Red Heat

by Nina Bruhns

  Could it be the SD card was a plant? A fake? But then why try to kill her? She needed to get a look at what was on it. But how could she read the thing with neither her laptop nor her sat phone?

  “Why do you think the 093 is back?” she asked Nikolai, returning to the present.

  “Obviously,” he said stonily, fiddling with a dial on a neighboring console, “the captain is a slow learner.”

  Something about his tone made alarm zip through her. Oh, hell. She sprang to her feet and grasped his other arm. “Nikolai. What are you planning?”

  But just then a commotion broke out in the passageway just outside the central post, and she never got an answer.

  “Kapitan!”

  The call was shouted over a string of angry protests ground out in English. A furious spate of Russian cut the protester off.

  Julie and Nikolai swung to the sounds at the same time. Both their mouths dropped open when they saw who was being dragged into the compartment by the fuming starpom and an irate kvartirmyeister.

  Clint Walker.

  Julie couldn’t believe her eyes.

  But . . . how? Clint was supposed to be on Attu Island with the scientists!

  “Clint!” she exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing still on board?”

  Nikolai’s hand came down on her shoulder and squeezed off her questions. Then he barked out something in Russian, which produced a storm of scowls and exclamations from Misha and Starpom Varnas.

  She wished to hell she could understand what they were saying.

  The half dozen crewmen in the room were all glancing from Varnas to Walker to Julie and back again. Their expressions grew more thunderous by the second.

  She didn’t need a translation for this, either. They believed he was the one who’d tried to kill her.

  Doubt suddenly assailed her. Had she been wrong about him? Had he been her attacker, after all? Was her judgment so off?

  Her body, still humming with dread from the morning’s ordeal, felt weightless and unreal. She was tempted to creep behind Nikolai and simply hide from the uproar. To give up and just let him protect her.

  She wasn’t cut out for this deadly brand of deception! She couldn’t take much more of it.

  But then Clint’s eyes captured hers. They were also filled with questions. “Julie,” he said below the ongoing Russian debate, “what the hell is happening?”

  He seemed genuinely clueless. Then again, how could she possibly know what was real and what was lies with him any more than with Nikolai?

  She swallowed. And asked, “Clint, did you just try to kill me?”

  He froze in what looked like pure shock. Then he pressed his lips together, shook his head, and said, “No. I didn’t.”

  Just that. No arguments, no indignation, no panicked explanations.

  And that, more than anything, convinced her he was telling the truth. All at once she noticed his disheveled appearance, as though he’d been rousted out of bed in the middle of the night. Except it was nearly eleven o’clock in the morning. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen him all day. . . .

  As if reading her gaze and the doubts behind it, he said, “I overslept. Like I was dead. I never oversleep.” He gave her a penetrating look.

  She realized Nikolai was standing with his feet apart, fists on his hips, staring down at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’ll conduct this interview, if you don’t mind.”

  “He didn’t do it,” she stated.

  Nikolai’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

  “He didn’t try to . . . kill me.”

  “And you know this how?”

  She could have gone into all the reasons, but she only shook her head. “I just know.”

  Nikolai jetted out a short breath, then looked around at his men. He clipped out an order and they all reluctantly turned back to their instruments and monitors. Then he turned to face Clint. “If it wasn’t you, how do you explain this?” He dug in his pocket and held up the ivory bear claw.

  Clint instinctively checked his wrist. A murderous expression crept across his face. The woven leather thong he always wore there was gone. “Find my band and you’ll find your attacker,” was all he said.

  Nikolai studied him closely, then put the ivory totem back in his pocket. With a gesture, he indicated that the starpom and Misha should let Walker go.

  Varnas immediately objected, which Nikolai shut down with a harsh word.

  They let Walker go.

  Nikolai jerked his head toward the watertight door. “Starpom, continue questioning the crew. Kvartirmyeister, you may resume your regular duties.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Stefan Mikhailovich gave Walker a death look before grudgingly stalking out of the central post, muttering.

