Marauder (The Oregon Files)

by Clive Cussler

  “The flooding is under control. We’re not in imminent danger of sinking.”

  “I suppose it could always be worse,” Juan said.

  “Sorry I don’t have a more optimistic report.”

  “We don’t have time to slip out of here before the sub arrives. Looks like we’re going to have to fight them. No way a Chinese sub is in these waters unless it’s working with Tate.”

  “How can we fight them?” Max asked. “Our torpedoes are out, and we have no sonar. We won’t even know if the sub is in the fjord.”

  “We still have some sonobuoys, right?”

  Max shrugged. “They’re not nearly as powerful as the ones the Deepwater installed. We’ll never hear the sound of a diesel-electric sub running on batteries.”

  “We don’t need to,” Juan said. “We only have to hear the whale’s song.”

  Max nodded. “That might be enough. I’ll send out Hali and Murph in a Zodiac to drop it in the water near the U-turn of the fjord. But how are we going to fight it with no torpedoes of our own?”

  “We have to get it to the surface. The sonar alterations that Murph made might work.”

  Max looked skeptical, but there was no other choice. “If the sub sees us before we spot them, she’ll plant a couple of torpedoes in us, and then it’s game over.”

  Juan knew he was right. This entire strategy was a long shot, and the situation looked dire for the Oregon. Even if they survived an encounter with the Chinese sub, they still had to get past the Portland, which was looking more improbable by the minute.

  “I have an idea how to bring the sub to the surface,” Juan said. “I’ll let Hali and Murph know what they need to do. You find Maurice and tell him to come see me.”

  “Maurice?” Max asked, puzzled why Juan would want to see the chief steward at a time like this.

  Juan gave Max a solemn look. “I have an important task for him. And I don’t think he’s going to like it.”

  61

  The hydraulic platform in the aft hold of the Oregon rose out of the deck while Gomez Adams untied the skids of the MD 520N five-passenger helicopter. Unlike most choppers, this one had no tail rotor. Instead, rotation of the aircraft was controlled by exhaust from the turbine that was vented through slots in the tail boom.

  He climbed in and rapidly went through the checklist to get the chopper airborne as quickly as possible. While Gomez was busy starting it up, Linda, MacD, and Raven loaded a complement of assault rifles into the helicopter, enough to outfit a squad of soldiers. All three were dressed in combat gear and body armor.

  “Do you think they’ll have anyone on the Deepwater who can fire those things?” Gomez asked Linda.

  “NUMA always has a few Navy vets on board,” she said. “And, we know how to handle our weapons.”

  “Ah just hope we get there in time,” MacD said.

  “As far as we know, they haven’t been spotted,” Raven said, handing up the last of the ammunition. Now there was barely room inside the cabin for the three of them. Linda got into the front seat beside Gomez while Raven and MacD squeezed into the rear. All of them put headsets on.

  “Everyone buckled in?” Gomez asked.

  They all said yes, and he started the engine and engaged the five-bladed rotor. Within seconds, it was up to full speed, and he deftly lifted off from the Oregon. He wheeled around and sped down the fjord, waving to Hali and Murph as he flew over, each in his own Zodiac.

  Gomez could have chosen a direct flight path from the Oregon to the Deepwater, but instead he flew overland as much as he could to minimize the chance that he’d accidentally pass over the Portland. If her anti-aircraft missile system was the same as the one on the Oregon, Tate could easily blow him out of the sky.

  He passed over one last mountain and saw the Deepwater anchored in the isolated cove. The sole waterway into it was so tiny that he gave the captain credit for squeezing through successfully. If the Portland tried the same thing, it would be wedged in place.

  He circled the Deepwater once so they could see he was from the Oregon. Then he dived down and hovered over the bow landing pad, settling onto it so gently that it was hard to tell they’d even made contact.

