Arctic Firepath (Sean Quinlan Book 2)

by Dominic Conlon

  ‘Good. Let’s go!’ Sean yelled in Russian. He sprinted through the stationary cars, away from the scene. A moment later, Levushka raced after him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  At 30,000 thousand feet the SU-271B barrelled through the clouds. The pilot switched his Heads Up Display (HUD) to present the output from the Forward-Looking Infra-Red pod mounted on the wing. The image, overlaid with a visible-spectrum picture, was pretty much as the Russian expected - blank. Still 1000 kilometres from the source of the radio message, the aircraft was too far away for the cryogenically cooled sensors to make out any thermal signatures.

  He checked his instruments. Flying blind in an Arctic storm was no picnic; the airframe shook violently and was being thrown about the sky - and so too was his stomach. But the all-weather SU-271B was more than up to the job; its design was based on the most successful fighter-bomber in the Russian air force. The immensely capable model, fondly nicknamed as Platypus because of its distinctive nose, was classified as super-manoeuvrable.

  The pilot thumbed a switch on the console to listen again to the exchange he had first heard during his briefing. The communication was fleeting, most of it obscured by static.

  ‘LK-80 to base. Our ship has been …. by American... We are being …. Request immediate assistance to … Captain Bur…’

  A meteorologist explained that the cause of the poor signal was undoubtedly due to a developing storm in the region. Nevertheless, when the message was confirmed, senior military personnel became involved. They wanted to send a squadron of fighter jets to investigate, but in the end the gale force winds were a deciding factor and only one plane was tasked to reconnoitre. The pilot grinned, believing they had instructed only one aircraft in order to minimise the potential loss of a fleet of very expensive warplanes.

  One hour and five minutes later the SU-271B arrived in the vicinity, and the HUD showed several thermal traces. These were grouped around six large structures, with many smaller sources dotted in-between. The plane moved on and three kilometres away the HUD displayed a ship.

  He leaned forward, flipping a switch which threw up a revolving 3D drawing of LK-80 alongside. Comparing the two images side by side, there was no doubt he had found the right vessel. ‘Platypus One to LK-80. What is your situation?’

  On board ship the radio operator listened as the pilot repeated his message. Major Pierce nodded, and Feliks stepped forward to pick up the mike. As he was about to speak, Major Pierce pulled back his Parka to reveal a huge sheathed knife hanging from his belt.

  Feliks cleared his throat. ‘Platypus One, Feliks Chayka speaking. I’m chief engineer of LK-80. Our situation is difficult.’ He looked uncertainly around the waiting men. ‘The reactor is partly shutdown because of a technical problem and the long range radio on the bridge is temperamental.’

  ‘I received a garbled report from LK-80 requesting assistance. Who initiated contact?’

  Feliks stared at the microphone, and regarded Major Pierce nervously. The big man drew his finger across his throat, indicating Feliks should terminate the connection.

  ‘We’re not sure Platypus one. I have to go now - I need to attend the reactor.’

  ‘Please put Captain Burak on the line.’ The speakers conveyed no empathy in the pilot’s voice.

  ‘Ah, he is indisposed at present. Suffering from food poisoning. I am in charge until Captain Burak makes a recovery.’

  The speaker was silent for a moment. ‘What are all the heat signatures I’m getting? I guess there are several hundred camped out on the ice, less than 5 km from you.’

  Feliks glanced apprehensively at Major Pierce. ‘I am aware Platypus One. They are part of an American rescue effort. Our Captain offered the ship as a base of operations for their downed submarine.’

  ‘Your request to provide assistance to the Americans was turned down. Why did you disobey your orders?’

  Feliks swallowed. ‘We had many radio communications problems. I was not aware you forbade our help. Captain Burak decided that aiding the rescue would be the best course of action in the long run.’

  ‘Right. I shall report your actions. Is there anything else you need?’

  Feliks glanced at Major Pierce. He shook his head. ‘No, nothing at the moment.’

  ‘Another Flanker will arrive soon to supply radio communications with base. Platypus One out.’

  ‘Thank you Platypus One.’ Feliks saw Major Pierce frown as he replaced the mike.

  The sonar-phone bleeped but no-one picked it up. Many were suffering from a lack of oxygen, with most sitting and some lying full length on the floor of the submarine. Eventually the XO reached for the phone, his actions slow and laboured. He listened for a second before passing it to the Captain. ‘It’s the rescue module, for you.’

  The Captain held the handset to his ear, trying desperately to keep focused. After a minute he replied with a terse ‘thank you’ and handed the phone back.

  At the same time they heard clanging noises from above. Captain White assumed the Pressurised Rescue Module was attempting to mate with the exterior hatchway of the escape trunk. A ragged cheer went up from the subdued crew. The Captain had previously decided that the first group of men in the trunk should be able-bodied. He expected the PRM would lower oxygen cylinders and medicines, giving the sick some immediate relief and making preparations for their rescue easier.

