Chapter 54

54

May 14, 6:44 P . M . ANAT

East Siberian Sea

Gray stood his ground as another section of the icewall cleaved away. It fell like a spear and shattered against the stone. A blast of shards stung him, peppering any exposed skin.

Still, he remained fixed, never taking his eyes away from the nearest throne. Behind him, Jason and the others gathered with Tucker and his dogs. They had safely escaped long minutes ago. The returned group kept themselves armed, guarding over their three Russian prisoners: Turov, his lieutenant, and Sychkin.

The latter continued to moan, half delirious, half sedated, but still in pain.

The noise scratched like nails along Gray's stretched nerves.

He wanted to put a bullet in the man, a mercy killing—not that the bastard deserved any mercy. Still, at least it would shut him the hell up.

A thunderous popping drew his eye up. Cracks spiderwebbed across the waterfall. More sections fell away, crashing with massive explosions. It finally drove him back. It would do no good if he was crushed to death.

"It's all coming down," Tucker warned. "We should get on the stairs."

Gray waved to him. "Go. Get everyone moving up."

Tucker stared at him, recognizing that Gray intended to stay here. But the Ranger finally nodded, turned, and started shouting orders.

Gray took a deep breath. The others had told him how Seichan had lured Valya and her cohort down the side tunnel that led to the steaming garden. He took solace in the fact that those two mercenaries had also not returned.

He took a step toward the nearest throne, eyeing the gap behind it. Tucker had stopped him from entering earlier. Gray could barely walk, let alone offer any true back up. Tucker summarized it best: You'll only make matters worse. Trust your woman.

Tucker even offered to go in with his dogs, but Gray knew he could not endanger more lives. Seichan had risked her life to save those behind him. He wasn't about to send any back in.

He took a deep breath, a mantra repeating in his head.

Trust your woman.

Still, as more massive sections broke from above and crashed hard, spilling ice across the neighboring city, he found it harder and harder. The floor had filled with slush and mountains of shattered ice. The far throne was already buried. The gap behind the closer one was only open because a fat plate of ice had fallen over it, forming a roof, sheltering the opening.

He shifted to peer along it when a shout rose behind him.

"Gray!" Tucker bellowed. "Above you!"

He craned his neck. A gargantuan slab of ice tilted away from the waterfall. He fled backward, hobbling on his bad ankle. Then Tucker joined him, hooked an arm under Gray's shoulder, and dragged him away.

The thunderous boom sounded like a cannon blast behind them. Cold air and shattered ice threw them both forward. They hit hard and slid. By the time they stopped, their bodies were coated in a layer of powdery ice.

Gray shoved up, shaking his coat free. He turned and searched through the frosted air. When some of it settled, the view opened, and his heart sank. The nearest throne was gone, crushed and buried.

Tucker joined him. "I... I'm sorry."

Gray shook his head, refusing to accept this.

Trust your woman.

He did.

He stumbled forward. The cold numbed his ankle—or maybe it was due to the adrenaline. He forded through a crush of knee-deep ice and around jagged boulders until he could reach the wall. The latest collapse had deeply scraped the base of the waterfall, leaving a crystal-blue surface.

His reflection mirrored off it as he stumbled closer.

Then, through the translucency, a shadow appeared on the far side, rushing forward, merging with his reflection. He recognized that silhouette. His hands had explored its every curve.

"Seichan..."

He rushed up and put his palms against the ice.

A meter away, she did the same.

"No," he gasped out.

This wasn't an utterance of defeat, but defiance.

I won't lose her.

He waved to her, yelling. "Get back!"

She clearly could not hear him, but he pulled the AK-12 rifle from his shoulder. He had stripped the fully equipped weapon from one of the dead soldiers. He lifted and pressed it against the ice, then waved an arm, pantomiming for her to retreat.

He waited, still not sure she understood.

But her shadow fell back, fading into blue ice.

He backpedaled in turn, retreating a safe distance. Then he lowered the weapon, aimed it at that azure mirror, and fired.

A grenade shot from the rifle's undermounted barrel. The round sped and struck with a fiery explosion. Smoke blasted, and ice cracked. Before it could clear, Gray rushed forward through the ice and fire.

Blinded, he still ran headlong.

Then something struck him, wreathed in crystals, smelling of sulfur.

Arms wrapped around him.

He pulled Seichan tightly to him.

She gasped in his arms, breathing heavily. "I... I didn't think I'd get out of there."

Gray hugged her hard. "You need to learn to trust your man."

7:10 P . M .

Tucker followed the last of the group up the steps. They had traversed three-quarters of the way toward the top. To the side, the waterfall continued to fragment into massive sheets that crashed into the city. The thunder was nearly nonstop now, becoming a storm underground.

Ahead, everyone stumbled along, exhausted, most having to support another. Anna helped Jason. Seichan gripped Gray as if she would never let him go. Turov and Bragin hauled the archpriest between them. Harper kept a steadying hand on Omryn, who hugged an arm over his wrapped belly.