  Two women approached the helicopter as Linda, MacD, and Raven got out. He couldn’t hear what was said among them because he didn’t stop the rotor, but each of the women expertly checked the magazine on the assault rifle given to her and slung the weapon over her shoulder. Raven and MacD carried the rest away toward the bridge.

  Linda came back over and spoke into the headset.

  “We don’t want Tate to know we got here,” she said. “If they see the chopper on the pad, they’ll be wary about approaching. We want to catch them by surprise. Better go back to the Oregon.”

  “Roger that,” Gomez replied.

  Linda closed the door and backed away. As soon as she was clear, Gomez took off.

  When he neared the top of the mountain, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

  It was a drone. The quadcopter was just cresting the ridge to the south. The only reason he saw its gray body was because it stuck out against the white snow on the mountaintop. It had to be from the Portland.

  He radioed the Deepwater about the drone, but he didn’t hear a response. He was too distracted by the flare of a missile’s exhaust racing toward him over the mountain from behind the drone.

  He shoved the joystick forward in an attempt to duck under the missile’s path. It wasn’t fast enough.

  Even though the warhead didn’t make a direct impact, the missile’s proximity sensor detonated, showering the chopper with shrapnel.

  The windscreen was peppered with metal shards, and two of them hit Gomez, one in the head and one in the leg. Blood gushed down his face, obscuring his vision, but he didn’t feel any pain. Not yet.

  The explosion also hit the engine, and smoke poured out. Alarms blared, and the control panel warning lights flashed like it was Times Square.

  He could feel the lift decreasing, and the helicopter swung crazily from side to side. It wasn’t going to stay in the air much longer.

  “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” Gomez shouted into the headset as he wrestled with the controls. “I’m going down. Repeat, I’m going down.”

  He didn’t get an answer, so he didn’t know if his radio had been hit as well.

  The mountain was rugged and steep, but there was a small glacier on one side of the island. He aimed the MD 520N for the flattest portion.

  As he approached, the engine suddenly cut out, and he had to glide in as best he could using autorotation. His depth perception was gone, so gauging his speed as he headed for the white expanse was nearly impossible.

  He used his thousands of flight hours to guess when to flare out. Too early and he’d drop like a stone. Too late and he’d slam into the ground at high speed.

  He was too early, but only a little. He was hovering just feet over the glacier when the last of the lift gave out. The helicopter lurched downward, but the soft snow cushioned its fall, and then it remained upright as the skids sank into the powder. The rotor blades slowly came to a stop and the cabin went eerily silent.

  Gomez keyed the radio, but all he heard was static.

  Then the pain finally hit. His leg throbbed and his head ached. He reached in the first-aid kit and grabbed and ripped open some gauze, pressing it against his temple to stanch the blood flow. His thigh was bleeding, too, but it didn’t look serious.

  If the drone saw him, it certainly saw the NUMA ship, and it meant the Portland was somewhere nearby. Getting off this glacier was going to be a problem. He leaned back and closed his eyes. That was nothing compared to the trouble coming for the Deepwater.

  62

  That helicopter had to have spotted the drone,” Tate said from his command chair in the Portland’s op center. The smoking MD 520N tha
t was now resting on the glacier was similar to the Portland’s own chopper. “It must be from the Oregon.”

  “What was it doing there?” Ballard asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe Juan is in communication with the Deepwater and sent someone to evacuate them.” The NUMA ship was motionless in the cove where it was hiding.

  “That won’t happen now,” Farouk said. “The chopper is a wreck.”

  “Now it is. But the pilot might have been able to warn Deepwater that we’re nearby.”

  “We can’t get in there,” Li Quon said. “The Portland is too big to fit.”

  “What about firing a missile to sink her?” Tate asked.

  Li shook his head. “We can’t get a lock from here.”

  “Don’t we want hostages?” Ballard asked.

  Tate nodded. “I was just considering my options. What do you suggest?”

