Ice Station Nautilus (24 page)

“I like you,” he said in English.

He pointed the pistol at her head. “Unfortunately, Miss American, you will be dead by the time I count to three if I do not get the assistance I need.”

Christine realized she hadn’t thought things through, and her impulsive nature had gotten her in trouble again.

“One.”

She looked at Brackman and then Commander Steel, then back to the Russian. “I don’t have the authority,” she said, hoping the Russian would understand.

“It does not matter,” he said. “If someone gives the order, I will spare your life.”

“Two.”

Things were moving too fast. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she searched frantically for a way out of her predicament.

“I will give the order.”

The pistol fell away from her head as the Spetsnaz commander turned to the man beside her. Peter Tarbottom had spoken.

Tarbottom added, “Most of the operators are civilians who work for me. They will follow my direction.”

The Spetsnaz commander examined Tarbottom’s name tag. “A wise decision, Peter. How long until you are ready to deploy the submersible?”

Tarbottom replied, “Fifteen minutes.”

“How many men can the submersible carry?”

“Eighteen, but two of them are attendants. They’re normally Navy divers, but I have two men who can operate the equipment and gain access to the submarine.”

The Spetsnaz commander shouted in Russian again, and sixteen of his men assembled into a group while Tarbottom gave orders to his men. Each contractor who departed was escorted by one of the remaining Spetsnaz soldiers.

“I need assistance with one more item,” the Spetsnaz commander said. “I need someone who can operate your underwater communication system.” His eyes scanned the remaining men and women in the group. “Anyone?”

He waited a few seconds, then placed the pistol to Christine’s head again.

Scott Walworth, one of the RATS operators, raised his hand. “I can help.”

Another soldier escorted Walworth to the command hut, and the Spetsnaz pulled plastic tie wraps from their pockets and tied the hands of the remaining Americans behind their backs. The Spetsnaz commander holstered his pistol and turned Christine around roughly, then her wrists were bound by one of his men.

The Spetsnaz divided the Americans into groups of eight and led them toward the berthing hooches. Christine was in the last group, comprised of only her and Brackman. They were likewise led to a berthing hooch, where one of the soldiers shoved her inside. She tripped over the door threshold and landed hard on her side, then a tie was placed around her ankles. The door was shut, enclosing her and Brackman in darkness.

62

USS
NORTH DAKOTA
• ICE STATION NAUTILUS

USS
NORTH DAKOTA

Commander Tolbert was in his stateroom, catching up on paperwork when the ICSAP beeped. He picked up the handset. “Captain.”

Lieutenant Molitor was on the other end. “Captain, Officer of the Deck. We’re receiving underwater comms. Request your presence in Control, sir.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Tolbert hung up and headed to the Control Room, entering as another transmission was received. “
North Dakota,
this is Ice Station Nautilus. Repeat, Vice Admiral Dahlenburg from Fleet Forces Command is on his way down. Do you copy? Over.”

One of the sonar technicians handed Tolbert the WQC microphone.

“Ice Station Nautilus,” Tolbert replied slowly, so his words would be heard clearly over the underwater comms, “this is
North Dakota
. Understand all. What is the purpose of the Admiral’s visit? Over.”

“
North Dakota,
Ice Station Nautilus. Admiral Dahlenburg desires a tour of your submarine, and a review of any damage you have sustained. Over.”

“Ice Station Nautilus,
North Dakota
. What is the Admiral’s E-T-A? Over.”

“
North Dakota,
Ice Station Nautilus. One-five mikes. Over.”

Tolbert glanced at the nearest clock. The Admiral would arrive in fifteen minutes.

“Ice Station Nautilus,
North Dakota
. Understand Admiral will arrive in one-five mikes. Which hatch will the submersible attach to? Over.”

“
North Dakota,
Ice Station Nautilus. Wait.”

Tolbert waited patiently for whoever was on the other end of the WQC comms to run down the desired information. A minute later, the WQC comms resumed.

“
North Dakota,
Ice Station Nautilus.
Falcon
will attach to the forward escape trunk. Out.”

