Chapter 36

36

May 13, 8:04 P . M . MSK

Severodvinsk, Arkhangelsk Oblast

In the rear of the truck, Elle cringed and ducked as a loud blast echoed across the forest. This time, it was not thundersnow.

She stared over at Monk, looking for answers to that explosion. But he simply tucked a blanket more snugly around Father Bailey. There was nothing more they could do. Even sedated, the priest moaned, still lost in a torturous nightmare.

As we all are.

The vehicle braked hard, throwing her forward.

Tucker called back. "Need help! Extra eyes."

Monk motioned for her to go, staying beside his patient.

She pushed up and shambled clumsily to the front, stepping around Marco. As she reached the front, Tucker signaled Kane off the passenger seat. She dropped heavily, taking the dog's place.

Out the window, the woods had dropped away at the shoreline of a frozen lake. With the headlamps off and the sun nearly set, the world had closed down to only a handful of meters past the bumper, all framed by heavy snow.

Tucker edged the Tigr up to the lake's shore.

"Where's the other snowmobile?" Elle asked.

"Lost 'em. I think I caught a glimpse of 'em shooting across the lake."

She turned to him. "Are we supposed to go on foot from here?"

"If so, it seems like the others would've waited for us here."

She continued to stare at him.

"At least, I hope I'm right." He shifted into gear and headed out over the lake. "Can you keep watch on the ice on your side?"

Once they set out, she rolled her window down. The cold bit her cheeks, but it helped calm her feverish terror. Tucker kept a steady pace across the lake, quicker than she would have preferred. Ice popped and groaned under the tires, loud enough to be heard over the low grumble of the engine.

She held her breath and glanced behind the truck. "That explosion..."

"I heard it, too. Don't know what it means. But right now, we have to deal with the problem at hand."

Off in the distance, the faint echo of sirens still rang from the base, spurring them to go faster. As they continued, Elle called out a few times, whenever the ice shattered under a tire, spreading outward in a spiderweb of cracks. Stress strained each minute into an agonizing ordeal.

"Up ahead," Tucker said. "Lights."

Wary, he slowed, but there was nowhere else to go.

As they crawled forward, headlamps flared to the right, rushing toward them.

Tucker flinched their truck away.

Out of the snow, the Berkut shot into view. One side was dented and blackened. Kowalski perched on a seat in the back, shouldering an assault rifle. The mounted machine gun was gone.

Kowalski called over to them as the Berkut drew alongside the truck. "Just getting here? This way!"

Yuri guided them forward.

Ahead, shadows emerged, forming the wings of a plane and the bulk of the other snowmobile.

The Tigr closed on their position.

Once there, they unloaded. The plane's single prop was already turning, its engine warming. It explained why the others had abandoned them. They must have shot ahead to alert the pilot and get the aircraft readied. They all knew time was short.

Yuri climbed out of the Berkut. His face was a mask of blood from a deep cut at his hairline.

Tucker looked toward the shore. "What happened back there?"

"Caught the brunt of a rocket blast. Rolled the Berkut." Yuri nodded toward Kowalski. "Could've been worse."

Kowalski shrugged. "My potshots managed to bobble the trajectory of the first rocket. But its launch-flash offered a perfect target, even for someone snow-blind. Then it was just flames, smoke, and an explosion."

He mimicked the blast, fanning out his fingers.

Elle failed to entirely follow this; even Tucker frowned.

But Monk interrupted any further inquiry, calling from the back of the truck as he popped the rear gate. "Need help moving Father Bailey."

They all headed over.

Tucker climbed inside and lifted the priest by his shoulders. Kowalski took his legs. Monk winced as Bailey groaned, thrashing slightly. Blood sprayed through the bandages over his hands. Even in the gloom, the stricken man's face was ashen, his lips blue-tinged.

"Hold on." Monk set about tightening the wraps, looking grim as he did so.

"How is he even alive?" Kowalski asked, but he wasn't referring to the aftermath of the torture. "I thought he drowned back at the buried library."

Monk shook his head. "Before I sedated him, he explained. When he was flushed down the chimney, the water column below broke his fall. Luckily, it seems the designers of the trap only meant the library to remain flooded for an hour or so. Long enough to drown any trespassers, but limit the risk to the books."

Elle struggled to follow this story, recognizing there was much she had missed after being captured.

Monk continued, "The water was already draining by the time Bailey fell. He was sucked out of the fireplace by the undertow and managed to find air while it emptied. But he broke his ankle. Took a hard hit to his head. No way he could try to scale that chimney again. Then soldiers burst inside and grabbed him, hauled him to Sychkin."

Kowalski winced. "Seichan spotted a Russian squad hightailing it toward the Ringing Tower. Nearly caught her, too. But what about Yelagin?"

Monk shook his head. "Didn't make it."

Elle breathed hard, despairing, picturing the elderly bishop.

"And Bailey won't, either," Monk warned. "Not unless we can get him to a hospital, to a trauma team."

Yuri hopped into the truck and waved for Bailey to be lowered back to the cot. Sid jumped in, too. "We can take him. Once you all get airborne, you'll need to strike immediately for international waters. You'll have time for nothing else."

Monk winced. Clearly, he knew Bailey's care could not wait.

"I can get him to a rural hospital," Yuri offered. "I still have enough rubles to keep everything quiet. Plus, my boss's ties with the Russian mafiya will reinforce that."

Monk took this all in and came to a fast decision, knowing the priest's life depended on it. "Do it."

Still, Monk looked at the plane, then back at Bailey, clearly pulled in two different directions.

