Authors: Matthew Dunn
Sentinel (35 page)
Sentinel took another step toward him.
“Stop moving!”
Sentinel came closer. “If you let me get right up to you, I will try to disarm you.”
More sweat poured down Will’s body. His head throbbed. “You’ll be held accountable, but I don’t want to kill you.”
Sentinel smiled. “My work is complete.” His smile vanished. “And now it’s over.” He walked quickly forward.
In that moment, Will felt overwhelming anger. He thought he’d understood the man; he had respected him, believed that he loved his Russian assets and agents, and believed that Sentinel stood for all that was good. But the man coming toward him now was someone else altogether. He was a man who was prepared to see millions of lives lost in order to satiate his desire for revenge against those who had hurt him and let him down many years before. He was a man who had unleashed Razin to dismember, burn, and decapitate brave people.
But as he pulled the trigger, his anger was replaced by sorrow and pity. At some point, a part of Sentinel’s mind had been broken. It should never have come to that. The enormous burden he had carried for all of his adult life had become too much for even a man of his strength. Powerful leaders in the West should have pulled him out of his deep-cover role before it destroyed him. But they’d done nothing, only carried on letting him take enormous personal risks until he was finally betrayed.
The gun lifted a little as the bullet left the barrel, traveled across the few feet of air, and struck Sentinel in the abdomen. The man’s eyes widened, his knees buckled, and he slowly fell to the ground until he was kneeling on snow.
He placed a hand over the wound, glanced at the blood covering it, and looked at Will. “The bullet’s torn through my liver. I’ll be dead in a few minutes. But it would have been quicker to just shoot me in the brain.”
Will lowered his gun, walked toward him, and asked, “Where is the bomb?”
Sentinel said nothing.
“You’re going to die. But before you do, you have the chance to make this right.”
Sentinel smiled. “There’ll be no dying confession.”
Will stared at him. He thought about how Sentinel had originally intended to use Svelte. A realization struck him. “The Russians know about the submarines. They’ll send an interceptor to act as a deterrent, probably one of their new stealth destroyers. That’s where the bomb is! It’s on the Russian boat.”
Sentinel’s smile vanished, but still he was silent.
“I think Razin was waiting to find out which vessel was given orders to prepare to sail. Then he planted the device.” His heart raced. “I’m right, I know I am.”
Sentinel lowered his head; his breathing was fast.
Will took a step toward him. “I need to know why you stopped me from falling into the chasm.”
Sentinel raised his head, looked at the mountains, and smiled. Seemingly to himself, he whispered, “This is a good place to die.” Staring at Will, he nodded slowly. “In the lodge, there’s a detonator. It will explode the mines and clear a path for you on the track beneath us. At the back of the lodge is a car and spare fuel. You can escape here unharmed and try to leave Russia.” Blood was pouring over his pants and onto the snow around him. He looked back at the mountains. “I kept you alive to remind myself of the man that I once was. It wasn’t always a lie. Once, I truly did believe in the work that I did. I”—he coughed blood—“really did love my agents.”
Will crouched down in front of him. Quietly he said, “You can become that man again. I give you my word that nobody,
nobody
need ever know what you did. I can have you buried in England with full honors. And I can have a gold plaque put on your coffin that has the word
SPARTAN
engraved on it. I promise you that I can do that. In return, nod once if the bomb’s on the interceptor.”
Sentinel stared at him. Eventually he said, “You’d do that?”
“I would.”
The men were motionless.
The wind vanished.
Everything stopped.
Sentinel nodded once.
Then he closed his eyes, let out one last breath, lowered his head, and died.
W
ill walked down the Learjet’s steps and stood on RAF Brize Norton’s runway. The rain was heavy, but Will didn’t care and let it wash over his face. Even though he felt more tired than he’d ever been in his life, he’d been unable to sleep during the flight from Moscow to England. He looked around; the normally busy military airport was virtually empty of other aircraft. He wondered if it had been like that when Sentinel had arrived here after his release from the Lubyanka prison.
