Abruptly he straightened and turned to face Smyslov. “Gregori, for the sake of this girl and for the people on that island, now is the time to come to Jesus! Was there anything else aboard that bomber other than the anthrax?”
Smyslov felt those chill steel blue eyes drilling into him. “Jon, I swear to you, as far as I know, the only biowar munition carried aboard the Misha 124 was the anthrax. If there was anything else, I was not briefed about it!”
Smyslov was grateful that he could fall back behind that partial shield of truth, for he suspected that he did know what was happening on Wednesday.
Those damn Spetsnaz! Could it be they had failed to stay out of sight? What if some member of the expedition had the bad luck to stumble over their encampment? If the platoon leader was some kind of bloody-minded cowboy, he might view that as justification to “sterilize” the expedition in the name of security.
Unfortunately, a bloody-minded cowboy would be exactly the kind of commander the Federation High Command would send on a job like this!
They hadn’t even set foot on the island yet, and things were already spinning out of control! If the science expedition had been wiped out, then it would follow that Smith’s team would be eliminated as well. His team! People he liked and respected.
Madness!
“What’s your assessment of the situation, Major?” Smith asked, his voice emotionless.
Smyslov shoved emotion aside as well. “We must assume that some hostile force has succeeded in landing on Wednesday, presumably the same group that attempted to prevent us from reaching the island. We must also assume that they assume the anthrax store is still aboard the Misha 124 and they are intent on capturing it.”
Smith studied the Russian for a further moment before answering. “That’s likely a fair call.” He widened his attention to include the others in the radio shack. “Now, what are we going to do about it?”
“It seems to me that the most immediate problem is, what do we do about her?” Captain Jorganson nodded toward the radio.
It was an excellent point. What do you do about one frightened young woman alone in the dark and as isolated as anyone on the planet could be?
Smith keyed the mike again. “Ms. Brown, a twelve-gauge shotgun is listed as part of your camp equipment. What’s happened to it? Over.”
“The bear gun? The search party took it with them. Why? Over.”
“Are there any other weapons in camp? Over.”
“No. Why?
“We’re…assessing the situation, Ms. Brown. Stand by.”
Smith lifted the mike key and waited for someone, anyone, to say something.
“Get her out of there, Jon!” Randi blurted. “Tell her to grab a sleeping bag and get out! Tell her what’s going on and tell her to hide somewhere until we can get to her!”
“No,” Valentina cut in sharply. “Tell her to stay put beside that radio.”
“Those buildings are meant to keep out weather, not people!” Randi protested. “If we have hostiles on that island and they come for her…”
“If we have hostiles on that island, Miss Russell, then they’ve got her whenever they want her.” The historian’s reply was as bleak and gray as her eyes. “It’s a safe assumption they have the science station covered by now. If they see her trying to run for it, she won’t make it ten yards. But if we keep her by the radio, she might serve as an intelligence source. There’s a chance she can get off a call when they come for her. She might be able to give us some idea of what we’re facing.”
“So you’re considering her expendable,” Randi said bitterly.
Valentina shook her head. “No,” she replied softly. “I consider Ms. Brown already expended.”
Randi fell silent.
Throughout this last exchange, Smith had been studying the Russian member of his team from the corner of his eye. “How about you, Major? Anything more to add?”
Smyslov fumbled a Chesterfield from a crumpled pack and flicked fire from his butane lighter. “No, Colonel,” he said, hissing out his first jet of smoke. “I have no suggestions.”
“CGAH, this is KGWI,” the static-riven voice called plaintively from out in the dark. “I am still standing by.”
Smith keyed the radio mike. “Ms. Brown, this is Colonel Smith again. As I said, we’ll be joining you shortly after first light tomorrow morning. We’d like for you to stand by the radio until we can get there. We’ll be guarding this frequency continuously, and we’ll be making check calls every fifteen minutes through the night. If you hear from the other members of your expedition, or if you hear or see anything unusual, you are to call us immediately. I say again, call us immediately. Do you understand? Over.”
“Yes, Colonel. I understand…Colonel, there’s something more going on, isn’t there? They aren’t just lost, are they?”
What could he tell her that could provide the least little bit of help or comfort? “We’ll explain everything when we get there, Ms. Brown. We’ll find your people and we’ll get this sorted out. You aren’t alone. We will get to you. This is CGAH, standing by.”
“Understood.” The voice at the other end of the circuit tried to sound brave. “This is KGWI, standing by.”
Smith passed the hand mike back to the radioman. “Sit on that frequency, sailor. You heard me say check calls every fifteen minutes. If anyone so much as pops a mike button, I want to know about it.”
“Aye aye, sir,” the Coast Guardsman replied, resettling his headset.
“Captain Jorganson, we need every mile you can gain toward Wednesday Island before first light.”
“You’ll get it, Colonel,” the Haley’s skipper replied. “I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.”
“I’ll be in the hangar bay preflighting the helicopter,” Randi said shortly, starting for the radio room door.
“I will assist you, Randi,” Smyslov said, following her out.
Smith gave a minute, self-derisive shake of his head. To hell with it! It was inevitable that he would end up a son of a bitch in Randi Russell’s eyes.
“Val, we’re going to break cover, and I’m pushing the job of explaining the situation to Dr. Trowbridge onto you. I’ve got to get on with the director. He’s going to need an update.”
“Don’t worry about my fellow academic. I can take care of him.” The tall brunette regarded Smith and smiled, without humor but with empathy. “Driving the bloody train isn’t the easiest of jobs, is it, Colonel?”
Smith forced the last hint of expression from his face. “I’ve been told it’s good for me, Professor.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Washington, DC
It was an ordered and lonely upper-middle-class man’s bedroom in an unobtrusive town house in a quietly respectable Washington suburb. Totally unexceptional save for the bank of color-coded telephones on the Danish modern bedside table.
The piercing squall of the gray agency phone blasted Fred Klein awake, the integral lighting circuit kicking on the golden-shaded bedside lamp at the first ring. Klein had the phone in hand before he was technically awake.
“Klein here.”
The voice at the other end of the line was hollow with distance and laced with static. “This is Jon Smith, sir, aboard the Haley. We have a situation.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Klein listened without speaking as Smith brought him up to speed in a few terse sentences.
“From what I can see, sir, somebody else has gotten there first and is moving to secure the Misha’s payload.”
“If they have, they must have come in by air or by submarine, and they are very good at maintaining a low profile,” Klein replied. “The last NSA reconsat pass over the Queen Elizabeth Archipelago indicates there are no other surface ships within five hundred miles of Wednesday and no visible activity on the island itself.”
“Understood, sir. The second possibility is that we are seeing some aspect of the Russians ‘alternative agenda’ coming into play.”