Stalk touched another display, then another, explaining each one. "Scanning radio receiver. When it hits a busy freq, it starts recording. Electronic emissions detector—radar, infrared, and such. Radiation detector; unusual but not unheard of. It's fully automated. Whatever it sniffs out, it records and burst transmits it via satellite to—well, wherever."
"You're certain of that, chief?" Gates said. "This couldn't be oceanographic equipment?"
"I'm certain as rain, sir," Stalk said. "It's standard equipment for an intelligence ship. But my favorite young lieutenant is standing next to you, and he's a famous oceanographer." The chief gave Strange a motherly smile. "Ask him."
Gates looked at Strange. "Leland?"
The young man shook his head. "I've never seen equipment like this used for oceanography before, sir," he said. "Well, except for the acoustic receiver. Since the end of the Cold War, researchers have used the Navy's old SOSUS sound surveillance systems to study whale sounds. But the Franklin has—or had—several oceanographers on board. They'd want the data in their hands right away. Why send it out unseen? I agree with Chief Stalk, sir. This is a spy ship."
Gates and Strange turned to Gunnar.
"Don't look at me," Gunnar protested. "All I was told was to come out and fetch the damn ship home."
Gates leaned against the bulkhead and ran both hands through his dark, close-cropped hair.
"Well, we can conclude whatever happened to the crew of the Franklin had something to do to this compartment," he said. "And why the computers in the labs were erased."
"And bombs planted to sink the ship," Leland said.
Gates nodded.
"At some point, the Franklin must have gotten close enough to record something that somebody didn't want recorded," he said. "Since there aren't that many somebodies in this part of the Arctic . . ."
"The Vilanovsky," Strange said.
"I wish I could get another close look at that platform," Gates said, nodding. "Unless a submarine surfaced alongside the Franklin and boarded her, the only suspect left is the Vilanovsky."
"That's impossible, sir," Strange said. "I don't think they'll offer us another invitation. And it's not like we can run a RHIB over there and shout, 'This is the U.S. Coast Guard. Standby to be boarded.'"
"I know, Leland," Gates said. "I know."
"Well," said Gunnar, stroking his beard. There was a glint in the man's gray eyes. "There is one way."
"What's that?" Gates asked.
"You mentioned it a moment ago," Gunnar said.
He waited for Gates to catch on, but the officer's face was blank.
"You go by submarine," Gunnar said.
☼
"This is the Chukchi Sea," said Leland Strange, pointing to a chart of the Arctic Ocean, "north of the Bering Strait. We're here, southwest of Herald Island and its big brother, Wrangel Island. The international sea boundary comes through the Bering Strait, doglegs to the north, then doglegs again to the left, leaving those two islands in Russian waters. Vilanovsky is located here, south of Herald Island, only a couple miles on the other side of the international maritime boundary. There's less than five miles separating us from the platform."
"Can Chip go five miles, Sarah?"
"With no problem," Sandford said. "It'll take a while. Chip was built for deep diving, not speed."
"What's the ocean depth in these waters?" Gates asked.
"We're in luck there, sir, because the Chukchi is the shallowest sea in the Arctic Ocean, only around 50 meters deep—a hundred and fifty feet."
"How deep can Chip go, Sarah?" Gates asked.
"A lot deeper than that, commander," she said. "That's why it's called a deep submergence vehicle." She gave Gates a what-hell-do-you-think? smile. She saw Gates blush, apparently embarrassed by his own question. Sarah cleared her throat, regretting the embarrassment she caused him. "We should have no problem, commander."
"I understand the DSV made several dives to the ocean floor before the Franklin went missing," Gunnar said.
"Yes, sir," Sandford said. "That's correct."
They spent much of the night discussing Gunnar's proposal, pouring over charts, debating approaches to the platform, and the risks and benefits of the plan. Later, when everyone else had turned in, Gates stood on the starboard bridge wing and stared across the ice-encrusted sea to the distant light that was the Vilanovsky. To the west, the midnight sun hung low over the horizon. Its light cast shadows across the drift ice. He gnawed at his lower lip, thinking.