Directly ahead, Elle climbed with Kane and Marco.

A change in timbre of that thundering storm drew Tucker's gaze. He watched the entire top section of the waterfall give way. It tilted far, a glacier about to give birth. Then the section toppled away, falling into the darkness. When it struck, the ground shook. A huge cloud of frost and ice blasted to the roof, casting rainbows in the last shine of the day's sun.

Tucker gaped at the sight.

Elle spotted the danger. "Look!"

With the top of the fall gone, the ramp that led down to it cracked into pieces and slid over the edge. One of the Russian snowmobiles was carried along atop one slab, then tumbled away with the ice.

Tucker's heart clenched.

If more of the ramp broke free, they'd be trapped. Or at least, it would be a long, treacherous climb to reach the small arched opening in the peak.

Tucker bellowed to the group. "Go! As fast as you can!" He waved an arm toward the falling ice. "It's all collapsing!"

The group paused, staring in that direction, then set off again.

At first slowly, then gaining speed.

Tucker herded everyone in front of him. They reached the top and set off for the collection of snow machines. The ice quaked underfoot, shaking each time another section broke away. Cracks skittered around and ahead of them.

Jason fell and slid down the slope on his stomach, but Omryn caught him and hauled him up. The two forged ahead together.

They reached the machines and split their group up—including the trio of Russians. Tucker took Turov into a Snowcat with his dogs and Elle. Gray and Seichan guarded Bragin and Sychkin, not that the blind priest needed much oversight. Jason and Anna doubled up with Omryn and Harper on the Polaris snowmobiles. The Polar King 's crew had more experience with ice and snow, so they drove the machines.

Engines started, and the group fled up the ice chute. Massive floes cracked and slid away. The destruction chased the retreating group. Behind them, the crashing ice filled the cavern with more crystals and frost. The rainbows grew more brilliant back there, while sunlight beckoned ahead.

The two Polaris shot through the exit first, vanishing into the glare. Then the two Snowcats followed.

As Tucker trundled free, he saw the world had vastly changed since they had departed. Past the ring of outer peaks, a crater had been blasted into the ice, framed by twisted metal. A pall of smoke hung low and heavy, competing with the surrounding fogbanks. Fires burned everywhere.

In the rearview mirror, Turov's expression was dismayed, mournful, as he looked at the wreckage.

"Your plane, I'm guessing?" Tucker said.

The captain simply stared.

The team raced toward the blast site, drawn by the vehicles painted in red and black. The colors of the Polar King . The icebreaker looked intact, with a smoky stain across its hull on this side.

As they drew nearer, bodies in combat armor lay across the ice, burned, some still smoking. Tucker took little solace in the sight. These were someone's sons or fathers.

He shook his head at the waste.

Tucker spotted a familiar grouping and aimed for it. They stood near the small Russian plane, the Baikal. The aircraft looked hard-driven, resting crookedly on the ice. A group of the crew carried another in a stretcher, rushing hurriedly toward the ship. The plane must have just landed.

Tucker led the other vehicles toward them. Once there, they all staggered out, or climbed off their machines. Captain Kelly spotted the ship's doctor and hurried to her, pointing at the retreating crew. She was clearly needed aboard. She nodded, turned, and hopped on the snowmobile behind Omryn. The Chukchi crewmate also required more than a med kit to deal with his injuries.

As Tucker climbed out of the Snowcat, with Turov held at gunpoint, Kowalski met them. The big man covered his privates as Marco raced up and leaped, knocking Kowalski back a step.

Tucker looked across the chaos, the fires, the confusion. "Let me guess. Your handiwork?"

"With help from some friends." Kowalski nodded to the bedraggled group by the plane. He then eyeballed Turov. "Looks like you've been making friends, too."

Before Tucker could answer, a loud roaring rose to the south. Everyone froze, still shellshocked, fearful. Gazes lifted and searched the skies.

From the fogbank, a large helicopter burst into view, tearing through the mists and diving low. It was the Russian gunship—the Ka-27—from the patrol boat. It was designed to fight submarines and came with a battery of weapons, including depth charges and torpedoes. Enough to sink the Polar King .

The helicopter made a low pass, likely assessing the ground situation—then arced into a turn.

Gray rushed up to Tucker and Turov.

Seichan followed with Lieutenant Bragin, who dragged Sychkin along with him and dropped the man to the ice. The skin on the archpriest's face was blackened, swollen, and bloated. His nose showed raw cartilage. His eye sockets were knots of raw tissue.

Kowalski cringed at the state of the man on the ground. "What the hell..."

Gray confronted Turov, pointing an arm toward the circling aircraft. "Call them off."

"Why?" Turov asked calmly. "Despite conditions here, we still have the upper hand. Our patrol boat will arrive before much longer."

Gray raised his other hand. He held one of Sigma's encrypted sat-phones. "The solar storm has passed. Comms are wide open. I've been in touch with D.C. since we exited the mountain."

Tucker stared up.

