Sentinel (2 page)

The big officer brushed snow off his cropped dark hair, checked that his Heckler & Koch USP Compact Tactical pistol was secure in his jacket, and waited. He’d been on similar missions in the past during his nine years in MI6 and during the preceding five years as a French Foreign Legion Groupement des Commandos Parachutistes special forces soldier. But the thirty-five-year-old knew this was going to be particularly tough—even for a man who carried the code name Spartan, a title given to only the most effective and deadliest Western intelligence officer.

The boat slowed down.

It was time to go.

He was dressed head to toe in white arctic warfare clothes and boots; he pulled up the jacket hood. Walking carefully to a gap in the railings, he crouched down and ran a hand along the edge of the deck until he found what he was looking for. The rope ladder would take him thirty-five feet down the starboard side of the ship to the tiny rowboat.

The noise of the ocean and wind seemed even louder as he moved down. With every step he wrapped his forearms around the rope to stop him from being thrown away from the ladder as it slapped hard against the merchant ship’s side. Reaching the rowboat, he found both ties and loosened them so that the vessel was free. The merchant ship moved on. Will was now on his own.

He waited until the barely lit ship was out of sight, then he gathered up the oars to his vessel and rowed toward his destination.

It took him four hours to reach the shore.

When he arrived, he got out carefully, grabbed the boat with both hands, and hauled it onto the slim beach of sand, loose rock, snow, and ice. Using his flashlight to check his compass, he mentally pictured the maps he had studied of this area. The base was ten miles away; the journey there would take him over forest-covered mountains before he reached the thin peninsula where the naval installation was located.

He pulled himself up a large snow-covered bank until he was off the beach and on higher ground. Snow was falling fast now, and the wind seemed even stronger. He started shaking and knew that he would have to move quickly to generate some warmth. He moved uphill through the forest. After two hours of running, walking, and clambering ever higher, he stopped.

He was on a mountain peak, and although little could be seen around him, in the distance and far below were numerous artificial lights. They came from an area of land that Will knew to be his destination: a peninsula three miles long and a quarter mile wide and accessible only via a bottleneck of land. The peninsula was surrounded by the icy waters of Avacha Bay, and the lights he could see ran from the bottleneck along the entire southern side of the peninsula. The lights belonged to the Rybachiy Nuclear Submarine Base.

Checking his watch, he saw that it was three
A.M.
, and he began to run fast, knowing that he had a maximum of four hours to get into the base, find and speak to Svelte, and escape the military installation and its surrounding peninsula.

He covered two miles before throwing himself onto the ground. The bottleneck entrance to the peninsula was before him. It was three hundred yards below his position and contained medium-sized buildings and huts, a wide road, smaller adjacent tracks, and four stationary military jeeps. It also contained seven naval guards, two of whom had German shepherds on leashes. They were all dressed in navy blue overcoats and standing underneath streetlamps by a sign saying
HALT
in Russian. There were no barriers on the road, and the rest of the bottleneck was unprotected; its buildings would give him cover to enter the base easily.

Will smiled. Svelte had previously briefed MI6 that the land around the Rybachiy submarine base was so severe and remote that the base had small need for guards save for those who patrolled around the nuclear and diesel submarines. On top of that, those few guards were little more than poorly trained naval conscripts. Will had worried that Svelte’s intelligence might be wrong, but he was relieved to see that it wasn’t. He looked to his right and watched a four-ton truck drive slowly along a road toward the base. Glancing back at the guards, he saw that they were looking at the vehicle but had not raised their rifles. It clearly did not bother them.

Deciding that the vehicle’s approach to the base would be a good distraction, Will got to his feet and ran fast to his right. After five hundred feet, he stopped and saw that the truck was now motionless by the entrance. The guards were standing by the driver’s door and stamping their feet on the ground, their arms wrapped around their chests. To their right were the buildings and huts.

He moved diagonally so that he was heading toward the side of the bottleneck that was furthest away from the guards. Soon, trees and buildings obstructed his view of the truck. Slowing to a jog, he moved into open ground before reaching the wall of one of the huts. He placed himself flush against the building and listened for a moment. He could hear nothing save the sound of wind and the sea.

