Gates turned to his people and said, "Stand down." They relaxed and holstered their weapons.
"How'd you all find out about this?" McCabe asked.
"We're the Coast Guard," Gates said. "Finding hidden compartments aboard ships is what we do for a living."
"When did you find it?
"The first day on board."
McCabe leaned back and sighed. "They were afraid of that. That's why they sent me. Did you examine at the equipment?"
Gates nodded. "Everything you need for a spy ship. Miniaturized and automated to collect data and burst transmit it."
The SEAL nodded. "Only it's not burst transmitting," he said. "Not for days, even before the Franklin and its crew went missing." He tapped a large box beneath the starboard counter. "This is an uninterruptible power supply. Even when the ship's power is off, it should have continued recording and sending. But nada."
"They send a SEAL instead of an electronics technician?" Gates sounded doubtful.
"I have an engineering degree in electronics, commander," McCabe said.
"That's nice," Gates said. "Chief Stalk!"
Stalk appeared at the doorway. McCabe glanced at her, then Gates, not understanding.
"Chief Stalk here has two engineering degrees in electronics," Gates said. "Maybe she can help you trouble shoot."
McCabe looked at Stalk, his brow knitted, and considered the offer. Finally, he shook his head.
"Sorry, commander," he said, "No disrespect, but this equipment is highly classified."
"Chief Stalk also has a top-secret clearance," Gates said. "Same as all of us. And she's worked on similar technology."
The SEAL officer sat back, looked at Gates and the others.
"What kind of Coast Guard unit are you all, anyway?" he said.
"That, lieutenant, is on a need-to-know basis."
Gates' voice was serious, but there was a glint in his eye. McCabe saw it.
"Fair enough," he said, smiling. "In that case, I welcome Chief Stalk's help."
Chapter 19
GATES STEPPED ONTO THE O-1 deck and looked at the midnight sun hanging low over the horizon. The twilight gloaming fell across the Chukchi Sea, laying a dull sheen on the drift ice thudding into the Franklin's hull. He checked his wristwatch for the fourth time in the past hour, then glanced at the distant light that was the oil platform Vilanovsky.
That evening he had dined with Sarah Sandford in the mess deck, sitting alone in a corner, talking in quiet voices, fully aware of but ignoring the arched eyebrows and pinched grins of the Coasties and CIVMARs. Afterward, they walked to her cabin. She invited him in, but he begged off. There was something unsettling him, something he couldn't describe or explain, something lingering beyond his reach.
Afterward, he walked the ship, an old naval term for the captain touring his vessel before a battle. But there was no battle pending; not that he knew of, at least. Still, he paced the upper and lower decks, stopping by the secret compartment where Chief Stalk and Lieutenant McCabe still struggled with the electronics, looking in on Senior Chief Hopper and Jerry Weill, the CIVMAR engineer, still working in main engineering to resurrect the ship's propulsion systems. He climbed one ladder after another up to the O-5 deck and the bridge, where Jess Brown stood watch.
The ship was asleep, except for the watch standers. He leaned against the railing on the O-4 deck, aft and below the DSV control station, and checked the time again. The only sounds were the hollow thuds of ice against metal, the lapping of the water, and the creak of the hull as the Franklin rocked to the sway of the ocean.
"Coffee, commander?"
Gates jumped at the voice. Nikki stood behind him, smiling as usual, a steaming carafe in one hand and a mug in the other.
"Sorry, commander," she said, "I didn't mean to startle you. Captain Gunnar thought you might like coffee."
She filled the mug and handed it to him.
"I thought he was asleep," Gates said, taking the cup.
"He is," Nikki said, still smiling. "I am sorry I startled you."
"Nikki, you have a way of sneaking up on people and then vanishing."
Nikki shrugged. "I am small and make little noise. It is the way of our people. You found what you sought, yes?"
Gates paused with the cup to his lips and raised his eyebrows.
"On your voyage in the small submarine," she added.
"Oh, the lifeboat and the Franklin's crew? Yes."
"I knew you would."
"Why?" Gates asked. "I mean, how did you know?"
"I explained when we first met, commander," Nikki said. "You and I are not unalike. We see more than the others."
"See more what?"
Gates held out his cup for a refill. Nikki took it and poured more coffee.
"Of all things," she said.
"Nikki, what did Captain Gunnar tell you about me?" Gates said, his voice edged with insistence. "Did he say I was psychic or something?"
Nikki's smile disappeared, replaced by puzzlement.
"I do not know that word, commander," she said. "But, no, he never used it about you. Captain Gunnar has told me nothing about you. Please drink your coffee, commander. It is a fine night, and you should be alert."
Gates finished his cup again, and Nikki refilled it.
"What do you mean I should be alert?" he asked.
Nikki looked over Gates' shoulder, her large almond-shaped eyes narrowing, as if focusing on something in the distance. He turned and scanned the ocean out to the horizon.
"Stand your watch, commander," Nikki whispered behind him. "You will see."
Gates turned to ask what she meant by that, but she was gone.
