"If I hear the word west mentioned in casual context in your narrative, I will know that you have found something. Westward will indicate physical evidence. To the west will indicate HUMINT-human intelligence. Somebody who remembers something, an old-timer telling stories. I don't have to tell you how unreliable HUMINT can be." "Go on," Tombstone said almost disinterestedly.
"If for some reason you are in physical danger, or feel that you may be compromised in any way, mention something about your backache. You can phrase it in any way you wish, whether it has to do with the lumbar supports in the Tomcat or a workout you had, just something about your back. I'll know then that we may have to be prepared for some sort of extraction."
"I hardly think that will be necessary," Tombstone said, a thread of impatience in his voice now. "And this is all hypothetical, is it not?"
He shot me a hard, penetrating look. "And just what are you going to tell Admiral Wayne about all this?"
It was my turn to fall silent and consider my position. There was a strong bond between me and Tombstone, one that went back several cruises.
I had the utmost respect for him, both as an admiral and an aviator, and I'd seen him pull this battle group's ass out of the fire too many times not to trust him implicitly. Yet my current assignment was as Admiral Wayne's intelligence officer, not Admiral Magruder's. Admiral Wayne, Tombstone's oldest friend in the Navy, had first claim on my loyalties.
"I think you know what the answer has to be, Admiral," I said finally.
"If it affects the battle group in any way, I will have to tell Admiral Wayne. Other than that, I see no need to keep him briefed. What you tell him is up to you."
Tombstone nodded. "Your concern is appreciated, Lab Rat," he said, his voice losing the earlier formality. "I don't have to tell you ― hell, you're the one who knows most of the story. Maybe more of it, from what I hear about you intelligence people. You probably know exactly where my old man was and are holding out on me, aren't you?"
"I wish I did, Admiral," I said quietly. "I would tell you if I did ― and if I've got anything in this office that you need, you know you've got it." We worked out a few more details on the codes we'd use.
Tombstone would be sending back daily situation reports, using the radiomen and the secure communications gear in the COD, receiving updates from the carrier the same way. Finally, we had something we figured would cover most possibilities.
"Admiral, about Admiral Wayne-" I said finally.
"We don't tell him. Not unless he's got something tactical on the front burner." I wondered a little at the tone of Tombstone's voice, but simply nodded my agreement. Their friendship ran long and deep, but evidently there was a difference of opinion on this particular mission. I wondered what it was.
Tombstone sighed. "There are officers that you work with every day, ones that you fight with and go on cruise with, and learn to trust in any tactical situation. They get fewer and fewer as you move up in rank, until at my level they're far and few between. There's that kind of people ― and there are friends." His voice had taken on a reflective note, almost wistful in its tone. "Right now, I need the second kind of friend. I'll tell you this, Lab Rat. This is the worst thing I've ever had to do in my life. I'm not even sure I want the answers. What if he was alive? What happened to him here in Russia? Did they break him? Was there a chance for him to return to the United States ― to me and my mother ― that he turned down? I don't know which is worse, contemplating torture or brainwashing."
For the first time in many years, I heard a trace in his voice of the anguish he must be experiencing.
"Tombstone, if there's anything-" He cut off my comment with a hard gesture. All traces of the emotion that had swept over his face earlier were gone. "If there's nothing else, Commander ― I've got a hop to make."
He stood, concluding the conversation.
I held out my hand. "Remember, I'm here if you need me."
Tombstone nodded and took my hand, holding it hard as he shook it.
"I'll remember that. And if I get my ass in trouble, you make sure my old buddy Batman sends in the cavalry, you hear? Don't let him leave me rotting in some Russian hellhole because he's after my stars."
A joke. As feeble as it was, the fact that Tombstone had made one stunned me. "I'll do that, sir."
I walked with him to the massive steel door that makes up the entrance to CVIC, and as he stepped over the sill and knee knocker, I said, "Good hunting, Admiral." He didn't even turn around to look, but made a small wave of acknowledgment as he strode away toward the handler's office.
