E

  Ascension Island

  It was early spring in the South Atlantic, but a storm had rolled in with the sunset. The ghost blue runway lights of Wideawake Field glowed through a watery mist, and rain dripped from the wings of the two huge jet transports sitting side by side on the most isolated parking apron of the joint UK/US air facility. One, a Boeing 747 wearing the blue and white livery of the Presidential Squadron; the other, an Ilyushin 96, itOs opposite number from the Russian Federation.

  The world at large did not know of the presence of the two aircraft here, nor of the meeting between the two national leaders they carried. As armed sentries circled the sodden parking apron, a confrontation without records or witnesses took place in a soundproof, electronically screened briefing room aboard Air Force One.

  I recognize itOs sometimes necessary for a President to lie to his constituency, Samuel Castilla said coldly to the lean, aristocratic figure seated across the conference table from him, but I damn well donOt like having to abuse the privilege. I especially donOt like having to lie to those people about how their family members died. It leaves a sick taste in my mouth.

  What other choice do we have, Samuel? President Potrenko replied patiently. To rip open the healing wounds of the Cold War? To set the rapprochement between our nations back by decades? To play into the hands of the hardliners on both sides who say the United States and Russia are meant to be hereditary enemies?

  You spin that line very smoothly, Yuri, and so do my advisors and the State Department, but even if I accept it, I still donOt have to like it.

  This I can understand, Samuel. I know you to be a man of conscience and honorNthe corner of the RussianOs mouth quirkedNpossibly too much so for the realities of our profession. But we need more time. We have to let more of the old Cold Warriors die, and we have to move the fear further into the past. But at least you will have the consolation of knowing the truth will come out in the end.

  Oh, it will, Yuri. You can bank on it. WeOre in agreement that in twenty yearsO time all documentation on the Wednesday Island incident and the March Fifth Event will be unsealed and there will be a full joint disclosure by both governments.

  It is agreed.

  Castilla pressed the point home. Said pact to be made over our signatures and with the two of us accepting the full responsibility for the secrecy lockdown and the whitewash.

  PotrenkoOs eyes flickered toward the tabletop; then he nodded. It is agreed. Until that day, the members of the Wednesday Island science expedition perished in the tragic fuel dump fire that swept through the station. The members of our Spetsnaz platoon were lost in a training accident. The crew of the Misha 124 will simply not be found, their disappearance becoming one more mystery of the Arctic. And the aircraft itself was destroyed when an old onboard demolition charge was accidentally triggered. All eventualities are covered.

  I doubt it will be quite that easy, Castilla replied dryly. Lies seldom are. No doubt Wednesday Island will become yet another conspiracy theory haunting the Internet. Maybe we can take a page from John Campbell and Howard Hawks and blame it on a flying saucer.

  Castilla took a sip from the glass of branch water sitting beside his place and wished the shot of bourbon were sitting beside it. Why couldnOt you have told me the truth in the beginning, Yuri? We could have rigged this somehow. Nobody had to die. We didnOt have to come within a hairsbreadth of loosing that anthrax on the world.

  Potrenko continued his silent study of the maroon leather tabletop. No doubt things could have been managed…more effectively. But I cannot apologize for being part of the Russian bureaucracy or for the protocols set by my predecessors. We are all still very much Oslaves of the state,O and we are likely to remain so for some time to come. I can only apologize for allowing this situation to slip so far out of control. Certain…individuals within governmental and military chains of command exercised poor judgment. They are being dealt with.

  I daresay they are, Castilla replied, his voice arch. Now, thereOs one last point for us to cover. When our relief force occupied Wednesday Island, the body of one man was not accounted for, that of Major Gregori Smyslov, the Russian Air Force liaison officer assigned to our inspection team. Do you have any information on him?

  Potrenko frowned. That need not be a point of concern, Mr. President.

  Colonel Smith, our team leader on Wednesday, seems to think differently. When I spoke with him, he asked specifically that I inquire about the fate of Major Smyslov. I am inclined to favor his request. What happened to him, Yuri?