  Bruises were already starting to show on Clint’s bronze skin, but he didn’t rub his arms as Julie would have done. He just crossed them over his chest, mirroring Nikolai’s belligerent stance. “Thank you, Captain Romanov,” he said nonetheless. “Now if someone will please tell me what the hell this is all about?”

  All at once, Gavrikov’s urgent voice sounded over the circuit from the sonar shack. Whatever he said made everyone in the central post turn to look at the sonar repeater. Julie did, too.

  The spidery blip that was the Chinese 093 had gotten a lot closer to the center of the screen—and to Ostrov.

  With a curse, Nikolai pulled off his cap, slashed a hand through his hair, and tugged it back on again. Then he pointed at the empty console chair in front of the sonar repeater and turned to Clint. “Sit,” he ordered. “If you move out of that damn chair I’ll have you put in irons until we get back to Attu and I can throw you off this boat for good, which is really what I’d like to do right now. Is that clear, Mr. Walker?”

  Clint gave a curt, angry nod, strode over to the chair, and sat.

  Misha gave him a menacing glare.

  Julie opened her mouth, but Nikolai beat her to it. “You trust him? Fine. You watch him. He moves an inch off that chair, I want to know about it.”

  She nodded. She didn’t really blame Nikolai for his anger and suspicion. She was angry, too. Just not at Clint. At least not yet. Not until someone proved to her he’d done it. “Can I tell him what happened to me?”

  Nikolai considered for a second. “Just the basics. No details. But before you do”—he reached for a pad of paper on the console and glanced at Clint—“I want a written account of how you spent the morning and exactly why you are still on board.” He tossed him the pad. “Get writing.”

  “Whatever,” Clint said, looking distinctly annoyed. “I don’t suppose your medic can take a blood sample for me? From myself,” he added.

  Nikolai frowned. “Why?”

  “I was drugged. I’d like to be able to prove it.”

  “What?” Julie exclaimed.

  “Like I said, I never oversleep.”

  Nikolai’s frown deepened. “I’ll see what I can do.” Then he turned his back to the man and strode over to the navigation table.

  Julie’s head was spinning. Drugged. Good Lord. If Clint was telling the truth, that meant . . . what? Both of them were targets of the saboteur?

  But for the same reason? Was it a simple frame job—maneuvering an innocent man to be accused of assaulting her—or was Clint aboard Ostrov for the same reason she was, and that was why he was also targeted? Or was the mysterious UUV driver’s role in all this more nefarious than that?

  Clint picked up a pen from the console. “If I were you,” he said without looking at her, “I’d double-check my IDA. Just to make sure no one’s been messing with it while I slept.”

  Jerking out of her thoughts, she instinctively touched the bright orange pouch hanging from her belt, which Nikolai still insisted everyone on board keep with them at all times. She hadn’t thought much about it since the night of the drill. What was Clint trying to say? That the entire sub was in danger?

  A sick feeling blo
ssomed in the pit of her stomach at the implication of his advice. And at the direction of her welling suspicions.

  Oh, God.

  Things were bad enough already. But somehow, she had a sinking feeling that Clint knew more than he was saying, and things were about to get a whole lot worse.

  The Chinese 093 was closing in on Ostrov.

  Nikolai wasn’t exactly alarmed, but he sure didn’t like it. What the devil was the enemy sub playing at? He had made his displeasure very clear the day before . . . and still the 093 pursued them. Was this an egotistical commander’s inappropriate challenge? A tactical learning opportunity being exploited to an annoying degree? Or the prelude to an outright attack, either to retrieve or to sink and destroy the SD card with their stolen technology, and Ostrov along with it?

  Whichever way, Nikolai figured they were in big trouble.

  Admittedly, the enemy’s maneuvering had gotten his adrenaline pumping at the possibilities, both good and bad. The question was, how should he steer Ostrov to react? Defense or offense?

  Somehow he needed to lure the 093’s commander into revealing his plan. Difficult, but not impossible.

