“No, not that way,” said an enraged Romanov, as he wiped the blood off his face with a white silk handkerchief. “I want him to agonize over the fact that there is nothing he can do to prevent the inevitable. Cuff him to the bomb,” ordered Romanov.
Hands reached out and manhandled Mitchell away from the ATV and onto the trailer. Seconds later, he was cuffed to a railing running down the side of the bomb.
“If he even so much as blinks, kill him,” said Romanov as he walked back to his jeep, got in and then drove towards his waiting helicopter.
39
President Donald Kempt sat back reading over a file that had been hurriedly handed to him by his chief of staff before boarding the marine helicopter bound for a weekend at Camp David. The president and his wife were planning to spend a quiet weekend away from the troubles of his office with their daughter, her husband, and their newborn child. Putting the file on the latest budget figures aside, President Kempt removed his reading glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. He knew the press would make his time away from Washington into something it was not. Undoubtedly, his chief rival would be on TV tonight, complaining that not enough was being done to help Russia. He would expound that an administration run by him would naturally do things better. Shaking his head at the non-stop spin that was the news these days, President Kempt felt tired. He needed forty-eight hours away to recharge his batteries. His staff had assured him that nothing else could be done right now to help President Ivankov and with Vice-President Grant getting ready to meet Romanov in Iceland, all he could do was sit back, try to relax, and wait.
Kempt was about to close his eyes and get a few minutes sleep, when his cell phone buzzed. It was Dan Leonard, the president’s National Security Advisor, calling him. Barely thirty seconds into the call Kempt sat there, his jaw clenched tight. He had been played, they had all been played for fools. Quickly ending the call, the president turned to the head of his security detail and told him that they were returning to Washington immediately. His wife, Deborah, would just have to entertain without him.
Quickly calling his chief of staff, Kempt ordered the National Security Council to convene immediately; any ships they had in the North Atlantic needed to be steaming for Iceland immediately.
Sitting back in his leather-bound chair, President Kempt looked out the window at the lights of the homes passing by underneath his chopper as it raced back to the capital, wondering how many millions of lives they could save and if he was already too late to do anything about it.
40
Sam lifted her head ever so slightly and watched the two-man guard team amble by completely oblivious to her hiding spot behind a snow-covered boulder only a few meters back from the electrified fence. Waiting until they were out of sight, Sam leapt up with her silenced M-4 snug in her shoulder. Panning around, Sam made sure it was safe. “All clear,” said Sam, barely above a whisper.
Jackson’s large frame appeared as if from nowhere. Stepping forward, he knelt and studied the fence before rummaging through the pouches on his chest-rig until he pulled out a small aerial spray can. Starting at the base of the fence, Jackson sprayed the concentrated liquid nitrogen onto the fence in an arc until he reached the other side. The metal instantly froze and cracked. Without being touched, the fence buckled and then fell quietly onto the snow. With lightning-fast relaxes, Sam dove through the opening and took up a fire position on the far side, while Jackson barely managed to fit his larger frame through the hole.
“Don’t say a thing,” huffed Jackson. “I know what you’re thinking. My wife’s gonna put me on a diet as soon as we get back to the States.”
Sam shook her head; she knew better. Jackson had been promising to lose weight for years. Keying her throat-mic, Sam spoke. “Ok, Cardinal, we’re both in.”
Cardinal acknowledged and took deliberate aim at the thugs nearest Sam and Jackson, just in case he needed to deal with them right away.
Jackson looked over at Sam with a broad reassuring grin on his face as he extended his hand. “Good luck, Sam. Stay safe, and I’ll see you back at the tower shortly,” said Jackson.
Sam shook Jackson’s hand. “You too, and remember to keep that big ass of yours down,” replied Sam cheekily. With that, she winked at Jackson and, like an Olympic sprinter, dashed off towards the cover of the nearest building.
“I don’t have a big butt,” mumbled Jackson to himself as he peered towards the entrance of the tunnel where Mitchell was being held. “Now, what I need is a new set of duds,” said Jackson to himself as he quietly crept after the men who had just walked past.
Teplov rode up to the tunnel with the second bomb. An overconfident smirk emerged on his lips when he saw Mitchell cuffed powerlessly to the first nuclear device. Leaping from his still-moving ATV, Teplov walked over beside the bomb specialist, Markov, who was standing to one side busy checking and double-checking the weapons’ remote arming devices as usual. A smoldering cigarette hung limply from his mouth.
“Markov, are we ready to go?” asked Teplov impatiently.
Markov did not bother to look up from what he was doing. “This isn’t a simple roadside IED that we are playing with here. Give me five more minutes to ensure the triggers are fully functioning, and then you can place the bombs,” said Markov.
Teplov shook his head at the aggravating technician. He was going to kill Markov the instant the bombs were detonated. After Markov’s last impertinent remarks, he was looking forward to it.
Alexandra Romanov got out of her jeep at the entrance to the tunnel and joined Teplov inside the darkened passageway. Removing her designer sunglasses, Alexandra gazed down the length of the angled shaft as it led deep into the heart of the volcano. It looked as cold, dark, and uninviting as a tomb. She did not consider herself claustrophobic, but standing there looking into the bowels of the earth made her skin crawl. It was a feeling of dread and impending doom. Shaking off such unwelcome thoughts, she looked over at Teplov and said, “How far into the volcano does this tunnel go?”
“The tunnel goes for about a kilometer and then it branches off into two different directions for about another kilometer on either side, which is where we will plant the two bombs,” explained Teplov.
“Have you driven the tunnels before?” inquired Alexandra.
“No, but Chang has and he says with the ATVs pulling the additional weight of the bombs, it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes to get the devices into position,” replied Teplov. “However, Markov the damned perfectionist, has asked for an extra half-hour once the bombs are in position to ensure that the devices are good to go, and then we will return to the surface. Your father’s helicopter will be back by then, so we will be safely onboard the yacht hours before your father remotely detonates the bombs.”
“What if they are discovered before we can activate them?”
An evil gleam shone in Teplov’s eyes. “That possibility is quite remote, considering no one can come here without your company’s permission. However, should someone decide that today would be a good day to come sniffing around, Colonel Chang isn’t in the loop as to the exact timeline for detonating the bombs,” Teplov said coldly. “Let’s just say that he and his men will still be here guarding the nukes when they go off, eliminating the threat of anyone ever speaking to the authorities, and saving your company tens of millions in payments at the same time.”