What the hell am I getting myself into? he wondered. Sneak across an international boundary line in a tiny submarine to spy on a Russian oil platform? Who the hell did he think he was, Tom Clancy? Still, his mission was to discover what happened to the Franklin crew, and whether whatever caused it still posed a threat to maritime traffic. It wasn't the first time since joining DSF–Papa that he had discovered the unthinkable and had done the unthinkable to neutralize it. His father's voice echoed inside his head with the Coast Guard's unofficial motto, one left over from the days of the U.S. Lifesaving Service: "You have to go out. You don't have to come back."
Yeah, he thought, but the other person I'll be with isn't a Coastie. Sarah Sandford's face came to him with that sensual smile and, despite the risks, he found an odd excitement rising within him at the prospect of being with her alone in the mini-sub. He shook that from his head and concentrated again on the Vilanovsky.
"Commander?"
Gates turned and found the ship's steward grinning at him. The dim sunlight reflected in her large almond eyes. What was her name? Something Inuit. Something unpronounceable. Panik Ublureak. Nikki.
"Nikki," he said in greeting. "What keeps you up so late?"
"Oh, I love to be outside at night and watch the stars as they fall. Do you remember what I told you of my people's stories?"
"How the stars fell from the sky and landed on Earth?"
Nikki nodded, pleased he remembered. "There goes one now!"
Gates looked to the sky and saw the last flicker of a meteor. He chuckled in wonderment.
"How's that for timing?" he said. "You mention falling stars, and suddenly one shows up."
"We know these things," Nikki said. "We know many things others don't. Just as you see things your people don't. We are alike, Commander Gates. You and me and my people."
Gates stiffened again at her remark alluding to his alleged second sight.
"You will be leaving us tomorrow?" Nikki said. "Only for a short time?"
"How did you know?"
"A ship's steward hears many things," she said with a slight giggle.
"Well, we might not go," he said. "The more I think about it . . ."
"You will go," Nikki said. "You must go. And you will find what you need. At least, in part. An answer to one of your questions."
Before Gates could ask Nikki what she meant, the young girl pointed to the sky behind him.
"Another will appear there," she said.
Gates followed her finger. Seconds later, a fiery ember darted through the night and disappeared.
"How do you do that?" he said, turning back to Nikki.
She wasn't there. He looked along the deck and inside the bridge, but the pretty young girl with the unpronounceable name was gone.
☼
"Are you certain you want to go through with this, captain?" Gates asked.
It was morning. Gates, Strange, and Gunnar stood next to the DSV beneath the giant A-frame crane. Sarah Sandford stood atop it, connecting the crane's cables to the sub's lifting points.
"The crew of the Franklin were fellow mariners, Doug," Gunnar said. "I knew her captain from the maritime academy. If the Russians were involved with their disappearance, I want to know about it."
"Understood, sir," Gates said. "But what about Sarah? This might put her in great danger."
"I can take care of myself, commander," Sandford said from Chip's deck. "Thank you for your consideration, but I feel the same way as t
he captain. The Franklin's two DSV pilots were close friends of mine."
Sandford sat on the edge of Chip's deck, legs dangling over the side. She leaned over, arms resting on her knees, and studied Gates.
"Now, commander, if you prefer not to go, that's fine with me," she said. "I understand how some men feel about women drivers. I can do this on my own. Or . . ." She glanced at Strange with a mischievous smile. "Perhaps I should take the young lieutenant."
Strange's face lit up. "Can I, sir?".
"No, you cannot," Gates said. "I'm going. That is if Ms. Sandford will have me as her passenger."
Sandford jumped to her feet and extended an inviting hand toward the hatch.
"What are we waiting for?" she said.
Gates climbed onto the mini-sub, leaving behind a crestfallen Leland Strange. He turned, snapped a salute to Captain Gunnar, and smiled. "Permission to leave the ship, sir?"
Gunnar grinned and returned the salute. "Permission granted."