  The major was…injured during events on the island, but he survived. He was evacuated to our submarine. He is now being held for trial on a variety of charges.

  Stemming from the fact he sided with Colonel Smith and against your government? CastillaOs voice softened in an ominous manner. That is not acceptable, Mr. President. You will see that all charges against Major Smyslov are dropped immediately and that all ranks and privileges are restored to him without prejudice. If you feel that to be impossible, you will turn the major over to our ambassador in Moscow for repatriation to the United States. If you donOt want him, weOll be glad to have him.

  That is impossible! Potrenko snapped. Major Smyslov has been charged with mutiny and a massive breach of state security. These are very serious matters! I am warning you, Mr. President, these are strictly the internal affairs of the Russian Federation!

  Castilla smiled back without humor but with some pleasure. And I just hate having to violate the internal affairs of the Russian Federation, Yuri, but then, IOm having to do a lot of things today that IOm not pleased about. WhatOs one more?

  This man is a Russian citizen and military officer of the Federation!

  Colonel Smith seems to feel the major is also still a member of his team, and as I said, I am inclined in the colonelOs favor at the moment!

  This matter is not open for discussion!

  Then forget it! Castilla half rose from his chair. The whole deal is off! Upon returning to Washington, IOm calling a press conference and IOm blowing the whole thing: the aborted nuclear war, StalinOs assassination, the anthrax, the attack on our investigations team, the cover-upNthe whole nine yards goes public!

  PotrenkoOs face went bloodless. YouOre mad! You would not do this thing! You would not trigger this catastrophe between our governments over the fate of one man!

  Castilla sank back into his chair. Yuri, he said, peering coldly at Potrenko over the frames of his glasses, IOm not a happy camper. Humor me.

  E

  Seattle-Tacoma International Airport

  The cabdriver glanced in his rearview mirror at the tall, quiet man in the Army greens and black beret. Since 9/11 heOd carried a lot of soldiers to the airport, some of them heading home, others heading out to somewhere. From the multiple rows of ribbons on this manOs uniform coat, there had been a lot of somewheres, and from the weariness etched in his face, heOd been to one not long ago. But like most of the best, he wasnOt saying much about it.

  The cabbie smiled to himself, looking back on his own somewheres, among them the rice paddy south of Bear Cat where heOd exchanged his right hand for a steel hook.

  The Yellow Crown Victoria swept around the great curving reception bay of the terminal building, finding an unloading slot amid the milling streams of traffic. The soldier dismounted, drawing his barracks bag and briefcase out of the backseat. Stepping up to the front window, he reached for his wallet.

  The cabdriver reached over with his prosthesis and zeroed the meter. Forget it, Colonel. This oneOs on the house.

  The tall soldier hesitated and then smiled. If you insist.

  Damn straight I do, the cabby called back, pulling into traffic with a blare of his horn. Eleventh Cav, Osixty-seven. Good luck, sir.

  The shift manager wouldnOt mind. He was an ex-Marine, and heOd been some places, too.

  Jon Smith pushed through the glass doors of the terminal to the ticketing counters, the luggage checkin, and the sluggish shuffle of the security inspection lines. The wait didnOt bother him particularly. At the moment he was in no rush.

  He recognized the phenomenon, a combination of the biological backlash of the past weekOs extreme exertions and the usual postmission psychological letdown. It would pass. At his last long-distance debriefing with Fred Klein, the director had told him to stand down and take some of his backlog of leave. The director had even waved his magic wand and arranged for it to happen.

  Covert One 7 - The Arctic Event

  The problem was, Smith didnOt feel like going anywhere or doing anything particularly. And back in Bethesda there was only the house that had never had the chance to become a home.

  Snap out of it, Smith. You donOt need a leave. You need to get back to work.

  But that brought up another point for consideration. Just exactly what was his work now? When he had accepted his position with Covert One, he had viewed himself as a research microbiologist performing an occasional specialistOs assignment for Fred Klein. Now, though, it was feeling more and more as if he was the dedicated operator and his position as USAIMRIID was the filler.

