Yuri almost blurted a Russian expletive but caught himself. “What are you talking about?”
“If she didn’t find the hydrocarbon source during the survey of Aurora’s facilities but detected background levels of oil in the water, she was supposed to head out to the coordinates of the original U of A sighting.”
“And do what?”
“Conduct a search for the source, limited to twelve hours max.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You wouldn’t have approved it.”
“That’s right!”
Bill lowered his head. He eyed the ice for a long moment before looking back at Yuri. “She checked in yesterday via satellite.”
“Checked in—how?”
“I programmed her to find an opening in the ice for the snorkel to top off the batteries. That’s when she sent the confirming message.”
Yuri shook his head, stunned at the news. “We never tested recharging under ice.”
“I know, but it worked. The key was finding an opening—there are plenty of breathing holes for seals out there.”
Yuri remained silent as he struggled to repress his fury.
Bill continued. “I actually think it’s really good news that she didn’t show up today. Deep Explorer has more than enough power for the extended search. Just think about what it will mean for us if we can find the source.”
“You don’t know where it is right now.”
Bill checked his wristwatch. “My take is that she’s completed the secondary search and is now making a beeline back to us—you know how well she executes her missions.”
“What about the batteries—will it need to recharge?”
“No. With the one charge, she’ll have plenty of reserves to get home.”
Yuri sighed heavily, checkmated. “How long before we know?”
“She should be here about this time tomorrow at the latest, possibly earlier.”
Yuri sighed. “Since we have good weather, I want to keep the homing beacon alive and the recovery hole ice free.”
“Good idea. I’ll take the first shift with Don and Mark. You and the other guys head back into town and get some rest.”
Yuri uttered a reluctant “Okay.”
He started to walk toward the parked snow machines when Bill called out, “Leave us the shotgun . . . in case we have a visitor again.”
Yuri raised his hand in acknowledgment while eyeing the crumpled radio antenna. A roaming polar bear had objected to its presence.
CHAPTER 16
DAY 7—SUNDAY
Yuri flew across the open reach of ice, gunning the snowmobile. Every fifty meters or so, a plastic rod topped with fluorescent orange flagging jutted above the ice. This section of the shorefast ice was stable, which allowed marking the pathway from Barrow to Ice Station Laura. Today the flagging hung limp in the chilled cloudless Arctic air. The low arc sun was about to dip below the horizon, extinguishing the waning daylight into utter darkness.
The collection of equipment and snow machines was just ahead. Yuri roared into the site, followed by two techs on their own Yamahas. It was their second shift. Eight hours earlier, when they’d departed in the dark for R & R in Barrow, Deep Explorer was a no-show.
They parked the machines, removed their helmets, and with Yuri in the lead walked toward the open ice pit. Bill Winters and his crew huddled along the far side of the opening. Bill had the headphones on. His face wrinkled as if straining to hear.
“Anything?” Yuri said.
Bill raised his hands, signaling quiet.
Yuri peered into the ice hole. A floodlight powered by a portable Honda generator illuminated the cavity. A thin crust of fresh ice covered the entire opening, binding the slushy remnants of previously broken ice into a solid sheet. Through the opaque lens, he detected movement—a blurred yellowish icon.
Bill stood up, his face beaming. “She’s home!” he announced.
Deep Explorer’s nose cone cracked through the half-inch-thick ice sheet, jutting a foot above the surface.
One of the techs grabbed an aluminum rod with a hooked end and slipped it over the nose cone’s tow ring. “I’ve got it,” he yelled. He pulled the AUV to the side of the hole, where another man reached down with a half-inch Dacron line and tied a bowline knot to the ring.
Yuri stood speechless beside the ice hole as the NSD crew hooted and hollered, high-fived each other, and then back-slapped Bill Winters.
Yuri was ready for Bill’s expected “I told you so” retort.
Instead, Bill rushed to Yuri and hugged him.
