“If it does not lead to this rock you believe changes…things?” He waved uselessly at the machinery.
She tried to keep emotion from her face. He did not believe in the legend and wanted her to let it go. She could not. He didn’t understand the love of a parent, the trust you gave them and the inconsolable loss. Dimitri was raised in an orphanage and grew to a man in the military. His life was violent and his view tainted by his own “most expedient route” practicality. She was in her father’s footsteps now, and the stone was Papa’s desire. He was obsessed with it, she admitted. Because Moscow ignored their calls for help, he never had the chance to find the truth. She would accomplish two goals for him. Avenge his death and find the relic. But her need to fulfill it wasn’t driving her as much as to know the truth of the stone’s power. The Chinese fables her father had uncovered spoke as if it offered youth and health, and those who warred over it, sought immortality. A wild tale, yes, but as she looked at Dimitri, she hoped it was true.
“I will not stop till I find it. I cannot.”
“I know why you hunt the stone.” His expression hardened. “And you waste precious time and money, Liz—commander. You cannot change that—”
“No!” She couldn’t meet his gaze and stared at the grinding. “For my father and his crew first, comrade, then for myself.”
He scoffed, the sound disgusted. “You only want to rub Moscow’s face in it.”
She tipped her chin up. “I will rub the world’s nose in this. Moscow has already brought attention by those MiG bombs.”
She’d predicted that with a small sign of trouble, they would rush to smother the evidence. It had taken her four months of tolerating the company of her enemies and using the mafia troops to secure Mills and his sonar. Killing Molenko was a euphoria she relished still, but she’d known from the beginning it would come to this. When there was no ceremonial launch, nor family allowed to see the sub, she knew her father had been on a secret mission for the state. Yet after the catastrophe, the more she fought to recover the submarine, the harder FSB pushed back, and threatened. Blamed her father. The betrayal and the accusations in the news had killed her mother with a shame she did not deserve. Veta had gone into seclusion after her death, to learn and prepare to battle the lies. Moscow saved face with the Americans at the expense of seventy-three of their countrymen. It was an abomination.
Father would never have risked his crew. He would have surfaced at the first sign of trouble as a precaution. Arrogant, poor navigation, the news had said, all provided by FSB. Her father was the most skilled of all boat commanders, awarded several times for his bravery. He was a national hero, and to defame him was unacceptable. But even the pleas of the families of the dead had not been enough to extract the truth. Until a man visited her, warning her that screaming her claims only made her an annoyance to Moscow. She had to become a viable threat and willing to execute those in her path to prove it. He’d provided the money to do that, and there was much blood on her hands now. Unearthing the conspirators was only the beginning, and she knew killing Molenko put FSB on her trail. Let them come. She was where she wanted to be, ready to strike back.
“The responsibility is mine, comrade.” She eyed Dimitri. He was staring at the hole, looking as he often did. With regret. He was to have been aboard the Trident, but a chest cold kept him from joining his Special Operations unit. He was the only one of his unit alive. But she was alone as well, and didn’t care for his morose mood. Not now. They were just starting this phase and she needed him focused. “You will have your revenge,” she said softly, aware more than anyone that it was their single purpose.
“Da. At what cost to you?”
“Only justice matters.” She dismissed his concern with a wave.
He grabbed her arm, drawing her from earshot. “Those men are coming for the old man and do not make light of their skills. The woman landed in Greenland for a reason. Hunting us now, perhaps?”
She pulled free, frowning at him. “Then when the time comes we will use the old man to get what we want. This woman, Corrigan, goes for the Aramina star coordinates and it must concern the diary.” The star navigation was during winter then, perpetually dark. What could they have seen from the water? “Sheppard wouldn’t speak of them.” But the old man was a history scholar, and would not have bid on the ship’s log without knowing exactly what was inside it. She’d mapped and readjusted those findings for that particular century and year, but found little that could be seen from the sea. She glanced at the horizon, wondering how far away the star navigation was from her father’s grave, then swallowed bitter tears and straightened her posture. She would prove that they’d died needlessly. The Americans could have saved them, but at the first slap, Moscow politics sent them away. The champions of democracy were weak. She was not.