  For hundreds of miles around them, the ocean floor was riddled with high seamounts and deepwater trenches, peaks, troughs, and canyons. In other words, perfect for what Nikolai had in mind. A submarine could play a mean game of hide-and-seek within the mazelike features of the undersea landscape. How—and if—the enemy followed them would reveal much about their intent.

  And if they wanted to take things further than a game, he and Ostrov would be ready.

  Nikolai turned to his navigator, Praporshchik Zubkin. “Nav, how close are we to the nearest deep canyon?”

  Zubkin pursed his lips, spread out a chart, and pointed to their position. “Do you want to go north or south, Kapitan? There’s the Bowers Ridge area curving around up here. And down here are Agattu and Abraham canyons. They are the closest. How deep do you want to go?”

  The maximum depth for a Kilo-class 636 in top condition was around three hundred meters. The Aleutian Trench went down to more than seven thousand. But the comblike network of faults and troughs that led from the island chain down into the ocean trench varied wildly in every aspect, from the bottom depths to the actual geological formations—some shallow and sandy, some steep and rocky.

  Exactly what they needed. It would be hard to run. But easy to hide. Hell, they didn’t call the Kilo-class 636 “the black hole” for nothing. When Ostrov went silent, there wasn’t a nuclear sub on the planet that could detect her. Not without the nuke’s sonar going active and aggressive against the unarmed scientific vessel—which could easily be construed as an act of war.

  Either way, the Chinese sub would be forced to show her true colors.

  But first, he really did need to test Ostrov’s fitness at depth.

  “Turn west,” Nikolai told the nav. They’d already cruised south to within striking distance of the Aleutian Trench. No sense backtracking. “Plot a course for . . .” The curved network of deepening canyons beckoned. He pinpointed a spot in one of the two that Zubkin had pointed out, which also happened to be the two biggest canyons and filled with a cornucopia of natural formations they could use as shields and blinds if it should come to that. “Let’s head for Agattu Canyon first. Do a few angles and dangles. See if the 093 tags along.”

  Zubkin grinned. “Da, Kapitan.” He made some swift calculations and slid the charted figures over for his approval.

  Nikolai nodded. “Steady on course two-three-zero, Mr. Zubkin, and make your speed four knots,” he commanded, his blood humming. He was so ready for this hunt. “Ease us down to one-zero-zero meters.”

  The men snapped to and his orders were repeated down through the chain of command. Seconds later, Ostrov nimbly changed bearing, slipped over the edge of the ridge, and descended into the abyss.

  26

  The big Chinese nuke slowly turned and glided along in Ostrov’s baffles, like a giant menacing shark following their scent. For half an hour Nikolai had done a series of circles and turns as they descended into Agattu Canyon. Not exactly a crazy Ivan, more like strolling around the block a few times to see what shook out. The Shang class stayed with them the whole way, a long lurking shadow, not aggressive but keeping steady pace.

  There was no mistaking it, Ostrov was being deliberately pursued.

  In the central post, the navigation table was covered with both their Russian charts as well as the American ones brought along by the scientific team. Because so much of the seabed in this area hadn’t been mapped yet, there were whole blank sections on all of them. It was folly to rely on just one navigational chart. Or on any of them, really.

  Which was what Nikolai planned to take advantage of.

  “Slow to three knots,” he ordered. “Watch your depth, nav,” he called as they inched their way further down into unknown territory. He turned to Starpom Varnas, who had finished questioning the crew and returned to the central post to take over OOD duties. “Announce every twenty meters we mark, and have each watch report in as we go deeper. I want to know immediately if any problems develop.”

  “Da, Kapitan,” Stefan Mikhailovich said in curt tones. Even though he and Misha had confirmed Walker’s story of being asleep during Julie’s attack, the starpom was still convinced of the American’s guilt and was angry Nikolai not only refused to put the man under arrest but had allowed Walker to remain free in the central post.

  The better to keep an eye on both of them, Nikolai figured. He had a feeling if they found themselves alone in a compartment, only one would emerge alive.

