and closed his eyes in appreciation. Though the drink was not up to the standard of his favorite Scottish breakfast tea blend, it was still good. He’d always known that even the coarsest of teas could be coaxed into tasting nice if one prepared its leaves properly and added nothing but hot water to them.
He thought about Sentinel, wondering if he would become the same as him by middle age unless something drastically changed the path of his life. There was so much about the man that Will not only understood but also saw in himself: mistrust of others, a life lived in extremes, a life lived with unrelenting focus, a life lived alone. But Sentinel had something that he did not yet have: an acceptance of that way of life, a realization that there would never be an alternative to his mode of existence.
Will recalled words spoken to him nine years before when an anonymous MI6 officer had asked if he was prepared to go into the Spartan Program.
Before you agree, understand this. There’s no going back. If you survive the Program, everything will be different for you. Your body, your mind, your life. Everything.
He remembered being dragged to the edge of a forest in Scotland after two weeks of imprisonment, sleep deprivation, and torture by MI6 and special forces instructors, prior to which he had been chased by armed trackers and attack dogs over a hundred miles of frozen mountainous terrain. As he was dumped on the ground, an instructor walked quickly up to him, yanked his head up, pointed at the woods, and gave him his next task: “The forest is two miles long and one mile wide. Inside are four very skilled SBS soldiers. They’re armed. You won’t be. You’ve got to find them and render them immobile, but alive. If you exit the forest before doing so, you fail the program. And remember, this is not an artificial test. The men in there have authority to hurt you badly.”
He took another sip of his tea and opened his eyes. Many years before Will had done so, Sentinel would have gone into that forest. He would have moved through the place exhausted, disoriented, desperate to find the men before they found him, but all the while doubting that he had the speed, strength, and skills to beat them. He would have wondered if that day was his last day on Earth, just as he had wondered every other day during the twelve- month Spartan Program.
Like Sentinel, Will had succeeded in that forest. But there was one thing he’d never been able to conquer: a fantasy about a different, normal life. Nine years before, he’d briefly had the opportunity to take that path. He was about to graduate from Cambridge University when one of his professors took him aside and offered him a full scholarship to do a Ph. D. and the chance to become an academic.
“I know how hard it’s been for you, coming here after your experiences in the Legion. I know why you’re quiet, while the other students like the sounds of their own mouths. But you’ve a razor-sharp intellect, and you have the chance now to put it to good use. Stay in Cambridge.”
Will had answered, “I don’t belong here.”
The professor had countered, “So where do you belong? Do you really have a clear idea of where that place is? I suspect you don’t. Be careful, because one day you’ll stop, look around, and realize that you’re totally alone.”
Will knew that day had long since passed for Sentinel. But for a very brief moment, Will had seen real compassion and sadness on Sentinel’s face as the officer recalled the memory of his four dead agents. Will understood. Sentinel’s agents and assets were his kin, a disparate family.
But even though their work was dangerous and their lives isolated, Will was certain that none of them carried the burden that Sentinel did. Will had worked with many courageous and powerful men and women, but Sentinel was in a different league. To have survived so long in deep cover was in itself remarkable, but Sentinel had done so while at the same time building up an intelligence network that was second to none. Will had never met anyone so capable.
He finished his tea, checked his watch, and sighed. He needed to leave, to join forces with a man whom he was probably destined to become. Razin had responded to Sentinel’s message, agreeing to the meeting. Nothing in Razin’s response suggested he was suspicious.
But then again, Razin was a professional operator.
If the three of them did meet within the next twenty-four hours, in all probability at least one of them would end up dead.
Chapter Eight
The sedan drove east across the snow-covered Ukraine, covering four hundred miles, keeping the Black Sea and later the Sea of Azov to its right. Will sat in the back with Sentinel. A young Ukrainian man named Oleksandr was in the driver’s seat. None of the men spoke during the journey.
It was night as the car reached the brightly illuminated industrial port city of Mariupol before traveling northeast for a further 180 miles. After fifteen hours of near-continuous driving since leaving Odessa, stopping only twice to refuel the vehicle, Oleksandr brought the car to a halt on a dimly lit deserted road, turned off its engine and lights, and pointed ahead into darkness. “Russia.”
Sentinel opened a door, stretched, and got out. Will and Oleksandr followed suit, with the Ukrainian moving to the back of the vehicle to open the trunk. Snow fell fast around them. From within a rucksack, Oleksandr withdrew two HS 2000 handguns and spare magazines, then handed the items to the MI6 officers, who secreted the pistols and ammunition in their jackets.
The driver pulled up the collar of his thick coat and thrust his hands into his pockets. Light from an adjacent streetlamp showed that the man looked exhausted and cold. He glanced at Will. “Have you done this crossing before?”
“He hasn’t.” Sentinel looked in the direction of Russia.
Oleksandr nodded. “Normally it’s easy. There’re no barriers, just open fields covering the border, and the Ukrainian State Border Guard Service has been undermanned and underequipped to cover the thousands of miles of its borders. They’ve averaged one guard per twenty miles. On the other side, the Russians have faced the same problem.” He looked at Sentinel. “Things have changed. The Russians and Ukrainians have recently strengthened their border, reinforced their guards, and equipped them with thermal and infrared surveillance and detection technology. They’re worried about illegal immigrants coming over the border from Russia.” Reaching back into the trunk of the car, he withdrew two IR/TG-7 thermal goggles with head straps. “These should help. But you’ll still have to be very careful.”
Sentinel looked at Oleksandr. “After five miles, pull over somewhere quiet and get some sleep for a few hours. Wait for us there.”
He nodded, rubbing his fatigued face. “Sure, boss.”
Sentinel gave a sympathetic smile while gripping the young Ukrainian’s shoulder. “Give my regards to your brother and uncle, and tell your mother that I will give her more cash for her husband’s funeral when I’m back.”
Oleksandr bristled. “My father would have wanted to be here with you now.” He spat on the ground. “Fucking FSB. They should’ve arrested him when they trapped him in Moscow, not shot him like a dog.”
Sentinel nodded slowly. “I was privileged to work with him.”
“Bless you, boss.” Oleksandr sighed, reached into a jacket pocket, and withdrew a small slim metal case. “Please give this to Polina. Twenty cigarettes, hand-rolled by my mother, containing her favorite sun-cured Ottoman tobacco.” He gave the case to Sentinel. “We didn’t have time to make more.”
Sentinel secreted it within an inner jacket pocket. “She’ll be very grateful.”
Oleksandr wrapped his arms over his chest and glanced toward Russia. “Come home safely, boss.”
“The border’s five miles away; we’ve got to get there while it’s still dark. Let’s go.”
W ill strapped his thermal goggles onto his head and looked around. Even though there were no light sources, his TG-7 gave him perfect black-and-white vision of everything up to a range of three hundred yards. He and Sentinel were prone on the ground; the flat, open fields before them held no trees or other large features. It was still snowing. They were a mile from the border.
They stayed like that for ten minutes; then Sentinel slowly rose to a crouch, gripped his handgun, and moved quickly forward. After three hundred feet he stopped, dropped to the ground, and waited before beckoning to Will. Will moved fast but kept low, holding his gun ready to shoot. He reached Sentinel, lay flat on the ground next to
