Treason, page 17
“We have an intercept,” Lebedev said. “We couldn’t listen to the conversation but we tracked the signal, pinpointing the source with an accuracy of one thousand meters.”
Savvin did the math in his head: they were dealing with a circular area of about three square kilometers. He had hoped for a more accurate position, but it was better than what they’d been working with, not knowing which direction Kalinin and O’Connor had headed after leaving the helicopter wreck. They would cordon off the area quickly, then contract toward the center.
“Employ all available men,” Savvin ordered. “Don’t let them slip through the perimeter.”
56
KRASNODAR KRAI, RUSSIA
Harrison’s RHIB was in the lead as they headed toward shore. The SEALs in both RHIBs had shed their scuba gear and donned bulletproof tactical vests, camouflaged rain jackets and pants pulled from their backpacks, plus helmets with built-in communications and attached night vision goggles. As Harrison scanned the dark horizon, cliffs appeared in the distance. Maydwell identified their insertion point—a gap in the bluffs—and adjusted course. Just before reaching shore, he shifted the engine to neutral.
The RHIBs coasted to a halt as they ground onto the pebble-sand beach. The SEALs slid into the water and hauled the boats across the beach into the foliage. After hiding the RHIBs, they retrieved their M4 carbines with attached suppressors, which were loaded with subsonic ammunition to reduce the discharge noise. Harrison then led the squad up the slope into the forest.
After the day-long rain, the ground was soft and their boots sank into the mud in spots, slowing their progress. The two fire teams spread out, remaining within visual distance of each other, with Harrison leading one team and Senior Chief Stone the other. They had approached to within a half-mile of Kalinin and Christine’s position when Stone stopped, then spoke into his headset.
“Movement ahead.”
Harrison halted the squad and scanned the forest through his night vision goggles. In the distance, an armed soldier was moving in the same direction as the SEALs. To the left was another man and to the right, a third, the spacing about twenty feet.
Somehow the Russians had located Kalinin and Christine and were tightening the noose. After conferring with Stone, Harrison decided to punch through the Russian perimeter and advance quickly, reaching Kalinin and Christine before the Russians did. Stone brought his M4 carbine to bear on the closest soldier while the snipers in each team, Mendelson and Rosenberry, took aim on the soldiers on either side. Harrison gave the signal and they fired three rounds into each man, the sound of the suppressed shots masked somewhat by the heavy rain.
The three soldiers fell to the ground and the SEALs surged forward, collapsing into a single column to minimize the possibility they’d be spotted by additional Russians on either side. Harrison passed over the middle soldier, immobile and facedown in the mud. The other SEALs passed through the Russian perimeter, undetected in the darkness. Once inside the ring of Russian soldiers, the SEALs spread out again.
As they quickly covered the remaining ground, Rodrigues’s voice came over Harrison’s headset. “Over here. A cabin.”
The eight SEALs converged on the cabin. A stream of rainwater ran down the hillside, through the cabin’s entrance. Harrison signaled for a three-man entry, selecting Mendelson and Brown. The three men lined up along one side of the doorway, while Maydwell moved to the other side and Senior Chief Stone’s fire team turned outward, guarding against the arrival of Russian troops.
Harrison held up his fingers, counting down the time, then the three men burst inside, Harrison straight ahead, then Mendelson and Brown to each side.
The cabin was empty except for two individuals in a corner. The three SEALs brought their weapons to bear on them. Neither person moved.
Harrison lifted his night vision goggles and illuminated the two persons with a green flashlight, identifying Kalinin and Christine.
“We don’t have much time,” Harrison said. “Russian soldiers will be here soon.” To Kalinin, he asked, “How much assistance do you need to travel?” He glanced at Kalinin’s legs, which were extended in front of him, his right pants leg pulled up and his shoelace loosened.
“With one man’s help, I can hobble. But if we have to travel quickly, I will need full assistance.”
“Brown, Mendelson. Carry him.”