She returned her gaze to the bore and when she saw the bubble of water ordered all stop. She waved them back. “Quickly, before the edge breaks.”
The men rushed to pull the boring machine from the hole. She rolled the sonar forward and looked at Dimitri. He nodded, and she pitched the hand cart. The sonar slipped into the water and bobbed. She walked to Dimitri and he gave her the handheld controls. With a touch to the screen, she shifted the ballast and marveled at its maneuverability as it sank slowly. The ground-penetrating radar readings said the ice here wasn’t as thick and they’d dragged the sonar behind the Northern Lion to map this area, making several turns to get this close. She had considerable assets behind her to do more than hunt for the People’s Trident. It was part of the bargain, a trade for the ballistic missiles she would retrieve. Remote robotic cameras, the minisubmarine, and dry suits designed to withstand frigid temperatures were prepared. The coordinates from Molenko’s files were as accurate as the KGB official wanted and those, she thought, could be another lie.
Her search for the Trident would end here, she thought as the sonar submerged further, then vanished from sight. On the screen, she watched the beacon descend. They were several yards from the shore, a line of frozen seawater that threatened to widen. She watched the beacon find current and slow to a stop, then into the fjord. She smiled and maneuvered it nearly three hundred meters beneath the glacier. Then she switched on the active ping, and on the screen, she watched the sound waves map where the glacier met the water.
Her eyes widened when she realized it wasn’t deep ice at all. This was their third cut in the ice, and the coordinates were on target, but she could not take the minisubmarine down without an exact location. The sound waves painted a slow picture on the screen and she frowned. Nothing. No shape that should not be there. With the handheld, she swept it slowly back and forth, then lowered the motorized sonar and let it spun slowly in a circle. She stopped it in a hover, letting it do its work. On the screen, the shape grew more distinguishable, and she knew she wasn’t seeing a glacier. The curves appeared first. Deep blue and smooth. She covered her mouth, trying not to choke on her own cries. Oh Papa.
She felt Dimitri move up behind her, his hand discreetly touching her back. She lifted her gaze to her men surrounding her. “We have found the People’s Trident.” They moved in closely. “She is on an ice shelf.” She looked at Dimitri. “Bring the remote camera. We will begin filming this as well.”
He walked to his snowmobile and unstrapped the underwater camera. It reminded her of a toy, a tubular camera flanked by lights with small propellers that would tilt and shift to sweep through the seawater. She switched on the camera and Dimitri lowered it into the choppy water that was already freezing over the hole with a layer of fresh ice.
Once they had the exact location, the Northern Lion would break the ice to reach it.
THIRTEEN
In the comm room, Sebastian leaned against a steel table, sipping damn good coffee while he waited for the hookup to McGill. The kick of caffeine fine-tuned the edge of his impatience, and for Ross’s sake, he stopped pacing. He was trying to figure out a way to lure the Northern Lion close enough to b
oard her. McGill wouldn’t go for it, but he knew a dozen Marines who would. His gaze flicked to the split screen and the satellite view of the shore. The Northern Lion was inside Denmark waters and moving fast. Deep Six searched for the downed submarine. How it evaded the SOSUS sound surveillance bouys, still eluded them.
He looked up as Max entered, throwing back his hood and plucking off the ski cap. “Ten on the ice, I figure no less than thirty to operate that ship. All armed. They were cutting a hole in the ice. Sonar dipping.”
Sebastian agreed, gesturing to the right screen. “It’s not far from breaking the shore ice. Ross?”
“Got Deep Six coming in five seconds. We’ll only have it for about another hour, maybe eighty minutes,” he said with a quick glance at the time.
“I only need five,” he muttered. Deep Six could jump any satellite, and he watched the stream arrive. McGill’s face appeared first. He noticed Beckham and Gerardo standing back to his right.
“Fontenòt. We have the hot spot for the submarine.”
He reared back a bit. “In this ice?”