  “The Portland may not be able to get in,” Ballard said, “but I can take our chopper over there.” No sense in sending it out on a search for the Oregon when it could be shot down without ever seeing the ship.

  “I can go with her,” Li said. “I should be able to steer the Deepwater back out of the cove.”

  “If she’s seaworthy,” Tate said. “Durchenko’s men put a lot of holes in her engine room before the Abtao went down.”

  “If the ship isn’t able to make headway, we can hold them hostage on board,” Ballard said. “Or we can start ferrying them back here.”

  Tate grimaced. There were supposed to be more than fifty crew on board. Bringing them all back two or three at a time would take too long.

  “Ten people at most,” he said. “Officers only. Execute the rest.”

  “I’ll take some charges along, just in case,” Li said. “That way, I can plant explosives to scuttle the ship.”

  “How long will it take you to get over there?” Tate asked.

  Ballard shrugged. “Ten minutes.”

  Tate thought about that. The range on the chopper was three hundred miles, so there was no need for the Portland to hang around and wait for them. If Ballard saw the Deepwater try to make a run for it, Tate could always turn around and come back to intercept the ship. If not, he could take the Portland and continue searching for the Oregon.

  “Okay,” he said. “You and Li assemble an assault team. Land on the Deepwater and take control of the ship and crew. They’re a bunch of scientists, so I don’t think you’ll encounter much resistance, but don’t hesitate to eliminate anyone who fights back. We don’t need all of them.”

  “Understood,” Ballard said. “We’ll land, and then I’ll have the helicopter take off again and cover us while we commandeer the bridge.”

  On the main view screen, Tate saw the helicopter pad rising from the aft hold. Its pilot was checking the weapons. Unlike the Oregon’s civilian chopper, Tate had sprung for the military version. It was equipped with twin 7.62mm mini-guns and two seven-shot rocket pods. The weaponry wasn’t enough to sink a ship of the Deepwater’s size, but the machine guns and rockets could take out anyone on deck who caused trouble.

  Li left the op center, and Ballard was about to follow when Tate grabbed her arm and planted a kiss on her.

  “What was that for?” she asked with a smile.

  “Because I can,” Tate said. “Plus I love it when you say ‘commandeer.’”

  As she pulled away, her hand trailed down his arm. She was still grinning as she went out the door.

  Tate turned and caught Farouk smirking at him. The rest of the op center crew members were studiously averting their gazes.

  “What are you looking at?” Tate sneered at Farouk as he returned to his chair.

  “Nothing at all,” Farouk said, but he chuckled under his breath.

  Tate made a mental note. Once he sank the Oregon and sold off the plans for the sonic disruptor for a hefty price, he’d have no more use for the Egyptian engineer.

  When Ballard got back from her mission, she and Tate would have a lot of fun planning how to kill him.

  63

  Juan’s blood ran cold regarding Tate when word came back from the Deepwater that Gomez’s helicopter was shot down after he dropped off the team. He wished he could go in search of his friend and crewmate, but right now his responsibility was to the Oregon. The sonobuoy Hali had anchored near the other end of the fjord was picking up the humpback whale’s song, which meant the Chinese sub was approaching.

  Even though clouds still passed over the tops of the mountains surrounding them at regular intervals, the water and air at the surface of the fjord were relatively calm. The tranquil conditions made Juan’s plan possible.

  A magnified view of the fjord’s opposite end showed nothing.

  “I’m picking up the signal rounding the U-bend,” Hali said. “If I’m reading this right, they’ll be completing the turn in a minute. Then they’ll have a straight shot at us.”

  “Start up our sonic disruptor,” Juan ordered Murph.

  “Starting her up,” Murph said, activating the crude version of the weapon that he had improvised.

  “Let’s see what that does to their sensors,” Eric Stone said from his position at the helm.

  “If it doesn’t work,” Murph said, “we’ll know soon enough.”

