Fractured: V Plague Book 15

by Dirk Patton

  I was angry again, rising to my feet and facing him across the table. It took all my self-control to not reach across and yank him off his feet to shake the truth out of him.

  “Think about what I told you already,” he said, taking a step back and raising his hands in supplication. “I can only be sent back a maximum of thirty-six hours. By the time Barinov was killed and we analyzed the situation, it was too late to do anything other than come back far enough to save you. I’m sorry. It’s not something I can control.”

  “Then what fucking good are you?” I asked, glaring at him and breathing hard with emotion.

  “John,” Rachel said, placing her hand on my arm. “He did tell us. And if it’s the truth, it’s not his fault.”

  “If it’s the truth,” I grumbled, not ready to concede the point and calm down.

  “Come on,” she said, taking my hand.

  I grudgingly allowed her to lead me away from the table into the garage. It was a tight fit with the Rover, but we squeezed our way around the rear bumper to the far side. Rachel turned to face me, taking the burning cigarette away before reaching up and resting a calming hand on the side of my face. Dog had followed and bumped my leg with his head. Guess he was trying to help, too.

  “You buying this?” I asked Rachel.

  She lowered her hand and slowly smoked my cigarette before responding.

  “It’s pretty fantastic, I’ll agree.”

  “What kind of answer is that?” I asked when she didn’t continue speaking.

  She gave me a warning look, then dropped the butt on the floor and ground it out.

  “The best kind I have,” she said a moment later. “It’s hard to believe, but at the same time, it has the ring of truth.”

  After a pause, I nodded agreement, fished out another smoke and lit it.

  “Why are you so angry?” she asked.

  “Because he’s… hell. I don’t know.”

  “Because he’s reminded you that there’s more at stake here than getting vengeance for Katie?” Rachel asked, watching me closely.

  I didn’t answer and after a bit had to look away. She touched my chin, turning my face so she could look in my eye.

  “I get it,” she said gently. “I really do. You still love her. Still think about her. Miss her. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t.”

  After another long pause I nodded, but didn’t look away this time.

  “Am I a replacement?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  “No!” I answered immediately.

  “Good,” she said. “Because if I was, I’d walk out that door and you’d never see me again.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “Not at all! What I feel for you is real. It’s just…”

  “Her ghost is with us,” Rachel said when I didn’t finish my thought.

  “Something like that,” I said.

  “I can’t imagine the grief and sense of loss you must have felt,” Rachel said gently. “Are still dealing with. But I understand. I don’t expect you to forget her. But I do expect you to deal with your grief in a rational manner.”

  “So, you think I should protect Barinov?”

  “Don’t you? Knowing what you know?”

  I turned sideways and leaned my back against the yellowed garage wall. Stared at a large, rusting dent in the Rover’s fender. Took a deep breath and blew it out.

  “I do,” I said.

  “Then how about you get yourself under control and let’s go see what else he has to say.”

  She grabbed the cigarette out of my hand, took a long drag then dropped it on the floor to be ground out beneath her boot. I shook my head in resignation and led the way back into the house.

  When we entered, I didn’t see Bering. The bath was at the end of a short hall, and I could see the door standing open. Afraid I made a mistake in leaving him alone, I drew my pistol and carefully stepped forward. A check of the front door revealed the iron security bar was still locked in place. There was no way to exit and not leave it unsecured.

  I thoroughly checked all the rooms, which took less than two minutes. Every window was still shuttered securely other than the two that he’d opened to vent my cigarette smoke. But there was no way he could have exited through one of them and relocked the steel shutters to the frames.

  “What the hell?” I muttered, back in the main room with Rachel.

  “There’s no way out of here,” she said. “And he sure as hell didn’t come past us in the garage.”

  I shook my head and even though I’d looked everywhere, checked the entire house again. Shook every shutter and carefully examined the door brace. Found the access panel into the attic, which was covered with steel grating and secured with a padlock from the inside. Inspected every wall and the floor, searching for a hidden door, and found nothing. He was just gone. Seemingly vanished into thin air.

