Sandford shrugged. "Yeah, if you believe in that stuff." After a moment, she cocked an eye at Gates. "Do you?"
"Do I what?" Gates said.
"Believe in that stuff—flying saucers, I mean?" she said. "Captain Gunnar said you ran a special team that investigates UFOs and such."
Gates sighed heavily. He rarely spoke to people about the DSF–Papa. Not that doing so was forbidden, but because most people would ridicule the idea.
"Mysterious things happen at sea, Sarah," he finally said. "Sometimes they endanger safety at sea. When they do, it's our job to find out what's causing those mysterious things to happen and, if it's possible, stop them from happening. That's all."
"You mean the Bermuda Triangle?" Sandford asked. "You mean that's real?"
Another sigh from Gates.
"Let me explain it this way, Sarah," he said. "Have you ever heard of the Kraken?"
Sandford's lips pursed in thought, then she shook her head.
"For hundreds of years, mariners told tales of a giant multi-tentacled creature that attacked their ships, and grabbed sailors right off the deck and rigging. Jules Verne had Captain Nemo's sub, the Nautilus, attacked by a Kraken in Twenty Thousand Leagues Beneath the Sea."
"Oh, I saw that movie," Sandford said. "The giant octopus, right?"
"A giant squid," Gates corrected. "Squids are much more aggressive than octopi. Anyway, for centuries, science considered Krakens simple sailor stories—sea myths and nothing more. But when bodies of giant squids washed up on beaches—creatures a dozen feet long or more—researchers started wondering just how big a squid could get. Several years ago, scientists sent a remote vehicle into one of the deepest parts of the ocean and guess what they photographed?"
"One of these Krakens?"
"Well, a monster squid. Researchers estimate their size can range from thirty to sixty feet long and weigh up to a ton," Gates said.
"That's a lot of calamari," Sandford said
"Yes, and more than large enough to attack a vessel the size of ancient sailing ships."
Sandford glanced out at the black water surrounding them.
"Could these things be around here?"
Gates shook his head.
"Too shallow," he said. "They prefer deep water and only come up to feed. My point is, Sarah, strange stuff happens at sea, but most often they have a reasonable, natural, or scientific reason for happening. Our mission is to discover what that reasonable or scientific reason is."
"So that's why you have Dr. Baby Face and the rest of you over-educated swabbies, right?"
Gates chuckled. "Dr. Baby Face," he mused. "I've got to remember that."
"Oh, he's cute," Sandford said, "but terribly young. I prefer my men to have some maturity."
She gave Gates a sidelong glance. He blushed and felt a nervous lump form in his throat. Before he could respond, Sandford turned to the sonar display.
"What's that?" she said, pointing to the side-scan sonar image.
Gates studied the image, a computerized rendering of the sea bed made up of shades of black and brown, with hints of yellow. A large object sat upright on the sea bed. Gates made out the curve of a bow. A flat deck house ran the length of the object, with a single protrusion from the center. Behind the deck house, the stern sloped off and disappeared into the ocean mud.
"It's a boat," he said, recognizing the shape. He felt sick and uneasy. "We better check it out."
Sandford picked up the microphone.
"Franklin, Chip-1. Side-scan has picked up a large object to our port side," she said. "Commander Gates wants to investigate. We're descending to the sea floor."
As the DSV approached the ocean bottom, Sandford turned on the external lights, casting the dark floor into brilliant daylight. Gates watched with wonder the abundant sea life. Brightly colored sea stars, snow and hermit crabs, sea snails, and worms scuttled across the frigid mud, while speckled Arctic cod, striped eel fish, snail-fishes, sculpin with wing-like fins, and various salmon darted in and out of the halo of light.
The wonderment faded as the sunken object came into view. The DSV's lights climbed up the burnt-orange hull. R/V FRANKLIN, stenciled in black, appeared on the vessel's bow. Sandford positioned the DSV to the starboard of the vessel. Midships was the small, enclosed coxswain station, one view-port cracked by a hole. Beyond the broken glass, Gates saw the face of the coxswain, one dead eye opened and staring back at him like the dull, lifeless eye of a landed fish.