☼
It came only a few minutes later. A dim, shimmering light to the north floating above the horizon. His spine went cold, and dread flooded his soul.
Hands shaking, Gates set his coffee on a nearby bollard, turned, and ran up the stairs to the bridge. Jess Brown was still on watch. He mumbled a "Sir?" as Gates dashed into the wheelhouse, grabbed the gunner's mate's night-vision goggles and binoculars, and scrambled down the stairs to the next deck. Brown followed.
"Sir, what is it?" Brown asked.
Gates ignored the petty officer. He turned the NVGs on and scanned the region to the north, where he spotted the light. The NVGs showed only the Vilanovsky, a small sun in the green and black display, and chunks of sluggish, green-shaded drift ice moving with the current. He lowered the goggles, trading them for the binoculars, but still no flickering light. He lowered those, too, and searched the shadowy sea with his naked eye.
Still nothing.
"Sir?"
Gates looked at Brown, thankful that the dim sunlight hid the frightened look on his own face and shook his head.
"Sorry, Jess," he said. "Thought I saw something out there. Probably only starlight reflecting off the ice. Let me hold on to these just to make sure."
"Yes, sir." Brown turned and took the stairs back to the bridge two at a time.
Gates stood against the railing for several minutes, breathing slow and deep to calm the pounding in his head and chest. Just what I need, he thought, more rumors about my visions. He remembered what Nikki said. "We see more than the others." Well, in the military that kind of crap can sink your career faster than the iceberg sank the Titanic.
He relaxed and took the coffee mug from the bollard where he had left it and drained the contents. The coffee was cold. He yawned and considered hitting the rack. Maybe I should make one more tour of the ship.
He saw it again, this time closer, brighter. He brought up the NVGs; again, nothing but the Vilanovsky and drift ice. Lowering the goggles, the light was there, flickering like a flame. He picked up the binoculars. This time he saw it clearly, an ancient sailing ship, squared-rigged, reaching on a port tack, and glowing as if aflame.
The Flying Dutchman.
He watched as it came about on a starboard tack, heading straight for the Franklin. The dread from minutes ago fl
ooded back in. He stood motionless, unable to lower the binoculars, unable to turn away. His feet felt encrusted in ice, frozen to the deck. His heart pounded from a surge of adrenaline.
The Dutchman tacked again, to port. On the quarter deck of the glowing vessel stood a solitary figure, tall and waving as if to get his attention. The figure turned and pointed behind him, pointing to another light in the distance, pointing toward the Vilanovsky.
The ancient ship continued on its port tack, drawing away from the Franklin, growing smaller, dimmer, until it disappeared, even with the glasses. Gates lowered the binoculars, surprised he could move, and turned toward the bridge. With slow, deliberate steps, he climbed the ladder and entered the wheelhouse, set the NVGs and binoculars on a counter, paused to think, then turned to Brown.
"Jess, go below and wake up Lieutenant Strange and the senior chief," he said. "Tell them I want everyone on deck with full battle rattle. The Navy SEAL, too—Lieutenant McCabe. Wake Captain Gunnar and ask him to muster his people on the mess deck. Then bring my kit up here."
"Sir?"
"Do it, Jess," Gates said. "Now."
"Aye, sir."
Brown turned and clambered down the ladders to the sleeping sailors below.
☼
They couldn't have responded faster if he sounded a general quarters klaxon. Leland Strange arrived first, clad in his ODUs, ballistic vest, helmet, sidearm, and M-4 carbine. Gates wondered if the young officer slept in his battle rattle.
Brown came next, loaded with his own kit and Gates'. Lieutenant McCabe followed close behind, adjusting his flak vest as he climbed the stairs. Gates finished fitting his gear on when the last of DSF–Papa reported to the bridge. They formed a circle and waited for his orders.
"This will sound crazy," he said, "but I think we're about to be boarded."
"Boarded?" said McCabe. "By whom, sir?"
"The same people who boarded the Franklin before, killed its crew, and tried to sink the ship." He glanced over his shoulder toward the distant lights of the Vilanovsky.
"The Russians?" McCabe sounded incredulous. "Why?"
"Because of that secret cubbyhole of yours, lieutenant," Gates said. "They tried to sink the Franklin before because they thought the oceanographic equipment on board might have picked up something they didn't want us to know about."
"You mean the object?"
McCabe recognized his mistake the instant he spoke the words. Gates glanced at him with hard, cold eyes, and nodded.
"Yes," he said. "The object. That thing below."
Even in the dim sunlight, Gates spotted the surprise on McCabe's face. So that's his real mission aboard the Franklin.
"That's why they degaussed the electronics in the labs," he said. "But they didn't realize the Franklin was a covert spy ship. They didn't know about the sensors in your compartment. But after ambushing Sarah and me in the DSV, they realize we've been snooping around and we're suspicious. And I don't think they can take a chance we might have discovered something about the Vilanovsky and that object."
"Sir, is this supposition," asked Strange, "or did you see some—"
Gates shot the young officer a warning glance.
