Firefox Down

did not falter in his waving.

He was ten yards away, and puffing for breath, when he recognised the face at the window; confirmed the suspicion that had dashed over him like cold water. And saw, too, the horrified, appalled look on Anna's face when he transferred his gaze to her.

And knew, then-Gant.

Travelling with Anna. Anna, helping him. Gant.

NINE: En Route

Kirkenes civilian airfield possessed the very temporary appearance of a forward position likely to be abandoned at any moment, crouching uneasily just inside the Norwegian border with the Soviet Union. Its low wooden buildings did not seem entirely explained by its latitude or the Norwegian style of architecture. Instead, they suggested impermanence; the reluctance to invest in Kirkenes — just in case. Aubrey had been allocated a low, barrack-like hut behind the control tower, part of the Fire Section, into which was crammed the communications equipment, the maps, charts, telephones and men he would need to employ. The windows looked out over the iron-grey water of the Korsfjord, and beyond it the peaks on Skogeroya, the Varangerfjord and the Barents Sea. The water was a fitful sight through the slanting snow showers. The main room of the hut smelt strongly of the numerous paraffin stoves that supplemented the main wood-burning stove. The noise of a twenty- eight volt generator outside the hut intruded. Power cables snaked over window sills. The edges of the window panes were foggy. It was a depressing place; an image of exile, or defeat.

Aubrey stared out of the windows at the sleet, attempting to imagine the weather conditions the Skyhook lifting helicopter had encountered on its slow journey from Germany, and the even worse conditions that would prevail if it ever took off again from the airbase in southern Sweden. He had been in communication with the helicopter's US Army pilot, and with the senior engineering officer at the airbase. Repairs to the rotors were proving a slower, more complex, more serious task than had at first been anticipated. Parts were required which the Swedes did not have; parts which, at present, could not be flown in.

The Skyhook was crucial. No fall-back, Giles Pyott had said. Everything depending on better weather and a single helicopter… If the Firefox was to be removed from the site, they could not dispense with the helicopter. Aubrey knew that he, too, had fallen for the spurious, glamorous excitement of the helicopter lift, just as the politicians had done. There was no way in which the aircraft capable of carrying the dismantled pieces of the airframe, an extra forty-five thousand pounds weight, could land and take off at the lake. They could not have got trucks through — too much snow and no roads.

Now, he knew that the bad weather might last a week. It would worsen for the remainder of that day, and though the following day might begin a little better, it would rapidly close in once more. There might be short breaks, windows in the weather, but they were unpredictable. By the time it finally cleared, the Finns would have cordoned off the entire area and informed the Russians where they could find their precious MiG-31!

Aubrey choked silently on his enraged frustration. He was helpless; bound and gagged. He could do nothing, nothing. Unless the Skyhook arrived before the expiry of the deadline, at midnight the following night, then it would all have been wasted, all have been for nothing.

And he would have failed, and he would have to attempt to live with the increasing sense of guilt he felt concerning the people who had died. Aubrey shook his head. He did not want to have to do that. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and it pained him. He had no defences against it.

All he could see ahead of him were the explosive charges clamped to the airframe, the mutilated cockpit instrument panel and systems consoles — then the bang. Snow, earth, metal — then nothing!

Damn, damn, damn, damn -

Guilt thrust itself once more into his consciousness, a weed growing through concrete. Pavel, Semelovsky, Fenton, Baranovich — especially Baranovich. He had killed them all, only to fail to catch the ball they had thrown.

Damn the weather and the helicopter…

And damn Kenneth Aubrey!

'Mr. Aubrey?' It was the voice of his radio operator. The communications equipment from the Hercules had been transferred to the hut.

Aubrey turned his head to respond, thankful for the interruption. One of the Norwegian army guards passed the window, face held to one side against the blowing sleet and snow. 'What is it?' Aubrey asked.

Curtin was at the top of a pair of step-ladders, leaning against a huge map of the Finnmark, the Kirkenes area, and Finnish Lapland. It was sedatory work, Aubrey thought. Curtin was intently applying red-flagged pins to the map, designating Soviet activity along the border. There were no red flags inside Finland. There had been little movement along the border, and no aerial reconnaissance since the weather had worsened, according to reports from Eastoe in the Nimrod.

'Mr. Shelley from London, sir,' the radio operator replied. Aubrey joined him at the console, lowering his overcoated body onto a flimsy-looking swivel chair. He had retained his coat as a vague protest at inactivity, as if to suggest he might be called away at any moment or be engaged in some furious travel. Aubrey had to feel that his own sojourn at Kirkenes was utterly transitory.

'Hello, Peter — what can I do for you?' he said off-handedly.

After a few moments, when the Receive light had winked out and the tape had re-run, he heard Shelley say: 'Just to report that they're on the train, both of them. One of our scouts saw them go through the barrier, inspection and everything.' He sounded pleased. The rescue of Gant was working like clockwork, and it irritated Aubrey. Shelley would have an easy and notable success with it -

He crushed his anger in the silence. Shelley was waiting for a comment.

'Well done. Peter — is everything else in place?'

'Harris will pick them up at the station outside Leningrad — Kolpino-when they leave the train. He'll have the travel warrants and the visas for them to cross into Finland. Director-General Vitsula has agreed that a team will meet them at the border, just to take the weight off their shoulders when they've got that far. It's looking good on the operations board — fingers crossed, sir.'

Aubrey waited beyond the time when the Transmit light indicated that he could speak once more. Shelley's success made him envious. It had been his idea to rescue Gant and the woman the CIA were prepared to throw away — and now under Shelley's control it looked as though it might work.

And yet, it was the damned aircraft that he really wanted! The Firefox-that was the real prize — the big one, as Charles Buckholz might have described it. The big one…

'Well done, Peters.' he repeated eventually. 'Keep me informed. Harris should do a good job — he's worked for us before. Out.'

He stood up and returned to the window, wrapping his overcoat testily and showily about him. Curtin watched him from the top of his step-ladder, tossed his head and grinned, and went back to his map and his pins. A gap in the sleet again showed Aubrey the lower slopes of the lumpy, barren peaks of Skogeroya and the grey, featureless Varangerfjord beyond them. An awful place -

A mirror of failure.

At least Gant would be saved -

And Aubrey admitted that at that moment Gant seemed a poor prize without the aircraft he had stolen.

* * *

Dmitri Priabin continued to stare as the last carriage and the guard's van moved around the curve of the line just beyond the end of the platform. Then the train was masked by an oncoming express. Anna and Gant had disappeared.

His thoughts were in a turmoil. He felt paralysed and weakened to such a degree that it was difficult to remain standing; impossible to move — to turn and walk or run to the nearest telephone, the nearest fellow-officer -

The flight of his imagination horrified him. He had actually thought of telling someone — of