Duncan swung back to the window.
Their team had no hope of victory against such odds.
Instead, the plan was a simple one.
Buy as much time with their lives as possible.
Duncan glanced to the dark waters. At this moment, the fate of the world depended on how fast Jada could swim.
31
November 20, 9:44 A.M. IRKST
Olkhon Island, Russia
Jada knew she would not make it.
Fear, cold, and exhaustion had taxed her to her limit. The drag of the pack across her shoulders further hindered her, feeling like a leaden weight, compromising the reach of each stroke. But that was not her worst problem.
A trail of blood wafted behind her, streaming with each pull. She had sliced her right arm to the bone on a jagged piece of blasted metal as she had exited the bus. Heat and strength sapped out of her body with every yard gained, flowing like a crimson flag behind her. She fought to keep going, as pain became numbness.
She had to kick harder as her right arm weakened.
Her lungs screamed for air.
The way became darker—but not because she fled the sunlight behind her for the tunnel. Instead, her vision squeezed, swimming with shadows.
Distantly ahead, she could make out a brighter pool of water, where a flashlight rested next to the hole in the ice, awaiting her arrival, along with warm clothes.
Never make it . . .
Proving this, her pace slowed, her right arm useless now, dragging alongside her. She flutter-kicked, desperate, but despairing.
A rumble shook through the water to her ears.
She glanced up to see a bright light sweep past her across the translucent ice, heading for the mouth of the tunnel behind her.
She reached and placed her palm against the ice.
Help me . . .
But they swept away, abandoning her.
9:45 A.M.
Gray raced his ATV toward the morning sunlight. Monk rode shotgun behind him, while Kowalski trailed on the second vehicle. Ahead, the mouth of the tunnel grew larger. He spotted figures sheltering to the left and right.
Koreans, Duncan had said—but Gray knew they were, in fact, North Koreans.
How had they found them? Fear for Seichan, for Rachel, fired his blood. Was that why the women had not shown up by now? Had they been captured? He remembered the strained and brief conversation with Seichan.
They must have held her at gunpoint.
Still, that offered one hope.
The North Koreans clearly wanted to capture him and Kowalski and would likely try to take them alive.
At least, initially.
Gray was under no such compunction.
He heard the first pops from Duncan’s SIG Sauer.
With the enemy’s attention focused on the mouth of the tunnel and the approaching roar of the ATVs, Duncan fired at the Koreans’ rear flank, catching them off guard.
Gray heard screams of shock and surprise at the sudden assault from an unexpected direction. Monk rose from behind and shot over Gray’s shoulder, adding to the confusion.
With a final gun of his engine, he took advantage of the momentary chaos as the enemy was routed, perplexed and unsure how to respond to a battle on two fronts.
A soldier ran into view, framed in the tunnel opening, pointing a rifle.
Monk dropped him with a single shot.
Gray sped to the left of the body, Kowalski to the right.
They spun out into the sunlight, letting go of their handles, spinning their bikes, pistols up and firing in all directions. Duncan shoved open the rear door of the bus, popping into view, firing from on high.
Soldiers in winter camouflage dropped to the ice—either felled or seeking to make themselves less of a target for the barrage.
But Gray knew his team was outgunned and outnumbered. At any moment, the tide would turn against them. Rounds already began to chase their skidding bikes, splintering the ice around them.
They had only one goal here: buy time.
He had warned Vigor to stay in the vault, to await Jada’s arrival, to help her with whatever she needed. The monsignor had agreed, not looking too well anyway.
With that goal in mind, Gray fired and fired, urging Jada to hurry.
9:46 A.M.
Jada struggled for that distant pool of light, kicking and clawing with her one good arm. She heard the gunshots behind her, as the others cast aside their lives for her goal. Such a sacrifice kept her throat tight, fighting the reflex to breathe, though her lungs burned. The rest of her body was ice, growing heavier, more leaden.
Then something bumped her body and swept past, startling a gasp of bubbles from her lips. It was a brown mother seal, sleek and supple in the water. With a twist and roll, it swung back to her and circled smoothly around her waist, brushing against her, then back forward, hovering with invitation.
Through the agony of ice and fire, she understood.
Reaching out with her good arm, she grabbed that tail. At her touch, the seal burst forward—whether startled or purposefully. It shot toward the hole inside the cavern, the closest breath of fresh air, dragging Jada along.
Willing all her strength into her fingertips, she held tight.
In seconds, they reached that bright pool of light and burst upward. Breaking the surface, Jada gasped, sucking air. The seal bobbed beside her, its brown eyes shining at her, as if to see if she were okay. Catching her breath, Jada took a moment to wonder at the sight. Was it just maternal instinct in the seal, seeking to aid an injured fellow mammal? Or was it truly the spirit of the island as Temur had said, coming to her rescue.
Either way, Jada silently thanked her. The seal nudged its nose a few times in the air, then dove away.
Jada swam to the edge, where Gray had left a rope hanging to help her pull out of the water and up the icy chute. Once up top, she crawled on her hands and knees, blood running down her arm and leaving crimson handprints.
She reached a set of blankets and rubbed herself dry. There were clothes there, too, but she ignored them, knowing she didn’t have time to fully dress. Instead, she dropped her pack, pulled on the parka, and zipped it up.
Shaking all over, she slung her pack over her shoulder and stepped into a climbing harness. She pulled it up bare legs and secured it.
She stumbled toward the frozen waterfall, having a hard time controlling her limbs. Once at the base, she stared up the length of rope ascending the sheer cliff of ice.
Grabbing hold, she immediately recognized the futility. She could barely feel her fingers. Her strength continued to leave her with every quake of her limbs.
But gunfire echoed to her.
Her friends were not giving up.
I cannot give up.
Knowing she had only ten minutes left, she pulled herself up to the first piton, then the next. Renewed determination drove her upward, but strength of will was not the same as strength of limb.