  “His stuff is gone, too,” Rachel said, pointing at the table.

  Bering’s pack and iPad were not where I’d last seen them and they hadn’t been anywhere else in the house.

  “Well, he said he could be pulled back at any time,” I said, turning a slow circle before stopping to look at Rachel. “Guess this kind of proves he was telling the truth.”

  31

  The area of the South Pacific off Australia’s east coast is a vast, empty stretch of water called the Tasman Sea. Leaving Sydney Harbour, the seafloor plummets to nearly five thousand meters, or well over sixteen thousand feet. Known to mariners as the Tasman Abyssal Plain, the sheer scope, size and depth of the area makes the prospect of detecting a very stealthy submarine a daunting one at best.

  For two days, the North Carolina had remained deep, far below the point where the cold water of the depths meets the warmer surface layer. Creeping along at no more than five knots, the boat was nearly silent. So quiet, in fact, that unless an enemy was within a few hundred yards, there was no chance the big American sub would be detected. But the opposite of that was also true. The suspected Russian boomer they were hunting was every bit as quiet and had no reason to be in motion.

  This knowledge tortured Adrienne, who despite appearing calm to the officers and crew, was a bundle of raw nerves on the inside. The water was far too deep for their prey to be sitting on the ocean floor. At best, a submarine the size of the North Carolina, and her prey, could dive to a depth of two-thousand feet before running the very real risk of being crushed by the incredible pressures of the deep ocean.

  That meant that if the Russian was indeed in the general area, he was very likely simply hovering in the water. Still and silent. Waiting for the order to launch his deadly cargo of nuclear tipped ICBMs. And if the North Carolina happened to sail right past the unmoving enemy, there was a chance they’d be detected and the first indication would be a panicked shout from the sonar room that torpedoes were inbound.

  The crew wasn’t much better off than Adrienne. To mitigate the risk of unintended noise that could be transmitted through the hull and into the water, compromising their presence to enemy sonar, anyone that wasn’t absolutely necessary to the operation of the boat was restricted to his rack. Meals were cold as the galley was shut down and not even showers were permitted.

  After nearly forty-eight hours, the crew was growing restless. It was only the discipline instilled in them over the years that prevented outright complaint. That, and the knowledge that even if they were doing nothing other than lying in bed all day, they were contributing to the mission.

  “Ma’am.”

  Adrienne, seated in the Control Room, looked up from a chart of the area displayed on her iPad to see Master Chief Petty Officer Simon Lee, Chief of the Boat, standing a proper distance away. He was the most senior NCO on the sub and, even though he’d never gone to Annapolis or worn officer’s rank, was more respected than any other person aboard with the possible exception of the Captain.

  “What’s up, COB?” she asked, putting the tablet down and rubbing her tired e
yes.

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but the crew’s gettin’ a bit restless. I was hoping you’d allow me to start cycling them through the showers, a few at a time, and see if we can find a way to get some hot chow into ‘em.”

  “Restless?” Adrienne asked, concern creasing her brow. “Are we about to have a problem, COB?”

  “No ma’am,” he said quickly, shaking his head for emphasis. “But think about doing nothing for two days other than lying in your rack. We’re going to need these boys alert and sharp when we find that Russian bastard, and a break from the monotony of staring at a bulkhead would be good.”

  “Message received, COB,” she said with a smile. “You have my permission, but make sure you stay on top of things. I don’t want any errant noise that could give us away.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be on them like a duck on a June bug.”

  “What exactly is that like?” Adrienne asked, happy for the momentary distraction.

  “Well, ma’am,” he drawled and grinned. “That’s what we’d call it in Mississippi, where I’m from. Not sure what you New Yawkers would say.”

  “Jersey boy on a socialite,” Adrienne said with a straight face.