Yuri grabbed Monk by the arm, staring hard into his eyes. "I will keep him safe, comrade. Trust me in this. The others will need you. If that bastard Sychkin knows where your friends are..."

Monk took a deep breath, nodded, and drew the Russian into a brief one-armed hug. "Thank you, Yuri."

With the matter settled, the two parties quickly separated.

Tucker drew alongside Elle. "Go with Yuri. Bogdan can keep you hidden."

"I'm done hiding," Elle snapped at him. "If there's anything I can do to help, I'm doing it."

She broke away and strode toward the plane.

Tucker followed, drawing Kane and Marco with him. "Elle..."

"If you're going with," she called back to him, "then I'm going, too."

8:18 P . M .

Inside the cabin of the Baikal LMS-901, Tucker leaned behind the two seats at the front. A young Russian named Fadd commanded the pilot's seat. Monk sat next to him at the auxiliary controls. The engine revved into a high-pitched whine as the propellers spun up and started dragging the aircraft across the ice.

As they taxied up to speed, Tucker studied the sky, watching for another helicopter, but the dense snow and lack of sunlight kept the world pressed tight atop them.

Monk focused to the starboard side, where the Tigr and the lone snowmobile had vanished. From the pinch of his eyes, it looked like he might be regretting his decision to leave Father Bailey's side.

Unfortunately, they were both searching the wrong way.

Fadd cursed and stiffened.

The Baikal sped across the ice. The shoreline rapidly approached, limiting their runway. But that wasn't the problem.

Out of the gloom, a huge bulky shape crashed through the tree line and careened out onto the ice, trundling toward them.

Tucker recognized it. He had spotted it earlier at the base, during Marco's short walk. It was a Russian BTR-80A armored personnel carrier. Atop it was mounted a 30mm cannon. Luckily, at the moment, the Russians seemed just as surprised to see them.

He knew these APCs could go sixty miles per hour, especially over open roads. The base commander must have dispatched it out the main gates, sending it to search for them. Then the fiery crash of the helicopter had been spotted and drew the APC—right into the Baikal's path.

Fadd reached to the throttle. As he started to pull back on it, Monk leaned forward and shoved it back forward.

"No," he warned. "Keep going."

Tucker knew he was right. They were committed. The plane and the APC raced toward each other in a terrifying game of chicken. The massive cannon swung toward them.

Tucker cringed.

They needed to catch air fast, but their speed was still too slow for liftoff.

The cannon fired, ripping 30mm rounds across the ice. The first rounds struck the windshield, driving everyone low—then the lake shattered under the APC's fifteen-ton bulk. Its nose dipped, sending the remainder of the barrage tearing into the ice in front of the Baikal.

Their speed increased.

The plane's tires lifted, then settled again.

Still not enough...

By now, Kowalski had come up front. He spotted the APC. "For once, I'm not the one falling through the ice."

Unfortunately, such vehicles were amphibious. The APC settled into the water, but it failed to sink. As it buoyed up, it tires paddled. Its front end rammed through the frozen water, becoming an icebreaker, forging toward them.

Still, the mishap had bought their team a few extra breaths as the soldiers inside struggled to compensate.

The Baikal finally caught air—and kept it.

Fadd brought their nose up into a steep climb, angling to the side.

Below, the cannon pivoted toward them.

They weren't going to get clear in time.

Then a small shape raced into view below, flying across the ice. It was the double snowmobile, driven by Vin. The Russian thrust out an assault rifle, holding it one-handed, and strafed across the side of the APC. He could do no real damage. He was like a gnat attacking an armored elephant. Still, Tucker had ridden in such vehicles. He knew what such a barrage sounded like inside that steel drum.

Caught by surprise, the soldiers were clearly rattled, bewildered at which target posed the most danger. The cannon's direction bobbled, reflecting that confusion.

It was enough.

The Baikal swept over the foundering APC and shot away, angling toward the White Sea.

Below, Tucker spotted the snowmobile vanishing into the storm, its mission accomplished.

Kowalski followed its passage. "Really need to get me a snowmobile."

They had made it.

Just not all of them.

Fadd leaned forward into his controls. He coughed, spraying blood. As he fell back into his seat, a small hole in his chest poured a crimson stain through his clothes. He must have been hit during the opening volley but said nothing.

The plane's nose dipped precariously.

Monk hollered, hitting a series of switches, transferring control of the Baikal to his seat. "Get him on his back! Put pressure on the wound."

Tucker and Kowalski obeyed, manhandling the pilot out of the seat and to the floor. Monk pulled on the wheel, drawing their nose up. He was the only one who knew how to fly the aircraft.

He called back, doing his best to instruct them, but it was no use. Tucker shared a look with Kowalski. Both had seen enough death to recognize the inevitable. The young man stared up at them, gasping, choking out blood. Mercifully, after another few breaths, his body slumped, but his eyes stayed wide, as if he were surprised to find himself dead.

Tucker fell back onto his heels, his palms bloodied.

Elle covered her face.

Kowalski simply swore.

They had come so close to a clean break, but Tucker had learned a hard lesson years before.

Everything comes with a cost .

And too often it's in blood.

A hush fell over the cabin as Monk sped them onward, flying low over the White Sea, trying to stay under any radar that was still operating during the geomagnetic storm. Hard winds buffeted the small aircraft. Snow kept the visibility tight around them.

They continued their race for international waters, not that such seas were necessarily a safe harbor.

And not just for them.

They had all heard Bailey's warning, learned what information had been tortured out of him. With the ongoing blackout, only one path was left open to them.

To find Gray and the others—before the Russians did.