The two SEALs helped Kalinin to his feet, each man wrapping one of Kalinin’s arms around his shoulders. Kalinin was a tall man, six feet, but when the two SEALs stood fully upright, Kalinin’s feet dangled a few inches above the ground.
“That’ll do,” Harrison said.
Christine pushed herself to her feet, moving close to Harrison. “It’s good to see you,” she said.
Harrison didn’t reply. There’d be time to talk later. He turned off the light and replaced his night vision goggles, noticing that Christine was also donning a set she’d somehow obtained. She slung a backpack over one shoulder and he spotted a pistol in her hand, without a silencer.
“Don’t shoot unless we’re fired on first.”
Christine replied, “I’m not stupid, Jake.”
Harrison was going to explain that he was just making sure, then decided to drop it.
After the three SEALs emerged from the cabin with Kalinin and Christine, Harrison decided to head back out the same direction they’d come, hoping the Russians hadn’t discovered the gap in their formation.
Harrison led the way again as the SEALs formed a single file, with Kalinin and Christine in the middle. They had traveled only fifty yards before Harrison saw movement ahead. The spacing between the Russian soldiers was now only a dozen feet and there was no longer a gap. They were also advancing more cautiously, continuing to contract their spacing. Harrison ordered the SEALs to stop and cover, and the SEALs dropped down into the foliage as Harrison conferred with Senior Chief Stone.
Stone recommended they hunker down and take their chances as the Russians passed by. If they were discovered, they’d take out the nearest soldiers, then bolt toward the coast. Kalinin was going to be a problem, though. Mendelson and Brown couldn’t travel very fast with Kalinin dangling between them.
After Harrison informed the squad of the plan, he contacted the larger of the two SEALs carrying Kalinin. “Mendelson. Carry Kalinin on your back.”
Mendelson shrugged out of his backpack and handed his firearm to Brown, then explained the piggyback plan to Kalinin. Harrison then terminated audible communications until further notice; the Russians were almost within earshot. He signaled down the line, assigning each SEAL except Mendelson to an approaching soldier.
As the Russians continued their advance, Harrison kept his M4 trained on the nearest soldier, watching the man’s head. It moved slowly back and forth across the forest until it froze, looking directly at Harrison. The Russian swung his rifle toward him but Harrison fired first. The soldier went down and the other SEALs engaged, killing six more men, three on each side.
Harrison gave the order and the SEAL formation bolted forward, passing through the gap, with Christine in the middle and Kalinin on Mendelson’s back. There was a commotion on both sides and bullets whizzed through the foliage. Harrison remained low and checked on Mendelson’s speed, reducing his so as to not outpace him. Maydwell was the last in line, and behind him, the Russians were converging in a V formation, gaining ground. Mendelson was doing well, but the unencumbered Russians were traveling faster.
Mendelson’s slower pace gave Maydwell the opportunity to stop and fire on occasion. He dropped several Russians, but the others kept coming, their pace unabated. During one exchange, Maydwell took a bullet in his thigh and he stumbled to the ground. Rodrigues lent a hand, and the two men continued on while Rosenberry dropped to the rear to provide cover. It wasn’t long before Rosenberry was struck by three bullets: two were stopped by his bulletproof vest and a third dug into his left shoulder. Fortunately, Rosenberry was right-handed and his aim was unaffected.
Harrison crested a ridge and stopped briefly, turning back to assess the situation. The Russians had closed half the distance. They wouldn’t make it to the coast. He examined the terrain ahead. The ridge dropped down into a ravine through which ran a stream. He headed down the ridge, then turned left and followed the stream up the hillside, hoping the Russians wouldn’t notice the sudden change in direction. Just before the Russians reached the ridge, he ordered his squad to head ten feet up the slope, then drop into the foliage.
When the Russians reached the ridgetop, they failed to spot the SEALs and halted. After a short conversation between the lead Russians, the group split into three formations. About twenty-five men continued ahead, fanning out into the forest, while a dozen soldiers followed the stream uphill and another dozen went downhill. The dozen men moving in the SEAL team’s direction proceeded with caution as the other two Russian formations faded into the darkness.
