“Yuri.” Sergey pulled his bodyguard back. Yuri brawling with General Yaluyevsky’s men would not help matters or bring Sasha back faster.
Sergey stormed out of the ministry, Yuri a giant beside him, glowering everyone out of their way. Mikhail waited in the SUV, and they burned rubber as they screamed away. “Take us to Roscosmos in Star City.”
Everything that stood between him and Sasha had to go.
First on the list: Iakov Zeytsev.
Rage thundered through Sergey, so pure, so white-hot, he shook. Some men needed to die, and the thought of Zeytsev’s death brought him something close to bliss, a satisfaction so carnal he tasted it. Felt it in the pounding of his heart. Zeytsev had to die—but the generals were dragging their feet.
What he needed now was someone he could trust.
Sergey pulled out his phone.
It took a minute for the call to connect, passing through half the world and a dozen different decrepit cell towers. Sasha had told him how horrible service was once you crossed the Urals.
Add that to the list of things for the next president to take care of.
“This is Ethan.”
Before Jack had flown off in his jet, he’d given Sergey Ethan’s number and told him to call if he needed anything.
“Where are you?”
“Sergey?”
“I need your help. You are one of the only people I can trust.”
A moment. “What do you need, Mr. President?”
“I need you to break into Russia’s nuclear bunker in Yamantau Mountain and kill Iakov Zeytsev.”
* * *
Yamantau Mountain
Russia
“See that?A full detachment of Spetsnaz troops, right at the front entrance.”
“They don’t look like they’re bothered about their nuclear bunker being commandeered by a terrorist.” Blake’s eyes slid sideways, catching Ethan’s gaze.
“Yeah, they really don’t.” He pressed down on his throat mic, transmitting back to Welby and Pete holding position at the eight-hundred-meter mark halfway up Yamantau Mountain. “Front door is locked. Looks like friends of Zeytsev’s.”
“Are they officially or unofficially there? Is this another splintering of the Russian military?” Welby’s voice came back over the radio into Ethan’s earpiece.
“Unknown. But we won’t be able to pinch them off. We have to get at Zeytsev inside.”
“Ethan, look.” Blake scanned the spread of Spetsnaz forces camped on the concrete apron at the complex’s entrance. The main approach to Yamantau was a two-lane highway controlled by the military, with a guard tower staring down the length of the road for over five miles. Anyone coming directly at the complex could be easily picked off.
Which was why Sergey had told Ethan about the east-side entrance halfway up the mountain: the president’s emergency entrance, complete with a covert helicopter pad. Even when they were coming in for the landing, Ethan had still struggled to pick it out of the trees. He had to give it to Kilaqqi’s helicopter pilot. Though that man brought down his bird in a hundred places across the Evenkiysky District without a landing pad. The side of the mountain was probably nothing at all to him.
Ethan put his binos back to his eyes and followed where Blake was looking. “Through the trees, the far side of the apron?”
“Yep. See it?”
“I do. Looks like an Antonov An-24.” A Russian turboprop aircraft, a light transport that could cross half of Russia on a single tank of fuel. “Zeytsev’s escape plan?”
“Must be. The Spetsnaz have their own helos blockading the road.” Three choppers squatted on the two-lane highway. The entire detachment could bug out of there in under three minutes.