Three limousines were close to the jet. Plain-clothed special forces men were in the front and rear cars. Two men were standing outside the central vehicle. They were dressed in suits and overcoats. Umbrellas shielded their faces.
Will walked slowly to them.
They lifted their umbrellas a little.
Alistair looked at him. “Roger, Laith, Markov, and Vitali have been released. The Russians have been reinstated into their Spetsnaz unit.”
“And our boys are in the hospital in the States.” Patrick’s expression was somber. “They were beaten up pretty badly, but they’ll recover.”
Will rubbed rainwater off his face. “Next time I’m in D.C., I’d like to have a chat with the president and some of his admirals about their decision not to turn the submarines around. I’d like to impress upon them the future need to always do what I fucking say.”
“It all worked out for the best.”
Patrick agreed. “A superb result for both America and Russia.”
Alistair moved closer, his look one of concern. “Have you got anyone you can go to?”
Will ignored the question. People were speaking behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Four men were unloading a coffin.
Sentinel had finally been pulled out of the field. He was home and would be buried with full honors. Will had kept his word and hadn’t told a soul about what had really happened, not even Alistair and Patrick.
Will returned his gaze to the coheads. “One day it will be me coming home in a box.”
W
ill unlocked his front door and entered his apartment. Stepping over piles of junk mail, he walked through the corridor and entered the open-plan lounge–kitchen area. Placing his grocery bag and newspaper onto the table, he moved through the minimalist room, filled the kettle, and flicked it on. He returned to the table, sat down, and looked at the front page of the newspaper.
The headline story was the same story every other British newspaper was carrying today. Moreover, most of the world’s media were giving it their top slot. It told of a remarkable humanitarian action. A Russian naval destroyer had become severely damaged in the Barents Sea to the extent that it needed to be evacuated of all personnel. No Russian ships had been close enough to reach the destroyer before it sank, but three U.S.
Ohio
submarines had. In an unprecedented move, the U.S. president had ordered the submarines to surface and rescue the Russian sailors. All of them had been saved before the destroyer sank to the seabed. As a result, relations between the United States and Russia were now the best they had ever been.
What really happened would be kept secret for a long time. The U.S. president had called the Russian premier and told him about the bomb on the Russian destroyer. The conversation hadn’t been easy, but eventually he’d persuaded the Russian leader that this wasn’t an elaborate ruse with ulterior motives. He’d also told him that the
Ohio
submarines were the only ones that could rescue the sailors before the bomb went off. They did precisely that and sailed quickly away. The bomb had detonated, obliterating the ship, but by then the submarines had been out of the device’s range. Nevertheless, a large area of the sea had been irradiated. Russian, U.S., and European nuclear specialists were collaborating to try to clean up the fallout.
Will tossed the paper to one side.
Alistair and Patrick were right. The mission had been successful, but that success had come with a significant loss of lives. Two of them lost at his hands.
Both were MI6 officers.
Four days ago, another had taken his own life.
Kryštof.
The rest had been slaughtered.
He glanced at the bare walls, the wooden floor that desperately needed some rugs to give it some color and warmth, the functional kitchen chairs, and the plain white sofa. Pulling out Korina’s necklace, he looked at it.
She’d asked him not to open it until they were together in his apartment. For a moment, he wondered what to do. He weighed it in his hand. Then he sighed and opened the pendant. Inside was a photo. It was of a man.
Svelte.
A man who had risked his life in driving snowfall to send a coded message to the West. A message that could stop a war. An act of heroism that had cost him his life.
Next to him in the photo was his beautiful daughter, Korina.
A woman who had risked everything to do the right thing. A woman Will would have wanted to get to know. A woman he was sure he could have loved.
He banged a fist on the table, causing some of the contents of the grocery bag to spill out. Shallots, chicken, garlic, and herbs. The same ingredients he’d used to prepare a meal for Korina.