Harrison assigned two Russians to each SEAL except for Mendelson, who still had Kalinin on his back. The Russians moved uphill in a single file, hugging the stream about ten feet below. Harrison peered through the bushes as they approached. When the formation pulled even with the SEALs, Harrison gave the order.
It was over in seconds. The SEALs put three bullets into each Russian—two body shots and a third to the head. The attack had been barely audible above the rushing water.
Harrison resumed the trek upstream, and they approached a rock formation where the stream passed through a path too narrow to follow. Turning right would take them toward the coast, but also in the same direction as twenty-five Russian soldiers. Turning left would head away from the Russians, but away from their RHIBs as well.
He checked his watch. They’d eaten halfway into their two-hour reserve. After taking into account a slower transit due to Kalinin’s and Maydwell’s injuries and the need to remain concealed, Harrison concluded that even if they headed directly toward shore, they wouldn’t make it before daylight. Harrison decided the best plan was to find shelter and head to the coast the following evening. He checked his digital map, looking for favorable terrain to their left. There was a river not far away, which might offer possibilities along the shore.
Harrison conferred with Senior Chief Stone, who agreed with the plan. Maydwell and Rosenberry were losing blood and their wounds needed to be tended to. Harrison pulled out a radio and contacted Commander McNeil aboard Michigan, informing him of the plan. Michigan would remain on station, awaiting a rendezvous a day later.
They began moving again, with Harrison leading the squad along the rock formation toward the river. The ground gradually rose as they continued on, then Harrison stopped suddenly. He was on a precipice overlooking a raging river two hundred feet below, swollen with the day’s rains. To his right, the rock formation rose even higher, and he spotted an indentation in the cliff about thirty feet up. He climbed up and took a look. It would suffice—a six-foot-wide ledge with an overhang, cut into the rock face, visible only from the cliff edge below. He informed the other SEALs, who then joined him, bringing Kalinin and Christine.
Senior Chief Stone activated a green glow stick, faintly illuminating the recess. Brown and Rodrigues tended to Maydwell and Rosenberry while Mendelson examined Kalinin. There wasn’t much they could do for Kalinin, whose ankle appeared to be badly sprained but not broken. Maydwell’s and Rosenberry’s wounds were cleaned and dressed, and the bleeding stopped.
Stone developed a watch rotation, assigning Stigers and Rodrigues to the first round, then the remaining SEALs settled in for the night. Mendelson talked with Kalinin while Stone checked on Maydwell and Rosenberry. They spoke in muted voices, the roar from the river below almost drowning out their conversations. The torrential rain continued, showing no sign of abating.
Harrison sought out Christine. She was sitting by herself at one end of the ledge, her legs hanging over, staring into the rain. The last time he’d seen her was aboard Michigan two months ago, her face and wrists still bandaged, as she was transferred off the submarine at Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean. She hadn’t stopped by to say good-bye. He recalled their last intimate conversation a few days earlier, in her stateroom, when she’d asked the only question that seemed to matter—How were things at home? He’d seen the disappointment in her eyes when he answered the question truthfully.
He approached Christine and sat beside her. Neither said anything for a while.
Finally, he asked, “How are you doing?”
“I’m good,” Christine answered. She didn’t continue the conversation, staring into the darkness instead.
“No injuries? It’s not like you to be in perfect health.” The three previous times she’d been brought aboard Michigan, Doc Aleo had removed a bullet from her arm, treated her for severe hypothermia, and tended to her cut face and wrists.
Christine turned toward him. “Miraculously, I’m unscathed.” She smiled, and the tension between them melted away.
Harrison pulled his water bottle from its harness and some rations from his backpack, offering them to Christine.
“I have my own,” she said, retrieving a water bottle and rations from her backpack. “Vodka,” she held up the water bottle, “and Russian vittles.”
