Other than the hit on the thermal imaging camera near Tolkmicko, they’d come up with nothing. There was no trace of the Russians. They had moved on, and all available emergency units were being called to Gdánsk. They’d diverted the missile, but it had struck the fuel tanks at the port, setting off an explosion and starting a chain reaction fire. The northern port and inner port were both in flames. Two tankers had been at the docks, along with a ferry and a cruise ship. The tankers had exploded, and the passenger ships were on fire. The number of casualties was still unknown, and the flames were spreading toward the city.
“We’ve been ordered to return to Gdánsk,” Adamski said.
“We can’t go back. Not yet. What we have to do is find the Russians.” They were parked on the side of the road just outside of town. They were so close. “We need to get the people who did this, so we can stop them from doing it again. If they get across the border with that weapon, this is only the start.”
“How do you propose we stop them? We can’t even find them.”
“There has to be a way.” Jordan pulled up a map of Poland on her phone. “What if we map the border? How many roads cross into Russia from Poland?”
“Three.”
“What about old crossings?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“During World War II, all this land belonged to Prussia. They must have had roads interconnecting the towns with Königsberg, now Kaliningrad.”
“Sure, but they haven’t been used since the war.”
“Are there any parts of the border that are less protected?”
“What are you implying? Our border is secure. We have been fortifying ever since Putin singled out Poland as an enemy.” His contempt for the Russian president was palpable. “To protect ourselves, we installed CCTV towers along the entire 232 kilometers, and we fly regular air patrols.”
“That’s good,” she said. “It keeps the Russians out, but does it stop them from crossing the other way?”
That silenced him.
“Heading east puts them north of the Gronowo border check. Have we had Ratchet and the team fly the border from Gronowo to the Lagoon?”
Adamski shrugged. “Ratchet, check the border to the north. Look for old crossings.”
While they waited for the team to report, Adamski monitored the activity in Gdánsk via the radio, and Jordan tried calling Lory again. Still no casualty reports. Still no answer.
“There’s one,” Davis said, his voice clear through the comm. “It looks like an old service or logging road.”
Jordan perked up and depressed her transmitter. “Where?”
“Just north of Rusy,” Ratchet said. He gave them the coordinates, and Adamski plugged them into the GPS. The monitor showed a thirty-two-kilometer drive, about forty-three minutes away. That would put them there just before dusk.
“We’re going to head your way,” said Avatar.
“Copy that, but we’re running low on fuel.”
“Gas up at the border crossing, then rendezvous with us in the north.”
Forty minutes later, they pulled into the small town of Rusy, a cluster of seven or eight red-roofed houses with barns. Adamski pulled over to talk to a farmer walking on the side of the road. The conversation was animated, then Adamski thanked the man and rolled up the window.
“They came through about two hours ago,” he said. “They’re probably across the border by now.”
“I don’t think so,” Jordan said. “Look at the picture.” It showed an aerial of Rusy, the forests and the road crossing the border. “The GROM helicopter was patrolling, and the Russians must know about the CCTV towers. They wouldn’t want photos of themselves circulating, identifying them as terrorists. They would lay low and wait for dark. CCTV cameras are only good in daylight.”
“Our CCTV cameras all have night vision capabilities.”
“Even so, they require some light. Until the moon rises, if the Russians drive without headlights, it will be incredibly dark out here.”
Adamski drove cautiously around the next curve. The trees were thick on each side, while ahead of them farm fields stretched to another copse of birch and oak. The light had faded. In the middle of the fields, two vehicles and a truck lumbered toward the forest on the opposite side.
Adamski slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “There’s no way we can catch them. Ratchet, this is Avatar. How close are you to being fueled?”
“Another ten minutes.”
“Hurry. We’ve found them, and they’re making a break for the border.”
Adamski started forward, but Jordan reached out and put her hand on his arm.
“Turn right.”
Adamski braked to a stop. “The road crosses here and doubles back along the tree line on the other side.”
“True, but there are access roads that run along the fields.” She showed him the map. “I’ll bet there’s also a maintenance road that runs alongside the border.”
Adamski sat at the intersection. “Why wouldn’t they take the shorter route?”
“The longer they remain out of sight, the closer they can get to the homeland. Crossing the fields where they did, at dusk, no one but a farmer or two would have seen them. The good news is it forces them to double back along the tree line. That will take time. We can beat them to the crossing.”
Adamski nodded and juiced the accelerator. Jordan felt a surge of excitement. She had no idea what was happening back in Gdánsk or whether Lory, Zhen, and the ambassador were safe, but they had a chance to stop the Russians.
“Go fast,” she said.
Adamski wrestled the Land Rover down the path alongside the field. It bucked over rows left by combines, tracked into the ruts, and slid sideways when the tires gripped the road again. Turning left, he started down the eastern edge of the fields, and Jordan looked to see what progress the Russians were making. They were still in sight.
“What’s our play?” Adamski asked.
