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“Two hours, max,” Gideon assured him. “Most of the sorting was already done as I parsed through everything to see what had been sent through to Moscow.”

“Good.”

Kostya looked across the room and spotted Nolan O’Rourke.

“Nolan, how’s Iris doing?” he shouted out.

His man trotted over, and he was grimacing. “I don’t care how we transport her, or what kind of gear she’s wearing; this cold is going to be brutal on her. I haven’t been able to get her fever down. The antibiotics just aren’t doing the trick.”

“There’s supposed to be a break in the weather in twelve hours. I hate like hell to ask a helicopter to fly into Russian airspace, but if we can get something stealthy to fly in and out...”

It was a crap situation, but there wasn’t anything else they could do if they wanted to give Iris Robinson a chance to live.

“Gideon, any luck getting a satellite signal?”

“Not since that four hours of clear skies. As soon as the snow started again I haven’t gotten a signal. I’ve set the phone up so that it automatically tries every fifteen minutes. If it ever gets a signal, no matter how weak, it will ping me.”

“Good. When you do, notify Commander Clark about our situation. If he’s not available, get this to Captain Hale. We need a helicopter.”

“Neither the Finns nor Swedes have a stealth helicopter. This is going to turn ugly.”

“No, it’s not. I have a plan,” Kostya smiled.

“Aw, shit. We’re in trouble now. Should I get the team together?” Nolan asked.

Kostya nodded.