"Is that what I think it is?' Sandford choked.
"The Franklin's missing lifeboat," Gates said. "And inside, her missing crew."
Chapter 15
THE FRANKLIN CARRIED A single, fully enclosed, self-righting lifeboat mounted in a free-fall launch railing on the starboard side. It was among best lifeboat escape systems on the market. For the crew of the Franklin, it had become a death trap.
Sarah Sandford stared at the wreckage, the usual humor that graced her face gone, replaced with a look of horror.
"Are those bullet holes?" Her voice was a mere croak
Machine gun bullets ruptured the boat's fiberglass hull. Not light automatic fire either, Gates figured. Something with a large caliber had done that damage. Those on board not killed outright by the heavy weapons fire drowned as the lifeboat settled to the bottom of the Chukchi Sea. Various denizens of the deep scurried in and out of the torn hull, no doubt feeding on the bodies inside.
"Yes," Gates said, his own voice tight. "I need this position plotted and recorded. We'll need to send another ship out to retrieve the boat and the—"
He didn't need to finish the sentence.
"It's already recorded by our inertial guidance system," Sandford said. She looked at the navigation system and read out the latitude and longitude.
"Can we videotape this?" Gates asked.
Sandford reached up to an overhead control panel and pressed a button.
"Recording," she said.
"I want everything," Gates said. "Stem to stern, topside, port, and starboard. Everything."
"Aye," Sandford replied.
"Good." Gates picked up Gertrude's microphone and hailed the Franklin. Salcedo answered, and Gates asked for Leland Strange. "We found the missing lifeboat, Leland. It's been sunk by what appears to be machine-gun fire. We can see one body. We have to assume the rest of Franklin's crew is inside."
"My god," Strange said. "Who the hell . . ."
"I need you to get on the sat phone and call Admiral Rickert. Tell him about the lifeboat and give him this position." Gates read off the lat and long. "He needs to get a recovery mission started. And tell him what Sarah and I are doing. If he bitches—and he will—tell him I assume full responsibility. You got that?"
"Yes, sir," Strange said.
"We're recording video of the damage now," Gates continued. "I'll get that to him as soon as we get back."
He thought, but didn't say, if we get back.
"Roger that, sir," Leland said.
☼
When they finished videotaping the wreck, Sandford resumed their original course to the Vilanovsky. Her demeanor had changed. She no longer lectured Gates or teased him. A tight grimace replaced the seductive smile. Her eyes glistened with tears she refused to cry. When she did talk, it was simply to acknowledge Gates' questions with a quiet, "Yes, sir" or "No, sir."
Gates understood the change. He had seen it before. Faced with the sudden reality of the situation, she was falling back on her military training, focusing on her duties, and trying not to think too much beyond those duties. For the next hour, they traveled in silence.
"There it is," Sandford said, pointing to the forward-looking sonar screen. The Vilanovsky's large concrete caisson appeared on the display. With each minute of approach, it loomed larger, until it filled the screen. Sandford touched a button, and the side-scan image disappeared, allowing the caisson image to dominated the entire screen.
"What's that?" Gates asked, pointing to a darker area on one
side of the caisson.
"It looks like . . ." Sandford studied the image before continuing. "Like an opening."
"Into the caisson?"
"It sure looks it, commander." Sandford reached for the twin joysticks. "I'll get us closer."
"No, no," Gates said. "Let's sit here and watch for a while. I don't want to stumble blindly into anything."
"Aye," Sandford said. "I'll settle her onto the floor."
They watched. At this distanced and depth, they could not see much through the viewing bubble. Yet a strange glow leaked out of the opening.
"What's that light?" Sandford asked.
"Work lights," Gates said. "They have several DSVs and deep-diving suits. My guess is they're working on whatever they have under the platform."
"They have something under the Vilanovsky?"
"When we were aboard, Dr. Baby Face saw notes on a lab whiteboard. It mentioned energy emissions coming from an object beneath the platform. He also overheard a couple workers talking about what they called 'that thing below.'"
Sandford chuckled. Gates looked her, puzzled.
"You call him Dr. Baby Face," she said.
Gates grinned. "I told you I'd remember that name."
