Page 41 of Ned
Which, of course, wasn’t actually in the game plan.
And neither, apparently, was Roy accompanying them to the other side of the world. He’d bugged out right after dropping them off at the airport with a “Don’t die.”
Right. But he’d called ahead, and in Anchorage, a guy named Dodge had picked them up at the airport, along with his brother Ranger, and driven them to the offices of Air One Rescue, located at a small airport right off the sound.
The lights of the city flickered against the pane. Already, snow covered the ground, grimy piles lining the city lots.
Dodge and Ranger Kingston, a couple of former military guys, leaned over the table with Fraser, who knew them both. Dodge was tall and wore a wool cap over his dark hair that curled out at the bottom, as well as a thermal shirt and a pair of jeans, boots. A pilot himself, he was talking flight strategies with a guy named Moose Mulligan who owned the rescue operation with a chopper on the pad in front, along with at least one fixed wing.
The other man, Ranger, had greeted Fraser with a handshake and a man hug—and from their conversation, Ned realized that Ranger had been on the team to snatch his brother from the Boko Haram in Nigeria last summer.
Ranger had a similar make and build as Dodge, with dark-brown hair and blue eyes. Ned put him around six-two, and he wore a flannel shirt, a pair of jeans, boots.
“How’s Noemi?” Fraser said as Ranger walked over to the coffee pot. The liquid he poured out resembled tar, but Ned nursed his own brew, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Feeling large,” Ranger said. “And she still has four months to go at least. And then we’ll make the move to Minnesota to join Ham’s team.”
“You’re joining Jones, Inc.?” Ned asked, and looked at Fraser. “That’s your outfit.”
“Yep.” Fraser took a sip of the coffee, made a face. “Yeah, that’s bracing.” He set it down. “Ranger is a former SEAL—funny you two didn’t cross paths, being in San Diego.”
Ned considered him. The man had a few years on him. “Danger?”
Ranger smiled. Lifted his coffee.
Yeah, he’d heard about Danger Ranger, just tidbits. “You were the team sniper.”
His mouth created a grim line, and he nodded. “Now I put together ops for Ham.”
“Here’s hoping you can figure out how to get us on a cargo ship just off the coast of Kamchatka,” Fraser said.
“I’m already working on it,” Ranger said. “Here’s our problem. We can get you there. We can rent a Gulfstream and you do a HAHO drop over Kamchatka at night, drop in and connect with our contact there. It’s your exfil that is the problem. Moose just got his hands on a beautiful Firehawk chopper, but its range with no reserve tops off at around 450 nautical miles. The closest US soil is Attu Island, about 600 miles off the coast of Kamchatka. It’s a part of the Aleutian Islands, and the Japanese tried to take it in World War II. There’s a coast guard station there with a landing strip. Dodge has a Bell 429 that he can use to ferry fuel, but even if we land there and fuel up, it’s a one-way trip, and even then, it doesn’t get all the way to Russia.”
“We need a boat,” Moose said. “I have a buddy who just bought a fishing boat down in Iliuliuk Harbor. It’s a crab boat, but if they cleared the decks, they might be able to accommodate the Firehawk. I could see if Carpie is back in port and if he’d help us out.”
Ned walked over to the map. “How close to the Russian border can you get without getting torpedoed?” He found the tiny island of Attu, then ran his finger over. Almost a straight shot to Kamchatka. “I’ll steal a boat if I have to.”
Fraser looked at him. “Going in without a solid exfil isn’t a great plan.”
“Better than waiting, letting something terrible happen to her.” He looked at his brother, then Dodge, Moose, and Ranger. “Shae is tough. But we’re talking Russian gulag here. Russian gulag controlled by the Petrov Bratva. Think about that one second. Are you horrified?”
Fraser clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Yes. But we can’t do this sloppy—”
“I never said sloppy. But…” Ned braced himself on the table, leaned over it. Then he slammed his fist into it and headed toward the door.
“Ned—”
He ignored Moose and stepped outside, no jacket, just needing the cold, some air, anything to stop the roil of heat inside.
He stalked out into the middle of the lot. Stared at the sky.
Glorious, starlit, and vast.
Too vast. So many stars the sky was lousy with them. And the moon, bright, bold. He drew in a breath, the air brisk in his lungs, and the cold seeped into his shirt, his skin, and he shivered.
He closed his eyes.
Hey, sailor, what are you doing out here?