be accused of espionage and God knows what else. At this point, we’re out of options. We need to pull the trigger on Plan B.”
“Do you agree?” the President asked Rogers.
“Yes, sir,” the SPEHA replied. “I do.”
With his mind on everything that had gone wrong in the failed Iranian hostage rescue of the 1980s, Porter looked to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “Can we successfully execute in this kind of weather?”
“We won’t be able to have the Zero-three-hundred team parachute in. It’s too dangerous. Everything else, though, we can do,” the Chairman replied.
“Show of hands,” the President then called out, addressing the rest of the national security personnel seated around the long mahogany table.
Every single hand went up.
Turning his attention back to the monitor with the live feed from JSOC, the President transmitted his order. “Launch Operation Gray Garden.”
After confirmation from JSOC, it was time to start the next phase of their plan.
“We have a total of three calls to make,” said Porter. “Who goes first?”
“I do,” replied Nicholas. “Once Matterhorn has the information, he will transmit it directly to Moscow.”
“Then,” said Rogers, “I will reach out to the Russian Ambassador and communicate our offer, which he will also transmit directly to Moscow.”
“After which, I will call President Peshkov and ask him for his answer,” stated Porter.
“Yes, sir,” responded the SPEHA. “At that point, the ball will be completely in his court. It’s his call.”
“And if he says no?”
“If he says no,” Nicholas answered, “Then we buckle up, because things are going to get very bumpy.”
CHAPTER 73
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MURMANSK OBLAST
If the Russians were coming, Haney had decided it was better to dig in and make a stand than to try to outrun them.
Retracing their path to the lake, they chose the spot they had originally marked out for Harvath. Unlike the outcropping where they had found him, this location provided excellent fields of fire and could be much better defended.
With Harvath and Christina running on fumes, it took twice as long to get there as Haney had expected. Once there, he told Harvath to stand down. The man had been through enough. He didn’t need to now man a post.
Staelin saw to both of them—Christina first, because Harvath insisted. When it came to his needs, he refused to take anything stronger than Ibuprofen and Tylenol. Until they were safely out, he didn’t want anything fogging up his head.
And as for laying his rifle down and not manning a post, there was no way that was happening either. This was his fight and he was going to see it through until the very end.
When Haney had explained “Plan B” to him, he admired not just its audacity, but also its cleverness. If it ended up working, he owed Nicholas and whoever SPEHA Rogers was the best steak dinner in D.C.
As the wind and the snow continued getting worse, his concern began to grow. It was bad enough that he was surrounded by seven teammates who had all risked their lives to save him, but to add to their ranks? He didn’t like all of this being done on his behalf. Upping the risk and enlisting more lives to save his felt wrong.
He was the one who was supposed to risk everything to go in and get people out. Not vice versa.
With all of his experience and all of his training, he should have been able to handle this. It was who he was. He should have been able to get himself and Christina across the border without risking anyone else’s life—just as he should have been able to save Lara, Lydia, and the Old Man.
Now, Jompá and Olá, the men who had pulled him from the frigid snow, were dead. Theirs were just another two entries on a long list of people who had died because of him. Why, he wondered, was he still alive? What possible purpose could his life even serve?
He was slipping down a razorblade-threaded rabbit hole of survivor’s guilt when Chase Palmer signaled for everyone to be silent. He had heard something.
Harvath listened but didn’t hear anything. His ears had been around a little longer than Chase’s and had been subjected to a lot more explosions and gunfights.
In a couple of moments, though, he began to hear it as well. Helicopters—plural.
“Everybody grab some ground,” Haney ordered.
The team was huddled together where part of the forest had eroded, behind several fallen trees.
As they all lay down, Haney added, “Everybody stay frosty.”
“Seriously?” Staelin remarked, as he