  The sounds continued, followed by a sharp hiss of escaping air. For a few moments silence descended. Every man listened out for the sound of the access hatch being opened. Then they heard it - the slight hiss as air pressure in the submarine and PRM equalised and the clang of the hatch being secured. There was another, stronger cheer.

  The group in the escape trunk reached up to take the cylinders of oxygen and portable CO2 scrubbers as they were lowered down to them. Two minutes later a man descended from the hatchway and crawled over recumbent bodies into the body of the sub. He crossed to where the Captain and XO sat, backs propped against the bulkhead. Crouching, he saluted smartly.

  ‘Navy Diver Peters, sir.’

  Captain White struggled to sit upright. ‘We’re mighty glad to see you, Peters. What do you want us to do?’

  ‘I see you’re ready for us. Once the first party are aboard the PRM please could you get the second group together? If you have any injured, include them. Use the sonar phone to let the doc know top-side what kind of injuries to expect. Turn-around time is about an hour. I’m leaving a medic with full kit down here. Is there anything more you need from us?’

  ‘No, thank you Peters. Let’s get moving.’

  After a sign from the Captain the sixteen men waiting in the chamber began to climb the ladder to the cylinder above. When all had left, both hatches were closed and locked. On a signal the PRM detached itself from the dock, and the crane on LK-80 hauled the cylinder up from the depths.

  ‘Thank God, Captain’ said the XO.

  ‘Let’s thank him when we’re on the surface’ responded the Captain.

  Levushka looked down at the clothes he was wearing. The blood stains on his shirt and jacket had dried, leaving a lurid red sash splashed across his chest.

  Sean studied the youth. He had lost the pale complexion from earlier, but still looked bewildered by the events of the morning. They were in a safe house, and a member of the Embassy and a doctor were present. ‘The doctor will examine you, just to check that you are OK. Then you can have a shower. Is that OK?’

  Levushka bowed his head and submitted meekly to the doctor’s inspection. After several minutes he packed away his BP monitor and stethoscope and handed Levushka some pills. He spoke to Sean. ‘He’ll do. I’ve given him some Valium which should ease the symptoms of shock. Physically he’s fine.’

  ‘Thanks Doc. Glad to hear the news.’

  Sean spoke to Levushka in Russian. ‘Lev, the doctor says you’re OK.’

  ‘I know what he said,’ Levushka replied irritably in good English. ‘And I’m not a cripple.’


  ‘I’m Sean. I was sent by your father Alexei to ask if you would come to the UK to be with him.’

  There was no reaction from Levushka. Sean looked at the man from the Embassy. He shrugged.

  ‘Well, why don’t you grab a shower, and we’ll talk afterwards?’ There’s a fresh set of clothes in the bedroom upstairs.

  While Levushka was in the shower, DD turned to Sean. ‘Do you think Lomax will be OK?’

  ‘He’s as tough as old boots.’

  DD cleared his throat. ‘He looked dead to me.’

  ‘No, I caught a good view. He was breathing when I saw him.’

  ‘Will they, you know, kill him?’

  Sean pondered the question. ‘I don’t think so. He’s too valuable to them.’

  ‘Will they torture him?’

  ‘Probably. He felt they would take out the first one to shoot. That’s why he led the charge.’

  ‘You mean, he deliberately sacrificed himself?’ DD sounded incredulous.

  ‘Yep. You were there when we argued about it. You know how adamant he was. I was to escort Levushka to the airport. He said I was the agent and that he had seniority.’

  ‘Bloody hell. I didn’t realise you were tossing a coin to see who would get killed first!’

  There was a moment’s silence before Sean spoke again. ‘I’m depending on you to get us through airport security. Can you do it?’

  ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘It had better be a bloody good one, then.’

  Before DD could respond, Levushka entered the room.

  ‘You look much better,’ Sean commented. The clean clothes helped, and there was more colour to his cheeks. Sean glanced at DD. ‘If you need to make any preparations, I suggest you leave now.’

  ‘Good idea, boss,’ said DD, already moving to the door.

  Sean turned back to Levushka. ‘Come and sit here.’ He indicated a chair. ‘Some time ago, Alexei bought you a dog. Do you remember that?’

  Levushka started pulling a small thread in his sweat top. He nodded slowly.

  ‘Do you remember the dog’s name?’

  The young man nodded again. ‘What’s that got to do with seeing my father?’

  ‘Your father told me about the dog. He said you would remember his name - do you?’

  Levushka raised his eyes to Sean. ‘Petra.’

  ‘Thank you. And what happened to Petra?’

  ‘He died in a road accident. Some kid racing his car.’

  ‘You passed the test’ said Sean lightly. ‘Seriously, your Dad would like to see you, but only if you want to go.’

  The lad shrugged his shoulders. ‘When?’

  ‘Now - straight away. Soon they will discover you have gone missing. Then they’ll be on the lookout for you at the airport. I’m sorry, but if we don’t move now, you may never get out.’