“It’s giving off low-density waves. Unstable core possibly.”
He frowned, thinking of the vibration Olivia insisted was damaging the ice.
“We believe…” the pause held a wealth of doubt, “it’s about thirty yards northwest of the Viking ship. Above crush depth. Sending you some coordinates.”
If the Trident was shallow and disabled, he thought, what the hell was keeping a three-hundred-foot sub buoyant? He tipped his head to Max. “Check the load of the Sno-Cats, buddy. One man to drive them, three on protection. We get them off the ice before anyone starts this party.”
“Uninvited guests are so crass,” Max said, then brought the radio to his mouth as he turned away.
Sebastian looked back at the screen and McGill. “Noble is aboard, sir. It’s not getting out of here with him.”
“Agreed. After Molenko’s death, Moscow’s on it, even though they won’t admit.” McGill smirked a bit. “They can send MiGs that far, though none are in the area. Danish authorities are aware of the Northern Lion, and they’re not happy about it. We’re under diplomatic service here, we’re guests. They make the call.”
Sebastian’s lips tightened. He’d deal with diplomatic sovereignty when Noble was safe and McGill knew it. “They can blow them out of the water, but not till I get Noble off.”
“Gotta plan for that?”
“Opportunity will knock. Already off-loading artifacts and nonessential personnel.”
“Get them all off, Sebastian. Ice Harvest can endure an earthquake. SSU can return, but Kolbash and Nevolin will use deadly force and just take what they want.”
Sebastian felt a little relief. He wanted the dig cleared and filled the general in on the recent details, arms, men, and cutting into the ice. “They’re going under the ice.”
McGill looked grim. “Nevolin’s money bought her a four-man sub designed for emergency docking with just about any boat. Evidence suggests she’s been educating herself on it for a year. She’s crazy enough to try to board it.”
Her voice echoed inside the small submarine and Veta adjusted her volume.
Through the thick glass, she looked at Dimitri standing on the deck, smiling in the face of his concerned expression. He wanted to be with her, but she needed his expertise on the deck as a precaution. The cables lowered the vessel. The weather wasn’t cooperating and she felt the sway of the submarine as it dangled from the clamps. She looked at the dual readouts counting down till satellite blackout, then the other readout beside it showing how long they had until their air ran out. The counter blinked zeros till she hit the reset.
“Ready to release,” Dimitri said and she ordered the clamps opened.
The free fall tumbled her stomach, and her body rocked with the sub’s impact with the water. It was another moment before it stabilized. She glanced at Stefan beside her and he nodded. “Rastoff?” He sat behind her inside his dry suit.
“I am fine, Commander. Good landing.”
She maneuvered the sub away from the icebreaker. The shore of ice lay ahead, their progress mapped on a screen. Dimitri confirmed release of the sonar from its holster. She dragged it for a few yards, and tested the readout. She switched on the cameras mounted over her head. “Camera is on. Northern Lion, do you receive?”
Dimitri responded. “Copy, Hammer. Looks very cold.”
She smiled to herself, glancing at Stefan. “Prepare to dive.” She adjusted the ballast. “Dive.”
The icy water swallowed them. The temperature changed within seconds. She watched the sonar screen strapped to the dash, and while the confines were cramped, the four-man sub she’d christened the People’s Hammer fit like a comfortable old sweater. Its sea crab shape with four outboard propellers gave it amazing maneuverability, and the mechanical titanium arms were extensions of her hands. A year of preparation had been worth it.
She maneuvered the minisub toward its destination deeper under the glacier, and the thousand yards at a slow speed turned the temperatures down another few degrees. She didn’t feel it through her heavy clothing, but it wouldn’t last. Her training in icy temperatures could not prepare her for the hazards of arctic waters. She searched ahead, glancing briefly to her controls, the oxygen and petrol levels. Impatience rode her as she neared the location pinpointed earlier. The sonar pinged slowly at first, each tone coming faster as the Hammer’s lights brightened the cloudy seawater. Then the beam caught the curve of the hull, and like an old movie fading in, the three-hundred-foot submarine came into clear view.
