“But it’s doable.”
“NATO’s combined naval strength dwarfs Russia’s. The question would be finding them and getting into position. Also, I assume that when they figure out what we’re doing, they’ll hit back hard and make a run for the safety of Russian waters.”
“But if we anticipate that, couldn’t we cut off that retreat?”
“To a large extent, yes.”
“What about it, Irene? If we start sinking Russian ships everywhere we can find them, what would Krupin do?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s risky, but not a direct assault on Russian territory. Certainly it would counter the image of strength and control he’s trying to project.”
“Are we going too far here?” Alexander’s national security advisor said. “What about just releasing the information we have on his illness? Show the Russian people that all this is a political stunt by a dying man.”
“It’s a strategy we’re exploring, but we want to make sure it doesn’t blow back on us,” Kennedy said. “That’s a direct attack on Krupin and we’re concerned about the retaliation. Any way you look at it, he’s not going to go quietly.”
There were nods around the table and Alexander leaned forward in his chair. “Let’s take a break. I’ve got a call with England’s prime minister in a few minutes, and I imagine everyone needs to touch base with their offices for updates. We’ll reconvene in thirty minutes.”
Everyone rose and started filing for the door except Kennedy and Alexander.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” the president asked. “I’ve got two minutes before I have to take that call.”
“We believe that we have a good chance of locating Krupin and Sokolov.”
“Are you talking about an assassination attempt?”
“I think it’s unlikely that opportunity will present itself, but if it does, it’s something we should consider. Krupin is out of control and Sokolov is a psychopath. Normally, we worry about succession, but it’s hard to see how it could be worse.”
“You don’t have to sell me, Irene. I’ll wait for the navy’s assessment, but my intention is to completely wipe out Russia’s naval capability. A lot of good men are going to end up dead for no reason. If you can take him out and give the United States even barely plausible deniability, I’m on board. We can figure out how to deal with the fallout later.”
CHAPTER 39
CENTRAL LATVIA
RAPP reached over and pulled the phone out of Jarus’s pocket, then shoved it into his hand. The young Latvian army officer suffered a moment of confusion but then fumbled with the screen to start filming.
He was a smart, solid kid, but not exactly battle hardened. Watching the Riga airport blow apart from a mile away had been the first action he’d seen. Now he was getting a close-up look at the face of war that Rapp had become numb to so long ago. He assumed that he’d once worn the same horrified expression as his new comrade, but honestly couldn’t remember anymore.
The farmhouse visible through the trees wasn’t much different than any of the others in the area—a compact structure built from local wood grayed by the years. A steep, shingled roof created a silhouette against the dawn breaking on the horizon.
Angled sunlight made the grass glow a deep green that contrasted with the blood splattered across it. The source of that stain was a man lying facedown in the yard. A woman who appeared to be his wife was kneeling beside him, wailing and pulling back and forth on his shirt as though he could be awakened. Hovering over her was a Russian army officer, shouting unintelligible questions.
Rapp turned his attention to the barn when three terrified children around Anna’s age emerged. They were being forced to drag a heavy wooden crate by two equally menacing soldiers. One grabbed a crowbar and pried the top off, dumping the medical supplies, ammunition, and food Rapp was there to collect.
Caches like these were distributed throughout the country and the small team he and Coleman were tagging along with had been assigned this one. Their orders were to set up a base of operations in the forest east of there and coordinate with similar teams hidden throughout the region.
Unfortunately, Russians had beat them to it. If they hadn’t been delayed by a bridge blown up ahead of schedule, they’d have collected the supplies and been gone hours ago. The soldiers would have found nothing but livestock and farming equipment.
Coleman’s voice became audible over his earpiece, but it was hard to make out his words. The radio was intentionally feeble, producing a signal too weak to bring Russians choppers down on them.
“Say again.”
“I’ve made it into the north field. No contacts.”
He and Jarus’s men had surrounded the house to the degree they could, with Coleman managing to cross some dangerously open ground behind the barn. His report suggested that the Russians had no backup. So an officer, two soldiers, and however many others might be inside the structures. It was that last unknown that caused Rapp to hesitate.
“Stay put, Scott. They might let this go.”
The farmer was dead and his family consisted of women and children. This wasn’t ISIS. It was a professional army. Most likely they’d kick up a little more dust and move on.
The man in command grabbed the woman by the hair and dragged her to the truck his team had arrived in. He threw back the canopy, revealing the body of a Russian soldier with half his head missing—a victim of one of the many snipers the Latvians had posted along the country’s roads. His shouts rose to the level of screams as he threw her to the ground and pulled his sidearm. The kids near the barn started wailing but were held back by the men guarding them.
Rapp swore under his breath. It was just this kind of unprofessional bullshit he figured he wouldn’t have to deal with when fighting the Russians. Apparently, he’d given them too much credit.
“This isn’t going to go easy,” he said into his throat mike.
“Roger that,” came Coleman’s response
Rapp fired a single round from his silenced Glock and the Russian officer crumpled. The two men standing over the kids looked on, frozen by a moment of confusion.
It should have provided enough time for Rapp to quietly put a round between each of their eyes, but the officer’s pistol went off when he hit the ground. The sound broke them from their trance and they began spraying the trees with their assault rifles.
Jarus covered his head with his hands, but Rapp just stayed on target. Dirt, leaves, and bark rained down, but the chances of hitting someone while sweeping with a machine gun was pretty low. Stan Hurley had actually put a number to it and Rapp found himself hoping the old bastard hadn’t just made it up.
He squeezed the trigger and the soldier running to the right went down. The other was smarter. He’d grabbed one of the kids and was using her as a shield while he backed toward the barn. Rapp dropped one of his hands to the dirt and used the ground to steady his aim. Another careful squeeze of the trigger shattered the man’s right eye socket, leaving the girl standing in the yard, panicked and shrieking uncontrollably.
“Move in on the barn, Scott. We’re taking the house.”
“On it,” came the reply as he grabbed Jarus and sprinted toward the front porch.
He took the stairs in one leap and kicked open the front door, knowing that speed would have to take priority over precision. It wasn’t going to be long before the Russians noticed the shooting and sent an airship in support.