“Then we tell someone.”
“Be my guest. No one will hear you above the sound bites for days. By the time you can get someone to listen, to go check, it’ll all be over.”
“So we have no choice. Someone has to go out there.”
Craig shook his head. “Or someone could just hide in that little fishing village and wait for all this to blow over.”
Matt considered the persistence of their pursuers, the explosion of Prudhoe Bay. “Do you really think they’d leave us alone out there? If they’re buying time to clean up their mess, that might include getting rid of us. They know our plane.”
Craig’s determined expression sickened.
“And we’d be sitting ducks in Kaktovik.”
Craig closed his eyes. “I hate Alaska…I really do.”
Matt sank back into his own seat. He looked at Jenny. She had heard it all. “Well?” he asked.
Jenny glanced over her gauges. “I’ll still need to refuel if we’re going to travel so far.”
“Bennie’s place at Kaktovik.”
“We can be there in an hour. And away in another.”
He nodded and stared north. Craig’s words echoed in his head: Something’s going to happen out there. Something no one wants the world to know about.
But what the hell could it be?
“We’ve been ordered to readiness, but not to deploy.” Perry stood atop the periscope stand. His officers had gathered in the control room. Groans met his words. They were Navy men, career submariners. They had all heard of the attack on Prudhoe Bay four hundred miles away. They were anxious to act.
Word had reached them half an hour ago through the snail-paced ELF transmission, sound waves passing with mile-long amplitudes through the ocean waters, emitting one slow letter at a time. The real-time communication net of NAVSAT’s satellites or UHF were currently under electrical bombardment by a solar storm.
His men had hoped to deploy to the Alaskan coast, to join in the investigation and help in the cleanup. Baby-sitting a bunch of scientists at such a time was intolerable. With a crisis on hand, practically in their own backyard, all had hoped for a call to action.
The latest orders from COMSUBPAC had arrived five minutes ago. Perry shared his officers’ disappointment.
“Any word on the cause of the explosions?” Commander Bratt asked. His words were clipped with frustration.
Perry shook his head. “Too early. Right now they’re still trying to put out the fires.”
But among his own crew, varying theories were already being debated: ecoterrorists bent on saving the Alaskan wilderness from further exploration and drilling, Arabs with an interest in cutting off Alaska’s oil production, Texans for the same reason. And the Chinese and Russians got their fair share of the blame, too. More sober minds considered the possibility of a simple industrial accident — but that was not as entertaining.
“So we simply sit on our frozen asses out here,” Bratt said gruffly.
Perry stood straighter. He would not let morale sour any further.
“Commander, until we hear otherwise, we’ll perform our duties as ordered.” He hardened his voice. “We’ll keep this boat at full readiness. But we won’t neglect our current assignments. The Russian delegation is due to arrive in three days to retrieve the bodies of their countrymen. Would you rather we leave the scientists here alone to deal with the Russian admiral and his men?”
“No, sir.” Bratt stared down at his shoes. He was one of the few men aboard the Polar Sentinel who knew what lay hidden on Level Four of Ice Station Grendel.
Their conversation was interrupted as the radioman of the watch pushed into the conn. He held a clipboard in his hand. “Captain Perry, I have an urgent message from COMSUBPAC. Flash traffic. Marked for your eyes only.”
He waved the lieutenant forward and retrieved the clipboard and top-secret log. “Flash traffic? Are we hooked back into NAVSAT?”
The lieutenant nodded. “We were lucky to retrieve the broadcast intact. They must have been continuously broadcasting to slip through one of the breaks in the solar storm. The message is being repeated more slowly over VLF.”
Broadcasting on all channels. What could be so important?
The radioman stepped back. “I was able to send out confirmation that the message was received.”
“Very good, Lieutenant.” Perry turned his back on the curious faces of his officers and opened the clipboard. It was from Admiral Reynolds. As Perry read the message, an icy finger of dread traced his spine.
FLASH***FLASH***FLASH***FLASH***FLASH***FLASH
384749zAPR
FM
COMSUBPAC PEARL HARBOR HI//N475//
To
POLAR SENTINEL SSN-777
//BT//
REF
COMSUBPAC OPORD 37-6722A DATED 08 APR
SUBJ
GUESTS ARRIVING EARLY
SCI/TOP SECRET — OMEGA
PERSONAL FOR C.O.
RMKS/
(1) POLAR SATELLITE CONFIRMS RUSSIAN AKULA II CLASS SUBMARINE SURFACED WITH ANTENNA UP AT 14:25 AT COORDINATES ALPHA FIVE TWO DECIMAL EIGHT TACK THREE SEVEN DECIMAL ONE.
(2) UNIT DESIGNATED AS DRAKON, RUSSIAN FLAG SUBMARINE. ADMIRAL VICTOR PETKOV ABOARD.
(3) RUSSIAN GUESTS MAY BE ARRIVING EARLY. INTELLIGENCE REMAINS SCANT ON REASON FOR THE ACCELERATED TIMETABLE. WITH RECENT EVENTS AT PRUDHOE, SUSPICIONS REMAIN HIGH ACROSS ALL BOARDS. SABOTAGE CONFIRMED. SUSPECTS STILL UNKNOWN.
(4) POLAR SENTINEL TO REMAIN AT ALERT STATUS AND TO PATROL WITH MAXIMUM EARS UP.
(5) GUESTS TO BE TREATED AS FRIENDLY UNTIL OTHERWISE DISCERNED.
(6) PROTECTION OF UNITED STATES INTERESTS BOTH AT OMEGA DRIFT STATION AND ICE STATION GRENDEL REMAINS PRIORITY MISSION FOR POLAR SENTINEL.
(7) TO SUPPORT SUCH INTERESTS, DELTA FORCE TEAMS HAVE BEEN ORGANIZED AND ROUTED TO THE ARCTIC. OPERATIONAL CONTROLLER, SENT BY LR, HAS BEEN SPEARHEADED IN ADVANCE TO AREA. INFORMATION TO FOLLOW.
(8) GOOD LUCK AND KEEP YOUR TAP SHOES POLISHED, GREG.
(9) ADM K. REYNOLDS SENDS.
BT
NNNN
Perry shut the clipboard, closed his eyes, and ran the notes through his head.
The admiral had coded his own message into the encryption. LR was short for “Langley Reconnaissance,” which meant the Central Intelligence Agency was involved. So the Delta Teams were being deployed under CIA leadership? Not a good thing. Such an organizational platform led to one hand being unaware of what the other was doing. It also stank of black ops maneuvering. Information to follow meant that even Pacific Submarine Command was cut out of the loop. A bad sign.
And at the end: Keep your tap shoes polished, Greg. Again the informality in the use of his first name was as good as a long line of exclamation marks. During one of the Navy’s formal dinner parties, Admiral Reynolds had used that same phrase when the faction representing COMSUBLANT, the Atlantic Submarine Command staff, had arrived at the hall. The Pacific and Atlantic submarine teams were fiercely competitive with each other, leading to challenges, war games, and rivalries that stretched across careers. Keep your tap shoes polished was shorthand for “get ready because the shit’s about to hit the fan.”
Perry turned to his XO. “Commander, clear the boat of civilians. Get them back to Omega and rally the men still on shore leave.”