Moving along a gap between the hut and an adjacent larger building, he crouched down when he got to the end of the alley and slowly eased his head around the corner. The road entrance was visible on the other side of the bottleneck, but it was at least five hundred feet away. No one was looking his way. Glancing ahead, he saw more buildings beyond another area of open ground that was in darkness. He waited a few seconds, then sprinted toward them. After reaching the buildings, he spun around and looked toward the guards. They were still by the truck, doing nothing. He’d successfully entered the outer perimeter of Rybachiy submarine base.

He was about to move when he heard distant engine noises from the black sky. The noises grew louder until they were directly above him. They were clearly coming from aircraft, and their deep drone sounded very familiar. He briefly wondered if they were flying to the base, but Svelte had never mentioned that the base had an airstrip. He silently muttered “shit” as he realized why the sounds were so well known to him. Looking desperately at the black sky, he searched for what he knew was coming. There was nothing at first, but then he glimpsed the first one, followed by another, followed by several others. Paratroopers. They drifted silently through the sky before landing within one hundred feet of the guards behind him.

Will stayed very still. The soldiers were dressed in white combat clothes and had balaclavas, webbing, and tactical goggles. Assault rifles were strapped to their chests. He counted twenty-five of them as he watched the platoon gather up its parachutes, pack them away, and walk toward the guards.

Some of the airborne soldiers had unslung their weapons; some had not. The guards remained stationary and showed no signs of concern at the encroaching force, now clearly lit up by the lights of the base. The paratroopers moved right up to the guards, who seemed to be communicating with a handful of the men. The dogs were handed to two of the airborne soldiers. Then the guards turned and walked casually away from the entrance into the peninsula base.

The airborne soldiers split into groups. Four of them took two of the jeeps and drove into the base, six men and one dog took over protection of the entrance, the rest entered the base on foot. Now all of them had their weapons at the ready.

Will shook his head slowly; his heart beat fast. It seemed that the silent and clearly very professional Russian airborne troops had taken over security of the base. He had no idea why this had happened, but it meant everything had changed. His chances of completing his mission and escaping without being spotted were now nearly impossible.

He ran deeper into the base, using more buildings and the darkness as cover, but as he did so his mind raced with confusion. Only two men knew that he was attempting to infiltrate the Rybachiy submarine base—the CIA director and the MI6 controller who ran his covert unit—and he knew they would never betray him. A stark conclusion entered his mind: the Russian airborne troops were not searching for him; they were searching for another man.

He checked that his military knife was securely fastened at his waist, pulled out his pistol, looked left and right, and began to walk fast.

The area around him was a mixture of shadows, lights, long huts, warehouses, factory units, and roads. Snow carpeted everything. From his study of Svelte’s map, Will knew that the submarine base was rectangular in shape and the size of a large town. He also knew from the map, and could see now, that the place was not densely built and that there were large gaps of open ground between buildings. Even though he still had the cover of night, he would have to be extremely careful moving through Rybachiy.

He stood in the blackness next to a building and watched everything around him for a while. Keeping low in the shadows, he moved carefully to the edge of the hut while staying flush against its wall. Another road was before him, and he looked left along its route. Buildings straddled the road; some were in darkness, and some had internal lights on. He knew that Svelte’s quarters were approximately one mile farther along the route and adjacent to submarine pens. He saw two headlights in the distance and watched them draw closer. They seemed to be moving at a medium speed, and he could see they belonged to a civilian truck. He decided he would try to get onto the back of the vehicle and allow it to take him close to his destination.