  Too true, Juan thought. The sound of an explosion hitting the ship might be the first indication the submarine hadn’t been affected. The sub would fire torpedoes the second its commander saw the Oregon. The disruptor had diverted the Portland’s torpedoes, but that was no guarantee it would deflect the Chinese’s. In any case, the Oregon might not be able to survive even a near miss in her current state.

  “Hali, trigger the fog generator.”

  Juan had ordered Hali and Murph to leave one of the Zodiacs out there to hold a large remote-controlled smoke machine.

  A white cloud began to belch from the Zodiac. Soon, it would cover a large section of the fjord. The generator would produce a good approximation of the fog they’d seen before, but it wouldn’t last long. If Juan had worked this out correctly, all they would need was a minute or two of the dense coverage.

  “Murph,” he said, “prepare to fire.”

  “Opening hull doors,” Murph replied. The steel plates would now be retracting to expose the ship’s 120mm cannon.

  Murph looked down at the targeting reticle on his weapons monitor, which was also displayed on the main view screen. The reticle was aimed at the center of the expanding cloud.

  “This may be tricky without the radar,” he said.

  “I trust your aim,” Juan said.

  All they could do now was wait for the sub to show itself.

  * * *

  —

  Admiral Yu was not pleased when he heard from the sonarman. They were in a critical maneuver rounding the bend in the fjord, and the crewman was telling him that the Wuzong was effectively blind.

  “Is the sonar malfunctioning?” Yu demanded.

  The sonarman looked perplexed. “I don’t know, Admiral. There might be some kind of interference, but I can’t tell where it could be coming from. Our signal still seems to be emitting, yet I can’t see the fjord walls on my monitor anymore. We could drift right into the cliffs or any underwater obstacle.”

  Yu cursed his luck. “Reverse engines! All stop!”

  As the Wuzong came to a halt, Yu waited for the sound of the hull scraping the rocks, but all was silent. They’d stopped in time.

  “It looks like we’ll have to use visual navigation,” Yu said. “Bring us to periscope depth.”

  He raised the periscope and peered through it. When the scope cleared the surface, he still could see nothing. This time, however, it was because of fog. He did a complete three-hundred-sixty-degree turn, but the cover was so dense that he couldn’t even see the nearby cliffs.

  It might only be low-le
vel, Yu thought. The periscope was just a meter or so above the surface. They had to get above the mist.

  “Surface the boat,” he ordered.

  “But we will be visible, sir,” the executive officer objected.

  “Not in this soup, we won’t,” Yu said. “We can’t just sit here. Do it.”

  The XO looked dubious, nonetheless saying, “Yes, sir.”

  The ballast tanks were emptied, and the Wuzong breached the surface.

  Yu once again looked through the periscope. The fog was less dense at this level, and it looked like it was starting to clear. He turned, seeing just how close they’d come to running straight into the side of the canyon. The rock face was less than fifty meters from the starboard bow of the boat.

  He kept rotating and suddenly stopped when, out of the parting gloom, he saw a ship a mile away at the dead end of the fjord. It was either the Oregon or the Portland, he couldn’t tell which.

  “Radio the Portland. Now! Tell them our position and ask for theirs.”

  The radio officer made the call, but Admiral Yu didn’t need to wait for a reply to realize he’d made a grave mistake. There was a muzzle flash from the bow of the ship.

  “Crash-dive!” he yelled. “Fire torpedo tubes one and two!”

  A second later, a huge splash from an explosion erupted off the port bow, and the sub shook from the impact.

  The crew scrambled to follow his orders, but Yu realized it wouldn’t matter.

  A second muzzle flash told him he was too late.

  * * *

  —

  Juan watched as the second shell struck the bow of the submarine. The armor-piercing round must have plunged all the way through to the torpedo room because the entire front of the submarine blew apart in a spectacular blast.

  The remainder of the sub settled in the water until its tail fins tilted up skyward, then plunged beneath the surface like a diving whale.