  The grin fell off COB’s face for a moment, then his eyes danced as he suppressed a laugh.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled. “Just like that!”

  Adrienne smiled at him, then waved her hand in the direction of the hatch.

  “Dismissed, COB. Let me know when the men have all had a shower and a meal.”

  The man headed out with a smile still on his face, pausing to allow a young Ensign to enter before stepping through.

  “How’s the skipper?” Adrienne asked as the junior officer came to attention in front of her.

  “Doc’s worried, ma’am,” he said.

  Doc wasn’t really a doctor, despite the moniker. US Navy submarines don’t carry physicians, rather a Non-Commissioned Officer rated as an Independent Duty Corpsman. They are highly skilled and can handle most medical emergencies that arise while at sea. But they’re not doctors and don’t have the resources of an actual hospital.

  “Worried?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The skipper’s fever isn’t breaking and his lungs are filling up. Doc says we need to get him to shore based medical care.”

  Adrienne stared at the man for a moment, feeling the pressure of another concern descending upon her shoulders. Thanking the Ensign, she dismissed him and hurried out of the control room. Approaching Commander Talbot’s quarters, she saw Doc, Chief Petty Officer Marsh, step through the hatch into the passageway.

  “Doc!” she called, drawing the man’s attention.

  “Ma’am.”

  Doc looked tired. Not just tired, she corrected herself. Exhausted. And worried.

  “When’s the last time you slept?” she asked.

  “Can’t really say, ma’am. Been keeping an eye on the skipper and got a few other things I’m dealing with, too.”

  “Anything I need to know about?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “At least not the other things. But the skipper’s going to be in trouble, soon, if we don’t get him off the boat.”

  “How soon?”

  He shrugged as he answered.

  “Maybe eight hours. Maybe less. He’s not responding to the antibiotics and I’ve given him the strongest we have on board. The infection is spreading and his fever is spiking. I’m keeping it somewhat under control with chilled saline drips and cold compresses, but that’s about to be a problem.”

  “A problem? Why?”

  “We’re out of ice, ma’am. The ice makers are shut down for noise abatement.”

  “What are our options?”

  “Those are our options, ma’am,” he said. “And I’m all out of ideas. We’ve got maybe eight hours, at the most, to get the skipper to more advanced medical care, or I’m afraid we’re going to lose him.”

  Adrienne stared at Doc. She was in a degree of shock, not having realized just how much the skipper’s condition had deteriorated. She’d been so wrapped up in the hunt for the Russian that she had been unavailable for anything else. When she’d finally remembered and sent the Ensign to check, she’d fully expected a report that Commander Talbot was on the mend and would be ready to return to duty very soon.

  “Thank you, Doc,” she finally said. “I want hourly updates from here on.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, then excused himself.

  When he was out of sight, Adrienne turned to face Talbot’s quarters. Reaching out, she placed her hand on the hatch, closed her eyes and said a prayer for the man on the other side. She hoped God was listening because she wasn’t going to abandon her mission, even if it meant losing her friend and mentor.

  32

  The onslaught of rocket fire didn’t last more than a few seconds, stopping as suddenly as it started. Smoke and debris hung in a thick cloud amongst the shattered trees, obscuring Igor’s view when he tried to spot Strickland. When he shouted, he realized he’d been deafened by the high explosive warheads and knew the SEAL wouldn’t be able to hear him.

  Climbing to his knees, he looked around at the tree that had protected him from the attack. It was shattered a few feet above the ground, the tall trunk leaning drunkenly into the surrounding forest. He wanted to know if the Hind was still hovering over the clearing, prepared to launch another assault, but couldn’t see through the dense cloud that filled the forest.

  Visibility suddenly returned as the gunship moved overhead, the rotor wash tearing rents in the smoky air and whipping it away. Igor spotted Strickland, sheltering behind the thick trunk of a tree that had been felled by the rocket attack. The SEAL gave him a nod and popped his head up, ignoring the hovering Hind and looking toward the clearing.

