.
“Monster and Nukilik stopped a Russian transporter with a handful of de-icing crystals,” Barnard said. “Who’s to say we couldn’t do the same for these bridgers? Melt the ice in front of them.”
“You’d need a truck full of the stuff,” Price said.
“We have a truck full of the stuff,” Bowden said.
Everybody stared at her.
“We have a small airstrip,” Bowden said. “There’s a pick-up truck in the hangar with a tank of it on the back. We use it for de-icing the runway.”
“It’s suicide,” Wall said. “You’re going to drive a truck out on the icefloe? Even if you did, the Pukes would pick it off before it got twenty metres. There’re six hundred tanks out there, or had you forgotten that bit?” He saw the looks of the others and protested, “There’s no point in committing suicide.”
“Are you with us, Wall?” The Tsar asked. “One hundred per cent? Now’s the time we gotta know. There can’t be any doubt.”
“I always have been,” Wall said.
Price gazed at him, thinking. She turned to Barnard.
“I believe him,” Barnard said.
“That’s good enough for me,” Price said.
“Wall’s right,” Bowden said. “You’d never make it in the truck. But you could use the hovercraft.”
“Is it large enough?” Price asked.
Bowden nodded. “Easily. It’s an LCAC troop carrier,” Bowden said. “A hovercraft. It’s rigged for stealth, and it’s armed with two heavy machine guns. We have a small forklift tractor too. I’m sure you could find a way to rig the de-icing tank onto the hovercraft.”
“In these conditions, we should be able to creep right up to their back door before they even know we’re there,” Barnard said. “A surprise attack.”
“Everybody just slow down,” Price said.
As Barnard had been talking, she had felt a familiar emotion. The thrill of the chase, the excitement of the hunt. The thirst for danger. But that was what had got Emile killed. Was she now really thinking about possibly sending the whole team to their deaths?
“You okay, Price?” The Tsar asked.
“We’ve been ordered home,” Price said. “We should go.”
“Are you crazy?” Barnard asked. “We have a real chance of doing some damage here.”
“And a real chance of all dying and achieving nothing,” Price said.
“But–” Barnard began, before Monster cut her off.
“It was not your fault,” he said.
As always, he seemed to know what she was thinking.
“Yes, it was,” Price said. “I am the one that gave the order. I should have waited.”
“And I should have try harder out on ice,” Monster said. “And the Pukes should not have invading. Is war. We take our chances. You make the impossible decisions in impossible circumstances. Sometime people die.”
“It’s not fair,” Price said, struggling to restrain her emotions.
“It is not fair,” Monster agreed. “It is war.”
“I … don’t know,” Price said. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what Ryan would have done.”