He stared at the food; his fist slowly unclenched. Lifting the pendant, he held it against his cheek. A tear ran down his face; he momentarily closed his eyes.
Standing, he looked around. He hated this place. He hated everything about his life. More than anything, he hated losing Korina.
He grabbed the kitchen table and threw it against the wall with sufficient force to break it. He grabbed the chairs and broke them into pieces as well.
He slumped to the ground, still gripping the pendant. His breathing was fast, but as he held the necklace against his chest, his breathing began to slow.
His cell phone rang.
Alistair.
That could mean only one thing.
Work.
He thought about ignoring the call, instead grabbing a drink in a bar, going for a walk through London’s streets, perhaps catching an evening show at a theater.
Will Cochrane desperately wanted to do those things.
But not alone.
With someone special.
Spartan answered the call.
AEK-919K Kashtan submachine gun—
Russian special forces submachine gun; fires 9 mm rounds.
AK-47 assault rifle—
Russian assault rifle in Soviet and Russian service since 1949; fires 7.62 mm rounds.
AKS-74 assault rifle—
A variant of the Russian AK-74. It is equipped with a folding metal frame stock, fires 5.45 mm rounds, and is used primarily by Russian air assault units.
Akula I submarine—
A nuclear-powered Russian attack submarine. It deploys conventional weapons through its torpedo tubes.
Akula II submarine—
A nuclear-powered Russian attack submarine, larger than and with an improved sonar system compared to the Akula I class.
AMR-2 12.7 mm sniper rifle—
A Chinese antimaterial sniper rifle that fires 12 mm rounds and has an effective range of up to 4,500 feet.
Antisurveillance—
An intelligence drill that is designed to establish whether an intelligence officer is being watched by hostile intelligence operatives. It can be conducted by intelligence officers on foot, in cars, and with the use of many other modes of transport.
AS Val assault rifle—
A Soviet-designed assault rifle containing an integrated suppressor; fires 9 mm high-performance armor-piercing rounds.
BfV—
Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz. Germany’s domestic intelligence agency, equivalent to Britain’s MI5 and the United States’ FBI.
BIS—
Bezpečnostní Informační Sluzˇba. The primary domestic intelligence agency of the Czech Republic.
CIA—
Central Intelligence Agency. The United States’ overseas intelligence agency, tasked primarily with gathering intelligence from foreign human sources as well as conducting special operations.
Companies House—
Britain’s register of companies; an executive agency of the U.K. government.
DA—
Defense attaché. Typically, a high-ranking serving military officer who is attached to one of his or her country’s overseas embassies. DAs are tasked with interacting with the embassy’s host country on a range of military matters, including military procurement.
Delta III submarine—
Russian ballistic missile submarine.
Delta Force—
Alongside DEVGRU, the United States’ primary antiterrorist special operations unit, though, like DEVGRU it is deployable in all covert and overt theaters of war and operating environments.
DEVGRU—
U.S. Naval Special Warfare Development Group, popularly known by its previous name, SEAL Team 6. It is one of the United States’ premier multifunctional special operations units and draws its recruits from other SEAL units.
DGSE—
Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure. The French overseas intelligence agency, tasked primarily with gathering intelligence from foreign human sources as well as conducting special operations.
DLB—
Dead-letter box. A method of espionage tradecraft that allows one spy to pass an item, using a secret location, to another spy without their having to meet.
FSB—
Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. The main domestic security agency of Russia, comparable to the FBI and MI5.
GCHQ—
Government Communications Headquarters. The British intelligence agency responsible for providing signals intelligence (SIGINT) to the U.K. government and armed forces. Comparable to the United States’ National Security Agency (NSA).
Groupement des Commandos Parachutistes—
A highly trained reconnaissance unit of the French Foreign Legion’s Parachute Regiment (2ème Régiment Étranger de Parachutistes).