“Thanks for having faith in us. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
CHAPTER 17
DAY 8—MONDAY
Yuri was in Anchorage at Aurora Offshore Systems’ office. It was almost noon. He was in the media conference room with Alaska operations manager Jim Bauer. They both sat in front of the video wall. Four ultra-wide plasma screens covered the wall. The image of Chuck Matheson filled the upper right display. He was in the Houston office, sitting alone in a similar videoconference facility.
Yuri was near the end of his briefing. The screen next to the Houston feed displayed video playback from Deep Explorer’s voyage, edited to highlight key findings.
“And this is the last observation for Well Four. Like the other wells and the rest of the entire tract, there was no sign of leakage.”
For the past twenty minutes, CEO Matheson had suppressed the elation of Yuri’s initial summary. He wanted to view the videos and side-scan sonar data for each well of Aurora’s Chukchi prospect before allowing himself to believe the nightmare was over.
“This is wonderful news. I just knew we had the right company for this challenge.”
“Thanks,” Yuri said.
Jim Bauer piped in, “Chuck, that leak must be coming from one of our competitors.”
“Not our problem anymore.” Matheson leaned back in his chair. “Jim, I want to get this information to the feds today. I’m going to call the director right now and let him—”
“You might want to wait a little on that,” Yuri interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Matheson asked, his brow wrinkling. Jim Bauer flashed a questioning look Yuri’s way.
“Deep Explorer had a default mission—at our expense. After completing the survey of the overall tract, it conducted a second survey starting from the original spill sighting made by the University of Alaska research team. Nothing was found there, however.”
“I’m not surprised,” Bauer said. “The oil could be coming from just about anywhere. The pack ice at that location moves a lot, plus there’s a strong current moving northward from the Bering Strait.”
“What about the wind?” asked Matheson. “That blows the ice around, too.”
“Yes, but the Bering current often overrides wind stress.”
Yuri reentered the conversation. “Deep Explorer did find a trail of oil.” He keyed his laptop, cabled to the video wall. A new still image appeared on the monitor: black viscous fluid pooled under ice. “This photo was taken ten miles west of the original sighting coordinates.” Yuri adjusted the view and continued, “Deep Explorer kept following the trail; it was sporadic but consistently westward.” He typed again. Another image appeared, this one in motion as the AUV’s video camera recorded a stream of oil flowing under the ice.
“Where’s this at?” asked Matheson.
“About sixteen miles west.”
“I’ll be damned,” muttered Matheson.
“Deep Explorer followed the trail to the source and here’s what it found.”
A new video clip of a pipe stub projecting from the seabed filled the screen. A steady flow of brownish black fluid jetted from the jagged opening.
“It’s a blowout—where the hell is that well?” demanded Matheson.
“It’s in Russian territorial waters—about twenty-five nautical miles west of the border and a hundred and forty miles east of Wrangel Island. Water depth is a hu
ndred and eighty feet.” Yuri recited the earth coordinates.
“Son of a bitch,” Bauer blurted.
“The Russians explored in that area last summer,” Matheson said. “But I never heard anything about hitting pay.”
Neither had Yuri nor Jim Bauer.
Matheson took half a minute to collect his thoughts before eyeing Yuri through the video screen. “This is incredible news,” he said. “We’re indebted to you and your team. Please express my sincere gratitude to your staff.”
Yuri was about to respond when Matheson continued. “Jim, I’m calling the BSEE director as soon as we hang up. Upload everything you’ve got to our server and then call both regional directors of BSEE and BOEM and let them know what’s going on.” Matheson hesitated. “And be prepared to be swamped by the press—this is going to hit like a tsunami. I’m alerting our PR department. We’ll need to get a press release together as soon as Legal says it’s okay. I want to get out in front of this thing and stay there.”
“Will do, Chuck.”
Matheson looked to Yuri. “Your company is really going to be in the spotlight, so get ready. And thanks again.” He terminated the connection.
