19
“I would not normally have brought something of this nature to your attention,” Commander Forestall said. “But considering the coded signal coming from somewhere around the Mendeleev Ridge…”
“I’m all ears, Robby,” Ryan said.
“Captain Russ Holland, skipper of the John Paul Jones, operating off the coast of Hawaii, kicked something up the chain regarding Arctic waters,” Forestall said. “His chief sonar technician is in possession of an audio file purported to contain noises that some believe to be the sound of metal on metal… and possibly… words… Chinese words.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “A sonar tech in Hawaii?”
“Correct,” Forestall said. “These sound transients in question were recorded on a hydrophone during a scientific survey below the ice north of Point Barrow, Alaska. Chief Petty Officer Barker’s former shipmate, a Dr. Patti Moon, left the Navy and went on to earn her Ph.D. in physics. She works aboard the research vessel Sikuliaq, a light icebreaker operated by the University of Alaska Fairbanks. It seems the R/V Sikuliaq was dropping under-ice sensors near an area at the edge of our continental shelf, a place called the Chukchi Borderland, when she recorded the sounds. I should point out that this is less than thirty nautical miles from the point of origin for the coded signal. In any case, Dr. Moon sent the file to her friend Chief Barker on the John Paul Jones and he submitted it through his chain of command.”
“Does he agree with her assessment?” Ryan asked. “This Barker fellow.”
“Enough to kick it up the chain,” Forestall said. “Which bears some serious consideration. I pulled Dr. Moon’s records. She’s originally from Alaska. Received consistently good performance evaluations, but all her commanders noted that she had a penchant for putting far too much credence in conspiracy theories, especially those involving the government. Secret cabals and such. Seems she doesn’t trust Uncle Sam to do right by her.”
“What words?” Ryan asked.
Commander Forestall cocked his head, not following. “Sir?”
“Dr. Moon’s Chinese words,” Ryan said. “I’m assuming someone in your office speaks Mandarin.”
SecDef Burgess walked through the door, already having read the brief.
“Admiral Talbot is on his way,” Burgess said. Talbot was CNO, chief of naval operations. “He was having a root canal.”
Ryan nodded and flicked his hand for Forestall to finish answering the question.
“The sound file is extremely garbled, Mr. President,” Forestall said. “It could very well be fish or moving ice. But if it is someone screaming, my two Chinese speakers are at odds about what this person is saying. One of them thinks fire or danger. I’ve listened to the file myself. Honestly, I find it highly unlikely anyone could pick up human voices outside a submarine. The hulls aren’t like in the movies. We make them quiet. Now, you slam a hatch… drop a pan of cookies… that’s a different story. Voices… I’m not sure about that. I will say, though, the metallic sounds are extremely convincing, especially with the current situation.”
“So,” Ryan said. “Let’s say these sounds are coming from a DISSUB. The Chinese are homing in on a signal thirty miles away from where Dr. Moon made her recording? Either the damaged sub traveled, or they’re looking in the wrong place.”
Dustin Fullmer moved his hand like he was going to raise it but changed his mind.
“Let’s have it,” Ryan said.
“Well, sir,” Fullmer said. “I’m not a hundred percent sure of Chinese technology, but what if the DISSUB deployed a submarine rescue buoy? If the cable detached, it could have been carried under the ice and didn’t pop to the surface until it was thirty miles away.”
Ryan glanced at Forestall.
“I suppose that could be the case,” Forestall said.
“Would the buoy have GPS of the original deployment?” Ryan asked.
“I’m not sure about Chinese design,” Forestall said. “The buoys are designed to deploy automatically if the timers aren’t reset periodically, in case they’re unreachable in an accident. The Russians kept having accidental deployments, so they welded many of theirs in place.”
“Okay,” Ryan said, giving Fullmer an attaboy nod. He scribbled something in his notepad and then looked up at Burgess. “Who do we have up north, Bob?”
“The Navy’s biennial ICEX ended a little over a week ago,” Burgess said. “Two subs took part. The Connecticut was headed home, already abeam the San Juan Islands by the time we turned her around. But SSN 789—the Indiana—is still under the ice. We don’t have contact with her for the moment, but we’re sending ELF signals for her to make contact when she’s able to receive. I imagine she’s shadowing a Russian submarine. They would have come to lurk around the edges of our ICEX training. If need be, we can send someone up with Deep Siren. Find a lead in the ice and get a message to them that way.”
Raytheon’s Deep Siren was essentially a low-frequency acoustic tactical paging system to communicate underwater. It had proven itself many times over during several ICEX scenarios. Moving ice was problematic, but as long as there was open water, messages could be sent to the sub. “In addition to the Indiana, the USCG icebreaker Healy is also present,” Burgess added. “We’ve been in contact and they are moving to investigate the point of this coded signal’s origin.”
“Very well,” Ryan said. “The ice makes it problematic…”
Forestall nodded.
“It does indeed, sir,” Burgess said. “Surface ships are a no go, other than the Healy. And with this many Chinese, U.S., and, surely, Russian submarines playing cat and mouse the chances of someone bumping rises sharply.”
Ryan shook his finger. “No bumping.”
“Roger that, Mr. President.”
“Have your experts keep playing with the sound file and that coded signal,” Ryan said, still tapping the desk with his pencil.
“Of course, sir,” Forestall said.
“So,” Ryan said. “Dr. Moon is from Alaska?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Forestall said. “Her record says she’s from a small village on the Arctic. Point Hope.”
“Point Hope.” Ryan gave a sad shake of his head. “Interesting.”
“It’s in the top corner of the state,” Forestall said. “On the northwest coast.”
“I’m familiar with Point Hope,” Ryan said. “And some of you likely read about it in college. Shortly after World War Two, some well-meaning but poorly informed folks at the Atomic Energy Commission were trying to come up with peacetime uses for the A-bomb. In their infinite governmental wisdom, somebody decided we should detonate five nuclear bombs a little south of that village where Dr. Moon is from to build a new harbor… in an area that stayed covered in ice more than half of the year. The plan was nixed, but it’s no wonder she doesn’t trust the government. I’m sure she grew up hearing stories about Project Chariot. You work for the government as long as I have, you learn some conspiracies deserve a little extra credence. Given the total of what’s going on, there is a strong probability that the PLAN Submarine Force is launching a rescue mission.”
“Agreed,” Burgess said.
“Very well,” Ryan said. “I’ll leave the how and how many up to you. But I’d like to be kept informed. Where exactly is the Healy right now?”
The Coast Guard vessel Healy was one of only two functional icebreakers in the U.S. military inventory. China also had two. Russia had over forty.
Commander Forestall tapped a query into his tablet, waited a moment, then said, “The Healy is patrolling north of Kaktovik, Alaska — an old DEW Line station.”