"Yes, sir," Gates said.
Konstantin gestured toward a set of binders.
"These are our rough and finished logbooks," he said. "Petya has read through them. He will brief you on his findings. Meanwhile, I will order us coffee."
As Konstantin left, Praskovya picked up a binder, turned to a page marker, and skimmed the page.
"Our first encounter with this Franklin was four weeks ago," he said. "She was operating to the east of us. As you know, the Vilanovsky sits close to the Russian-U.S. maritime boundary. At one point, she came within hailing distance and we exchanged casual greetings, as passing ships do."
Praskovya turned to another marked page, and skimmed it, too.
"Ah, yes," he said. "This second interchange occurred on July 4." He looked up. "Your Independence Day. The Franklin was now to the southwest of us. At approximately 2300 hours, our watch standers in Main Control noticed what appeared to be flares at several miles distance. Thinking they were from a ship in distress, they sent out a general radio hail to whatever party was in distress." Praskovya looked up and chuckled. "A party is what it turned out to be. The Franklin was celebrating your holiday by setting off fireworks. Our people wished them a happy holiday and promised to raise a toast to American independence when they were off duty."
Praskovya closed the logbook and set it back onto the table.
"That was our last communication with them," he said. "Other than a distant light on the horizon, we never saw or heard from them again."
"That was almost a week before the Franklin disappeared," Gates said. "Five days later our search planes found her abandoned."
"Abandoned?" Konstantin said, returning with a canteen worker carrying a tray of cups, saucers, and a coffee carafe.
"It appears so, sir," Gates said. "The ship's single life boat was missing, with no sign of life on board."
The canteen worker set the tray on the table and left. Konstantin picked up a cup and the carafe.
"A true sea mystery," he said. "Coffee?"
He poured cups for everyone as Gates continued.
"Let me ask you, Mr. Praskovya," he said, "as security chief, have you any knowledge or received any reports of piracy in these waters?"
"Piracy? Why no." Praskovya looked surprised at the question, but a moment later his expression changed. "No, wait. I seem to remember a report that came to us a while ago about unusual ship movements in these waters. I assumed they were more of these environmental protesters. Do you remember that report, Aleks?"
Konstantin's face showed brief surprise, but then he said, "Yes. Yes, I believe I do." He waved his hand in dismissal. "Hooligans. More of that hooligan nonsense."
Lieutenant Strange finished his coffee and placed the empty cup in its saucer.
"Delicious coffee," he said. "I wonder if I could bother you for directions to the . . ."
"Of course," said Konstantin. "Out the door to the left." He held up his thumb and forefinger. "The door with the little figure of a man."
Leland found the restroom. As with most Russian public restrooms, privacy was not considered in its design. A tight row of three toilets stood against one bulkhead with nothing between them but paper dispensers and waste canisters. A row of closely placed urinals afforded the same degree of privacy.
As he finished using a urinal, two Russian workers came in, speaking in loud, angry voices. They halted and stared at the American as he faced them. One of them said something to him in Russian. Leland pretended not to understand.
"I'm sorry. I don't understand Russian," he said.
The Russian looked perplexed a moment, then smiled.
"Amerikanski?"
Leland nodded.
The Russian turned to his companion. "Amerikanski!" He turned back to Leland and said in slow, accented English, "They . . . tell us . . . you visit. Welcome to Vilanovsky!"
Both men patted Leland on the back and shoulders, then stepped up to the urinals. Leland slipped out of the restroom and took his time returning to the meeting, peeking through windows into offices and laboratories. One lab had a large whiteboard covered with Cyrillic writing except for one word written in large, capital Latin alphabet letters.
"Ah, Lieutenant Strange. We thought you might be lost."
Praskovya hurried toward him.
"Ah, no, sir, not lost," Strange said. "I made friends with two of your workers in the restroom. They were welcoming me aboard. At least, I think they were. Then this laboratory caught my attention. Oceanographic lab, isn't it? I'm an oceanographer by training."
