Will walked down the Learjet’s steps and stood on RAF Brize Norton’s runway. The rain was heavy, but Will didn’t care and let it wash over his face. Even though he felt more tired than he’d ever been in his life, he’d been unable to sleep during the flight from Moscow to England. He looked around; the normally busy military airport was virtually empty of other aircraft. He wondered if it had been like that when Sentinel had arrived here after his release from the Lubyanka prison.
Three limousines were close to the jet. Plain-clothed special forces men were in the front and rear cars. Two men were standing outside the central vehicle. They were dressed in suits and overcoats. Umbrellas shielded their faces.
Will walked slowly to them.
They lifted their umbrellas a little.
Alistair looked at him. “Roger, Laith, Markov, and Vitali have been released. The Russians have been reinstated into their Spetsnaz unit.”
“And our boys are in the hospital in the States.” Patrick’s expression was somber. “They were beaten up pretty badly, but they’ll recover.”
Will rubbed rainwater off his face. “Next time I’m in D.C., I’d like to have a chat with the president and some of his admirals about their decision not to turn the submarines around. I’d like to impress upon them the future need to always do what I fucking say.”
“It all worked out for the best.”
Patrick agreed. “A superb result for both America and Russia.”
Alistair moved closer, his look one of concern. “Have you got anyone you can go to?”
Will ignored the question. People were speaking behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Four men were unloading a coffin.
Sentinel had finally been pulled out of the field. He was home and would be buried with full honors. Will had kept his word and hadn’t told a soul about what had really happened, not even Alistair and Patrick.
Will returned his gaze to the coheads. “One day it will be me coming home in a box.”