“We’ve shifted the focus of our rescue effort to the Russian crew,” the president added. “However, the Russians are also setting up an ice camp a half-mile from ours, preparing for a rescue attempt of their own. The peculiar part is that they started setting up camp before we learned the Russian submarine sank nearby. It’s apparent they’ve known all along their submarine sank and haven’t told us.”
“I thought the Russians learned their lesson after the Kursk debacle,” Hardison said. “Why would they keep the sinking of their submarine a secret and risk not only the crew, but another public affairs nightmare?”
“The submarine is Yury Dolgoruky?” Christine asked.
“It is,” the president said. “North Dakota trailed her under the ice cap.”
“The Russians act oddly whenever their Borei class submarine or Bulava missile is involved. They’re hiding something from us,” Christine said. “The last thing they want is for us to rescue Dolgoruky’s crew, then take a walkabout aboard their submarine, loaded with Bulava missiles.”
“I agree,” the president replied. “Your task is to figure out what they’re hiding. In the meantime, I’ll inform Kalinin that we’ve found their submarine and will do our best to rescue its crew.”
Hardison asked, “How are you going to broach the issue of whether they’ve known their submarine sank and kept it from us?”
The president replied, “I’ll state the facts and see what he says, then take it from there.”
He checked his watch. It was 5 p.m. in Moscow, and Kalinin would likely still be in the Kremlin. The president picked up the phone and directed his secretary to put him through. A moment later, the call was connected, and the president put it on speaker.
The two men exchanged pleasantries, and then the president said, “Yuri, I’m sorry to call you unexpectedly, but I have important information to share.”
“It is not a problem,” Kalinin replied with the same light accent Christine remembered from their meeting in Moscow. “What is the issue?”
“We’ve located our submarine under the ice cap. It collided with one of your submarines, which sank nearby.”
“I am already aware,” Kalinin replied. “We have been monitoring ISMERLO and learned of the collision an hour ago. We are preparing to rescue our crew.”
Christine was surprised at Kalinin’s matter-of-fact response. No accusations. An American submarine had been following Dolgoruky and disaster had occurred, but the expected finger pointing had not commenced. However, there was no way Russia learned only an hour ago that their submarine had sunk. The president decided to press the issue.
“I noticed you established an ice camp near ours before we learned your submarine had sunk. Why is that?”
Kalinin replied without hesitation, “We were preparing to help. Our submarine rescue equipment is designed to handle the harsh Arctic temperatures, and we were uncertain of your equipment. There must have been a breakdown in communication, and our offer of assistance was not relayed.”
The president looked at Christine, who overrode her impulse to mouth the words, “He’s lying.”
“Thank you,” the president replied. “I appreciate your assistance. We will do the same. If we complete preparations first, we will rescue Dolgoruky’s crew.”
This time, there was hesitation on Kalinin’s end. After a few seconds, he replied, “Your assistance is not required. I will contact you if circumstances change. Thank you for the call.”
Without another word, Kalinin hung up.
The president turned off the speakerphone. “That was interesting,” he said.
And consistent, Christine thought. Any time Dolgoruky was involved in the conversation, the Russian response was irrational. There was only one way to figure out what was going on. She would need help, though. Greg Hartfield and Stu Berman, the ONI experts on the Borei class submarine and Bulava missile, would be a start. Plus Brackman. As a former commanding officer of a ballistic missile submarine, his insight might prove valuable.
“Mr. President,” Christine said. “I’d like to visit our ice camp, and bring Captain Brackman and two ONI experts with me.”
“What would you do once you got there?” the president asked.
“A walkabout.” Christine smiled, then added, “If we complete preparations first and rescue the Russian crew, we could then return and … take a look around.”
As the president considered Christine’s request, Hardison said, “That’s not a bad idea. If the opportunity presents itself, I recommend we have a team of experts board Dolgoruky.”
After a long moment, the president replied, “Coordinate with ONI to assemble a team, and if we rescue Dolgoruky’s crew, go back aboard and check things out. I want to find out what they’re hiding.”
48
Darkness had descended over the wintry landscape, temperatures dipping into the negatives as Julius Raila, Russia’s Chief of Search and Rescue Services, took a sip of hot tea. He was seated in his berthing hut, reviewing his notes scribbled on sheets of paper scattered across the table’s surface. There were no manuals for stripping the rescue equipment from Mikhail Rudnitsky and reassembling it atop the polar ice cap. As he scratched his cheek through his thick gray beard, he realized there was an American term for what he was doing. He was winging it.
Once the equipment was reassembled, he was confident it would work properly, even in the subzero temperatures. What concerned Raila was lowering their submersible through the three-meter-thick ice after digging a five-by-fifteen-meter wide hole. They had to excavate over two hundred tons of ice.
As Raila wondered whether the equipment could withstand the rigors of digging through multiyear ice as hard as concrete, his attention was captured by the whirr of helicopter rotors. But unlike the heavy beat from the MI-26 cargo helicopters, the sound was a soft purr. He donned his jacket and opened the door, examining the heliport on the east side of camp.
As the helicopters approached, the bright lights around the landing pad were extinguished. In the faint illumination from the remaining ice camp lights, Raila watched the first of four white helicopters land and a dozen soldiers in white Arctic gear exit. It took only fifteen seconds and the helicopter lifted off, settling to rest in the snow twenty meters to the east. One by one, the three other helicopters landed, each off-loading another dozen men, although the fourth helicopter off-loaded two extra soldiers, whom Raila assumed were the unit’s senior officers, for a total of fifty.
Raila watched the camp director, Demil Poleski, greet the men and direct them toward their berthing huts. When Raila returned his attention to the heliport, he had difficulty locating the white helicopters blending into the landscape. As he closed the door, he wondered why a Polar Spetsnaz unit had been sent to Camp Barneo.
49
Christine leaned back in her seat aboard the C-32 executive transport, the military version of Boeing’s 757, looking out the window as the aircraft descended. The C-32, normally used by the vice president, was designated Air Force One whenever the president was aboard, or Air Force Two when the vice president was being flown. However, with only Christine, Brackman, and twelve ONI personnel as passengers today, neither call sign applied.