"Yes, yes, it is," the security chief said. He guided Leland toward the conference room. "However, our oceanographer is ashore today. I'm sure he would have enjoyed talking . . . shop . . . with you. That is how you say it?"
☼
After the Americans left, Konstantin and Praskovya sat around the conference table, finishing their coffee. Praskovya drew a cigarette from a pack of Belomokanals, pinched its cardboard tube, and lit it.
"Well, what do you think, Petya?"
Praskovya blew smoke rings as he considered his answer.
"It went better than I feared, Aleks," he said. "We had limited official contact with the research ship. They could have questioned the crew and received the same story as from the logbook."
"That was quick thinking when the commander asked about pirates," Konstantin. "Of course, there was no such report?"
Praskovya shook his head, smoke snaking around his head as he exhaled. "No," he said, "but it was a viable pretense for misdirection. With luck they will conclude pirates attacked the research ship. And thank you for realizing my little charade so swiftly."
"And the young black officer?" Konstantin said. "You found him looking into the oceanography lab?"
"Yes, he said he was trained as an oceanographer."
"You believed him?"
Praskovya shrugged. "It is possible."
"That was a lapse in security, Petya, having our laboratory visible to our visitors," Konstantin said. "Perhaps he saw something?"
"Relax, Aleks," Praskovya said. "I found and interviewed the two workers who accosted him in the lavatory, and they said it was clear he did not understand a word they said. There was nothing he could see in the laboratory he would understand unless he spoke Russian."
"Still," said Konstantin, standing, "it was a lapse of security, one that will not be countenanced again."
Konstantin walked out, leaving Praskovya bathed in a cloud of smoke.
Chapter 12
"WELL, GENTLEMEN, WELCOME BACK. How did your meeting with the Rooskis go?"
Captain Gunnar pulled a chair out from the conference table and sat across from Gates. Leland Strange sat at the end of the table, focused on his laptop.
"They were gracious hosts," Gates said, "until Leland got caught peeking through a window into a laboratory. They remained friendly, but they gave us something of a bum's rush exit."
"Learn anything?"
Gates grunted. "Not much," he said. "They exchanged radio greetings once as the Franklin steamed past, then again on July 4. After that, nothing. At least that's what they told us."
"We learned more than that, commander," Strange said, looking up from the computer. "When I was in the head, two workers came in. They were angry, something about more equipment failures. One of them thought the Vilanovsky was jinxed. But the other said—and I'm quoting here—'It's not jinxed. It's because of that thing below.'"
"What thing below?"
"I don't know, sir. Once they saw me, they stopped talking and welcomed me aboard."
"What about that lab Praskovya caught you looking into?" Gates asked.
"That was interesting, too," Strange said. "There was a whiteboard with notes about energy emissions and measurements."
"Energy emissions?" Gates said. "What kind?"
"They're trying to that figure out. They were taking measurements of an unknown energy source on the ocean floor. Several types of emissions, electromagn
etic, thermal . . ."
Strange paused, his brow knitting.
"Even gravitational. Some forms they couldn't classify." Strange shrugged. "What was interesting was that most of the notes were written in the Cyrillic alphabet as you'd expect on a Russian rig. But there was one word written in our alphabet, in very large capital letters and underlined three times. I don't know what the word means. It was o-o-p-a-r-t. Oopart?"
"You're sure?" Gates asked.
"Yes, sir," Strange said. "Do you know it, commander?"
Gates nodded. "It's an archeology term, an acronym for out-of-place artifact."
"What does 'out-of-place artifact' mean, Doug?" Gunnar asked.
"It refers to finding an example of a technology more advanced than expected in the remains of the culture you're studying," Gates explained. "A famous example is the Antikythera Mechanism, a very advanced form of mechanical computer found in a Greek shipwreck from around 150 B.C.E."
"Oh, I've read about that," Leland said. "It was an astronomical computer, wasn't it?"
