Will drove the Toyota Prado northeast toward the town of Shatura. Korina was next to him, checking the workings of her handgun. The SUV had belonged to her father, was in immaculate condition, and carried additional gas in the spare fuel tank and canisters. Next to the sat nav on the dashboard was a worn photo of Korina and her father; they were wearing skis and winter sports clothing, standing on a snow-covered slope with smiles on their faces. Jammed between the door and Will’s seat was the sound-suppressed AS Val assault rifle.
Their destination was beyond Shatura. Sentinel had given Korina exact directions to the isolated farmstead that was ninety miles away.
The snow was heavy and strong winds were whipping it up, making visibility atrocious. Though there was daylight, Will had his car’s headlights on high. The road was deserted and straddled by forest and rolling countryside. They drove for one hour, barely speaking to each other, not deviating from the route, the features around them remaining the same.
Will’s eyes ached from concentrating on the road and from the disorienting effect of the dots of snow continually rushing toward his vehicle. After rubbing his face, he glanced at the sat nav and saw that they were approximately sixty miles away from Shatura.
“Something ahead.”
Will immediately looked up on hearing Korina’s words. Driving slowly, he reached the end of the forest and saw that snow-covered fields were now to either side of them. He could not see much beyond three hundred feet into the fields, but he could see enough to make his stomach churn. There were at least fifty of them, probably more were hidden by the snowfall, and all were facing the sky. They were RT-2UTTKh intercontinental missiles, fixed onto MZKT-79221 sixteen-wheel transporter-erector-launchers. Soldiers moved back and forth among the weapons; none of them took any notice of Will’s vehicle as he continued driving steadily onward. They all seemed too busy preparing the deadly projectiles.
Will knew that the missiles had a precision-guided effective range of more than six thousand miles and that each carried a 550-kiloton nuclear warhead. They could easily reach and destroy armies in Europe, and if needed they could be sent across all of Russia to strike seaborne landings in the east. Once launched, they were nearly indestructible, being immune to any missile defense system and shielded against electromagnetic pulses, lasers, and even nuclear blasts up to a quarter mile away.
As he passed the last of them, he was sure that in a day’s time the missile unit would move to another location and would keep changing location over the following days and weeks so that it could not be compromised. But a small number of people in the Russian military high command would have information about the missiles’ exact movements. Will wondered if one of those men or women was a tier-1 agent belonging to Sentinel.
After almost two hours, they were three miles away from Shatura. The road was straight and surrounded by flat, featureless countryside. As he looked at his inhospitable surroundings, a memory came to him. He was a small boy, dressed in an ill-fitting black suit, a white shirt, and a black tie that he hated because it felt tight around his throat. He was in a beaten-up SUV that had cold, tatty plastic seats. His older sister was sitting next to him. She was also dressed in black and was quietly sobbing. His mother was in the driver’s seat. Her long silver hair was tied up in a bun by a black band. All he could hear was the sound of the car’s wipers and strong winds buffeting the vehicle. All he could see was driving snowfall and endless flat countryside to either side of the road. They were driving west, away from their home in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., to their father’s hometown of Lancaster, near Columbus, Ohio. They were going there to hold a memorial for his dead father.
The memory faded. He wondered what his father would think of him now, driving through countryside identical to the Midwest.
Multiple lights ahead. He caught occasional glimpses of buildings. They were approaching the outskirts of Shatura. He gunned his engine and drove quickly into the town. The place had only one main road running through it, and a few cars and pedestrians were on the route; otherwise the town seemed quiet. He drove away from the town for a mile until they were on a long strip of flat land that had a large lake on its left and another medium-sized lake on its right. Soon the lakes behind him were gone. Everything around him was barren. He increased his speed to sixty mph.
They drove southeast for another twenty-five miles until they reached eight large and medium-sized lakes that were positioned from north to south. As Will drove, he counted them until he was sure that he was by the large lake in the south. Soon he could see distant glimpses of a forest.
“This is as close as we dare get in the vehicle.” He stopped the SUV, grabbed his rifle, and jumped out of the car. Korina joined him, gripping her handgun.
They moved off the track, toward the lake’s shoreline, before changing direction and following the shoreline toward the forest.
Will twitched his gun left and right, searching for the farmstead and the clearing in front of it where Korina had been instructed to park her vehicle and wait. They neared the forest. A glimpse of color between the trees. Will tapped a hand against Korina’s arm and nodded toward the colors. Korina lowered her body into a crouch and moved forward; Will did the same. They reached the edge of the forest, the lake still by their side. The colors belonged to two cars, both parked in the large clearing. Will held his rifle tight, one finger gripped against the trigger. They moved a few feet into the forest, stopped, and lowered themselves slowly onto the ground until they were lying flat.
Beyond the two vehicles ahead of them were buildings. They were spaced out. One of them was right beside the lake and looked like a boathouse, two others were farther inland and were huts, and in between them was what looked like a large wooden barn or workshop. But there was no sign of life.
They waited for ten minutes before Will rolled onto his side, cupped his hand against Korina’s ear, and whispered, “We need to move to watch the farmstead from another angle.”
Korina nodded; then her eyes widened and she gripped Will’s arm hard.
Will urgently followed her gaze.
A big man emerged from one of the huts. His face was obscured by a body that was resting over his shoulder. The man walked steadily across the clearing toward the barn, pulled open the building’s double doors, and disappeared from view. A moment later he reappeared, his face no longer hidden.
Will watched him through the foresight of his rifle, his finger on his trigger.
Ready to pull back and send a bullet into Razin’s head.
