DOMODEDOVO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, MOSCOW —29 SEPTEMBER

The G4 had to be deiced again.

That took another twenty minutes. The temperature was dropping and visibility was poor and worsening with the driving snow. Then Oleg’s text came in, and everything changed.

“It’s him,” Marcus said, staring at the screen of the mobile phone.

“And?” Morris asked, double-checking the gauges on the console one more time.

“He’s on his way.”

Morris looked up at her partner. She was still angry with him. He could only imagine what she’d be like if she knew the whole story.

“You’d better go,” she said. “I’ll make sure everything’s ready.”

“Thanks,” he said to her, “for everything.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet, Ryker. Put on your headset and don’t get caught.”

She handed him a whisper mic and an earpiece, which he put on at once. She did the same. They tested them with a few sentences each. Then Marcus chambered a round in his pistol, put the gun in the holster under his jacket, and unlocked the cockpit door. He opened the cabin door and lowered the steps, and he was off.

Marcus headed straight across the tarmac for the airport security car the agents had left him. Only then did he remember that the car hadn’t been brushed off since they’d boarded the plane. It took several minutes to wipe everything down, especially the headlights, and several more to chip a layer of ice off the driver’s-side lock. It took longer for the engine to turn over and warm up. But once he had it running, he jacked up the heat and the windshield wipers and unzipped the canvas bag on the passenger-side floor.

“Operations to Post One, Operations to Post One, come in, over.”

“Post One, copy, over,” Special Agent Pavel Kovalev replied.

“We have a problem,” said the watch officer in the operations command post located in the basement of the presidential palace. “Well, a possible problem.”

“Roger that, Ops. What’s wrong?”

“I just noticed that the drapes in the president’s study are drawn.”

“And?”

“Well, sir, I’ve never seen that done in the three years I’ve been doing this job,” said the watch officer. “The drapes are supposed to remain open at all times so we can keep an eye on the president and make sure everything’s all right.”

“They’re having a very private discussion, Ops,” Kovalev replied. “The president doesn’t want any disturbances or distractions until he leaves for the Kremlin.”

“Affirmative, Post One, but the drapes are supposed to remain open for his protection.”

“Are you saying there’s a problem?”

“That’s just it, sir —how would I know?”

“What was happening inside the study before the drapes were closed?”

“We’re reracking that video now. The problem is with all the snow, the condensation on the window, and the glare, the images aren’t clear. Everything’s hazy.”

“Switch to thermal.”

“Doing that now.”

“And?”

There was a long pause —too long for Kovalev.

“What is it, Ops?” he pressed. “What can you see?”

“CODE RED, CODE RED!” shouted the watch officer, the horror in his voice palpable, broadcasting on the emergency frequency for every agent in the compound to hear. “GO IN NOW —I REPEAT —GO IN NOW!”

The submachine gun was loaded and instantly accessible.

Relieved, Marcus flipped on the orange flashing safety light on the roof and began to proceed toward his target.

The airport maintenance team was doing a decent job keeping the runways plowed. This was Moscow, after all. They had plenty of experience with snow. Still, for whatever reason, the access lanes for baggage carts, fuel trucks, and other vehicles like his were taking longer. Fishtailing his way across the airport grounds, Marcus worried he might hit something or someone in the rapidly dropping visibility.

When he finally reached the helipad, it was empty. A ground crew was waiting. That was a hopeful sign, suggesting something was inbound. But there was no chopper visible, and Marcus’s stomach tightened. He began counting to fifty but heard the roar. Then he saw it, descending rapidly from the thick cloud cover amid a swirling, billowing spray of snow and ice.

Marcus positioned the security car as close to the helipad as he safely could so Oleg wouldn’t have to be exposed to the elements for a single second longer than necessary. He reached over and unlocked the passenger door. Then he stepped out of the car and into the bitter, whipping winds. As the chopper door opened, Marcus came around the car and stood by the passenger door, ready to open it the moment Oleg emerged. But Oleg didn’t emerge. Not right away and not for several minutes.

“We may have a problem,” he radioed Morris.

“What is it?”

“The chopper door is open, but the Raven has not emerged.”

“How long?”

“Too long. I’m going to check it out.”

“Copy that. What do you need from me?”

“Just make sure we’re ready to get off the ground the second we get back.”

Marcus strode to the door of the chopper, unbuttoning his overcoat as he did to make it easier to grab his pistol if he had to.

He had to.

Just before he reached the door, a gun went off inside the helicopter, blowing out a window. Marcus heard a woman screaming and a fight break out on board. Gun drawn, he raced up the steps only to find the copilot and Oleg wrestling in the tight confines of the cabin. Marcus didn’t think twice. He double-tapped the copilot, then pivoted and double-tapped the pilot. A woman, wrapped in a black cashmere coat and furs, was screaming hysterically. Marcus had never seen her before, but she posed no threat. He grabbed Oleg by the collar and hauled him off the chopper without saying a word. Throwing him in the backseat of the waiting car, Marcus slammed the door shut, then got behind the wheel and peeled off across the tarmac.

“They know! They know!” Oleg began yelling the second they were alone. “I don’t know how, but they know!”