"So, it's believed," Gates said. "Another OOPART is the Piri Reis chart."
"That's one I've heard of," said Gunnar. He stroked his beard, remembering. "Read about it a maritime magazine. It's supposed to show the coastline of the Antarctic continent without the ice cover. It was drawn by an ancient Turkish admiral, right?"
"That’s right, captain," Gates said. "Piri Reis was a Turkish admiral and cartographer who lived in the 1500s. He drew the chart, but he said he used several earlier charts as source material. What's remarkable is how accurately it depicts Antarctica's coastline without its ice coverage, which existed long before man. We didn't have any idea what the land mass beneath the ice looked like until radar came along in the 20th century."
"Wasn't there something about the ancient Egyptians having electricity?" Strange asked.
"Even before the Egyptians," Gates said. "The Sumerians in ancient Mesopotamia. Researchers found clay jars with metal electrodes. They found if you filled the jars with wine or vinegar, they produced a small electrical current. For lack of a better name, they're called the Baghdad Batteries, though that's a misnomer. Most researchers believe they were used for electroplating rather than generating electricity."
Gates tapped his fingers on the table, thinking.
"In what you read on that whiteboard, Leland, did they have any idea whether this energy source was technological or natural?" he said.
"I don't think they knew," Strange said. "But if I were to make an educated guess, the fact they used the English term OOPART indicates they thought it might be technological."
Gunnar scoffed. "Are you suggesting the Russians may have found the lost city of Atlantis, lieutenant?"
"I am simply making a suggestion based on what I read, captain," Strange said.
Gunnar held up his hand. "Just kidding, lieutenant," he said. "Just a small joke. Too small, I guess."
"What I don't get is why the Vilanovsky?" Gates said. "If the Russians found a new energy source that's not petroleum, why plant a massive oil drilling platform over it? Why not use a research ship like the Franklin?"
"That's one other thing we've learned, sir," Strange said. He spun the laptop around so Gates and Gunnar could see the screen. "I told you I spent time on Russian oil rigs when I was studying in Russia. There were things aboard the Vilanovsky that struck me as odd. First, the drill didn't look right. It didn't look like the others I've seen. Now, it's a new platform. It could be a form of new drilling technology." Leland shrugged. "And the moon pool and all those submersibles. I've never seen that on other oil platforms. Usually, they use remotely operated vehicles to maintain the drill head. Safer than sending a diver down. And then there's this."
He tapped the computer screen. It showed an aerial photo of the Prirazlomnaya platform.
"This is the Vilanovsky's sister platform," Strange continued. "They look identical right?"
Gates nodded.
"Except for these." Strange pointed to two large cranes angling out from opposite corners of the platform. "This platform has fourteen storage tanks for the crude oil they suck up. They store the crude in those tanks until oil tankers come to collect it, then transfer it to the tankers through large hoses. These cranes lift and maneuver the hoses into place on board the tankers."
Leland paused and turned to Gates.
"Commander, when we were on the Vilanovsky, did you see any large cranes?"
Gates thought back to their approach to the platform. "No, I didn't," he said.
"Nor did I," Strange said. "So, if the Vilanovsky is drilling for oil, what do they do with it after they find it?"
"Good question, Leland," Gates, sitting back in his chair. After a moment, he turned to the CIVMAR captain. "Any success in the engine room?
"None," Gunnar said, frowning. "Jerry Weil and your Senior Chief Hopper have torn the main motor and generator apart and put it together again, and it still doesn't work. They've been tearing that engine room apart looking for a cause, but nothing."
Strange, his focus still on the laptop, muttered, "Kremlins."
Gunnar looked at the young officer. "What's that?"
Gates grinned and explained.
"The ops director on the Vilanovsky said they were having equipment failures. He blamed them on gremlins, but he mispronounced it."
Gunnar and Gates chuckled, but Strange looked up, his face serious.