They waited ten more minutes and then, spotting nothing unusual, Gates patted Sandford's shoulder.
"All right," he said, "let's go."
Sandford took the controls, and Chip lifted off the ocean floor, its horizontal thrusters creating small tornadoes of sea mud. She eased the sub forward, but it was sluggish to the command. She applied more power, but the DSV acted as if it were dragging an anchor.
"What the hell?" she muttered.
"What is it, Sarah?" Gates asked.
"I . . . I think we're stuck on something. Maybe a cable?"
Sandford's fingers stabbed at the video controls. The displayed screen switched to video feeds from cameras forward and aft, and port and starboard. This deep, three segments of the screen were dark. But the fourth, from the aft-mounted camera showed two light sources and, behind those, a metallic glint. Sandford switched on the stern light, revealing a man in a deep-diving suit, the articulated torso and extremities resembling a modern rendition of the venerable Robbie the Robot, including the pincer-like hands. The diver held Chip clenched in those pincers.
"Oh, my god, look!"
Sandford pointed through the window at two small two-man DSVs rising from the uneven ocean floor. They sped toward Chip with their mechanical arms extended, hands snapping menacingly.
"Get us out of here," Gates said.
"No fucking kidding," Sandford muttered.
Her fingers danced over the video-screen controls, switching displays. The propulsion screen appeared, and Sandford activated the backup batteries she said gave the mini-sub an extra "oomf." Grabbing the joysticks, she swung Chip 180 degrees. The diver, still hanging onto the sub stern, spun with the DSV, and slammed into one of the Vilanovsky's approaching subs. Gates watched the screen as the diver, his helmet glass shattered, sank out of view. Chip, its weight lightened, sprang upward and forward, away from the pursuing Russians.
"Nicely done," Gates said, craning to spot the Russians.
"Sit down and shut up," Sandford said, switching the display screen back to the four camera views. Gates did as he was told, and Sandford added softly, "sir."
High-powered lamps on the Russian DSVs sliced through the darkness of the sea. A third DSV rose from behind a sea mount to starboard, its wavering beams stabbing through the dark. The lights fell on Chip, enveloping the small submersible in blinding light that grew more intense as the Russian subs raced to intercept it.
The smaller Russian DSVs were faster than Chip. Despite the extra power from Chip's batteries, the Russians closed. One extended its mechanical arm its full length and tried to grab Chip's landing skids. Sandford side-slipped Chip to port and the Russian's claw closed on sea water alone. A second Russian came at them from the port side, its mechanical hand stretched out, ready to grab onto Chip. Sarah side-slipped again, this time to starboard, and the hand bit down on nothing.
The third Russian sub came hurdling at them from starboard, its grasper arm retracted and with such speed Sandford knew he intended to ram them. Sandford whipped Chip around to the right and sent it scuttling to port. The Russian careened off Chip's starboard hull with an ear-splitting clang, then limped off into the dark.
The remaining two Russians came at Chip from both sides, their motorized arms retracted. Sandford understood they were no longer trying to capture the DSV but sink it. She realized something else. She smiled and murmured, "They're thinking in two dimensions."
Both Russians lurched forward, their thrusters churning the sea. As they raced toward Chip, the little sub slowed and stopped. Before Gates could question why, a great weight pushed him deeper into his chair as Chip shot upward, out of the grasp of the Russians. The two Russian DSVs collided head on with a crunch heard inside Chip. In one camera view, Gates and Sarah watched a crack form on the Plexiglas window of a Russian sub. The Russian hung suspended for a moment, then settled toward the bottom. Its two companion DSVs grabbed it on both sides and tried lifting it to the surface.
It was too late. The cracks stretched across the window until it burst inward, flooding the crew compartment. The extra weight tore the DSV from its companions' mechanical hands and carried it to the sea floor.
Sandford drove Chip at its fastest speed toward the international maritime boundary. When the inertial guidance system showed they were in American waters, she slowed, surfaced Chip, and set a course for the Franklin.
She sat back in her chair and looked at Gates. Her lips where trembling, and her hands shook. Neither spoke. Gates reached for her, to offer a comforting touch, but his own hand trembled, and he drew it back.