"Leland," he said. "You have the conn. You're in command of the team."
The young officer brightened, snapped to attention, and saluted.
"Aye, aye, sir," he said. "Good luck."
Gates waited for Sandford to climb into the DSV. She paused, one leg resting in the open hatch.
"You remembered to dress warmly, didn't you, commander?" she said. "It gets mighty cold down there, and I'm not a cuddler."
Gates climbed into the hatch after Sandford. Gerry Salcedo, Gunnar's chief mate, stood ready at the A-frame's controls. After a signal from Sandford, he lifted Chip from its cradle and slowly swung it out over the stern.
☼
Through the bubble canopy, Gates watched as Gunnar and Strange grew smaller as Chip rose between the legs of the crane. Leland, seeing Gates through the thick Plexiglas, waved. The deck slipped beneath them, replaced by the ocean's shattered white shroud. Two members of the CIVMAR crew steadied the vehicle with painter lines as Salcedo lowered the craft.
"Better brace yourself, commander," Sarah said. "Sometimes these things hit the water hard."
Gates braced himself, but Chip settled softly into the water. Drift ice cracked and scraped around the hull with the sound of ice in a bathtub.
"We're lucky," Sandford said. "Gerry's a good crane operator."
Two CIVMARs, dressed in orange survival suits, approached in a RHIB, disconnected the painters and the crane cables, then backed off.
"Time to button up," commander," Sandford said. "Could you close the hatch?"
Gates nodded and rose from his position.
"And don't forget to dog it," Sandford said, glancing sideways at him with another devilish grin.
Gates gave her a "what-kind-of-idiot-do-you-think-I-am?" look, closed the hatch, and secured the dogging wheel.
Air bubbles erupted from beneath the little sub as its ballast tanks expelled air and took in seawater. The bubbles obscured the view from the canopy. When they cleared, there was only water.
Chapter 14
THE VIEW WAS INCREDIBLE.
Above them, Gates watched the bottom of the sunlit surface ice drift by, like billowing white clouds. Below them, the water was as dark as a desert sky on a cloudy, moonless night. Gates felt as if he were falling through a limitless universe, enveloped by a thick blanket of darkness, alone in the world.
"Earth to Commander Gates."
Gates turned from the view outside and found Sarah Sandford watching him, chuckling at his boy-like wonder. She sat in the pilot's seat, hands resting lightly on two joysticks, which Gates assumed controlled the sub's movement. In front of her, embedded in the control console, sat a computer screen, in the center of which was a two-dimensional rendering of Chip and its various components.
At the top of the screen, digital readouts displayed dive time, depth in meters, carbon dioxide levels, and battery charge. To the right of Chip's image was a compass rose showing the little submarine's heading. Above the compass image was a digital readout of the compass heading; the reciprocal, or reverse, course was displayed below the compass.
To the left of the DSV image, more digital readouts showed distance to the ocean floor, attitude in the water, horizontal and vertical speed, internal and external temperature and pressure. Touch-screen buttons to the side switched the display to readouts for life support, batteries, propulsion, inertial navigation, cabin lighting, and external lighting.
"Since this is your first time in a DSV," she said, "you should become familiar with the equipment."
Gates pointed out the displays he understood. "Compass heading, depth, yaw and pitch," he said, as if trying to impress Sandford.
"Very good," Sandford said, her voice that of a tolerant school teacher. She tapped the screen button marked Propulsion. The displayed switched to readouts for hydrogen and oxygen levels, temperature, and energy output, and a schematic Gates didn't understand.
"Chip uses a new air-independent propulsion system similar to but much smaller than those used in the latest German U-boats. It's based on fuel-cell technology."
"Like those used in cars today?" Gates said.
Sandford nodded. "Very similar. We have a tank of hydrogen and, because we're underwater, a tank of liquid oxygen. You mix the two and it creates water and electricity."
"Sounds like the Walter submarine," Gates said. He referred to experimental submarines designed by the German engineer Hellmuth Walter near the end of World War II that used hydrogen peroxide and a catalyst to create heat and steam to turn a turbine. With oxygen as a byproduct, the Walter submarine had the potential to operate submerged for weeks.
