Will paled. “Is this really what you want? Total war?”
Sentinel glanced at the lodge before looking back at Will. “There’s nothing else I need now. Not even my life.”
He took a step toward Will.
Will moved a finger along the trigger. “Stay where you are.”
Sentinel took another step toward him.
“Stop moving!”
Sentinel came closer. “If you let me get right up to you, I will try to disarm you.”
More sweat poured down Will’s body. His head throbbed. “You’ll be held accountable, but I don’t want to kill you.”
Sentinel smiled. “My work is complete.” His smile vanished. “And now it’s over.” He walked quickly forward.
In that moment, Will felt overwhelming anger. He thought he’d understood the man; he had respected him, believed that he loved his Russian assets and agents, and believed that Sentinel stood for all that was good. But the man coming toward him now was someone else altogether. He was a man who was prepared to see millions of lives lost in order to satiate his desire for revenge against those who had hurt him and let him down many years before. He was a man who had unleashed Razin to dismember, burn, and decapitate brave people.
But as he pulled the trigger, his anger was replaced by sorrow and pity. At some point, a part of Sentinel’s mind had been broken. It should never have come to that. The enormous burden he had carried for all of his adult life had become too much for even a man of his strength. Powerful leaders in the West should have pulled him out of his deep-cover role before it destroyed him. But they’d done nothing, only carried on letting him take enormous personal risks until he was finally betrayed.
The gun lifted a little as the bullet left the barrel, traveled across the few feet of air, and struck Sentinel in the abdomen. The man’s eyes widened, his knees buckled, and he slowly fell to the ground until he was kneeling on snow.
He placed a hand over the wound, glanced at the blood covering it, and looked at Will. “The bullet’s torn through my liver. I’ll be dead in a few minutes. But it would have been quicker to just shoot me in the brain.”
Will lowered his gun, walked toward him, and asked, “Where is the bomb?”
Sentinel said nothing.
“You’re going to die. But before you do, you have the chance to make this right.”
Sentinel smiled. “There’ll be no dying confession.”
Will stared at him. He thought about how Sentinel had originally intended to use Svelte. A realization struck him. “The Russians know about the submarines. They’ll send an interceptor to act as a deterrent, probably one of their new stealth destroyers. That’s where the bomb is! It’s on the Russian boat.”
Sentinel’s smile vanished, but still he was silent.
“I think Razin was waiting to find out which vessel was given orders to prepare to sail. Then he planted the device.” His heart raced. “I’m right, I know I am.”
Sentinel lowered his head; his breathing was fast.
Will took a step toward him. “I need to know why you stopped me from falling into the chasm.”
Sentinel raised his head, looked at the mountains, and smiled. Seemingly to himself, he whispered, “This is a good place to die.” Staring at Will, he nodded slowly. “In the lodge, there’s a detonator. It will explode the mines and clear a path for you on the track beneath us. At the back of the lodge is a car and spare fuel. You can escape here unharmed and try to leave Russia.” Blood was pouring over his pants and onto the snow around him. He looked back at the mountains. “I kept you alive to remind myself of the man that I once was. It wasn’t always a lie. Once, I truly did believe in the work that I did. I”-he coughed blood-“really did love my agents.”
Will crouched down in front of him. Quietly he said, “You can become that man again. I give you my word that nobody, nobody need ever know what you did. I can have you buried in England with full honors. And I can have a gold plaque put on your coffin that has the word SPARTAN engraved on it. I promise you that I can do that. In return, nod once if the bomb’s on the interceptor.”
Sentinel stared at him. Eventually he said, “You’d do that?”
“I would.”
The men were motionless.
The wind vanished.
Everything stopped.
Sentinel nodded once.
Then he closed his eyes, let out one last breath, lowered his head, and died.
Chapter Forty-three
Will walked down the Learjet’s steps and stood on RAF Brize Norton’s runway. The rain was heavy, but Will didn’t care and let it wash over his face. Even though he felt more tired than he’d ever been in his life, he’d been unable to sleep during the flight from Moscow to England. He looked around; the normally busy military airport was virtually empty of other aircraft. He wondered if it had been like that when Sentinel had arrived here after his release from the Lubyanka prison.
Three limousines were close to the jet. Plain-clothed special forces men were in the front and rear cars. Two men were standing outside the central vehicle. They were dressed in suits and overcoats. Umbrellas shielded their faces.
Will walked slowly to them.
They lifted their umbrellas a little.
Alistair looked at him. “Roger, Laith, Markov, and Vitali have been released. The Russians have been reinstated into their Spetsnaz unit.”
“And our boys are in the hospital in the States.” Patrick’s expression was somber. “They were beaten up pretty badly, but they’ll recover.”
Will rubbed rainwater off his face. “Next time I’m in D.C., I’d like to have a chat with the president and some of his admirals about their decision not to turn the submarines around. I’d like to impress upon them the future need to always do what I fucking say.”
“It all worked out for the best.”
Patrick agreed. “A superb result for both America and Russia.”
Alistair moved closer, his look one of concern. “Have you got anyone you can go to?”
Will ignored the question. People were speaking behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. Four men were unloading a coffin.
Sentinel had finally been pulled out of the field. He was home and would be buried with full honors. Will had kept his word and hadn’t told a soul about what had really happened, not even Alistair and Patrick.
Will returned his gaze to the coheads. “One day it will be me coming home in a box.”
Chapter Forty-four
Will unlocked his front door and entered his apartment. Stepping over piles of junk mail, he walked through the corridor and entered the open-plan lounge-kitchen area. Placing his grocery bag and newspaper onto the table, he moved through the minimalist room, filled the kettle, and flicked it on. He returned to the table, sat down, and looked at the front page of the newspaper.
The headline story was the same story every other British newspaper was carrying today. Moreover, most of the world’s media were giving it their top slot. It told of a remarkable humanitarian action. A Russian naval destroyer had become severely damaged in the Barents Sea to the extent that it needed to be evacuated of all personnel. No Russian ships had been close enough to reach the destroyer before it sank, but three U.S. Ohio
