Page 72 of Enemy Within
When Scott pulled back, he turned to Jack, offering his congratulations and a handshake. “Congratulations, Mr. President. You’re a damn lucky man.” He gripped Ethan’s shoulder. “This guy is something else.”
“I am.” Jack smiled, laughing at the flush Ethan felt rising on his cheeks. “I really am the luckiest man on the planet.”
“And don’t forget it.” Scott's voice was teasing, but his eyes had a sheen to them, a hardness, an unspoken promise. He held Jack’s gaze until the moment almost became uncomfortable, and then grinned. “Vasily’s up and bitching about breakfast. Come and get your burned coffee and your smoked deer.”
CAPTAIN ANDERSON SENT A boat to pick them up, and the final batch of supplies. They carried the crates up to Aleksey as Sergey briefed them on their next mission. The rest of the men, Sergey’s resistance, had to carry on. Take the boat and go south, to Vladivostok. Get into the fallen military city and take control of the naval base. Get in contact with Ilya. Take a plane and supplies to his men, and join the fight to retake Moscow.
Anton, Aleksey, and Vasily nodded, and then shook Sergey’s hand and brought him in for a back-slapping hug. They said their goodbyes to Sasha next, standing apart from Sergey. Anton grabbed Sasha’s face and stared at him. Said something in growling Russian that had Sasha closing his eyes.
Jack, Ethan, and Scott thanked the men for everything they’d done. There was too much to say and not enough time. Jack promised to visit them in Moscow after they retook the capital.
And then it was time to leave.
Jack, Ethan, and Scott boarded first, followed by Sasha. Sergey came last, after staring at the decrepit base, the rotten wooden beams, and the chipped paint. He stood out on the thin beach, a dark outline as the sun broke over the horizon, turning the foggy sky a sodden steel-gray.
“Sergey,” Jack called. “Let’s go.”
Nodding, Sergey trudged down to the boat, and Jack got his first real look at Sergey that morning. He opened his mouth, and almost reached out, but Sergey headed for the opposite side of the boat, facing the breaking waves and the beating wind as he crossed his arms and closed his eyes.
Jack turned to Sasha, trying to find answers.
Sasha stood at the bow, his once-proud shoulders slumped, his rigid spine buckled almost in half, everything about him screaming defeat. A man beaten down, wounded in his soul. A man who had lost everything.
He took in the distance between Sasha and Sergey, the way they orbited each other like magnets rejecting the attraction. The way they kept their backs to each other, as if looking hurt too much, cut too deep.
Jack leaned into Ethan and closed his eyes as the boat set off forHonolulu.
CAPTAIN ANDERSON PULLED THEM up to the Control Room, the Conn, as soon as they boarded.
“Our people have been scouring the map Lieutenant Andreyev recreated,” he said, nodding to Sasha. “There’s something else going on up there.”
“Like what?” Jack frowned. The map Sasha had drawn had been digitized, scanned and displayed on a dozen computer screens around the room. Red circles surrounded Madigan’s drill holes, creating an oval on the ice.
“These holes they blew. If these positions are accurate, or even close to accurate,” he said, eyeballing Sasha, “then these aren’t random. They are trying to structurally weaken the ice sheet.”
“Why?” Ethan, standing behind Jack, frowned.
Anderson sighed. “Unclear, based on what we have. To gain access to the waters beneath is our first guess, and gain it in a big way. Clear out a major section of the ice sheet.” He pointed to the black sail, the dark fin of the submarine sticking out of the ice. “We know this is an SSBN. ABorey-class ballistic missile submarine. She carries twenty cruise missiles that can strike anywhere in Europe.”
“Or ignite the gas.” Jack groaned and scrubbed one hand over his face. “Are they clearing the ice so they can launch?”
“They don’t need to. Those cruise missiles can punch through that ice pack, especially at that depth and thickness. So why are they blasting the glacier apart? Is there something under there? What are they trying to get to?”
All eyes turned to Sergey.
“The Arctic has been a Russian graveyard for centuries. The Soviets buried everything there. Secrets, enemies…” He sighed, his expression twisting. “It… was also a dumping site for nuclear waste during the Cold War. Almost twenty thousand containers of radioactive material dumped in the Kara Sea alone. Fourteen decommissioned reactors. And nineteen scuttled nuclear vessels.”
“Nuclear waste?” Jack breathed. Behind him, the Conn went silent, every man stilling.
Sergey nodded, once.
Anderson’s jaw clenched, hard enough to see his pulse pounding in his temple. “Could he be pulling something up? Something that’s in line with his plans?”
“He wouldn’t be carving up the ice if he didn’t need to.” Ethan pointed to the map, to the red circles outlining a rough ovoid shape in the ice. “What’s the size estimate of this? Can we project what it could be, based on what he’s clearing?”
“A little under four hundred feet.” Anderson frowned. “About the length of this sub.”
“Sergey!” Sasha barked.
