“The lieutenant is leading his men,” the tall Indian whispered, “but he left a corporal with us.”
Bear lowered his gaze as he repeated the lie. For the first time in his life he felt helpless and used.
“Very well!” the colonel’s voice snapped over the distance. “Put the damned corporal on.”
The microphone jerked out of his hands.
“This is Corporal Danilev, Troika Guards,” the Indian said in flawless Russian. Crepov recognized a St. Petersburg accent. “We’ve eliminated most of the traitors, but a small pocket still resists, sir.”
“Don’t kill them all,” the voice on the radio snapped. “We want to know how this happened. Good work, Corporal. Give Major Kominskiya the microphone.”
Another safety snicked off in the frigid subarctic night.
Valari reached out and snatched the instrument. Her eyes flashed about her. Bear felt his sphincter muscle twitch and he shivered. She grinned and snapped her mittened thumb down on the key with an exaggerated jerk.
“Colonel Rostov, this is Major Kominskiya. What would you like to know?”
“Do you agree with Corporal Danilev’s assessment of the situation?”
“Yes, Colonel,” she said smoothly, effortlessly. “Lieutenant Andreanoff has the upper hand from all I have seen.” She glared at the tall, smiling Indian.
“Have the corporal report every hour, Major Kominskiya. Do you copy?”
“Yes,” she said, her face falling slightly, “I copy.”
“Tetlin Redoubt, clear.”
“Chena Redoubt, clear.” She dropped the microphone.
“Very good, Major Kominskiya,” the tall man said. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Slayer-of-Men.” He smiled thinly in the moonlight.
“And on occasion I also slay women.”
Bear shivered again, his mind now as chilled as his body.
42
“Yes, Mr. Ambassador,” Haimish said, addressing the small speaker in front of him. “I have a message for Mr. Busch, he’s on President Cuomo’s staff.”
“I know Keith. What do you want me to tell him?”
“Tell him that Operation Nicky is already at stage three, the stage three is very important, sir.”
“And this will do what for your situation?”
“I’m hoping it means quick diplomatic recognition for the Dená Republik.”
“Do you realize what you’re asking? If the United States grants diplomatic recognition to the DSM at this point, every dissatisfied minority in the world would be out cutting throats in hours. I mean no disrespect to your hosts, but we have to back our diplomacy with our lives.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador,” Nathan said quickly, “but you have a double investment here, perhaps triple.”
“Whom am I addressing, please?”
“Chandalar Roy, Codirector of the Dená Separatist Movement and President of the Dená Republic.”
“Ah, pleased to meet you, Mr. President. I assume you have heard our entire conversation?”
“Sadly enough, yes, Mr. Ambassador. My illusions have fled.”
“I’m glad you can assess the big picture from there.”
“As I said, Mr. Ambassador, you have quite a large investment here in Alaska.”
“Please elucidate, Mr. President.”
“You have already blown most of your intelligence—gathering network by virtue of this uplink. Even if we do not carry the day very soon, the new treaty between the western republics and Russian Amerika will vaporize like piss at seventy below.” Chan’s voice hardened as he continued.
“We already enjoy political alignment with the United States of America. Events now demand that you are either with us or against usneutrality is no help. As our situation is desperate, I need a reply in three days’ time.” He hesitated for a long moment before going on in a brisk voice.
“We will treat the lack of a reply after that time as a negative response. You do understand, of course?”
“Yes, Mr. President, I understand. Now if you’ll excuse me—” Static gushed from the speaker.
“Three days?” Haimish said wonderingly. “That bunch can’t decide what to talk about in only three days. You’ve scuttled your boat, lad.”
“Haimish, for Christ’s sake stop that atrocious accent,” Nathan said wearily, dropping onto a chair, “it’s giving me a headache.”
Grisha stared at the speaker, wishing it would tell something of California or the United States. The door opened and a group of people streamed into the room. Whatever retort Haimish was about to make died on his lips.
Grisha looked up to see Valari Kominskiya and the promyshlennik whose face he had scarred.
“What have we here?” Nathan asked.
“Scouts for the Czar,” Slayer-of-Men said with a slow smile. “In the form of a Cossack major and a promyshlennik.”
“Where are you from?” Nathan asked the prisoners idly.
“Tet—” Bear began before Valari’s bare hand slapped his cheek.
“Shut up, you fool! Information is ammunition for them.”
“Major Kominskiya is correct,” Nathan said. “Ah, Bear is it?”
Bear Crepov stared wonderingly at the man.
Grisha shook his head and slowly got to his feet.
“They were preparing to do us harm when we stopped them,” Slayer-of-Men said. “Instead they made a very nice report about how Lieutenant Andreanoff and his men were retaking the redoubt from mutinous traitors. We don’t have much time, Nathan.”
“Do we have three days?”
“Probably not.”
Grisha pointed at Valari. “This woman is poisonous. She has absolutely no morals and will be your death if you trust her in the slightest.” He blinked heavily, so tired he felt drunk.
Nik stepped out of the shadows at the back of the room.
“I’ll second that. Major Valari Kominskiya is a member of the Okhana Cossacks. She has attained two promotions in the past six months. Such speed through the ranks is unheard of.”
Valari gave him a burning glance.
“I don’t know about that,” she snapped, “they made you a captain, didn’t they?”
Grisha almost laughed. She had more scrotum than most men.
“She’s one of the main architects behind the plan to infiltrate the movement,” Nik continued. “She condemned Grisha to death.”
Valari stared down at the floor. “Would you at least put me in a cell so I can get some sleep?” she said tiredly.
“She’s hiding something,” Nathan said with a rush.
“What’s wrong?” Nik asked.
Valari and Bear began to unbutton their heavy parkas.
“There’s something hidden. On her, I think.”
Valari’s hands stopped moving and she stared at Nathan. “Do you read minds?”
“Get her parka off,” Nathan yelled.
Slayer-of-Men ran a knife down the front of the garment and jerked. Buttons hailed across the stone floor as he roughly pulled it off her. A small, flat-black box hung between her breasts on a cord around her neck.
“What is that?” Slayer-of-Men asked.
Nathan stood up, grabbed it and jerked, breaking the cord as well as off-balancing Valari.
"It’s a location transmitter,” Nathan said and threw the box against the stone wall as hard as he could. It broke into countless pieces.
Valari laughed. “If they paid attention, there’s an air strike on the way,” she said through a twisted smile.
Something snapped in Grisha and he raised his machine pistol to kill her once and for all.
The walls seemed to scream. Concussion beyond sound knocked everybody off their feet. The floor sharply heaved and every light bulb in the room exploded, plunging them into darkness. They heard explosions and the roar of attacking planes.