  Both men were still unable to hear anything, but could feel the pulsing beat from the heavy rotor of the helo. Igor ignored it and signaled a warning to the SEAL. He knew the aircraft had moved out of position to allow the ground forces to come in and mop up whatever the aerial bombardment hadn’t killed. Now it was time to go farther into the woods and draw in the guards.

  They moved together on Igor’s sign, getting to their feet and rushing a hundred yards deeper into the forest. Again, they took up positions that allowed each man overlapping coverage of the other’s firing lanes. But despite that tactical advantage, Igor didn’t want to open fire unless they were given no choice. Silent and stealthy work with their knives would be just as effective and more demoralizing to the frightened men who would have to push into the trees.

  Nearly fifteen minutes passed without either of them seeing any indication that the guards were coming. The Hind had remained in a tight orbit, but without FLIR or a functioning spotlight, there wasn’t much chance that it would find them. Their hearing returned slowly and they looked up as the sound of the gunship’s rotor changed. It came out of the orbit and quickly departed to the west.

  Low altitude maneuvering burns a lot of fuel. Igor had no idea where the aircraft had launched from, but wasn’t terribly surprised when it headed home. He would have preferred it stay overhead as the guards entered the forest, but things rarely worked out the way he wanted. The helo produced a hell of a racket that would have covered any sounds he and Strickland made as they went after their pursuers.

  Then a bad idea passed through Igor’s head. Maybe the Hind had hung around as long as it had to provide noise cover for the men on the ground to penetrate the forest and get into position to attack. Rifle to his shoulder, Igor slowly swiveled without raising his body, scanning the dark forest around him. Strickland noticed his action and did the same.

  Igor’s view passed across a lighter patch of ground, continuing before stopping and reversing. Tracks in the snow traversed a small, open patch in a direction that neither he nor the SEAL had moved. Focusing on the area, he slowed his breathing and carefully checked the brush on each end of the trail.

  A moment later, he spotted movement. Not a hu
man or canine form, but the brief shaking of a large bush. Holding aim on the spot, Igor removed a hand from the rifle long enough to sign to Strickland that he’d seen something and the direction. He had just resumed his grip on the weapon when a dark figure stepped from behind the bush and ran clumsily toward the shelter of a tree.

  Despite the noise the AK would make, Igor didn’t hesitate to fire. The man was no more than fifty yards away and flopped to the ground. Throwing himself to the side and crawling into the cover of a fallen tree, Igor was already gone when several rifles began chattering from the dark. Bullets chewed up the ground where he’d been and he popped up to sight in on one of the muzzle flashes.

  Firing three fast shots, Igor dropped back into cover. A second later, more bullets came his way, slamming into the far side of the dead tree. Crawling on knees and elbows, Igor moved laterally, glad to hear the faint thumps of Strickland’s suppressed rifle. There was more return fire, this time from a different location, and Igor changed directions.

  He kept moving, circling what he was sure was a large group of guards. From at least twelve spots, he’d observed muzzle flashes as they fired. But none of them were changing locations. Each had seemed to find a firing position they liked and didn’t understand that remaining static was a great way to get killed.

  Using the terrain and forest for cover, Igor moved beyond the edge of the attackers’ formation and turned again, crawling along their flank. As he did this, he could hear the occasional suppressed shot from the SEAL. Consistently, the guards would respond with a heavy volume of full auto. Soon they would realize they were almost out of ammo, but Igor intended to end the fight before then.

  Reaching a point behind their ragged line, he angled for the man on the outside edge and carefully made his way forward. It didn’t take long before he was only five yards behind the guard who had succeeded in temporarily deafening himself by keeping up a steady rate of fire. Glancing to the side, Igor confirmed he was unseen. Slinging the rifle along his back, he drew his knife, gathered his feet beneath him and lunged forward.