Tolbert slid the WQC microphone into its holder and retrieved the nearest 1-MC mike. “XO, COB, lay to Control.”

Lieutenant Commander Sites was the first to arrive, joined a few seconds later by Master Chief Murgo. Tolbert explained the Vice Admiral’s pending arrival, leaving it to the XO and COB to have appropriate personnel at the forward escape trunk and the officers and chiefs standing by in their respective spaces.

PRM-1
FALCON

“Close the hatch.”

Standing inside the PRM with the other fifteen Spetsnaz, Captain Second Rank Gleb Leonov ordered the attendant beside him to shut the forward hatch. The attendant, Bob Ennis, nervously closed the hatch, sealing himself inside with sixteen Spetsnaz soldiers and another attendant. At the other end of the rescue vehicle, Art Glover sat at a control station where he monitored the submersible’s atmosphere and communicated with the pilot topside.

Between the two attendants, fifteen Spetsnaz sat; eight on one side and seven on the other. Leonov settled into the final seat, fingering the pistol inside his jacket pocket. There would not be much space to maneuver aboard the submarine, and each man carried a PSS Silent Pistol, along with additional magazines in their parka pockets. Underneath their parkas, PP2000 close-combat submachine guns hung from slings, as backup for the small-caliber pistols.

“Standby for Launch,” Glover announced.

A moment later, the submersible lifted upward, then came to a halt with a loud thunk as the bayonet spikes locked into the A-frame. The PRM lurched forward as the massive A-frame arms began pivoting outboard, coming to a halt once the A-frame reached a thirty-degree tilt.
Falcon
swayed in the air directly over the ice hole.

Once
Falcon
steadied up, Glover announced, “Coming out of the latches.” Leonov felt the bayonet spikes retract, and the PRM began its descent. There was a gentle impact as the vehicle hit the water, followed shortly by the high-pitched whine of the PRM’s hydraulic pumps. Not long thereafter, Glover began calling out the vehicle’s depth. Leonov located a video display above Glover’s left shoulder. The submersible’s lights were energized, and the camera on the vehicle was panning back and forth, illuminating the water below them.

As the submersible descended, Leonov reviewed the plan in his mind. In a few minutes, the PRM would attach to the American submarine and its hatch would open. He would leave one Spetsnaz behind, guarding the attendants in the PRM, leaving him with fourteen men for the assault. The main issue was entering the submarine quickly enough, before the American crew could arm themselves. His men would have to climb down through the hatch one by one, then gain control before the crew was alerted.

As the PRM descended deeper beneath the ice cap, the pilot in the control van atop the ice reported they had gained sonar contact on
North Dakota,
and a few minutes later, a dark object appeared on the display, growing slowly larger until a submarine materialized from the haze. The submersible slowed its descent, and Leonov felt the thrusters kick in, maneuvering
Falcon
toward a hatch in front of the submarine’s conning tower.

USS
NORTH DAKOTA

Commander Tolbert stood beneath the Forward Escape Trunk, waiting for the arrival of the submersible carrying Vice Admiral Dahlenburg. The COB and XO were also there, while the rest of the officers and chiefs were standing by in their respective spaces. The cooks were already whipping something up to serve the Admiral after his tour. Tolbert had no idea what they would come up with, but was confident his Culinary Specialist Chief would concoct something worthy.

Seaman David Lorms was standing by with a WIFCOM radio in his hand, in communication with Control in case anything went wrong. It wasn’t often one opened a hatch while at two hundred feet. Auxiliary Division Chief Larry Johnson was standing by to drain the cavity above the hatch and open it. In the few minutes since they were notified over the WQC, everyone had scrambled into position.

A loud clank from above announced the PRM’s arrival. There were a few other metallic sounds and then silence, except for a faint humming. Several minutes passed, and then Tolbert heard the metallic tap code. Nine taps; the DSRV had formed a seal with
North Dakota
’s hull and pumped out most of the water in the transfer skirt connecting the two vessels.

