the snowmobiles raced off, several figures went house to house. Then, all the figures got back onto the helicopter and flew to the next village, ten klicks over.
This, Nicholas explained, was another indigenous Sámi village, called Adjágas.
They watched as the snowmobiles approached, only to have both of their riders knocked off and a mysterious figure appear out of the woods.
“That’s got to be Harvath,” exclaimed Haney.
“Like I said,” replied Nicholas. “If it isn’t, then the Russians have another very big problem on their hands. Keep watching.”
All eyes were glued to the screens as the rest of it unfolded. They sat riveted as six figures rappelled out of the helo only to hit a house and have something explode inside. Then as the survivors were dragging out their injured, they were all engaged by sniper fire from the same mysterious figure, who moments later began firing at the helicopter and caused it to crash.
The footage began getting crackly and then went dark as the satellite passed out of its window.
“That is definitely Harvath,” Barton stated.
“We agree.”
The Colonel had one of his people pop up a map. “Adjágas is close, only about sixty kilometers from the border.”
Haney recalled Staelin’s complaint about potentially having to ski eighty kilometers. He wondered if he’d feel any better knowing it had been cut to sixty.
Turning to Hulkkonen, he said, “Based on this new information, I’d like your government’s permission to scramble our aircraft out of Luleå Air Base in Sweden and for it to enter Finnish airspace.”
“As part of our joint training exercise,” he responded.
Haney nodded and the man pulled out his cell phone, walking away so he could converse with his superiors discreetly.
Looking back at Nicholas, and careful not to implicate the U.S. President directly, even in front of an ally, he asked, “Has the White House seen this?”
“He has. They want final approval over whatever the plan is, but you’re the ones on the ground, so you get to set the board.”
Haney looked at the Colonel. “Mr. Hulkkonen mentioned that there’s a hole, a blind spot of some sort, we can exploit at the border.”
“That is correct.”
“He also said we’d have to go in via foot, or at least on skis, but perhaps not the entire way. What did he mean by that?”
The Colonel looked at the Ministry of Defense representative and then returned his attention to Haney. “We have an asset in that area. Someone who might be able to help.”
“Someone who can provide transport?”
“Yes, but it’s complicated.”
“It’s always complicated,” Haney said.
“But in this case, even more so.”
“Why?”
“Because,” said the Colonel, “the asset hates Americans.”
CHAPTER 56
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* * *
MURMANSK OBLAST
All this? All the cold, all the pain, and all the miles just for this? Just to get captured? Harvath was pissed. He was pissed at himself. He was pissed at his circumstances. He was pissed at everything. In fact, he was more than pissed. He was fucking angry.
And his anger was calling up something deeper, something much more deadly. His anger was calling back up his rage.
“Very slowly,” Teplov ordered, well aware of the type of man he was dealing with. “Let the rifle fall to the ground.”
Reluctantly, Harvath did as he was ordered.
“Now the chest rig.”
His rage building, Harvath unclasped it and tossed it to the side.
“Remove the whites. And your coat. Slowly.”
Trying to come up with a way out of this, Harvath did as the man instructed and let them drop to the ground.
“Now turn around,” the Russian commanded.
As Harvath turned, the intense, bitter cold bit through his remaining clothes and into his flesh. And though his eyes should have been fixed on the Russian and his gun, he couldn’t help but glance at Christina.
He wanted to convey to her that everything was going to be okay, that he would protect her, but she couldn’t see his eyes. They were hidden behind the night vision goggles suspended over his helmet.
Somehow, as if Teplov could read his mind, the Russian commanded, “Take off the helmet.”
Flipping the goggles up, he unfastened the chinstrap and tossed the helmet aside. He didn’t like losing his edge, but now they were on even ground. The Russian wasn’t wearing night vision either.
As his eyes adjusted, he quickly shifted them to Christina. She looked terrible—beaten, defeated. The Sámi man standing next to her looked even worse.
But they had survived the crash. And they hadn’t survived just to be killed now. Harvath had to do something. But what? He needed to buy himself more time, so he attempted