Now, sitting across the table from Captain Smith, staring into those preternaturally bright gray eyes, I had the feeling that he was seeing the whole scene replaying in my brain.
"Admiral Magruder understands his situation," I said carefully, hoping Carl would not ask me direct questions that I could not answer without either violating the admiral's confidence or lying. "You know how these sea stores are."
Captain Smith nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on mine, probing and brilliant with intelligence. "Intelligence officers hear a lot in their careers," he said quietly. "Sometimes I think we ought to be granted the same privileges and immunities as a clergyman. It might be appropriate, don't you think?"
What could I say? In his delicate, surgical way, Carl was letting me know that he suspected something was up. He was also paying me the ultimate compliment, by not forcing me to divulge what I knew or forcing me into a lie. By not asking any other questions, he was implicitly saying that he trusted my judgment, that he was relying on me to come to him if there was anything that he needed to know about Admiral Magruder and the Russians.
"Admirals aren't required to tell us everything, Commander. Sometimes they even lie."
"I wouldn't put it that way, sir."
"I would. And I'm not talking just about Admiral Magruder. We all have our admirals, the one's we'll go to the wall for. Tombstone just happens to be yours. You follow what I'm saying?"
I thought I did. It was advice ― and a warning. Captain Smith and Batman, me and Tombstone. As long as I didn't intrude on the former relationship ― and didn't pry ― Captain Smith wouldn't press me on what I knew about Tombstone. In that moment, I felt more afraid of my senior intelligence officer than either of the admirals.
"It sounds like an interesting idea, but it couldn't be an absolute privilege," I said warily. "After all, our first duty is to the Navy."
He nodded, evidently satisfied with my answer. "Speaking of the Navy ― I think you and I need to go fill in Admiral Wayne on this submarine.
As we've agreed, there's damn little we can do about it, not without violating most of the restrictions we're operating under. Still, we'd better let him know ahead of time, get him prepped up for the fight in case it comes to that."
I followed Captain Smith across the passageway to the chief of staff's office. Captain Smith knocked lightly on the door, then stuck his head inside. "Admiral in?"
The chief of staff grunted, and motioned toward the admiral's cabin.
"He's trying to crank out some paperwork ― he'd probably welcome the distraction."
We crossed the rest of the admiral's mess, the large combination sitting area and dining room that serves the twenty or so officers attached to Admiral Wayne's war-fighting staff. Captain Smith rapped lightly on the door, then pushed it open as the brass placard on the door instructed.
Good morning, sir. Got a moment for some intel?"
"Come on in, Captain," Batman's voice boomed. "God, I'd give anything for a reason to quit reading this crap. Anything interesting?"
Captain Smith waved me on in behind him. Batman's beady brown eyes lit up when he saw me. "Well, to what do we owe this honor? Come on, Lab Rat, pull up a chair. Don't see too much of you these days. How've you been doing?"
In marked contrast to Tombstone, Admiral Batman Wayne was a gregarious, jovial fellow. A hair shorter than Tombstone, with a figure that ran to roundness and a
booming voice and quick wit, he was a people person in a way that Admiral Magruder would never be. That joviality did little to mask his sharp sense of tactics and operations, however, both on a tactical and political level. Batman had spent several tours in Washington, D.C. Back there, he'd learned to kill with position papers and formal briefings instead of Sidewinders and AMRAAMs, making him as deadly an adversary in budget fights as he was in the air. He was a good man to work for, and I'd jumped at the opportunity to stay assigned to Jefferson while he was in command.
"Commander Busby has been filling me in on some anomalous detections,"
Captain Smith began, then summarized in a few sentences our tactical position, our lack of assets, and the detections we'd had over the last twenty-four hours. "Bottom line is, there are submarines around, although I can't give you a classification without assigning some more surveillance assets to it. But I wanted you to be current on the situation, in case you have to take this battle to a higher level."
