The President stared at the man’s picture. He had a drawn, gaunt face, punctuated by dull, lifeless eyes. The photo looked as if it had been snapped at the moment the man’s soul had been taken from his body. He had a disturbing aura about him. It wasn’t cruelty. It was more than that. The man looked evil. Everyone in the room sensed it.
“So,” said Porter, “if I may?”
“Of course,” replied Rogers, ceding the floor.
“We have Kopec, a known Russian asset, who was followed to the safe house by at least one, and presumably more, Russian Special Forces operatives. In the house, four Americans are brutally murdered and one goes missing. Two vehicles associated with the attack are found abandoned, one very near the Canadian border. A private jet with Special Forces operatives, including a GRU colonel, posing as Finns leaves Montréal, allegedly headed for Finland. Then forty-five minutes before touchdown, the plane claims to be diverting to St. Petersburg, but lands in Murmansk once it believes the Finns are no longer paying attention to it. Do I have that about right?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Rogers. “But there’s something else. It may not be connected, but considering what we know, it could be. And if it is, it’s big.”
CHAPTER 29
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CRASH SITE
MURMANSK OBLAST
The scene from the air was horrific. The plane had torn a jagged scar through the forest and landed in three broken pieces on the edge of a clearing. There were no signs of life on the ground.
When the two black-and-neon-orange helicopters touched down, Teplov was the first off. From the moment the call had come in that the plane had been located, the hairs on the back of his neck had been standing up. He had no idea why. For some reason, his sixth sense, honed over decades in battle, was trying to warn him.
He divided his men into groups. His team took the tail section. Just before they were about to make entry through the rupture in the side of the fuselage, they found a body—or at least what was left of one.
Because of the shredded uniform, it appeared to be one of Josef’s Spetsnaz operatives. The man had been torn apart, and the skin covering the top of his head was missing. Who or what had done it, he had no idea. Pulling the butt of his rifle into his shoulder, Teplov cautiously led his men into the plane.
Immediately upon entering, he saw four scalps hung along a thick piece of wire, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up even further. It was like something out of a horror movie.
Just in front of them, a cargo container appeared to have been turned into a temporary shelter. His men searched inside, but it was empty. Behind the container, though, they found two bodies.
The first was one of the flight crew. His legs had been pinned beneath the container and his pants were stained with blood. Wrapped around one of his thighs was a makeshift tourniquet. It was hard to tell if the man had fashioned it himself or if someone had done it for him. Regardless, what was apparent was that he had bled out.
Next to him was another of Josef’s Spetsnaz operatives. As with his colleague outside, his scalp had been removed, but his body was still intact. Again, he was uncertain if the operative had frozen to death, died in the crash, or suffered some other fate.
Around them lay the carcasses of several wolves. They were large, but underweight.
It had been one of the longest, most brutal winters in memory. There were stories of starving wolf packs banding together in hordes to attack villages and even towns. Polar bears, unable to find food, had done the same. Throughout the Murmansk Oblast, Russians were living in fear of coming face-to-face with one of these vicious, wild creatures.
Suddenly, the radio crackled to life. From the front section of the wreckage came a report that the pilot and copilot had been found in the cockpit, burned beyond recognition.
The team in the middle section reported two corpses as well. The first was a flight crew member who had been shot. The other was a man with an apparent broken neck. He had been stripped of his clothes and his scalp had also been cut away.
Teplov didn’t need to see the body to wager that it was another of Josef’s Spetsnaz operatives.
Heading deeper into the tail section, one of his men found