  He strode across the space to check the sonar repeater over Lyeĭtenant Petrov’s shoulder. He’d wanted his best men front and center on this evolution, and since the radio was basically useless under the surface anyway, he’d assigned Danya as conning officer and phone talker. Aside from watching all the repeaters, the radioman would keep up a running commentary on everything that came over the circuits, acting as the hub of communications coming from the various watch posts around the boat.

  As the sub descended, the digital images on the sonar monitor were getting harder to interpret. In his mind’s eye, Nikolai converted the snowy patterns into a mental picture of the sea bottom, the cliffs and mounds, the slopes and bommies, and the fathomless trench below.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Sonar, conn. Keep a sharp lookout on the geography,” he said, and Danya repeated it over the circuit. “We’ll want to find some nice confusing features down there to shield us if we’re to play hide-and-seek with these clowns.”

  After a second, Julie’s voice piped up in English. “What do you mean, hide-and-seek? You aren’t actually planning to provoke them, are you?”

  Nikolai swiveled his head to her, blinked, and suddenly realized Walker must have been translating what was being said. How had he not known the man spoke Russian . . . ? Nikolai’s suspicions about the tight-lipped UUV pilot rose even higher. He might not have been responsible for Julie’s attack, but Nikolai still didn’t trust the man.

  “No,” he told her. “Not provoke. Draw them out. They’re tailing us and I want to know their intentions.”

  “Yeah.” She made a face. “If that’s even possible. The Chinese tend to be pretty subtle in their military strategy.”

  Nikolai regarded her, recalling that China was her specialty at CIA. “So you agree their intentions are military.”

  “What else could they be?”

  “Indeed.” He shot her the shadow of a smile. “Then we shall be disciplined and calm, and await the appearance of disorder among the enemy,” he quoted.

  Her lips parted in momentary astonishment.

  Was she really so surprised a Russian naval captain had read The Art of War?

  Apparently not. She gave him an odd smile. “And thus the enemy shall provide us with the direction of his own defeat.”

  For a moment their smiles and gazes held. Damn. A woman who could quote Sun Tzu. He was
definitely in love.

  “Unless, of course,” Walker said dryly, shattering the moment, “they decide to launch a torpedo or two and just blow us out of the water.”

  Julie went pale. “Not funny.”

  Nikolai punched a finger toward him. “Don’t press your luck, mister.”

  The other man shrugged. “You think I’m kidding. I’m not.”

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Nikolai said darkly.

  At this point he didn’t know what to believe. About the Chinese or about Walker. Walker hadn’t lied about his alibi for the time of the attack. Nikolai had believed him to the extent of allowing his blood to be drawn as he’d requested. Although it couldn’t be tested, and thus proved or disproved, until the scientists came back on board, after what happened to Julie, Nikolai would believe the saboteur capable of just about anything, including drugging the man. But Walker was lying about something. Nikolai could feel it in his bones.

  Unfortunately he didn’t have time to think about that right now.

  “One-zero-zero meters,” Danya reported. “Passing over the Aleutian Bench. No problems reported, sir.”

  “Very well.” Nikolai consulted the nav, adjusted the course, and ordered them out of the canyon and down over the steep cliffs to two hundred meters—two-thirds of the way to Ostrov’s maximum depth.

  Still the 093 shadowed them.

  Nikolai glanced back at Julie. Her face held a look of intense concentration. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, vaguely surprised she wasn’t getting more panicked about being submerged this deep.

  “Dissimulation,” she said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Our Chinese tail.” Her brow beetled. “They strive to appear harmless, therefore they must be dangerous. They seem to be following us, so they must surely be leading us. They let themselves be seen, thus they must be hiding something we aren’t supposed to see.” She met his gaze. “Something that will achieve their true purpose.”

  More Sun Tzu.

  “But we’re in front of them,” he said. “How can they be leading us?”

  Her gaze shadowed. “You said yourself it’s a game of cat and mouse.”