Kalinin grinned. “No doubt a close relative of yours.”
“No doubt.” Chernov matched Kalinin’s grin, then dropped his hand as he glanced at the American woman. “Come, we should introduce ourselves.”
Christine extended her hand as the two men approached. “Mr. President. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Kalinin shook her hand firmly. “It is my pleasure,” he said with only a slight accent. “If I may ask,” he added, “what is your heritage? You remind me of … someone I once knew.”
“I’m half Irish and half Russian.”
“Russian?”
“I am Boris Chernov,” the minister of defense interjected, speaking in a heavy accent as he extended his hand. “Are you enjoying your time in Moscow?”
“Yes,” Christine replied. “Although I haven’t seen as much as I’d like. We’ve been working long hours. Your director of security and disarmament drives a hard bargain and, unfortunately, we’ve reached an impasse. Director Posniak says you want to remove missile warhead inspections from the next nuclear arms treaty.”
“Only regarding our Bulava missile,” Kalinin explained. “You may inspect our older weapon systems, but not our newest strategic submarine or its missile.”
“That will be a problem, Mr. President. The treaty must be approved by our Senate, and without the ability to count warheads, I doubt there will be enough votes.”
“Perhaps you can use your influence to ensure the new treaty passes,” Kalinin replied. “I think we can agree that a significant reduction in nuclear weapons is a worthwhile goal.”
“I do agree, Mr. President, but without the ability to verify every weapon system is in compliance, I won’t recommend we sign a new treaty.”
Kalinin’s expression hardened as he replied, “Then we do have a problem.” He turned toward Posniak, speaking to him in Russian.
Posniak nodded. “Da,” was his response.
Kalinin turned back to Christine and said briskly, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. O’Connor.” He forced a smile onto his face.
“Likewise, Mr. President.” Christine did not reciprocate the smile.
Kalinin and Chernov exited the conference room, and Christine settled into her chair across from Posniak. “If you don’t mind me asking,” Christine said, “what did the president say to you?”
Posniak stared at her for a moment, then answered, “Americans will set foot on one of our Borei class submarines when the crayfish sings on the mountain.”
As Christine tried to decipher the last part of Posniak’s response, he added, “It is a Russian idiom. It translates in English to—when Hell freezes over.”
6
Captain Nicholai Stepanov ducked his head as he stepped through the watertight doorway into Compartment One, closing the heavy metal door carefully to prevent a transient from being transmitted into the surrounding water. A day ago, they had detected a 60.2-Hertz tonal during their port egress, and a few hours ago, Stepanov had ordered an aggressive baffle clearance maneuver to the south. They had picked up the 60.2-Hertz tonal again, which faded after only a few minutes as it had done the first time. The American submarine was still following Dolgoruky.
Inside the Torpedo Room, Stepanov spotted Senior Lieutenant Ivan Khudozhnik — Torpedo Division Officer, and Senior Michman Andrei Popovich — Torpedo Division’s senior enlisted. Although neither man was on watch, Stepanov was not surprised to find them in the Torpedo Room, verifying everything was in working order. An American submarine was within firing distance, and they might soon be handling weapons. Considering what happened to Kursk, this was not an insignificant matter.
Kursk, an Oscar II cruise missile submarine, sank in the Barents Sea while her crew was preparing to fire a Type 65 exercise torpedo. Although what happened could never be known with certainty, the official Navy report concluded the torpedo, fueled partly by High Test Peroxide — a concentrated form of hydrogen peroxide — developed a crack at a weld, and the HTP leaked into the torpedo casing, coming into contact with a catalyst. The HTP rapidly expanded to five thousand times its original volume, rupturing the torpedo’s kerosene fuel tank and producing an explosion equivalent to 100 kilograms of TNT, killing everyone in Compartment One.
Two minutes later, several warshot torpedoes detonated due to the high heat in the Torpedo Room. The explosion ruptured the bulkheads between the first three compartments and blew a mammoth hole in the bow. All but twenty-three crew members were killed, with the surviving men trapped in Compartment Nine, the farthest one aft. Rescue efforts were hindered by weather and malfunctioning submarine rescue equipment, and the twenty-three men also perished. Following the tragedy, heightened attention was given to torpedo maintenance and weapon handling.
Standing near the forward bulkhead, Khudozhnik and Popovich were supervising a junior Torpedoman who was taking measurements inside an electric panel with a multi-meter. The men turned toward Stepanov, and Khudozhnik greeted the submarine’s commanding officer.
“Good morning, Captain.”
Stepanov nodded his acknowledgment. “What is the problem?”
“Number Two Tube is out of action,” Khudozhnik replied. “The firing panel failed its weekly check, and we’re determining which circuit card has gone bad.”
“What is the status of our spares?” Stepanov asked.
“We have two of every card in the firing panel,” Khudozhnik replied. “As long as the same fault doesn’t develop in more than two firing panels, we will be fine.”
Stepanov nodded again, then headed back toward Compartment Two, confident his men would identify the fault and return Number Two Torpedo Tube to service.
Upon entering Compartment Two, Stepanov returned to the Central Command Post. Captain Lieutenant Evanoff was on watch again, and First Officer Pavlov was also present, supervising the watch section. As long as an American submarine was in the vicinity, either he or his First Officer would be in the Command Post. Stepanov stopped beside Pavlov at the navigation table and examined the chart. According to the latest oceanographic report, they were approaching the edge of the Marginal Ice Zone.
Stepanov turned to his Watch Officer. “Captain Lieutenant Evanoff. Slow to ten knots and station the Ice Detail.”
Commander Tolbert leaned against the navigation plot in Control, monitoring Master One’s course with concern. Dolgoruky was headed into the Marginal Ice Zone, a hazardous area for submarine operations. At the fringe of the polar ice cap, wave action and ocean swells broke off edges of the ice floes, creating a zone of broken ice extending outward over a hundred miles.
It wasn’t the ice floating on the surface that concerned Tolbert. It was the random icebergs scattered throughout the Marginal Ice Zone. Over three thousand icebergs were produced each year in the Barents Sea, breaking off glaciers on Svalbard, Franz Josef Land, and Novaja Zemlja, accompanied by the calving of glaciers on the east coast of Greenland. Most of the icebergs were small, but the larger ones descended several hundred feet, occasionally deep enough to ground on the bottom of the shallow Barents Sea.
Tolbert called to his Weapons Officer, Lieutenant Mark Livingston. “Officer of the Deck, set the Arctic Routine.”