She inhaled, feeling her heart race. The dolphin shape sloped to the tail section, its propeller crushed under black rock and ice. There were no breaks in the hull that she could see, but the far side of the submarine was against the ice shelf that curved deeply over its bridge. “Northern Lion, do you see this position?”
“Copy that, Hammer.”
On contingency, she’d been prepared to ballast and tow the Trident should she be unharmed, but with her tilt and the rock and ice, it was impossible to free it without losing it to the bottom of the sea. Damage was expected, but she was disappointed she couldn’t parade the sub into Ana Bay and focused on what she could do. “We proceed to dock.” She brought her submarine alongside toward the nose. A fish on a ledge, she thought, and drove the boat left, checking water currents that were surprisingly strong. “Prepare for locking, Rastoff.”
She let the craft hover in the water, the temperatures inside making her breath frost. Slowly Veta navigated over the top hatch, the Trident’s position forcing her to tip slightly and play with ballast. Her gaze flicked between the Trident hatch and her controls as she drew incrementally closer. She lowered slowly, like a bug settling on the back of a rhino. The jolt of metal to metal echoed as she went all stop over the escape hatch. Rastoff lowered the clamp, and the minisub rocked slightly as the mechanism pressurized the suction lock. The air pushed past the front glass in a trail of bubbles.
She turned over the controls to Stefan, then unclipped from the molded chair, rolling out to crawl to the rear. She worked on the dry suit, its thick skin heavy. Her upper lip perspired and chilled until she pushed her feet into the heavy boots and snapped the clamps tight. She fastened her weight belt and sat to secure her tanks. She’d opted for two much smaller ones, and yet knew that even with her size, it would be cramped inside the Trident. Rastoff fitted her helmet down over her head and turned on her air. As he fastened it, she tested the communications, then called above to Dimitri. He sounded relieved, and she was simply glad to hear his distorted voice. He’d stopped trying to convince her that finding the Trident was enough. She had to see for herself or she’d never put this to rest. She knew Dimitri expected her to die today.
Rastoff locked his helmet in place, then she turned on his air. They switched on the digital cameras built into the helmets. The tiny headlamps were blinding bright as Rastoff knelt, then pulled levers to release the hatch.
It opened, the wet hull of the Trident below her. For a moment, Veta closed her eyes. The truth, finally.
Rastoff turned the crank, twisted the wheel, and opened it. “Christ on a cross,” Stefan said, his expression sour.
She glanced at the gauges. “Air levels are toxic. When we close the hatch, transfer air.”
“Do not doubt that, Commander. Good luck.”
She lowered into the hatch, the fit tight because of her tanks. The toxic levels forced her to descend quickly into her father’s grave. At the base of the ladder, she stepped aside. Rastoff dropped his equipment bag. Veta pulled it out of his way, and he descended, then immediately resealed the hatch. He knocked on it twice. The minisub would remain there until they returned and she would drive it to assist Rastoff at the torpedo tubes. Once they had the missiles released, Dimitri would launch boats to assist with transport. Capture was up to Dimitri, and the Northern Lion would tow them. Rastoff would set the ballast that would take the missiles to the surface. She had under twenty minutes to investigate and record this mass murder.
Rastoff looked down at her. “Ready?”
It had all come to this moment, she thought, unable to look at anything until Rastoff took the lead. “Da.” The helmet obstructed head movement and the face shield offered only a look at his eyes. But she saw the sympathy there. She touched his arm. “Let us find the truth.”
Rastoff walked ahead, his weighted boots clunking on the steel grate floor. She frowned tightly, staring down and feeling a rumbling under her feet. She tapped Rastoff, but he didn’t respond. She looked past him to the horror spread through the submarine. Four men were slumped over their stations, their uniforms pristine, yet their bodies shriveled up inside them. She moved forward, the controls dead, the air still. She checked her radiation reading. “Radiation and toxicity are high. We must work quickly.” The fumes from the bodies encapsulated in their coffin, she thought, and the radiation from the core.
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