Razin moved back across the clearing, went into the hut, and came out with another body over his shoulder. Reaching the barn, he tossed the limp body into the building, grabbed an adjacent gas canister, and began dousing the outside walls. It was clear that he intended to burn the building and the dead bodies. He checked his watch. No doubt he was wondering how much time he had before the last tier-1 agent arrived. Korina Tsvetaeva, a GRU major and traitor to the motherland. If she was on time, he had thirty minutes to wait.
Will was motionless, staring at the man whom he could easily kill, the man he’d been hunting for weeks. He recalled the encounters he’d had with the Spetsnaz colonel: the fight outside the Saint Petersburg safe house where Razin had matched him blow for blow; the moment he’d thrown a grenade at Will just before dragging Sentinel out of the mountain lodge; the pursuit across the Moscow bridge just after Razin had killed the American sailor.
He was desperate to pull the trigger.
Desperate to end this now.
But he had to wait.
Razin moved into one of the other buildings, and was now out of sight. Will relaxed his trigger finger. Glancing at Korina, he saw that her eyes were narrow, that she’d had her handgun trained on the man who’d murdered her father. He whispered, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
She replied between gritted teeth, “I don’t intend to.”
“Okay. Stay here to keep this side of the farmstead covered. I’m going to get to the other side.”
Korina remained motionless, her gun trained on the open ground before her.
Will rolled away from her, crawled a few meters back, got to his feet, and moved around the perimeter while keeping low and holding his rifle at eye level. Two minutes later, he was on the opposite side of the farmstead. Buildings blocked his view of Korina, but that didn’t matter because between them they now had all of the complex’s open ground covered. He lay flat on the thick snow and waited, large flakes now falling slowly onto his body.
Ten minutes passed.
All was silent.
Another ten minutes.
No sign of Razin.
Will decided he had to get closer to the building that Razin had entered. Cautiously he moved forward, swinging his gun left and right. He reached the hut, crouched, listened, but heard nothing save the sound of the icy wind. Moving forward ten feet, he was close to the door and saw that it opened inward and if locked could easily be kicked in. In all probability, he could enter the hut and drop Razin before the man could do anything about it, but nevertheless he wished he had a stun grenade to toss in there first. He moved to the edge of the door, stood up fully, and got ready to make the assault.
The impact from above was overwhelming. Will crumbled down, his body in shock, his shoulders in severe pain, his lungs locked. As his head smacked the ground, he saw the rapid movement of a large man close to him and understood what had happened. Razin had leapt on him from the roof of the hut. A boot kicked his face with sufficient force to roll his whole body over. Another banged into his ribs. Then Razin grabbed his hair with one hand and punched his other fist full force into the side of Will’s head. Will’s vision blurred; he felt nauseous. Razin pulled his fist back in preparation for another devastating punch. But before he could deliver the blow, Will slapped him in the throat, causing the Spetsnaz commander to gasp, bend closer toward Will, and clutch his hands against his gullet. Still on his back, Will head butted Razin in the face and began lashing out at the Russian with his legs and fists and all of the strength he could muster. Razin blocked some of the blows, screwed his face up in pain as others struck his face and torso, and rained his own punches down on Will.
This was hopeless.
They were killing each other.
Will grabbed Razin’s wrist and twisted, causing the Russian to fall to the ground by his side. Releasing his grip, Will kicked at the ground to force his body away from Razin. Both men quickly got to their feet and were about to get back into the fight when they stopped.
Engine noises. Drawing closer. Certainly vehicles. And one of them sounded like a truck.
Razin frowned, then peered straight at Will with a look of utter hostility. “Bastard!”
He turned and ran away, darting between buildings until he was out of sight.
Will didn’t pursue him. He didn’t need to. Instead he looked around, grabbed his discarded assault rifle, winced from the pain caused by the blows to his body, jogged to the perimeter, and moved along it until he was back alongside Korina.
She frowned as she stared at his bruised and bloody face. “You fought him? Where is he?”
Will ignored her questions.
The engine noises stopped.
A few seconds later there was movement.
Twelve men moved toward the farmstead from the vehicle track. All of them were wearing white combat clothes and balaclavas and had semiautomatic rifles held ready. They moved purposefully and silently toward the buildings. One of them was clearly their leader, communicating with the others via hand gestures. He sent three soldiers to the boathouse; they moved quickly across the open ground, their rifles held high. Two of them paused on either side of the door; the third stood back while pointing his weapon directly at the entrance. The door was opened, and one of the men entered, followed by another. Within seconds, they exited. The commander gestured to others in his team. Four of them approached one of the huts. The same drill. But they found nothing. The leader nodded at the other hut. The same four men moved to it and entered quickly.
Noise.
Shouting.
A shot.
Then another.
Three more soldiers rushed into the building. The commander and his remaining four men were motionless, each on one knee. Two of them ignored the hut while pointing their weapons at the barn; the other two had their guns trained on the hut containing the rest of the team.
A soldier jogged out of the hut, then swiveled around and pointed his rifle at the door. Another two emerged and stood to either side of the exit. A man inside the building called out. The commander shouted back to him.
It happened very fast. Soldiers rushed out, Razin was forced backward, one soldier had his fingers in Razin’s nostrils, three others were gripping his limbs. They dumped him in the center of the clearing before fanning out to form a circle around him, their rifles trained on his body.
The commander stood, walked toward Razin, and said in a loud voice, “Colonel Khmelnytsky. You are under arrest for suspected misuse of Russian military property.”
Will felt relief and joy overwhelm him.
Because his plan had worked.
His call this morning to Otto von Schiller telling the German that he was taking possession of the nuclear blueprints had prompted the SVR agent to immediately report it to his handlers. And Will had given him an exact time and location for the handover. The beacon in Razin’s car had been turned on. His location had corroborated Schiller’s intelligence. And men had immediately been deployed to arrest Razin before a British arms dealer walked off with vital documents.
Will hadn’t been able to physically defeat Razin.
But he had totally outsmarted him.