Chief Johnson opened the hatch drain, and the residual water above the hatch flowed from the drain pipe at the standard rate, indicating the pressure on the other side was normal atmospheric, rather than pressurized to two hundred feet. After thirty seconds, the water ebbed to a halt and four taps were heard; it was safe to open the hatch. Johnson climbed the ladder to within reach of the hatch handwheel, then looked down to Tolbert for direction.

“Open the hatch,” Tolbert ordered.

Johnson turned the handwheel, and once the hatch lugs disengaged, he pushed the heavy, spring-loaded hatch up until it latched in the vertical position. Tolbert peered through the opening; the submersible hatch was open and men were climbing down. Chief Johnson dropped down from the ladder and moved out of the way, and the first man descended the ladder. He was wearing white Arctic gear instead of Navy foul-weather gear, but that wasn’t surprising given their location. The man dropped onto the deck and turned toward Tolbert.

He had never met Admiral Dahlenburg, but knew what he looked like. The first man wasn’t him. Nonetheless, Tolbert greeted his guest. “Welcome aboard
North Dakota
.”

The man said nothing as he took a step forward. His eyes scanned the confined space, shifting rapidly from one person to the next. The second man landed on the deck and took a step aft as a third man descended swiftly behind him.

When the third man hit the deck, he said something Tolbert didn’t understand, and the three men pulled pistols from their pockets.

Tolbert reacted immediately. “Repel boarders!”

Seaman Lorms brought the WIFCOM to his mouth, but before he could say anything, he was shot between the eyes and collapsed to the deck. Tolbert turned back toward the man in front of him, who was swinging his pistol toward his head. He tried to duck, but was too slow. He felt a hard crack against his skull, and his world went black.

*   *   *

Fifteen minutes later, Captain Second Rank Leonov stood in the empty Central Command Post of the Virginia class submarine, marveling at the technology. There were so many displays, consoles, and computer servers that he had difficulty grasping how much equipment they were dealing with. His order had been simple: strip all hardware of value. That amounted to pretty much the entire damn submarine.

Leonov turned as his platoon leader and six other Spetsnaz entered the Command Post.

“What is the status?” Leonov asked.

Captain Lieutenant Erik Topolski replied, “We have control of the entire ship. The crew is bound in their berthing compartment, with the exception of three watchstanders in their engineering control room. I thought it best to leave them on watch, but guarded, while the submarine’s nuclear reactor was in operation.”

Leonov nodded his approval. He had expected to board a disabled submarine, with the crew clinging to life as its atmosphere became toxic. Instead, the ship appeared fully operational. Leonov’s eyes swept around the Command Post, locating a depth indication. The submarine was hovering at two hundred feet, and he was uneasy leaving the Command Post unmanned. “Select a crew member who can control the submarine’s depth and angle, and station him at the proper position.”

Topolski acknowledged the order as Leonov examined the Command Post again. There was a lot of equipment to strip, and they had until daylight to complete their mission and return to Camp Barneo, vacating the American ice camp before implementing the last phase of their plan. They would need to move fast. Fortunately, many of the consoles were identical.

“Begin here in the Command Post,” Leonov directed. “Gut one of each type of console, and strip all servers.” He added, “Be careful with the equipment. It must be functional when it is reassembled.” He surveyed the consoles again. They were energized. “Find a crew member who can deenergize their equipment. Kill however many men you need until someone complies.”

“Yes, Captain,” Topolski replied.

Topolski issued the order to one of his men, then followed up with the rest. They removed their parkas in the warm submarine as they prepared to disassemble the Command Post equipment.

Leonov addressed Topolski again. “I will inform Captain Klokov of our status, then return with the material to complete the mission.”

Topolski acknowledged as Leonov left the Command Post and headed toward the submarine’s open hatch, then climbed the ladder into
Falcon
. The two attendants were at the far end of the submersible, still under the surveillance of the Spetsnaz left behind. Leonov directed the Americans to establish communications with the Spetsnaz commander in the PRM control van and Glover complied, then handed his headset to Leonov. Captain Klokov was quickly updated.

Leonov handed the headset back to Glover, then grabbed a white duffel bag they had loaded aboard
Falcon
on the surface. He slung the heavy bag over his shoulder, then descended the ladder into the submarine.