Winter Hawk

droplets. The force of the downdraft thrust at him like a hand.

He was perhaps fifteen yards from the entrance. He glanced to his left, down the length of the tunnel. He was «two miles from the border. He could see no blob or even prick of light — the tunnel must curve in its passage under the mountains as it followed the course of the river. He must run.

The MiL's cabin door was open. The wheels of the helicopter were no more than feet above the rails. Shapes dropped quickly. Gant felt the gravel under his feet shivering as at the first tremors of an earthquake. Three of them, and more coming behind, down the cliffs or up the road. Then, above the din, a voice bellowed through the distortion of a loudspeaker.

'You can't escape, Major — we know what you have. There's no way you can get out of here.'

The first of the men had entered the tunnel, and was clearly silhouetted. He restrained the curl of his finger on the rifle's trigger. He fumbled instead for the kit bag, tugging open its drawn-tight neck, and pulled something out. It was the right shape, what he wanted. The first soldier moved cautiously closer, the MiL's nose snuffled with what seemed an increased appetite. Flashlights flicked on, weak fireworks beside the glare of the lamp.

Lamp, infrared, low-light TV—

He raised the flare pistol from the kit bag and fired, turning his head away, clenching his eyelids shut. The cartridge struck the opposite wall of the tunnel, exploding against the brickwork, hissing like a cauldron before it glared brighter than the lamp. Smoke made him cough, the light was white beyond his eyelids, even though he had crooked his arm across his eyes. The noise of the rotors was distanced by the adrenaline that surged through his body.

Run, run—

He stumbled, still not daring to open his eyes, his left hand guiding him by scraping along the tunnel, so that the rope burns began to pain him once more. Fear for his ankles, his footing, grew in his mind as he stumbled on. The glare was still evident, even through his eyelids. The loudspeaker bellowed. He felt lightheaded. He was becoming careless of his footing. He opened his eyes into slits. Light, still lurid on the wall, hurt the backs of his eyes.

Wild shooting behind him. He heard no ricochets. He paused. Watched his shadow dying on the rock. Far ahead of him, he could see a tiny speck of daylight. The tunnel was clear and the exit was at least half a mile away. The light from the flare was dying now. Within seconds, their retinas and infrared would recover. He breathed in deeply and thrust the flare pistol back into the kit bag. The Mil was out of sight around the bend of the tunnel. His heart was large and painful in his chest as he ran on. He could hear his own footsteps echoing off the walls, as if pursuing him. The noise of the rotors had almost gone now.

The patch of daylight, recognizable now as the mouth of the tunnel, darkened. Was filled by something. Cutting off his escape.

'Yes, comrade General, all systems are functioning properly.'

'When can we cut the links with central control?'

'In ten minutes, comrade General, target acquisition will be completed and we'll be locked on here.'

'Ten minutes… and how long before—?'

Two minutes after the platform is raised to the surface, the transmitter will be aligned and locked on.'

'Twelve minutes. Good. You have my order to proceed with Lightning—to its conclusion.'

'Very good, comrade General Rodin. Countdown at — eleven minutes, fifty seconds — mark and counting.'

'In the tunnel? How can they be sure?'

'Mr. President, we're monitoring their radio traffic. It's being screamed all over their Tac channel.'

'How many troops do they have on the ground — close to him?'

'Maybe as many as a dozen spetsnaz units in the immediate area — a lot more in reserve. A dozen or so gunships, and there are whole convoys of troop trucks on the main highway.'

'Then he has to have something decisive.'

'That's our thinking, Mr. President.'

'Then we have to get him out.'

'I don't think we can.'

'Listen to me. The Turkish government has pushed army units right up to the border. They have air cover, all we asked for. The price we're having to pay doesn't matter. The Turks have been co operative. Now we have to do more than they're doing.'

'Mr. President, we can't afford an incident, not now, not today.'

'Dick, all of you — we can't afford not to have an incident!'

'What do you want, Mr. President?'

'Small, fast, light helicopters. How many do we have in the area — us, not the Turks?'

'I'd have to check that, Mr. — v

'Then do it!'

'Mr. President — John, have you thought of—?'

'Consequences, Dick? Yes, I've thought of very little else. I can assure you on that. But understand me, Dick — Gant is alone. We thought we'd lost him when he went underground. He's still alive, and their efforts to make sure he doesn't stay that way means he has something that could help us get out from under. I can't afford to lose that.'

'He's in the tunnel — they're stopping the trains. They 11 go in after him even if they haven't already done so. Sir, what can helicopters do for him?'

'I don't know. Christ Almighty, Dick, I'm supposed to be the President of the United States. That ought to count for something— it obliges me to try!'

'They'll shoot anything down that's carrying the stars and stripes — maybe anything with a red cross on it, for all I know. They're down to the wire on this, just as we are, sir. John, think about it, please.'

'The guy's a mile and a half from the border, Dick. What's to think about?'

'The next war?'

'Starting from this? If we don't have what Gant has, then we'll lose the next war!'

'What chance do they have of finding him?'

'How the hell would I know, Dick?'

'You'll be killing anyone you send into that — that hornet's nest over there.'

'Dick, I know that. I don't need reminding.'

'What about the Turks?'

'Who's to know? They'll back up anyone coming back across. While they're protesting about what we're doing, Gant will either be back here — or he won't.'

'Mr. President, sir—'

'What is it?'

'We have two small Hughes Defender helicopters, observing along that stretch of the border. They could be in the area of that tunnel in — two minutes, maximum. So Fm guaranteed. From the time you give a direct order for them to cross, Mr. President.'

'John—'

'Thank you. Look, Dick, the Turks are already screaming at the Soviets here in Geneva and in Moscow about the provocative troop movements' on the Armenian border. If the Defenders can find him, it might work.'

'John, think about this, please.'

'The time for thinking is over. General — give them the order to go in. Give them anything they need, but get them in!'

Tyuratam was little more than a smudge to the southeast. Priabin looked back along the narrow, potholed road. It was empty, like the clean and dangerous sky. He slung the rifle across his back, shifting it to comfort, then wrenched the toolbox out of the UAZ with an angry yet purposeless strength. It had taken them twenty minutes to get here, to this God-forsaken place. What would he need? What would he do?

'Come on,' he growled, and began climbing the long, gentle slope in front of them.

The wind strengthened, sighing across empty country. There had been the frozen, rutted tracks of heavy trucks after they had turned off the highway. Did they mean anything? Kedrov scuttled beside him like a dog being