Arctic Storm Rising Dale Brown (literature books to read TXT) 📖

a mental note to make sure her tech people cut that particular server out of the loop, as a precaution to protect the rest of the dark network. After all, this might still be some kind of complicated con, or worse, a disinformation ploy run by Russia’s own intelligence outfits.

With a nod of thanks, the young man slid the card into his jacket pocket. “One word of friendly warning, Ms. Reynolds: youunderstand that this is an extremely valuable property, so I cannot guarantee that our offer will be exclusive to your country.Quite naturally, others may prove equally intrigued.” Then, without waiting for a response, he turned away from her and walkedoff through the gallery.

Miranda Reynolds stared after him with a frown. Con game or not, she didn’t like the idea of a possible bidding war againstBeijing. The People’s Republic of China had its own stealth bomber program. Its agents would leap at the chance to acquireRussia’s advanced prototype. The situation she now faced was complicated enough without turning into a possible high-stakesauction involving another of the world’s great powers.

One of her aides materialized by her side. “Do you want him followed?” he asked quietly. His smartphone was already in hishand.

Impatiently, she shook her head. “Too risky. Whoever that guy really works for, he moves like a professional. We wouldn’tlearn anything that he doesn’t already want us to know.”

“So what’s our next move?”

“We take the first available flight back to D.C., Charlie,” she said. “And then we wait to see whether this trip was just a wild goose chase . . . or a real chance at the mother lode.”

Minutes later, Pavel Voronin climbed into a taxi. He sat back with a pleased expression as it pulled away from Prague Castle.His meeting with the CIA had gone about as well as could be hoped. He reached into his jacket, pulled out his own phone, andtexted a short report to Dmitri Grishin in Moscow. “Kryuchok nazhivlen. The hook is baited.”

Eleven

Kaktovik, on Barter Island, Alaska

The Next Day

Late in the afternoon, with the sun already low on the southwest horizon, a regularly scheduled Beechcraft 1900D twin-engineturboprop came in from the east on its final approach to the island’s airport. Streamers of freshly fallen snow sprayed outfrom under its landing gear when it touched down. The pilot, used to winter flying in northern Alaska, slipped the props intobeta, carefully used reverse thrust until his forward vision was being affected by blowing snow, then applied his brakes gentlyto avoid sliding off onto the tundra. Carefully, he tested their action on the slick surface as his aircraft rolled down therunway, gradually increasing his pressure on the pedals to decelerate slowly and steadily. After the turboprop came to a completestop, it turned through a complete circle and taxied over to a small metal shed and gravel-topped parking apron that werethe tiny airport’s only permanent facilities.

Just four passengers deplaned from the Beechcraft, while its crew unloaded a few bags, boxes, and bundles of mail and othergeneral cargo destined for Kaktovik and the Barter Island radar station. They were all lean, fit-looking men shielded againstthe harsh weather by colorful ski parkas and dark snow pants. Each man carried a large duffel bag and a small overnight backpack.

The town’s yellow airport bus was already parked just off the apron with its engine running to provide heat for the driver,a middle-aged man with graying hair and a broad, weathered face. His vaguely Asiatic features marked him as one of the localInuits. Smiling genially, he climbed down off the bus to help his passengers load their heavy luggage. “Don’t usually getmany tourists up here at this time of year,” he commented politely. “The polar bears are all back north on the pack ice, andall we got otherwise is a whole lot of nothing much to see. Unless you got a thing for whale bones. Got a lot of them lyingaround in one big heap.”

They all smiled ruefully. “As a matter of fact, that bone mound is why we’re here,” one of them explained. “We work for Fishand Wildlife and someone at headquarters back in D.C. wants an updated survey to pick up any significant changes from lastseason.”

The bus driver nodded at that. Among its many other responsibilities, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service managed the ArcticNational Wildlife Refuge, which included Barter Island. “Makes sense to map it out now, I guess,” he allowed. “While the bearsaren’t around. They get seriously territorial when they’re scavenging on those bones and scraps of spoiled blubber and skin.”

Apparently satisfied with their stated reason for visiting the island, he climbed back aboard the bus and waited while hishandful of passengers settled themselves. Then he put the vehicle in gear and drove off toward town. Kaktovik had two smallhotels and a bed-and-breakfast inn. At this time of the year, any of them would be grateful to have paying guests, even ata reduced government rate.

 

Several hours later, wearing a white camouflage smock over his cold weather gear, Captain Nick Flynn crouched behind a row of rusting, ice-covered oil drums on the outskirts of Kaktovik. This stretch of waste ground behind the town was covered with tarpaulin-sheathed whale boats, old cars up on blocks, abandoned shipping containers, and other junk. Clouds covered the night sky, and, except for a few lights shining among the town’s ramshackle houses and buildings, it was pitch-dark. The temperature was well below zero. Despite his heavy clothing, his bones ached with cold, and he had to lock his jaws shut to keep his teeth from chattering. Every minute spent motionless here in the dark robbed him of precious body heat, but even the slightest movement could be fatal to his plans.

“Comanche Six, this is Comanche One,” Senior Airman Mark Mitchell’s voice said quietly through his radio earpiece. There was an undercurrent of excitement inthe young radioman’s voice. “I think the balloon is going up, sir. We just got a flash message from the RAOC. They report that our radar here