Jordan looked across at him. “You don’t have any ideas? I figured you’ve led missions like this before.”
“We’re two against a minimum of three, and we know they have weapons.”
Jordan estimated the number of Russians higher. There were four men involved in the ambush and at least one person who had remained with the truck. Not to mention they’d had help. More likely they were talking about five to seven armed men. “Do we have any weapons?”
“There are two semiautomatic rifles in the back, and I have my Glock.”
Jordan had her 9-mil.
They beat the Russians to the intersection. Adamski parked the truck sideways across the road, making it impossible for another vehicle to pass. He handed Jordan a rifle and took one for himself.
“Let’s split up and move down the tree line on each side,” Adamski said, stuffing ammo into his pockets. They came up with a makeshift plan, hoping that they wouldn’t have to implement it before the helicopter came back. “Whatever you do, don’t shoot me.”
Jordan grabbed a couple of extra magazines and didn’t bother to tell him about her sharpshooter medal. In a situation like this, it wasn’t apt to matter.
“Ratchet, what is your ETA?”
“We’re four minutes out.”
Jordan peered down the road and saw the three vehicles moving toward them. They didn’t have four minutes. They’d be lucky to have two. She waited for the truck to pull abreast of her hiding place in the woods. Then, executing the plan, she shot out the truck tires on her side and took out the tires on the trailing vehicle before one of the Russians opened fire.
They’d caught the Russians unprepared, but it didn’t take them long to regroup. Jordan shot the first man out of the truck. He had a weapon in his hand, which meant he had the potential to kill her. Four men climbed out of each SUV.
“Barkov is down,” a man yelled. “You two and you, with me. Flank the shooter. Take him out.”
Jordan smiled grimly. This is where she had the advantage. She spoke Russian and had understood every word. Quietly she slipped back into the trees, far enough that one of the men circled around in front of her. She hit him hard on the back of his head between his ear and his spine with the butt of her weapon. He fell at her feet, and she took his rifle. That was two down.
She heard gunfire and wondered how Adamski was faring. Then she heard the whoop of the chopper blades. The reinforcements were here.
The chopper fired a rocket on the truck, exploding it into the air. Through the trees, she watched the gun come apart, then the flash of an RPG bathed the roadway in red. She could see Ratchet’s face as he turned the chopper, but he wasn’t quick enough. The RPG caught the tail rotor. He immediately powered forward and put the chopper in autorotation. Before he reached the ground, the man holding the RPG reloaded. Jordan took him out and in the process gave away her position.
Spinning toward the men coming in from both sides, she shot one before the other grabbed her gun and used it to throw her. She hit the tree hard. He raised his weapon to shoot, and she ducked sideways. The semiautomatic pummeled the bark near her head. She forced herself to stay completely still. She wanted to look and see if the helicopter had landed safely. She hadn’t heard a crash or felt the earth shake. Maybe they were okay.
The shooter emptied his magazine, and she heard him reload and start forward. By the sound of his walk, she could tell he thought she was dead. Without a sound, she slipped her 9-mil out of its holster. Her only chance was to shoot him before he found her pressed up against the tree. She counted to three, spun into his path, and shot him in the chest.
She heard the staccato of his gun as he doubled over, and then he fell backward and hit the ground hard. The gun bounced out of his grasp, and she kicked it away, holding her gun on the man.
He looked up and laughed, blood staining his teeth. “DSS Agent Raisa Jordan, I should have known.”
“How do you know who I am?”
“You’re infamous. I told the pakhan you were trouble.” It was a Russian term for the head of a bratva, mafia. That supported Zhen’s account of Russian mafia at the gun sale in China. But the fact that he knew her name gave her the chills. She didn’t recognize this man.
His head lolled to the side, and Jordan shook him with her foot. “Who is the pakhan?”
“Among other things, he sent me to retrieve the letter.”
A light dawned. He was one of the men who had attacked the ambulance. She nudged him again with her foot. “Stay with me. What did you do with the letter?”
He laughed harder and then coughed, spitting more blood. “It’s useless, you know. You haven’t changed anything.”
“Changed what?” Jordan squatted near his head. “What are you talking about?”
But he was gone.
Looking up, she saw the men climbing out of the damaged helicopter. Davis was the last one out. She watched him unfold his tall thin frame from the doorway and scan the crowd. When his eyes landed on her, he smiled. Thank God, he was okay.
Before anyone came near her, she checked the pockets of the dead man for the envelope. She found it in his inside pocket, the same pocket where McClasky had carried it. It was open, and she pulled out the paper inside. All that was written on it was a jumble of letters, numbers, and characters. pUrpl3*para5oL.
Was it a password? Maybe a code? Had this man shared it with anyone?
Davis jogged toward her. Standing up, she folded the letter and stuffed it into her back pocket, and then his arms were around her and he was hugging her tightly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She pressed her cheek to his chest and listened to his heartbeat. “Better now.”