Red Sniper

The pilot opened up on them, firing nonstop. The burst clawed at the cargo plane until Whitlock, up in the cockpit, veered to the right so suddenly that Cole lost his grip on the rifle and slammed painfully against the fuselage. He crawled back to the hole he had made and acquired the target again. He couldn’t believe that he had missed. Had he somehow miscalculated about firing on a moving plane, from a moving plane?

He had one bullet left.

By now the Russian pilot had stopped firing. The fighter simply flew on in a perfectly straight path, not bothering to follow the cargo plane on its new course. Cole worked the bolt, got lined up for another shot. The fighter flew blindly past them, headed to nowhere. As it went by, Cole caught a glimpse of a starburst of broken glass where his bullet had punched into the cockpit.

He hadn’t missed. He realized that the final burst must have been the death reflex of the pilot’s finger on the trigger.

Then the plane started to drift even farther to the left, off course. Soon after that, the nose dipped. The fighter plane started a long, steady slide toward the earth below.

All around them, the blue sky now stretched empty and limitless.

And he still had one bullet chambered in the Springfield rifle, so the possibilities were endless.

EPILOGUE

Two hours later they were somewhere above Finland when Whitlock spotted a runway carved into a forest. They decided to land, considering that a plane with Soviet markings would not get a warm welcome if they flew clear to Helsinki. Having narrowly dodged a Soviet fighter plane, they didn’t want to take any chances with the Finnish air force.

After all that they had been through, it was an inauspicious arrival. A couple of Finnish guys came out and watched in curiosity as the cargo plane bumped down on the unpaved runway. The Finns there spoke a smattering of Russian, so Inna asked to use the telephone.

Then, they settled in to wait.

The two Finns weren’t exactly friendly, but once it became clear that the cargo plane was carrying Americans, rather than Russians, they were greeted more warmly. They were given food, coffee, blankets, and vodka.

“More reindeer stew,” Vaccaro said. “I think I’m starting to like it. Now old Vaska, he would have loved it.”

They slept soundly, warm for the first time in days, and well fed. The next morning, three vehicles appeared on the road into the airfield. This late in year, the road was snow-covered, so the vehicles all had chains on their tires. The lead vehicle was a 1938 Volvo sedan, ugly but tough, perfect for Finland’s backroads.

Whitlock, Inna, and Vaccaro went out to meet the new arrivals. Dmitri stayed indoors by the wood stove. Cole hung back, his rifle held at the ready.

Four or five men got out of the other two vehicles. All of them were armed with submachine guns. They set up a loose perimeter, facing back toward the road.

Only then did Senator Whitlock emerge from the passenger door of the Volvo. He stood staring for a moment at his grandson, then stepped forward and hugged him. “My God,” he said. “It’s good to have you back, Harry.”

“It’s good to be back.” Although emaciated and exhausted, Harry Whitlock had never looked better. He introduced Inna. “I think you already know Vaccaro and Cole.”

The senator nodded. “Indeed, I do. I owe them a debt of gratitude. What about the others?”

Whitlock shook his head. “They didn’t make it.”

They went inside. Harry explained about the welcome party, commanded by Major Dickey, that had met them at the border.

The senator looked troubled. “That’s why I brought those guards along, although I’m not expecting trouble.”

“Honaker said something about the government not wanting us to come home. He said it would only cause complications.”

“About that,” the senator said. “I’ve made… an arrangement with the president.”

“The president?”

“Yes. This thing goes right to the top, and you can’t get any higher than the Oval Office. The official story will be that you were wounded and that the Russians nursed you back to health. You weren’t detained. You were hospitalized.”

“But that’s a lie!”

The senator held up a hand to fend off further protests. “These are complicated times, Harry. We don’t need another shooting war on our hands. You’re home, and that’s what matters.”

“Major Dickey tried to assassinate us.”

“Dickey.” The senator practically spat out the name. “There are some concerns that there may be a rogue faction working in league with the Soviets.” The senator paused. “Communists through and through. It sounds like Honaker was one of them, and Dickey too. If Dickey is smart, he won’t show his face again. That’s also why the president needs you to keep quiet about all this. We just fought a war. We need to appear unified. Can you do that, Harry? Can you keep quiet?”

“What about the others? We weren’t the only Americans being held as pawns by the Russians.”