and taxied into the hangar.
Though it was a highly secure military airfield, Minayev preferred to keep the presence of the Wagner mercenaries as quiet as possible. Not even a ground crew had been allowed inside.
When the aircraft’s loading ramp dropped, the first thing the General saw was Teplov.
He was the picture of an elite Russian commando—tall and muscular, with thick veins that snaked under his skin like ropes. His body was marbleized with scar tissue, a testament to his years of combat.
Calling out orders to his men, he stepped down the ramp and greeted Minayev. “What’s the latest?”
“Follow me,” the General replied, returning the mercenary’s salute.
At the rear of the hangar was a large ready room that had been temporarily converted into an operations center. It was staffed by a handful of trusted GRU personnel Minayev had brought along from Moscow.
Tacked to one of the walls was a large map of the Murmansk Oblast. A grid, marked out in red grease pencil, defined a search area. Teplov helped himself to a cup of coffee and then stood back to study the map.
“What are we looking for?”
“One of our transport planes,” said Minayev, picking up a picture of the Antonov An-74 aircraft and taping it to the wall next to the map, “took off from Murmansk two days ago and disappeared in bad weather.”
“No emergency beacon?”
“It carried a manual beacon. Never activated.”
“What was this plane transporting?”
The General picked up another photograph, this one of a man in restraints, and taped it beneath. “An American intelligence operative.”
Teplov looked at the name under the photograph. “Scot Harvath. Should I know him?”
“The Kremlin knows him. That’s all that matters.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
Minayev handed over a file. “It’s all in there. Most important, he’s a former U.S. Navy SEAL with advanced winter warfare training.”
“So is this a rescue or a recovery operation?”
“You won’t know until you get there.”
Eyeballing the search area again, the mercenary replied, “If that’s your haystack, I’m going to need a lot more men.”
“Our biggest problem has been the weather. All aircraft have been grounded, but now the storm is beginning to pass. We expect the search to start within the next couple of hours. Once the plane has been located, you and your men will be sent in.
“Your job is to ascertain the situation on the ground, report everything back to me, and then await further instructions.”
Teplov nodded as he skimmed through Harvath’s file. “Out of curiosity, who was accompanying the prisoner?”
“A four-man GRU Spetsnaz team.”
“Led by whom?”
“Kozak.”
The mercenary looked up from the file. “Josef Kozak?”
Minayev nodded. He knew that the two had not only served together but were also good friends. In fact, it was a rather poorly kept secret that when Teplov had started Wagner, he had done all he could to woo Josef away from the GRU to come work for him. “I’m sorry,” the General offered.
“Don’t be sorry,” he replied. “Josef Kozak is one of the toughest, meanest bastards I have ever known. You don’t write off a man like that without a corpse. Trust me.”
Minayev agreed. Josef was one of his best operatives. The chances, though, of surviving a crash, much less the brutal conditions in the Oblast, weren’t very high. “I have two helicopters standing by—Arctic Mi-8s. One will be for cargo, the other for personnel. As soon as we get word, I want you and your team in the air. I don’t want to waste any more time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And no matter what you encounter on scene, there is only one objective: Harvath. Everything and everyone else is secondary. If he’s alive, bring him back alive. If he’s dead, I want the body. Is that clear?”
“Completely.”
Minayev paused to make sure he had the mercenary’s undivided attention. He even addressed him by his call sign. “Understand me, Wagner. There is absolutely no room for error. When you reach for a tool, it had better be a scalpel and not a fucking hammer. This isn’t Syria, Ukraine, or Venezuela, where you’re being sent in to spill blood and break things. This is Russia, and this assignment is a national security imperative. Work quickly, work quietly, and above all else, do not fail. Because if you do, I personally guarantee that it’s the last thing you will ever do.”
CHAPTER 25
* * *
* * *
MURMANSK OBLAST
First light found Harvath fed, dressed, and caffeinated. After his breakfast of potatoes, he had indulged himself in a cup of coffee before putting on all of the dead trapper’s outerwear.