  ‘I see. Will my mum be allowed to come?’

  ‘Not for a while. Maybe when this blows over, she could come and visit.’

  ‘Can I send her stuff - you know, email, Facebook, that kind of thing?’

  ‘Yes, you should be able to do that. But we have to go now.’

  The call came from the Russian air-force headquarters based in Zarya, some 20 km north of the centre of Moscow. Vladislav Kamenev, the Deputy Prime Minister, was asleep in bed. Vladislav grabbed his dressing gown and went into the empty bedroom next door, so as not to disturb his wife. He glanced at the clock: 01:13 am. The caller updated him on the situation in the Arctic, and he knew he would not get any more sleep that night.

  His first reaction was to phone the President immediately. Instead he paused a moment to consider the circumstances. The crisis was coming to a head and now the Kremlin had a perfect excuse to avenge the American’s detention of their air crews. Vladislav picked up the handset. After a three minute wait he was put through to President Pavla Duskin.

  ‘What exactly did the pilot say?’ Duskin’s voice was calm.

  ‘American forces are using the icebreaker to rescue members of their submarine.’

  ‘In spite of my orders?’

  ‘Yes. The pilot didn’t get to speak to the Captain; instead he talked to the chief engineer. He said that they had radio problems, and didn’t receive the order. Anyway, the Captain offered his ship.’

  ‘I want an emergency meeting at the office. First Deputy Chiefs, Chief of Staff, Deputy Chiefs and principle aides and advisers. Have the Press Attaché standing by. Let’s say 2 am.’

  The Deputy Prime Minister checked his watch. It would be very tight to get everyone there in time, but the President did not have to worry. He had access to a helicopter, while all the others would come in by road.

  The meeting lasted an hour and was drawing to a close. Vladislav shuffled his papers as everyone began to leave.

  ‘I’d like you to stay.’ Duskin’s request appeared more of an order. ‘I wish to speak to the American President. Then we shall see what stuff they are made of.’

  Vladislav put down his file ruefully and yawned involuntarily.

  ‘Am I keeping you from your bed?’

  Vladislav made a show of looking at his watch. ‘No, Mr President. I am normally at work at this time in the morning.’

  The President laughed. ‘What time is it in Washington?’

  ‘About six-thirty in the evening.’

  ‘Then let us see if Donahue can be persuaded to break off his dinner engagement to talk to us.’

  Vladislav turned on the speaker to the conference phone on the table. Together with the help of the Presidential Administration secretary they connected to the secretary at the White House. When he explained the urgency of the call, there was a pause of several minutes before the American Secretary of Defence came on the line.

  Vladislav spoke in English with a slight Russian accent. ‘Good evening Mr Harris. I am pleased to make your acquaintance again. However I think our wishes were not made clear. President Duskin wants to speak with your President. We indicated the need is an urgent one.’

  ‘Hello Vladislav. No, your request was understood. You wish to speak to the President. I regret to say that he is unavailable at present. Perhaps you could indicate the nature of the discussion, and I might be able to help?’

  President Duskin leaned towards the microphone. ‘Mr Harris, you will gather I am in the same room as my colleague. I’m afraid we have little time. Unless we contact your President in the next five minutes, we will close this communication.’ The President noted the time. ‘The consequences of missing this opportunity would be dire.’

  ‘Just a second, Mr President. I will see what I can do.’

  The conference phone went dead, indicating the Americans were transferring the connection. Within two minutes, the President was on the line.

  ‘Good morning Pavla. I understand you wanted to speak to me urgently?’ The calm and assured voice of President Donahue oozed from the speakers.

  ‘We do, Robert. We have a situation developing in the Arctic. When we last spoke I denied you access to our ship LK-80 to rescue the crew of your submarine. I told you that we would engage our own teams and make our own arrangements to save the men.’

  ‘That is correct, Pavla. However, when we contacted the Captain he offered the unconditional use of his ship for the rescue mission. We believed that circumstances had changed and his offer had the full weight of the Russian government behind it.’

  Vladislav saw his President colour briefly.

  ‘I doubt the he made such an offer. If he did, he had no right. I am stunned by the unilateral action you have taken. It just shows how aggressive your American military really are.’

  ‘President Duskin.’ Donahue’s voice grew more clipped. ‘Our rescue team are there only after the most cordial of invitations from the person in charge. Perhaps you have forgotten that it was your icebreaker that caused the accident in the first place that has already resulted in the death of five men and the potential deaths of a hundred and twenty nine more.’

&n
bsp; ‘President Donahue. Your occupation of our ship is intolerable. You have created a major international incident, especially when we are already in the process of sending equipment and men to the site.’

  ‘Our submarine was deliberately rammed by the Russian icebreaker. If that is not a major diplomatic incident, what is? In any case,’ Donahue continued mildly, ‘the rescue is already underway.’