still promised for later in the afternoon. Still promised, still on time. It could, they now said, last for as long as an hour. Aircraft could fly in it. 'Pointless,' he announced to the room without turning from the window. Then, as if called upon to explain something, he faced Gant.
'I — these events have been uncontrollable, Mitchell,' Gant sneered at the use of his first name. 'The original operation worked just as planned — yes, even to the unfortunate deaths involved. They were not planned, but they were taken into account. No one was forced to work… but these events — the past days — they are happenings outside the rock pool. Do you understand? Intelligence work takes place in a rock pool. In this case, the marine creatures there, in their sealed-off world, have been disturbed, flung violently about by a storm. There is nothing I can do. I am sincerely sorry about the woman's death, but I did not cause it. Yes, yes, she was blackmailed into assisting you, but I intended — just as you promised her — that she would be safe from her own people and from ours afterwards. I would have persuaded Buckholz to set her free. She could have returned to her lover — that foolish, tragic young man who was the real instrument of her death!'
He broke off, as if he disliked the pleading tone of his own voice. He hated the confession he was making, yet it forced itself upon him not so much because of Gant's accusations but because the guilt had returned. It was filling his chest and his thoughts. There was only one justification in the rock pool — success. But, he could not control these events, he had failed to tailor them to the parameters of intelligence work. Soldiers, equipment, a timetable, weather conditions, repairs, the very location of the Firefox — all had conspired to flood the calm rock pool and fling them all into the raging water. He could now only admit defeat, pack and leave.
'I do not need lessons in guilt from you, Major,' he said tightly, surprising himself.
'I wonder.'
'There's nothing more to be done. Acknowledge Waterford's signal.' He crossed to the charts on the table, shuffling through them. 'Curtin, if you please,' he said. 'Now,' he continued when the US Navy officer had joined him, 'the weather window is such as to prevent the Chinook making it all the way, in and out, from Bardufoss. Therefore, the two Lynx helicopters must be used. We must instruct Moresby to salvage what he can — a list of items from his own descriptions of the on-board systems must be drawn up. Everything must be loaded aboard and flown out the moment the weather clears. They will have perhaps less than half-an-hour before the first Russians arrive, probably in force…' His hand skimmed and dusted at the map as he spoke.
It was swift, decisive, false, and he knew it. The imitation of action. The retreat. 'Our people, those who can't be got on board the two helicopters, must move out to the nearest crossing-point into Norway… that's north-west. Waterford can be relied upon to organise everything in that area…'
He looked up. Gant's shadow had fallen across the chart. His knuckles were white as he leant on them. His face was bleak and angry; a remote anger, something Aubrey could not lessen or turn aside.
'Yes?' Aubrey asked in a voice that quavered.
'Send me in,' Gant said. His eyes did not waver, nor did he blink. There was no colour in his cheeks.
Aubrey shook his head, preparing a smile of quiet, grateful dissent to disarm the American. 'No — ' he began.
'Send me in.'
'Impossible, Mitchell — quite impossible…' He essayed the smile. It appeared to have no effect. Thorne had put down his paperback, and was sitting up against the pillows like an interested invalid. Aubrey sensed that Curtin, beside him, was divided in his opinion.
'Send me in.'
'I cannot risk
'So now I'm valuable?'
'You always were.'
'I doubt it. Send me in the Harrier. Thorne can fly it — I'll fly it if you want to cut down on possible waste… if I can't get that airplane out of there before the Russians, then I come back in the Harrier… look, Aubrey. I can
'The senior engineering officer is quite capable of doing — '
'The hell with you, Aubrey!' His fist banged savagely on the table. The paperweight on the sheaf of signals jumped to one side. Gant looked at his watch. 'You've got less than two hours to decide. I can be on-site in five or six minutes from take-off. That gives me twenty minutes, maybe more, before the Russians can even move. Tell them to get the airplane ready — find out if they can get it ready. Tell them I'm coming.'
'If they wait, they'll have no time to dismantle — '
'Is that what you want from this — bits and pieces? Is that what anyone wants? Washington? London? They want the airplane. They want the balls that comes from pulling this thing off. They don't want bits and pieces, they want the whole damn thing!'
'I just can't risk it-'
'You try. You'll find it easier than you think. It isn't your neck. Ask them if the airplane will be ready. Tell them I'm coming.'
'It's no more than a machine, Mitchell.'
'It always was. It's too late to remember that now.' He stared into Aubrey's eyes, and lowered his voice. 'Baranovich, Fenton, Semelovsky, Kreshin, Pavel — and Anna,' he whispered.
Aubrey's face whitened. From the corner of his eye, he saw Curtin's quick gesture to silence Gant. Gant's face remained unmoved.
'How dare you…' Aubrey hissed.
'Do it, Aubrey. Give the word. You said it — we're outside your precious rock pool. Give the word. Get that airplane ready for me to fly.'
Aubrey stared into Gant's eyes for a long time. Then, abruptly, he turned on his heel and snapped at the radio operator. 'Get 'Fisherman',' he said. 'I want an updated report on the repairs. At once!'
'I'm afraid, Comrade Chairman, that we have to assume that your reconnaissance party was surprised and overcome. Which means, in simple terms, that they know that we know. We are each equally aware of the other.' Vladimirov buttoned his greatcoat and descended the steps of the Palace of Congresses. Andropov, in a well-cut woollen overcoat made in Italy, walked beside him. 'It's hard to grasp what the weather must be like up there,' Vladimirov added, deflecting the conversation.
'Mm?' Andropov murmured, watching the placement of his feet; his expensive shoes were protected by galoshes. Frozen snow crunched beneath Vladimirov's boots. Andropov looked up at the general. 'What did you say?'
'The weather-in Lapland,' Vladimirov murmured impatiently. He was angry with Andropov, though relieved to escape the claustrophobia of that glassed-in, underground tunnel of a control room for at least a few minutes.
'Oh, yes.'
Andropov's mind reached into the political future, towards failure, while his own thoughts anticipated at least a qualified success. The capture or death of the reconnaisance party was of little importance now. The weather conditions prevailing at the lake and along the border, controlled everything; defined action, timetabled events.
The strategy, the tactics, did not satisfy, even interest Andropov. Already, he was attempting to anticipate how anything other than complete success might be used against him, used to thwart his ambitions within the Politburo and beyond it. For Andropov, the weather, more than a limitation, was a prison, a promise of failure.
'The weather-window we are expecting in — less than two hours — ' Vladimirov pulled down his sleeve over his gold watch ' — will reach the forward units of the Independent Airborne Force approximately thirty-two minutes after it reaches the lake. With luck, helicopters can be airborne twenty-six or seven minutes after the weather- window reaches the lake. At top speed, their flying time in the conditions would be — no more than twenty minutes.' He raised his gloved hands, as if to appreciate the windy blue sky, the swiftly moving high clouds, the raw, clean air. Or the massive, crowding buildings of the Kremlin around them as they walked the concrete paths. 'That means they will have less than forty-five minutes of better weather before we arrive — '
'Forty-five minutes,' Andropov repeated, deep in thought.
'Gant is not on-site, he can't be. Nothing can get in or out. Probably, he is in Kirkenes — coded signals traffic suggests Aubrey is there, some kind of temporary control centre, I imagine. Gant may take as long as fifteen minutes by helicopter or aircraft to arrive. That leaves thirty minutes or less. The MiG-31 cannot be ready for him