“My lord,” Jim Bauer said, smiling at Yuri. “What a day.”
“Indeed.”
Yuri had already anticipated the coming events. Bill Winters would serve as NSD’s one and only spokesperson while Yuri remained in the shadows. It was a role that Bill was well suited for and had earned.
Yuri sensed that NSD had just turned a crucial corner. That pleased him because it meant Laura had not squandered her resources on a lark to keep him occupied.
Still, Yuri sensed the threat. More than ever, he would keep his guard up. And at all costs, he was determined to keep his face out of the papers and off the TV.
CHAPTER 18
Kwan Chi knew about the story several hours before it hit the American networks and cable channels. An MSS mole strategically placed in the U.S. government a dozen years earlier had ascended steadily in the Department of the Interior, first with the Minerals and Management Service and then in a successor co-agency, the Bureau of Ocean Energy Management. Another asset in the Bureau of Safety and Environmental Enforcement, eagerly paid by the MSS for information to feed her ongoing gambling addiction, confirmed the report.
Kwan sat on a sofa in the living room of his fifty-third-floor Kowloon condominium. It was evening. The nightly spectacle of embellished city lights from the ten-thousand-square-foot penthouse apartment was a highly sought commodity. But his attention focused on the wide-screen television. Tuned to the BBC, the evening news was under way. The female announcer read the lead story:
“The United States government announced today that the source of the spilled oil discovered in the Chukchi Sea near the Alaska town of Barrow is not from any of the drilling operations that are located in U.S. territory. Instead, the source of the crude oil that is believed to have contaminated large swaths of ice-covered waters offshore of Alaska’s northwest coastline has been traced to an oil well drilled in Russian waters. An American company, Northwest Subsea Dynamics, under contract with the Aurora Offshore Systems, discovered the leaking oil well. Our Alaska correspondent, Clive Johnson, spoke with Bill Winters, designer of the underwater autonomous vehicle that made the discovery.”
The high-def television display changed to a split screen. Oil surging from the well blowout rolled on the left side while a video of Bill Winters played on the right. Winters was speaking:
“Our unit, Deep Explorer, traced the source of the oil by following its chemical footprint. Special sensors in the vehicle sampled the seawater and when hydrocarbons were detected, it homed in on the scent like a bloodhound searching for . . .”
Kwan muted the television and picked up his cell phone from the nearby coffee table. He hit a speed dial number. It was answered on the second ring.
“Did you watch it?” Kwan asked in his native Mandarin.
He listened to the expected response and said, “Should I proceed?”
Another short wait. “I’ll leave immediately.”
Kwan hung up and keyed another number, issuing new orders. His Gulfstream with a flight crew of three would be ready to depart in ninety minutes.
Kwan stood and walked to the bar. A glass of whiskey was in order.
An American whiskey, he thought. Yes, how appropriate.
* * *
Yuri was relieved to be home after taking an afternoon flight from Anchorage. After a shower and fresh change of clothes, he was in the kitchen enjoying a bottle of Redhook ale. Laura and Madelyn had returned from work ten minutes earlier. Madelyn was in a playpen in the adjacent dining room, just a few steps away and visible from the kitchen. She crawled on the mat, engaging with her favorite toy—a stuffed elephant twice her size named Oscar.
On the way home, Laura stopped at their favorite Thai restaurant for an order of takeout. The aroma of pad Thai, panang curry, and golden fried spring rolls permeated the air.
Yuri sat at a table in a kitchen alcove that overlooked the deck and the lake beyond. Lights from homes on the opposite shore of Lake Sammamish blinked on as residents arrived home.
Laura dished out the fare, passing a plate to Yuri and then sitting down herself.
“Smells wonderful,” he said.
“I know, and I’m famished.”
“No lunch today?”
“Wall-to-wall meetings. I’m exhausted.”
Yuri’s eyebrows arched. “You need to take better care of yourself.”
