from under the train, he turned over on his belly and lay in the long, flare-cast shadow of the train. He looked at the luminous dial of his watch and was pleased at how quickly the operation had gone. He knew it was one of those things that, had he had time to rehearse it back at Andrews, would have taken ten or twenty percent longer to accomplish in the field. Why it worked that way, he had no idea. But it did.
He looked back toward the first car and, walking on his elbows, made his way to a drift near the coal tender. He began pushing the snow aside; that was Newmeyer's signal to start digging himself out. The Private was trembling and had bitten down on the mouth covering of his balaclava to keep his teeth from chattering. Squires gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as Newmeyer rolled onto his belly. He had been buried with his 9mm Beretta on his chest, and he holstered it now.
Newmeyer knew what to do, so Squires crawled back to the second car to get in position.
This was one action he wished he had been able to rehearse. But though a spetsnaz soldier might be able to function without sleep for seventy-two hours, and Israeli Sayeret Tzanhanim paratroop recon commandos could land on top of a running camel, and he had seen an Omani Royal Guard officer kill a man with a hatpin to the throat, Squires knew that no soldier in the world could improvise like a Striker. That was the beauty of the team, why they fit perfectly with Op-Center's mandate to bronco-bust unfolding crises.
Squires hooked the detonator to his belt, slipped on his compact respirator, then drew a flash/bang grenade from his left hip pouch. He slid the pull ring of the grenade over his right thumb, still holding the safety spoon. Then he pulled an M54 lachrymatory gas canister from its pouch and held it in his left hand, his thumb through the ring. When Newmeyer had done likewise, the two men rose slowly, in the shadows, and stood just to the right of the windows of the first and second cars.
CHAPTER SIXTY
'So where is he?'
Hood was thinking those exact words just as Herbert said them.
For several minutes now, everyone in his office had been silent and he'd been replaying the conversation with Orlov in his mind, trying to reassure himself that he hadn't given the Russian anything that could be used against the Strikers. Orlov already knew about both groups, and knew where they were. Hood was convinced, still, that the talk had been about how to defuse the crisis. Orlov could have used his status in Russia long before this to aggrandize himself, if that was what he wanted. He wanted to believe that the cosmonaut was a humanist as well as a patriot.
But his son is commanding the train, Hood reminded himself, and that outweighs saintly intentions.
Everyone jumped when Hood's phone beeped. He punched the speaker button and answered.
'Relay from Striker Honda,' said Bugs Benet.
'Let's have it,' Hood said, 'and please bring up the mission map on the computer. Cut in if General Orlov gets back to us.'
As he spoke, the Director slid the phone to the edge of the desk, toward Mike Rodgers. The General seemed to appreciate the gesture.
Honda's voice came through on the secure line, strong and surprisingly clear. 'This is Private Honda reporting as ordered.'
'This is General Rodgers. Go ahead, Private.'
'Sir, the target bridge is in sight and the snows are starting to let up. Three Strikers are present at coordinates 9518-828 to secure the route for retreat, three Strikers are at train, coordinates 6987-572. The Lieutenant Colonel plans to rig the train with C-4, get all the passengers off with flash/bang and tear gas, take the train, and let it blow up farther down the track. He was afraid shrapnel from the boiler might hurt someone. He'll join us at the extraction point when the target has been neutralized.'
Hood looked at the grid on the computer screen. The distances involved were tight but manageable.
'Private,' said Rodgers, 'did the Russians show any sign of standing down?'
'Sir, we didn't see them. The Lieutenant Colonel blew a tree across the track. We heard that. Then we heard the train coming, we heard the brakes, and we heard it stop. But we can't see it from here.'
'Any shooting?'
'No, sir,' said Honda.
'If it's necessary to get an order to the beta team, can it be done?' Rodgers asked.
'Not without one of us going back,' said Honda. 'They won't be answering the radio. Sir, I've got to join the others but I'll try and report any new developments.'
Rodgers thanked him and wished him well as Hood beeped Benet on the second line. He asked for up-to- the-minute surveillance photos of the site to be sent to his printer as soon as they were received by the NRO. Both Rodgers and Herbert went to the printer behind Hood's desk to wait for the hard copy to arrive.
A moment later, Orlov came back on the computer monitor. He looked more worried than before, and Hood clandestinely motioned for Liz to come over. She stood to the side, out of range of the fiber-optic camera on top, but was able to see Orlov's face.
'Forgive the delay,' Orlov said. 'I told the Radio Officer to have the train stopped and to get my son on the line, but then the link went dead. I honestly don't know what has happened.'
'I've learned that my team put a tree across the track,' said Hood, 'but I don't believe there was a collision.'
'Then perhaps my order was relayed in time,' said Orlov.
Hood saw the General look down.
'Nikita is calling,' said the General. 'Gentlemen, I will be back.'
The image winked off and Hood turned to Liz. 'What's your impression?'
'Eyes steady, voice a little low, shoulders rounded,' she said. 'Looks like a man telling the truth and not happy with the weight of it.'
'That's how I read him.' Hood smiled. 'Thanks, Liz.'
She smiled back. 'You're very welcome.'
And then the printer began to hum and suddenly both Rodgers and Herbert looked to Hood much as Orlov had as they watched the first photograph roll from the slot of the digital imager.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Repair of the uplink cable was hampered by the fact that the tips of Corporal Fodor's fingers were numb from the cold. Squatting beside the dish, he'd had to cut away an inch of casing with a pocketknife in order to expose enough wire to twist and poke into the contact. The fact that two of the civilians were watching him, discussing better ways of stripping wire, didn't help.
When Fodor finally finished, he handed the receiver to the Lieutenant, who was standing directly behind him. Fodor's movements were not triumphant, but quick and economical.
'Nikita,' General Orlov said. 'Are you all right?'
'Yes, General. We're clearing away a tree—'
'I want you to stop.'
'Sir?' Nikita asked.
'I want you to call in your command. You're not to engage the American soldiers, do you understand?'
Icy air blew through the window, against his back. But that wasn't what made Nikita cold. 'General, don't ask me to surrender—'
'You won't have to,' said Orlov. 'But you will obey my orders. Is that clear?'
Nikita hesitated. 'Completely,' he replied.