Harrison glanced at the bottle. “That’s not vodka.”
“Sure is. Just what I need right now too.” She removed the cap and took a sip, then offered the bottle to Harrison. “Want some?”
He brought the bottle to his nose, then broke into a grin. “Nice one. Almost had me.”
Christine smiled again, and he remembered the first time they had shared a bottle of vodka, in the barn behind his parents’ house. They’d escape there often, sitting in the loft, their feet hanging over the edge just as they did now, and talk. There was always a sparkle in her eyes and her laugh was infectious. When they were kids, she was his best friend. It wasn’t until she started developing into a woman that he saw her in a different light. He recalled the day he asked her to be his girlfriend and she said yes; he felt like he was the luckiest guy in the world. By the time he was seventeen, he’d decided they’d get married and spend the rest of their lives together.
When he proposed to her at the end of their senior year in high school, she turned him down, and did so again four years later after she graduated from college. Christine was an intelligent and beautiful woman, intent on climbing the professional and social ladders in Washington, D.C., unencumbered by a Midwestern farm boy. After waiting ten years, he realized he’d never be good enough for her and moved on, proposing to Angie a year later. Christine called the following month, saying she was finally ready. She hadn’t heard the news. He loved Angie, but he sometimes wondered how different things would be if he had waited just a little longer.
Christine returned the water bottle and food pouch to her backpack. “What’s the plan?”
“We’ll hide out here until nightfall tomorrow, then head to the coast and return to Michigan.”
As they talked on the cliff edge, Harrison’s thoughts wandered to the peculiar situation—Christine at President Kalinin’s summer residence for the weekend.
“What’s with you and Kalinin?”
Christine shrugged.
“Are you seeing him?”
“It’s really none of your business,” she replied, her voice turning cold.
“Not that it matters,” Harrison said. “I’m just curious.”
She turned toward him. Even though he could barely make out her features in the faint light of the glow stick, he could tell she was irritated.
“Why do you care?” she snapped. “You’re married, I’m not.”
“Because I do care.”
“It’s time to stop caring.”
She turned away, looking into the darkness as Harrison assessed the sudden tension between them.
“We’re going to have to sort this out at some point,” he said.
“Sort what out?”
“Us. We need to find a new norm.”
“We don’t need to figure out anything. We both made our choices in life. It will never be like it was.”
“Chris, we can’t disregard twenty years of history. Pretend like we were never best friends, that we never dated, were never engaged—”
“We were never engaged.”
Harrison pulled back slightly. “You said yes, and the ring went on your finger.”
“I gave the ring back the next morning. There’s probably a twenty-four-hour rule somewhere.”
It was Harrison’s turn to become irritated; this wasn’t the first time she’d claimed they hadn’t been engaged. “Why is our engagement such a sensitive issue for you?”
“Because I follow through on things. When I say yes, I mean it. Unlike you.”
Harrison had trouble following her. “What do you mean, ‘unlike you’?”
“I asked if you would wait for me, and you said yes.”
“So that’s what this is all about? From the time I proposed in high school, I waited ten years, Chris. There was no indication you were interested in getting married, much less to me. You had your sights set on bigger fish.”
“I wasn’t chasing bigger fish. I was busy. I was working sixty-, seventy-hour weeks. I didn’t have time for a relationship, much less marriage. I had a checklist of things I wanted to accomplish before settling down.”
“It would’ve been nice if you had shared that with me.”
Christine didn’t respond, turning away again.
As Harrison tried to sort through where they stood, he realized the premise of her argument was flawed. “Why are you upset at me for saying yes and then changing my mind, when you did the same thing when I asked you to marry me the first time?”
“I never said yes.”
“You’re rewriting history now?”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
Harrison’s frustration increased, but he knew it was pointless to argue. Once Christine got something in her head, she’d dig in like a bulldog playing tug-of-war. But he’d get in one last jab. He leaned toward her and softened his voice, whispering in her ear. “It was short, but I enjoyed our engagement.”