Gray lifted his phone to his lips. "Putting you on speaker, Director."

As Gray held out his arm, the familiar voice of Painter Crowe addressed the Russian captain. Even coming out of that small device, Crowe's voice was authoritative and assured.

"Fifty minutes ago, we acquired NOAA polar satellites with high-rez cameras. We have live feed of the area. Wave to the audience, if you'd like. It's being broadcast to all intelligence agencies, and to a global audience if need be."

Gray stared hard at Turov. "These are still international waters. The next action is your call. Halt hostilities now or risk a global war."

Turov searched the skies, then looked back to the commander. His shoulders sagged, but he kept his spine straight. He held out a hand. "I'll need a radio."

Tucker felt a surge of relief.

Another did not.

Sychkin cried out, more moan than words, but one demand was clear and easy to translate. " Nyet ."

Gray ignored the priest, clearly not interested in his input.

Sychkin tossed something from a pocket. A small transmitter with a blinking red light. It was meaningless to all of them—but not to Turov.

The captain backed away as if the archpriest had thrown a cobra at his feet.

"What's wrong?" Gray asked.

Turov stared at Gray, at all of them, his expression grim, his words worse.

"It's doomsday."

7:32 P . M .

Turov closed his eyes, balanced between fury and remorse. "This is not the outcome I had wished for."

That statement had layers of meaning beyond regret. He had feared this very scenario. It was why he had fought so hard—not so much to secure this little plot of land, as to keep this nuclear option from being deployed. Still, he knew that wasn't entirely true. It was his own ambition that led him here as much as it had Sychkin.

"I thought I possessed the only failsafe device, a way of reaching the Siniykit ," he said. "Or so I was told."

He stared at the blinking transmitter, a match to the one couriered to him, arriving locked in a secure case from the Northern Fleet Joint Strategic Command. Clearly someone had doubted that Turov would resort to this option, even in defeat. Turov could guess who that was, the only one with authority enough to dare do this, someone whose desires were in lockstep with Sychkin.

Vice Admiral Glazkov.

Still, Turov knew there were many others up and down the chain of command, the vocal minority who had wanted to perform a live-fire test of the Poseidon torpedo, who also played a role in this subterfuge.

And now we must pay the price .

Not just those gathered on the ice, but the hundred crew aboard the Lyakhov .

"We're all trapped," he said.

The American with the phone—Gray—approached him, challenged him. "What do you mean it's doomsday ?"

Turov saw no reason to prevaricate. "There is a Belgorod-class submarine, the Siniykit , the third prong of this mission. It was ordered to surface fifty miles away, to offer support if needed, but also as a failsafe, to make sure no one but Russia had territorial control of this location."

"And what does that mean for us?"

"Are you familiar with our Poseidon torpedoes?"

Gray nodded. "Unmanned stealth weapons. Eighty feet long. Nuclear capable."

"Not just capable . On the Siniykit , the boat has one loaded with a hundred-kiloton warhead."

"That's your failsafe?"

"It's already been dispatched. Underway." Turov waved to the transmitter on the ground. "With satellite comms open, the Siniykit would've received the command to launch."

"Can you countermand it?" Gray asked.

Turov shook his head. "After firing the Poseidon, the boat was under orders to dive beneath the ice cap and go into hiding." He stared across the group. "There is no way of reaching them."

Tucker looked at his dogs, no longer bothering to point his pistol at Turov. "How much time do we have?"

"At a range of fifty miles, accounting for the Poseidon's rate of travel..." Turov shrugged. "Thirty minutes, maybe less."

Gray searched to the south, speaking rapidly. "A hundred kilotons. Meaning a fireball of four hundred yards. Blast radius of two miles. To escape the worst of it—radiation, thermal damage—we'd need to be nine or ten miles away." He turned to another man in the colors of the icebreaker. "Captain Kelly?"

Turov looked at the two men.

"With both engines going, the King can push twenty-two knots. But that's over open water. Even if we reverse along the path we took, we'll manage no more than fifteen to eighteen. And that's pushing it."

Gray paused for a breath, clearly doing calculations in his head—then he sagged. "We can't get clear in time."

Turov understood what they were contemplating and offered some hope. "Those numbers you stated, Mister Gray. Those are air-blast numbers. For a nuclear bomb that explodes above a target. This will blow underwater."

Gray straightened. "And under ice."

Kelly nodded. "It should offer some insulation."

"It'll still be close." Gray pointed to the icebreaker. "We need everyone back aboard."

Kelly turned and passed instructions. Radios were lifted, spreading word. Seconds later, a siren wailed. The captain turned to them. "Reached Murphy. He's getting engines started. Thank God, they were still warm."

They all set off for the ship.

Turov hesitated, not sure if this applied to him.

Tucker grabbed his elbow. "What are you waiting for?" He stared up. "Let's give the world a show they won't forget."

As they set off, a huge man called after them. "Wait!"

Tucker looked back. "Kowalski, what's wrong?"

"You're all forgetting something!"