The truck slowed and stopped about 250 feet from his position. Two men approached the vehicle. They were dressed in white and carrying guns. They spoke to the driver of the truck before waving him on. The truck drew nearer to Will, but the soldiers stayed motionless in the center of the road, watching the vehicle. He knew that if he stepped onto the road at this point he would be spotted and could easily be shot. The truck was now only a few feet from him. He kept staring at the soldiers. The truck drew alongside him, audibly changed gears, and started moving faster. One of the soldiers turned to face the other direction. The truck passed Will and in seconds would be out of range for what he needed to do. He stared at the other soldier, willing him to turn and join his colleague. The soldier placed the butt of his rifle into his shoulder, looked to his left and right, and turned. Will wasted no time. He jumped up, sprinted onto the road, and chased after the truck.

It was now fifty feet ahead of him and picking up speed. He wondered if he had the strength and pace to reach it and if the two soldiers would turn around and shoot him in the back. He lowered his head, ran faster, got closer to the truck, heard it change gears again, realized that it was about to accelerate away, pumped his legs and arms harder to bring him within five feet of its rear, and leapt forward.

He grabbed the vehicle’s rear bumper and wrapped his arms tightly around it. Snow sprayed up either side of his body as he was dragged and tossed violently over the ground. He pulled with his arms and tried to move his body into a crouch position, but he slipped so that he was again horizontal and being dragged along the road. The soldiers were now 150 yards away, but the vehicle’s rear lights would still allow them to see him if they turned to face in his direction. He ignored the paratroopers and looked quickly to his left and right in case the truck was passing one of the jeeps or other paratroopers on foot. Pulling again, he kicked at the rapidly moving ground, looked up, saw a rear door handle on the truck, took a deep breath, and lunged upward toward the handle. He grabbed it with one hand just as the truck made a slight turn on the road and lifted his whole body into the air. Yanking with the arm holding the handle and the arm holding the bumper, he slammed his body against the back of the truck and lifted his knees high before banging his feet down onto the bumper. Out of breath, he felt pain creep over his back and legs. But he was secure on the vehicle, out of sight of its driver, and now out of sight of the foot patrol.

The truck drove steadily for a minute before breaking hard, skidding over the icy ground, and stopping. Will kept his grip firm while desperately looking left and right. He heard a door on the vehicle open and close, men’s voices and dogs barking, and he saw light on the ground. Standing fully on the bumper, he placed one foot on the door handle by his waist, thrust upward with his leg, and grabbed the top of the truck. Keeping his body flush against the vehicle, he pulled his body quickly onto the roof and lay there with his body pressed flat against its surface. The voices were all around the truck, and, judging by their noise, there was at least one dog to his right and one dog to his left. He was fifteen feet aboveground, hidden from view, and the snow-carrying wind would make his scent untraceable to the dogs. But he was surrounded, and if any of the men decided to check the truck’s roof he would have no choice other than to fight his way out of the place that was clearly the main checkpoint entrance to the submarine pens and their surrounding quarters.

He heard the truck’s rear door open and then footsteps inside the vehicle, directly beneath him. At least one of the men was searching the interior. The door slammed shut, followed by the bark of a dog and more voices. Will resisted the temptation to look over the side to see how many soldiers were around him. He kept motionless and waited. A door from the truck’s cabin opened and closed; then the vehicle shuddered as the driver engaged the gears and gunned the engine. A man said something loudly in Russian, and the truck moved slowly forward before picking up pace.

Will crawled quickly along the roof so that he was in the center of the truck, keeping low in case his increasing distance from the checkpoint gave the soldiers there visibility of him. As the truck moved onward he waited for thirty seconds before raising his head a few inches to look around. Everywhere was brightly illuminated. He saw buildings and submarines. The vessels were berthed alongside walkways, and as the truck continued on, Will counted sixteen craft. He saw four Delta IIIs, five Akula Is, one Akula II, and six Oscar IIs, one of which was captained by Svelte.

The truck slowed, and Will quickly crawled farther along its roof until he was close to the cabin. Three hundred feet ahead of him were six men standing on the road. Four of them looked like naval guards; the other two were airborne soldiers. Will crawled rapidly back along the roof and decided that he had to get off the vehicle before it reached the men. He looked around, lowered himself down the back of the truck, and waited while continuing to look left and right. When he saw nothing, he jumped to the ground.