Half an hour later, they were back aboard the research ship.
Chapter 16
"I JUST GOT OFF the sat phone with Admiral Rickert."
Gates stood at the front of the conference room. His team was sitting around the long table, as was Captain Gunnar and his chief mate, Gerry Salcedo. Sarah Sandford was absent. He didn't need to ask why.
"Considering what we found—the Franklin's missing crew in the sunken lifeboat—and the ambush Sarah and I experienced, he has ordered us to stand down from any more—the word he used was 'activities'—aimed at the Vilanovsky," Gates said, his voice somber. He glanced around the table and cleared his throat.
"I should not have authorized that mission," he continued. "Military service is inherently dangerous. We recognize what could happen to us. But Sarah didn't sign up for what we do. By using her to spy on the Vilanovsky, I put her in danger and, by extension, the civilian mariners on this ship." He turned to Gunnar. "For that, Captain Gunnar, I accept full responsibility and offer my deepest apologies."
Silence lingered until Gunnar scooted back his chair with a loud screech and stood.
"Hogwash!" he said. "That's not the strongest word I was thinking of using, but it'll do." He thumped himself on the chest. "I suggested using the DSV. I authorized its use. If anything, I'm as guilty as you. And I don't give a fig what Washington thinks. The captain of this ship was a friend of mine, and he's sitting at the bottom of the ocean, dead. I'm glad you and Sarah went out. I'm glad you found the lifeboat and their bodies. And I'm glad we now know those bastards on that oil rig are to blame. So, don't go apologizing to me, and don't hog all the responsibility. I deserve some of that, too, and I will tell that to Rickert, by god!"
Gunnar turned and saw the startled faces surrounding him. He sat and, this time, quietly pulled his chair forward. "Well, I had to say that."
"Thank you, captain," Gates said, a small smile turning up the ends of his mouth. "But you won't need to call Admiral Rickert. He wants to see how this shakes out, and whether there is any diplomatic fallout. I don't think there will be, myself. The Russians would have a hard time explaining that machine-gunned lifeboat."
Gates pulled out
a chair and sat at the table.
"The admiral told me something else," he said. "He's been butting heads with the Navy over this mission. The Navy owns the Franklin, but it's not a commissioned vessel, and it was being operated by an oceanographic institute with a nonmilitary civilian crew, which puts it under Coast Guard jurisdiction. He even pointed out that the Coast Guard is the senior naval service."
Whoops and cheers erupted from the Coasties. As the Coast Guard was formed in 1790 as the Revenue Cutter Service, eight years before the U.S. Navy's founding in 1798, it is often called the First Fleet, America's first naval force. The Navy, however, claims lineage to the Continental Navy of the American Revolution. Yet, Congress dissolved that small naval flotilla soon after the end of the war, leaving the newly independent country with no naval force until the Cutter Service emerged five years later.
"I bet that made heads explode at the old Navy Yard," said Senior Chief Hopper. He emphasized his point by spitting tobacco juice into a soda can.
"The admiral agreed to a compromise," Gates continued. "He said the Navy is sending an officer out here to secure Navy property."
"Shit, the Navy couldn't keep track of the Franklin before," Senior Chief Hopper said. "What makes them believe one zero can now?" After a moment, Hopper realized he'd used a less-than-respectable slang word for an officer, and mumbled, "Sorry, sirs."
Gates ignored Hopper and continued. "He'll arrive tomorrow by helo. So, until then, turn-to and stand by to stand by."
☼
Gates rapped on Sarah Sandford's cabin door. She cracked the door, saw who it was, then opened it and stood back as Gates entered. Gone was the thick, warming clothing she wore on the DSV. A snug sweat shirt and matching pants showed the curves of her athletic figure. The shirt bore the name and silhouette of a research ship Gates didn't know. Her eyes were red and dried tears streaked both cheeks. She held a cup from the galley in one hand, and Gates could smell wine on her breath.
"Merlot?" she asked. When Gates glanced curiously at two wine bottles on the cabin's small writing desk, she added, "This isn't a dry ship, commander. You go into any cabin, and you'll find someone's personal stash. The Franklin is strictly BYOB."
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