Sandford turned and gave Gates an approving look.
"Well, I'm impressed, commander," she said. Returning to the controls, she continued. "The Walter engine was based on similar concepts, but it wasn't fuel-cell technology as we know it today. We have the usual batteries, too. The AIP gives us a good cruising speed, but the batteries can give us an extra burst of speed if we need it, or that extra oomf if we have to lift something to the surface."
"Oomf? Is that a submariners' term?" Gates said.
"Funny," Sandford said. "Now pay attention." She switched on another screen. Its bifurcated view showed what Gates knew were side-scan sonar images. Sandford touched the image in the lower part of the screen. "Side-scanning sonar gives us views of the ocean floor to port and starboard." She pointed to the upper view. "And forward-looking sonar shows us what's ahead of us so we don't run into a cliff wall or something. These are our eyes down here. There's nothing to see until we reach the sea floor, where the lights become effective."
Sandford pressed the button labeled INERTIAL NAV, and the displayed changed to digital nautical charts showing the current and previous positions of the DSV.
"We can't receive GPS signals submerged," Sandford said, "so we rely on an inertial guidance system the same as our nuke subs. It records our movement through the water."
"Did it record the DSV's movements when it disappeared?"
"No," she said. "First thing I checked when I got it powered up. The memory was erased."
"Same as the Franklin's computers," Gates said. After a moment, he added, "This seems pretty advanced stuff for a research mini-sub."
Sandford's lips formed a sly smile.
"The Chips were built by the Navy to use as a test platform for new technologies," she said. "Oceanographic institutes and the Navy have a reciprocal agreement. The Navy provides the research ships. In return, the institutes perform research for the Navy, some of it classified. Robert Ballard found the Titanic using equipment designed for the Navy. Before he could use it, though, he used it to complete a couple secret survey missions for the Navy. This DSV and the Franklin were provided under the same kind of agreement." She added sotto voce, "But you didn't hear that from me."
"Chip-1, Franklin."
Gerry Salcedo's disembodied voice came from a speaker in the console before Sandford. She grabbed the microphone and replied.
"Franklin, C
hip-1. All systems nominal. Descending."
"Gertrude?" Gates asked.
Sandford swung around, her lips parting in a look of surprise.
"Well, commander, you surprise me again," she said. "Yes, the UQC AN/WQC-2 underwater telephone. AKA Gertrude. And here I thought you knew nothing about submarines."
"Submarines need someone to talk to, and surface ships have Gertrudes, too," he said. "And I've been on many surface ships over the years."
Sandford turned back to her displays and played with the joysticks. Gates watched the compass swing around to north-northwest, a course that aimed them directly at the Vilanovsky.
"Franklin, Chip-1," Sandford said into the mic. "Coming to course zero-zero-five degrees. Depth one-five meters. Still descending."
"I once read submarines fly through the water, similar to the way airplanes fly through the air," Gates said. "Is that true?"
"In a way, yes," Sandford said, switching her display to check the life-support system. "A sub's large dive planes give the boat some lift, same as a plane's wings do. And a sub maneuvers more like a plane than a surface ship. Subs and airplanes operate in a three-dimensional environment—up, down, left, right, while surface ships operate in two dimensions."
Sandford switched back to the primary display.
"But this little sub flies more like a helicopter than an airplane," she continued. "We've got individual thrusters to move us forward and backward, side to side, and up and down. Plus, we have additional variable direction thrusters. With these joysticks I can move in any combination of directions. Watch."
Gates saw the speedometer drop to zero as Sandford brought the vessel to a full stop. It hung suspended for a moment, then pivoted three hundred and sixty degrees. The DSV slipped sideways to starboard while descending at a forty-five-degree angle, stopped, rose vertically, stopped again, then moved laterally to port.
"See what I mean?" Sandford said.
Gates nodded. "You maneuvered this thing like it was a flying saucer."
Polar Melt: A Novel Page 8