Page 154 of Enemy Within

“What Russians are to the north? Do you have a base at the North Pole?”

Sergey shook his head. “No. It is Moroshkin. From Canada.”

68

Kara Sea

ANDERSON THREW HIS SHOULDER into the central hatch on the sail leading to the bridge and shoved it open. Normally, the hatch was round. Today, it was shaped like a flattened football. Half the sail was crushed.

He clambered into the sideways-leaning bridge.Honolulu’s remains had come to rest on her side, her broken body all the way out of the water and on top of the ice. Behind them, a roiling mess of black water bubbled like a volcano’s cauldron. Shattered pack ice lay in heaps, sheets as big as houses tossed twenty feet from the ragged hole.Honolulu’s corpse lay like a whale beached after a storm, lost in the flotsam and wreckage of some great, angry swell. A long scrape of broken ice lay gouged behind her, shattered propeller blades and shorn-off hull plates littering the ice.

Her forward half was gone. Of the twelve Tomahawk bays she had left port with, two remained, their square lids crumpled and crushed. Forward of that, everything was missing. Ragged steel and dangling metal stretched in every direction, the remnants ofHonolulubleeding out onto the ice.

A roar zoomed overhead. Anderson ducked, raising his rifle to his shoulder. Jets buzzed his sub, triads of them, over and over, a fleet of jets. Then, planes, helicopters, troop transports. Like an air show or a flotilla lift, hundreds of aircraft swarmed above, filling the steel skies with thunder and roaring wind.

He spotted the Russian flag emblazoned on the aircrafts’ sides.

Squawking from his jacket nearly gave him a heart attack. He’d forgotten all about the ship-to-shore radio he’d stuffed in his pocket, a frantic hope that he’d hear from President Spiers again.

This time, it was heavily accented English barking at him. A Russian helicopter circled overhead. “American submarine, American submarine, do you copy?”

“American submarineHonoluluresponds. We read you. We are declaring an emergency situation. Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, over.”

“American submarineHonolulu. You are in Russian territory. We will assist you in leaving Russian territory at your earliest possibility. We thank you for your assistance in this internal affair. We will take from here.”

Anderson dropped the radio, chuckling as the helicopter moved off, joining the rest of the airlift and landing farther across the pack, near two other gaping holes in the ice. Russian soldiers poured from the dozens of helicopters that landed, screaming across the remains of the ice pack and tackling men in torn and ratty uniforms who tried to scramble away. Madigan’s criminal army. They were arresting the remains of Madigan’s criminal army.

He looked at the two gaping holes in the ice, to his left and his right, and the fractures and spider lines that stretched between them. Two ships that had once rested there. Two ships he’d sunk.

Anderson leaned forward, dragging in a deep, frigid breath as he closed his eyes.

They’d done it.

THE CREW OFHONOLULUpoured out of the hatches, keeping close to her banged and battered hull. Russian soldiers across the ice pack were rounding up Madigan’s army, herding them into holding areas and shooting the ice beneath their feet if anyone tried to make a break. Jets continued to buzz overhead as heavy transports circled.

Chief Liu had thirteen ofHonolulu’s crew laid out on tarps on the ice, tending to their injuries. Broken bones and concussions; they were lucky. They were damn lucky. Two bodies were still inside, though. One a hero. One a traitor.

Faisal crouched with Doc, tending to Coleman. Doc had pilfered Chief Liu’s supplies, taking morphine and a kit for a collapsed lung. He’d released the pressure in Coleman’s chest and set up a one-way valve, then poured quick clot into his wound. Coleman lay in Doc’s lap, buzzed on morphine, his eyes closed. Doc struggled to stay awake, one hand resting over Coleman’s chest.

A snowmobile with two riders buzzed in from the north, screaming over the ice. Their engine whined like a jet’s, like it was racing one of the fighters overhead.

Faisal watched the snowmobile roar away, bypassingHonoluluand heading for a small group huddled by one of the ragged holes in the ice. He squinted.

Three men sat on the ice, bloody and exhausted, while another tended their injuries, pressing bandages to wounds and starting IV lines. The men held their own fluid bags, leaning on each other to stay upright. From the back, he saw blond hair, and brunet—

One of the men turned.

Even with the bruises, even through the blood, Faisal would recognize him anywhere.

He took off, racing across the ice, sprinting faster than he’d ever run before.Allah, please, please. All glory is yours, always, but please, Allah, please. Just this once. Please.

His wild tear caught the attention of the Russians. Soldiers broke away from harassing the remnants of Madigan’s army and chased him instead, sliding across the ice. Some shouted. A few opened fire, bullets sparking at his feet. He didn’t care. He kept running.

The Russians shooting his way got the attention of the group he ran for. Heads turned.

He saw Ethan’s jaw drop. Saw Scott smile in relief. Sasha just stared at him, his usual dour expression somehow darker, the furrows on his lean face deeper.

Adam froze. His gaze shattered, and he scrambled to his feet. Limping, he staggered forward, dropping his IV bag. Scott came to his side, helping him stand and pulling out his IV line. Faisal’s eyes picked out the blood over Adam’s hip, a wound that still oozed through his bandage.