Opening the door to the bridge, Alexandra happily stepped inside away from the freezing storm and quickly removed her rain-soaked parka and rain pants, revealing the form-fitting green jumpsuit that she was wearing underneath. Taking a breath, she almost fell over as her nostrils were assaulted by the noxious smell of stale cigarette smoke and body odor from the unwashed men jammed inside the cramped bridge. Before she could say a word, a piping hot cup of sweet tea was handed to her; she gladly cupped it between her frozen hands, trying to get some feeling back into them.
A skeleton crew of men fiercely loyal to the Romanovs currently manned the ship. Alexandra knew these men were in it for either the cause or the money; either way, she knew that no one onboard was going to say a word about what was happening.
“So where are they?” Alexandra asked, as she took a seat beside a pimply-faced technician who looked young enough to still be in high school.
The young technician had been so engrossed in his work that he had not heard her enter the room and was startled when she spoke. “Oh my,” said the youth, looking up at Alexandra’s sleek figure, causing him to drop the pen he had been absentmindedly chewing on. “One second,” said the technician as he called the ship’s captain over.
A man with a thick mane of gray hair walked over and stopped in front of Alexandra. His huge belly hung over his belt and his stained clothes looked like they had not been washed in days, perhaps weeks. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from one of the boss’ daughters? How can we humble employees help?” mockingly asked the captain, with a strong Greek accent.
Alexandra’s nostrils rebelled at the overpowering reek of body odor coming from the man. “For starters, Captain, have you ever thought of taking a shower?” said Alexandra.
A loud raucous laugh burst out from the other men in the bridge; the captain even joined in.
“Our hot-water lines have been acting up recently, so none of us has had a shower nor washed any clothes in over a week,” replied the captain proudly, as he patted his giant stomach.
Alexandra shook her head; she knew the Romanovs were not paying them to be clean, just to do their job. “I won’t belabor the point, Captain. I came aboard to see the packages.”
The captain leaned over his shoulder, barking a set of orders at several of the younger men on the bridge who moaned aloud and then reluctantly started putting back on their wet-weather clothing.
Alexandra also cringed at the thought, but she knew that she would have to go outside into the squall once more if she wanted to personally verify that Chang had lived up to his end of the bargain.
Five minutes later, Alexandra Romanov found herself struggling along the deck of the ship as it rose and fell with the tall dark waves. Each time the ship dipped, her stomach felt like it was going to come out of her mouth. She vowed to herself to never do anything this foolish ever again. The aft deck of the ship was like an obstacle course, only ten times worse. Equipment had come loose in the storm and littered the deck, making walking along the slick surface a dangerous proposition.
The lead man stopped beside an ordinary-looking sea container fastened to the deck of the ship. Alexandra nodded at the man and with that, he bent down and unlocked the metal doors. With a loud screech, one of the doors opened. Alexandra felt herself shivering, not from the cold, but from anticipation as she moved inside the poorly lit container. It was barely warmer than a fridge inside, but Alexandra was thankful to be out of the rain. Pulling the hood of her jacket back, Alexandra ran her fingers through her rain-drenched hair and walked towards a pair of large wooden crates secured to the floor of the container to prevent them from moving around in the rolling waves.
“Open them up,” ordered Alexandra.
The men quickly did as they were told and soon both crates’ lids were removed, exposing the bombs.
Alexandra felt butterflies in her stomach as she stepped forward and looked inside each crate. The nuclear bombs looked sleek and somehow almost sexual to her. A smile crept across her pale features. She stood for close to a minute gazing down at the bombs, her heart racing in her narrow chest, before ordering the men to seal them up once more.
With the bombs secure, Alexandra left the sea container and reluctantly stepped back into the raging storm. She quickly pulled her hood up around her face and leaned forward as she struggled to make her way back to the bridge. Once there, she demanded to be patched through to her father on a secure line and then with the line established, Alexandra smiled as she passed on a single word: RETRIBUTION.
12
The trip so far turned out to be uneventful. Catching an early-morning flight out of JFK Airport, Jen and Mitchell transferred onto another flight in Seattle and then flew on to Anchorage, Alaska, where they rented a dark-blue Jeep Cherokee. After quickly setting up the GPS, Mitchell drove out of the city and soon found himself driving on the Glenn Highway heading north towards Palmer. Mitchell found the drive through the snow-covered countryside to be relaxing as it reminded him of his home growing up on a farm. Additionally, it gave him time to think.
As they drove alongside the Matanuska River’s tree-lined shore, Jen saw that it was covered in a thick layer of glistening snow and ice that reflected brilliantly like diamonds in the bright sun. She had never been to Alaska before. The quiet beauty, combined with the fact that they were thousands of kilometers away from Charlotte, made her feel somewhat more relaxed that she had been in days. Through his window Mitchell could see groups of kids chasing each other over the river’s icy surface or playing games of hockey close to shore, taking him to another time when he was a kid in northern Minnesota. The world was a simpler place then, and Mitchell thought back on it nostalgically before turning his thoughts back to the here and now.
Mitchell slowed the car down when he saw the sign for Palmer, where Reid had his cottage. Checking his GPS to make sure he was in the right spot, Mitchell turned off the road and headed onto a curved snow-covered trail that led towards an expansive frozen lake. With a reassuring smile at Jen, Mitchell drove for about a kilometer through a thick pine forest until they saw a tall wooden A-framed house that faced out onto the lake. It looked almost too quiet except that the snow had been recently ploughed away from around the house, indicating that someone was home.
Stopping in front of the house, Mitchell called the number he had been provided by Fahimah and waited for someone to answer. After a few rings, Charles Reid answered his phone and told Mitchell to come around the side of the cottage to the garage, where he was busy working.
Bundling up, Jen and Mitchell got out of the car into a sharp cold wind blowing up off the lake. Taking Jen by the hand, Mitchell led them around the side of the cottage where they found the garage, its side door open. Mitchell knocked once and then together they stepped inside, both happy to be out of the wind.
Mitchell stood there for a moment, almost disbelieving what was in front of him: it was an old fashioned looking Ice Speeder. It was at least eight meters long and was painted all red with silver lightning bolts shooting down the sides. Sitting atop three large skis, the enclosed box-like speeder had a powerful fan attached to a powerful-looking engine mounted on the back, which would propel it across the ice at breakneck speeds. As a kid in Minnesota, Mitchell had seen a more modern version of the old speeder racing along the frozen lakes in the dead of winter, but he had never been in, let alone driven, one before.