  And hadnOt he taken that research slot to begin with specifically so he could work with Sophia? So they could be together? Since the Hades plague that wasnOt going to happen. That idealization was gone forever. Why the hell was he still going through those motions?

  The X-ray machine and the security shakedown was a welcome distraction, his uniform and his government ID rating him the most cursory of inspections. He strode on down the concourse toward the United boarding gates. He was early for his flight to Dulles. Maybe he had enough time to get himself a cup of coffee before boarding. Not a drink in the mood he was in, but a cup of coffee.

  Jon, hey, Jon! Hold up!

  Randi Russell was trotting toward him, towing a squeaking piece of wheeled luggage. The white ladiesO gloves she wore contrasted with her comfort-faded denims. Coming to a halt, she smiled up at him, an open, happy, pleased smile, very different from when theyOd met across the street at the Doubletree.

  I saw that dermatologist you wanted, she said, holding up her gloved hands. He said they might be a little sensitive to cold from now on, but he doesnOt think there will even be any scarring.

  Smith found himself smiling back. IOm glad to hear it, Randi. Where are you off for?

  She made a face. I canOt really say. You know the drill.

  He nodded. I do. IOm glad we at least have the chance to say good-bye. It was good working with you again and just good seeing you again.

  The same for me. She hesitated for a moment, glancing around at the other hurrying occupants of the concourse, and then seemed to make a final call on some debated question.

  Could you come with me for a second?

  Sure. Why not?

  She led him over into a small pocket of privacy behind an advertising kiosk. I was hoping for the chance to tell you about something, Jon, she said, something that happened on the island. I feel kind of strange talking about it. But after thinking about it for a while, I guess itOs something you should know.

  What is it?

  She hesitated a moment more, then looked into his face, her dark eyes sober. Remember that night on the north beach when I just about froze to death? You know, when you found me after IOd called out to you?

  Of course,

  This is the strange thing. I wasnOt…alone out there, Jon. Sophia was with me. I know it sounds crazy, and maybe I was or am crazy, but for a minute Sophia…came back. She told me to call out for you. She made me call out. If she hadnOt, youOd never have found me.

  She dropped her eyes. There, now go ahead and call me a nutcase.

  Smith frowned. Why should I do that? Sophia loved you very much. He lightly rested his hands on her shoulders. If you were in trouble and if there were any way in this universe for her to help you, she would. I donOt think itOs crazy, Randi. IOm not even particularly surprised.

  Randi looked up and gave a sheepish grin. Well, she loved you a whole lot, too, Jon Smith. So donOt be surprised if she shows up for you sometime, too.

  He nodded thoughtfully. It wasnOt a displeasing notion. Maybe that explains why we keep bumping into each other. WeOre bonded through her.

  It must count for something. She came up on her toes and lightly brushed her lips against his cheek. I have to run. TheyOre calling my flight. You take care, Jon, till next time.

  Till next time. And he knew there would be a next time.

  Smith found his shoulders squaring and his mood lightening as he finished the walk to the boarding gate. It improved further when he found someone else waiting for him at the United jetway.

  Valentina Metrace wore heels and a pleasantly snug gray knit dress that matched her eyes, and a number of other male travelers shot disgruntled looks at Smith as she smiled and stood to greet him.

  Hello, Colonel.

  Hello yourself, Professor. He set his briefcase down beside her small pile of carry-ons. Are you bound for Washington?

  No, IOm pleased to say. She nodded up the concourse. IOm on Southwestern a couple of slots farther on. IOm off to Palm Springs for a few days. I find I need to melt a bit of residual ice off my soul.

  Palm Springs. Smith nodded thoughtfully. It would be nice down there this time of year.

  Oh, it is, I assure you. ThereOs a swimming pool I know of, shaded by real palm trees and fed by one of the real palm springs. During the day I intend to lie beside it, wearing a swimsuit or less, and at night I will drink champagne and sleep between satin sheets. It will be a life of great beauty.