Batman looked thoughtful. "Anything threatening in what you've observed?" he asked quietly.
I shook my head. "It's a communications burst, not a video downlink transmission." Translation not targeting data, but maybe position reports.
Most Russian submarines are capable of entering into a data link with orbiting Russian aircraft or satellites, instantaneously transmitting and receiving targeting and weaponeering information. Had there been a Russian Bear in the vicinity armed with antiship missiles transmitting data to a submarine, it would have been an entirely different scenario.
"It's a satellite transmission, I'm pretty sure," I said. "Not from a Bear."
Batman nodded gravely. "So, maybe they read the weekly familygram, baseball scores, that sort of thing?" he mused. "Our submarines get 'em ― why not theirs?" We both knew the answer to that one. The Russians were not nearly as concerned about the health and well-being of their submarine crews as the Americans were. Hell, even the lead shielding around their reactors was inadequate to prevent widespread sterility among Russian submarine sailors.
"But you know, I'm thinking that these subs ― if they are subs, mind you ― pose a serious hazard to navigation." I could tell by his self-satisfied expression that he'd had this very possibility in mind when he'd wrung that concession out of his seniors. "Let's put some S-3s in the air, make sure there are no uncharted wrecks up ahead of us. Or astern of us, for that matter. And I'll move a couple more S-3s up to an alert-thirty status. Maybe some helos, too." He glanced up at us to see if we had any suggestions.
"I guess that's all we can do," I answered. "Frustrating, though."
Batman nodded his agreement. "Who else have you told about this?" he asked, his voice now sounding markedly nonchalant. "Just the two of you?"
Carl and I glanced at each other, uncertain what the admiral was getting at. "My EW knows," I said. "And probably one AW. A couple of DESRON watch-standers, but their lieutenant can keep them quiet."
Batman nodded, a small trace of relief on his face. "That's all, though? Just you four?"
"Yes, Admiral," I answered, now letting my puzzlement show in my voice. "I think so?"
"We can make sure, though," Carl said quickly.
Now, that surprised me. What was Carl doing, trying to suck up a little bit to his admiral? Completely out of character from what I knew of him. But why did this whole thing matter? The entire field of electromagnetic signals, the detection, analysis, and classification of them, was among the most highly classified of anything onboard the carrier.
Only those with a need to know ― a real need to know ― would have been routinely informed about the detections.
"If that's what the admiral wants?" Captain Smith asked. He waited for an answer.
Batman looked annoyed. "This isn't a tough question, gentlemen. I simply want to know how many people know about this submarine detection.
That's all."
An uneasy silence filled the admiral's cabin. I had the sudden conviction that there was something we weren't being told, something that Batman knew and we didn't. Modifications on his rules of engagement? Some intelligence source received back-channel during his Pentagon briefings prior to deployment. I shook my head, not liking being on the other end of a closely held secret. Spooks keep secrets from other people ― it's not supposed to work in the opposite direction. "I don't think anyone else knows, not unless Martin has talked to them," I said. "He came straight to me with the data, not through the watch officer."
"Good. For the time being, let's keep it that way. You two, your two technicians, and me. I'll talk to the DESRON myself. No further dissemination. Got it?"
I nodded, still uncertain what the admiral was getting at. "It may reoccur, Admiral." I waited to see if he had any suggestions. "If it does, more people may know about it."
Batman considered that for a moment, then said, "I have a feeling about this," he continued, clearly making up this story as he went along.
"Russians tend to do things in patterns ― if this is some sort of routine communications, it'll probably occur tomorrow at the same time. Or exactly twelve hours off of this, if that's the sort of schedule they're on. For the time being, make sure your two guys ― Martin and Scruggins was it? ― have the watch for two-hour time periods surrounding this detection time and the time exactly twelve hours off. That ought to minimize the number of people that know about it."
