Obeying, the pilot opened a digital map on the helicopter’s large central multifunction display. A blinking green dot indicated the place they’d picked out to land the major and his commandos, near the northwestern end of a valley.

Korenev shook his head. “We need to land a few kilometers more to the southeast.” He reached out and tapped a spot on the map. It was in a gap between two hills. “Somewhere around here.”

The pilot leaned forward and studied the terrain. “That shouldn’t be a problem. The terrain looks pretty clear.” He glanced back at the Spetsnaz officer. “So what’s going on?”

“This mission just went from what was planned as a quiet, little manhunt to an all-out sprint for the prize,” Korenev said tightly in reply. “Discretion’s gone out the window. Now Moscow doesn’t give a damn about how much noise we make.”

The helicopter pilot shook his head in disgust. “Nice of them to let us know, I guess. Even if it’s pretty late in the game.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Those guns we left behind might have come in handy.”

Korenev grunted in agreement. Combat models of the Ka-60 were often equipped with two pod-mounted 12.7mm machine guns. They’d been taken off to save weight for this long-range, low-level penetrating flight into hostile territory. And even though he didn’t expect the ragtag American unit they were targeting to put up much of a fight, there was no question that the extra firepower would have been useful. He shrugged his shoulders. “No plan survives contact with the enemy. This one won’t be any different.”

Crow Field

That Same Time

Colonel Alexei Petrov gunned the motor of the snowmobile to force the vehicle up the last few meters of the hill overlooking their camp. He came out over the crest moving too fast and braked hard, skidding and weaving across the hard-packed snow as he slid to a stop. With a feeling of relief, he shut down the motor and brushed off his goggles.

One of Bondarovich’s ex-soldiers came over to greet him, pushing up the night vision goggles he’d been using to scan the surrounding terrain. “A little trickier running one of those snowmobiles than flying a plane, eh?” he said with obvious amusement.

Petrov forced himself to smile. “Trickier, no. Different, yes.” He climbed down off the machine.

The mercenary shrugged. “Well, you’ll have time to pick up the technique during the trek out to Canada.” His eyes flickered a little when he said that.

You’re a poor liar, friend, Petrov thought with hidden amusement. He was surprised that Bondarovich had let Grishin and Voronin’s plan for him slip like this. The former Spetsnaz officer should have kept that to himself until the very last second, right before they put a bullet into the back of Petrov’s skull. The old proverb “Three men can keep a secret if two of them are dead” floated through the colonel’s memory. It seemed particularly apt, just now. Neither the oligarch nor Voronin were foolish enough to leave him alive a moment longer than necessary. To them, Petrov was just a tool—someone to be used and then discarded when his particular skills were no longer needed.