  She held out her hand to him. IOve been thinking … it would be nice to share it with someone.

  There was no coquetry in the invitation, no challenge, no dare to her offer, only a hint of wistfulness, an echo from the lonely operatorOs existence that Jon knew and understood.

  He hesitated for a last moment. Val would be different, so very different from anyone he had ever known before, and so would any roads they might walk down together. But different wasnOt necessarily a bad thing.

  IOll need to look into something first, he replied.

  WhatOs that?

  He drew Valentina in to him. Putting a hand into her thick, rich hair, he kissed her, letting it linger, learning the softness of her lips, the delicate touch contours of her face.

  ValOs eyes closed into the kiss and when they opened again he could see that she had been pleased with the result as well. It had been different from one of SophiaOs kisses, but that too was as it should be.

  It was time. It was time and past time for a great many new things.

  Smith went to change his ticket.

  E

  Anacosta, Maryland

  The Wednesday Island operation wound down in the screen-lit dimness of Margaret TempletonOs office, coming to its conclusion against the soft purring backdrop of computer cooling fans.

  WeOve done the partial-truth feed to both the Canadian authorities and Interpol, Templeton said from her desk workstation. To wit, Anton Kretek and his people were involved in some armaments smuggling venture, the exact nature of which remains unknown, when their chartered helicopter went down in Hudson Bay. There were no survivors, but the appropriate wreckage has been recovered.

  Is it selling? Fred Klein inquired, testing the soil of MaggieOs bonsai tree with a probing finger.

  So far. The general consensus seems to be, the man is no great loss to anyone. WeOve also located and cleaned up KretekOs refueling depots.

  Klein nodded absently, adding a jet of water to the little planter from the squeeze bottle beside it. He was seated beside MaggieOs desk, watching the bank of flat-screen displays on the far office wall. His features were softened by a faint haze of gray beard, and his tie had been loosened a couple of casual inches. It was the end of another average twelve-hour day. What about the getaway trawler?

  Successfully dealt with, sir. The USS MacIntyre placed a SEAL team on board the vessel. The Icelandic crew were essentially hired help. Likely they were viewed by Kretek as a disposable asset. They knew nothing about the true nature of the Wednesday Island operation. Accordingly they have been released to the Icelandic authorities.

  And KretekOs men?

  MaggieOs even-featured face was worthy of a championship poker table. An operational accident. While they were being taken across to the destroyer, the whaleboat carrying the arms smugglers capsized in a rogue wave. The guards and the coxswain were wearing antiexposure suits and lifejackets and were rescued; KretekOs men werenOt. Hudson Bay is a very dangerous body of water, sir.

  Very much so, Maggie. HereOs hoping we wonOt have to work up that way again for a while. Klein snugged his tie tight once more. He and Maggie would finish this up and then, for certain, call it quits for the night. How are our people doing?

  MaggieOs hands danced across her keyboard, the file photos of Jon Smith and Valentina Metrace windowing up on the wall screens. Physically, they are recovering from exhaustion, exposure, and a variety of minor injuries. Psychologically, they appear to be stable and still comfortable with operating. Given a reasonable period of rest and recuperation, I feel they will be deployable again. In my opinion both Jon and Professor Metrace continue to be valid mobile ciphers.

  Klein nodded. I concur. IOm pleased with the way they seem to work in harness together. IOve always been a bit concerned about Metrace, she tends toward being a bit of a cowboy at times. I think JonOs a steadying influence on her. The chemistryOs good.

  In the screen glow, MaggieOs lips quirked into a slight smile. In a number of ways. TheyOve spent the last week together in Palm Springs.

  Indeed. Klein frowned, not in disapproval, but in consideration. Normally, I donOt like to see off-mission fraternization between our prime ciphers, but in this instance I think weOll make an exception. If JonOs good for Metrace, I think Metrace may be good for Jon.

  I agree, sir. Now, thereOs one other personnel point IOd like to bring up.