She smiled back. “I know. I plan to run in the morning.”
“No, I mean you should eat lunch.”
“I’m okay, Yuri, don’t worry about me.”
But he would. He couldn’t help it. She was everything to him.
Laura took in a forkful of pad Thai and Yuri followed. She briefed him on her day.
Now it was his turn. They’d talked the night before on the phone, so she knew the highlights.
“Did the Coast Guard authorize the work?” she asked.
“Yep, we’re good to go. Time and expenses for now.”
“That’s wonderful.” Laura remembered a potential glitch. “Aurora must have been okay with it.”
“No problem. In fact, Chuck Matheson told the Coast Guard admiral in charge of Alaska that he’d be a fool not to hire NSD.”
“When do you start?”
“Wednesday. Bill and the crew are going to spend tomorrow checking over Deep Explorer.”
Laura was proud that Yuri and NSD had landed a lucrative contract with the federal government. Deep Explorer would soon start mapping the oil spill. The contamination continued to spread, yet the winter cover of ice hid the horrible reality of what would be in store for the Arctic when the spring breakup occurred.
“Do they really think they can corral that oil while it’s under the ice?”
“No one knows yet. But that well has to be plugged first.”
“I heard on the news that might take a while.”
“Months,” he said as he scooped up a heaping spoonful of the panang curry.
Russia had given no indication of how it planned to rein in the runaway well. It was almost impossible to do anything with the ice cover over the site. It might take six months before a drilling rig could sail into the area to drill a relief well. By then untold millions of barrels of oil would have flowed into the Chukchi Sea. The resulting consequences to the pristine Arctic environment in Russia, Alaska, and Canada could be catastrophic. It would dwarf BP’s Deepwater Horizon blowout and spill.
Laura and Yuri finished their meal. She sipped a chilled glass of orange juice; he nursed a second Redhook.
Laura briefed Yuri on a new project she was about to launch. As usual, he enthusiastically supported her work, praising her technical skills and people skills, which Laura appreciated.
But now Laura had to broach something that had been gnawing on her for several days. While Yuri took another draw on the beer bott
le she said, “I heard from Nick this week.”
Yuri placed the bottle on the tabletop, startled. “What about?”
“He saw the YouTube video. He’s worried that others will see it, too.”
Yuri’s eyes narrowed. He wanted to blurt out a couple of choice Russian curses but refrained, knowing Laura would dislike hearing them. She’d learned enough Russian to know.
“I was worried that might happen,” he said.
“What should we do, honey?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think they’d come after you—us?”
“Technically, I’m still in the Navy.”
“Do they really care, after all of this time?”
“They care—I know too many secrets for them not to care.”
“This is not a good situation for us.”
“No, it is not.”
CHAPTER 19
DAY 9—TUESDAY
The remotely operated vehicle swam just above the seafloor in the western Chukchi Sea. It approached the objective with caution, its floodlight illuminating the jagged pipe end that continued to spew crude oil and methane. The buoyant plume ascended out of the light cone.
One hundred eighty feet above the bottom, the ROV’s pilot sat at a control station inside a tent staked out on the ice. It was bitterly cold this afternoon, approaching minus forty degrees Fahrenheit with a twenty-knot wind from the north. The helicopter that transported the team from the Russian naval base on Wrangel Island sat two hundred feet away, its engines idling to prevent freezing. The din of the whirling rotors masked the whine of the gas-powered generator parked on the ice near the tent.
A pencil-diameter tether transmitting power and communications connected the pilot to the ROV. He worked the joystick, maneuvering the robot to within twenty feet of the ruptured wellhead.
The pilot turned away from the video monitor, facing his assistant seated on a wood crate to his right. “Is the camera recording?”
“Yes, everything is up and running.”
“Good.”
The ROV operators were Russian government biological oceanographers. They were conducting under-ice research in Chaun Bay near Pevek when they were pressed into new service the previous evening.
The Forever Spy Page 6