"No, I mean it, sirs," he said. "Remember the worker in the men's head complaining about those failures? He blamed them on what he called 'that thing below.' Maybe this energy source is the source of their equipment failures, and maybe it's also affecting the Franklin."
"But only our main propulsion? Not the auxiliary generators?" Gates said.
Strange shrugged. "Perhaps it has something to do with proximity or wattage output?"
"Gremlins didn't tear the wiring out of that power panel," Gates said.
"Well, whatever," Gunnar said, his tone expressing doubt. "Gremlins or not, in four days it won't matter. I got a message today. That damaged oil rig I mentioned yesterday? One of the tugs was released and is en route to take us under tow. It should be here in three or four days."
A rap came at the door, and Senior Chief Hopper stepped inside.
"Excuse me, sirs," he said, then addressed Gates. "Skipper, Jess and Frank found something below decks you should see."
"What, senior chief?"
Hopper shook his head, rolled chaw around, then spit into his ever-present soda can.
"I really think you need to see this, sir."
Gates and Strange rose to follow Hopper out of the room when Gunnar asked, "Mind if I join you, Doug?"
"Of course, captain."
As they left the compartment, Strange took Gates aside and whispered, "Sir, that chewing tobacco habit of the senior chief's is not only unhealthy―he can get mouth cancer from it―it's disgusting, too. Can't you order him to not indulge when he's around others?"
Gates prodded the younger officer on.
"Leland, there are some things man has no control over," he said. "Time, tide, and senior chief's chaw."
☼
They followed the senior chief down ladders until they reached the third deck, where Brown and Chee waited. Frank Chee, a helicopter rescue swimmer and team medic, was a strongly built Navajo who had never seen an ocean until joining the Coast Guard. Still, he turned out to be a powerful swimmer with no fear of heights or rough water, the perfect candidate for the tough and dangerous job of air-survival man, those Coasties trained to jump out of helicopters into storm-tossed seas to pull drowning mariners to safety.
Chee and Brown stood in the central passageway next to a firefighting station. The emergency station had a red platform the size and shape of a folding poker table mounted vertically on the bulkhead, two feet above the deck. The stand held a coiled fire hose with an all-purpose nozzle. The hose was attached to a nearby high-pressure water valve. To the right of the stand w
ere a fire ax and CO2 extinguisher.
"What have you got?" Gates asked.
"Well, sir, something about this passageway bothered Frank and me since we searched the ship for more explosives," Brown said. "You see, sir, these two storage compartments―" He pointed to two doors on either side of the firefighting station. "They didn't seem right. The square footage didn't add up. It kept bothering us. While you and the L-T were gone, Frank and I came down here and sounded the bulkheads." He held up a small hammer used for tapping the metal walls of a ship. "And we found a hollow."
"They didn't know you and the lieutenant were back aboard, sir." Hopper said. "So, they reported this to me."
Hopper nodded to Chee. The team medic reached behind the rim of the stand. There was a click, then Chee pulled on the platform's edge. It swung open, revealing a hatchway leading into a slim compartment. Shelves crowded with electronic equipment lined each bulkhead, leaving enough room for a single chair. The chair was secured with bungee cords to the far bulkhead.
Chee's dark, chiseled face broke into a boyish grin.
"Pretty cool, huh, skipper?"
The two officers looked at each other.
"Well," said Gates, "this has been an interesting day."
Chapter 13
"NO DOUBT ABOUT IT, commander, the Franklin is a spy ship."
Georgia Stalk sat in the tight confines of the hidden compartment, running her hand over the various instruments. She had been working in one of the ship's labs, trying to recover data from the erased computers, when Gates called her down to the third deck and the tiny hidden room.
"Everything here is what you'd find on any naval spy ship for collecting signals and electronic intelligence—only miniaturized." Stalk pointed to a device. "This is an acoustic receiver, passive sonar used for collecting underwater sounds—submarine noises and such—for analysis and identification. There must be a microphone array on the bottom of the hull or in a pod. Or maybe an automated towed array."
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