Carl and I glanced at each other again. I could see that he reached the same conclusion that I did, almost at the same instant. Whatever game the admiral was playing, we weren't going to call him on it. He had no duty to explain his reasoning to us, and we had no right to demand it.
What was clear now was that the admiral wanted dissemination of this information limited to the people that already knew about it, and he wanted USW assets in the air conducting what he claimed were safety-of-navigation operations.
Captain Smith stood and I followed his lead. "I understand, Admiral.
That's what we'll do, sir. Should there be any further detections, we'll make sure you're briefed immediately."
Batman stood now, too, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and his heels. "Good, good. That's what I like about intelligence officers ― you don't have to explain everything to them. They understand… well… that sometimes there are nuances to situations. Other things that have to be considered, that sort of thing. Keep me posted," he concluded abruptly, apparently suddenly aware that he sounded like he was rambling. "That's all."
After we left the admiral's cabin, Carl and I went back down to my office spaces to talk to Martin and Scruggins. We found them seated in front of the high-frequency spectrum analyzer, with Martin pointing out to Scruggins the critical features of the communications burst he detected.
"It looks just like a lofargram," Scruggins said, referring to a low-frequency analyzing recording graph generated by sonar equipment.
"Same general principles," Martin agreed. "Now, you see here-" His voice cut off abruptly as he saw me standing in the doorway.
I strode into the room, followed by Captain Smith. "Martin, and you, too, Scruggins ― I need some help here," I began. That's often a good way to start with sailors, because needing help is something they understand.
Moreover, it was God's honest truth, and I knew they would appreciate that as well. "I don't know why, I don't know any of the details, but the admiral wants this kept real quiet. This communications burst you are detecting," I elaborated.
The puzzlement I saw on Martin's and Scruggins's faces mirrored that of my own, I was certain. "Don't ask me why ― I'd tell you if I knew, but God's honest truth, I don't." I briefly outlined the admiral's plan for keeping the two of them on watch during the period of signal vulnerability, and they nodded appreciatively. Both were clearly intrigued by the unexpected secrecy and sensitivity of their data, and were eager to continue maintaining ownership of the problem. Finally, I asked, "Any suggestions?" including in the question whether or not I'd told them ev
erything they needed to now. I hoped so ― it was all I knew.
"No, sir," Martin said thoughtfully. He glanced back at Captain Smith, then over at Scruggins. "I think we can manage."
"That's good, real good," Captain Smith said. I hoped he was telling the truth this time.
3
Friday, 18 December
1300 Local (+3 GMT)
Arkhangelsk, Russia
Lieutenant Skeeter Harmon
The little Commie bastard tripped me on the way to the hangar. Oh, if you asked him I'm sure he'd say that I slipped on a piece of pavement, or didn't notice a recessed pad eye inset in the concrete, but that's not the truth. It was just as Admiral Magruder was looking back at me to make sure I knew that I'd be flying that afternoon ― like that would be a problem for me or something ― and I was trying to let him know that I'd heard him, that I was paying attention, and that no, I wouldn't go swilling down pints and pints of vodka and then climb back in the Tomcat to kick this cocky little bastard's ass, when it happened. One second I was proceeding along, trying to listen to the Russian guy practice his broken English on me, letting Tombstone know I was a-OK, good to go, and ready to take on the world, when my right foot hit something. I didn't fall, caught myself pretty quick ― after all, I am a fighter pilot, aren't I? Excellent reflexes, good sense of balance, top marks in spatial orientation, right?
And I think maybe he didn't exactly realize I saw him, you know? I mean, he waited until he thought I was distracted before he edged over a little and just stuck out his foot in front of me.
But he's got a lot to learn about Americans. Me, in particular. For one thing, unlike the guys he's been used to fighting against, I can do more than one thing at once without some GCI on the ground telling me when to take a leak. For another thing, I have excellent peripheral vision. I mean, truly excellent.
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