"I thought I saw something out there," Gates said, taking care to choose his words. "Something not moving with the current or the ice."
McCabe nodded, accepting Gates' reasoning.
"You visited the platform. Do they have the ability to board this ship?"
"We're pretty certain they did it once before," Gates said, nodding. "And their chief of security. What was his name, Leland?"
"Praskovya," Strange said. "Pyotr Praskovya."
"He claims to be a retired navy officer, but he looked too hardened to be an old sea dog. And he has a security force, as Sarah and I discovered."
"I recognize the name," McCabe said. "Ex-Spetsnaz. Known to the intel people for his wild high jinks. No helicopters?"
"One, but a civilian model," Gates said. "Not capable of inserting an armed force."
McCabe nodded again. "In that case, they'd need to come by small boat. They'll come along side and try boarding somewhere close to the bridge. They'll want to take command of that first."
Gates agreed. "That's how we'd do a hostile boarding," he said. "Toss up a line or rope ladder with a grappling hook and climb aboard, hoping to catch the crew asleep."
"Exactly," McCabe said.
"Lieutenant McCabe, I'd like to position you and Petty Officer Brown, our SAW gunner, forward on the O-1 deck. There you both can have a clear field of fire port and starboard if anyone makes it aboard. Also, your radio gear won't talk to ours because of the differing security encryption. Brown can keep you in the link."
McCabe stepped closer to Brown and nodded. "Yes, sir."
"I'll put Senior Chief Hopper midships on the port side main deck, with Petty Officer Chee in the same location on the starboard side. There they can shoot over the gunnel at the boarders while they're still in their boats. Lieutenant Strange, I want you and Chief Stalk aft on the fantail in case they decide not to follow our game plan. I'll locate myself up here so I can keep track of what's going on."
Gates glanced around as heads nodded in approval.
"Everyone monitor the team network, but don't chat it up," he said. "Keep the channel clear except for sitreps."
"Doug? What's going on?"
It was Captain Gunnar, eyes red, hair mussed from sleep.
"Captain, I believe we are about to be boarded," Gates said.
"The Rooskis?"
"Yes. That's why I want your CIVMARs mustered on the mess deck. They'll be safer there."
Gunnar's head shook. "Negative," he said.
"But—"
"But nothing, Doug," Gunnar said. "My people are trained in repelling boarders. Piracy is a constant threat to mariners, as you well know."
"Sir, you have no weapons."
"We have fire hoses," Gunnar said. "You ever been on the wrong end of 400 pounds of water pressure per square inch?"
Gates recalled watching demonstrations of anti-piracy tactics, including using fire hoses and water cannon to defeat boarders. Both were effective.
"Very well, sir," Gates said. "Have your people man fire hoses port and starboard, if you please." He paused, thinking of Sarah. "Perhaps the women can stay in the mess deck?"
"I said all my people were trained in repelling pirates, Doug," Gunnar said.
Gates studied Gunnar's face, and his steady blue-gray eyes made it clear there was no point in arguing.
"Very well, captain," he said, nodding. "Make it so."
Chapter 20
"THERE!"
All but the Franklin's navigation lights were turned off, leaving the deck below Gates in shadow. He used his night-vision goggles to look down at McCabe and Brown. The SEAL was looking to starboard with NVGs that were at least a generation newer than those issued to the Coasties. McCabe looked up at Gates and pointed. Gates trained his own NVGs in that direction.
They were mere shadows, two dark objects moving against the ice current. They came at low speed, careful not to produce a phosphorescent wake, their motors muffled.
"Two bogeys inbound, starboard side," Gates whispered into this boom mic. "Zero-five-five relative, 300 yards and closing."
A series of clicks answered Gates as members of DSF–Papa acknowledged his report. Gates leaned into the wheelhouse, grabbed the microphone for the loud hailer, and stretched its cord to the starboard search light. Then he waited.
Gates' mouth was dry, his hands wet with sweat. The boats closed on the ship and more details became visible in his NVGs. Rigid-hull inflatables with center consoles, one man standing at each wheel. Shapeless shadows along the side sponsons were the boarding party, impossible to count at this point. As the lead boat drew near, a shadow in the bow rose. That would be the grappler, thought Gates, armed with the grappling hook and its climbing rope or ladder.
Gates swiveled the searchlight, aiming it at the first boa
t, and thumbed his PTT. "Standby for the searchlight."
Like Gates and McCabe, each member of DSF–Papa had a set of NVGs. Gates assumed the boarders had similar equipment. NVGs worked by magnifying available light. But, if a powerful light source is introduced, the NVGs shut off to protect the viewer's eyes. If the assault team was wearing night goggles, as Gates suspected, switching on the search light should momentarily blind its members.
Gates gave his own team a minute to remove their NVGs and shelter their eyes to preserve their night vision. He flipped the switch on and stepped away from the light.
"This is the United States Coast Guard," Gates said into the loud hailer mic, his voice booming across the drift ice. "You are in American waters. Heave to and lower your weapons."
The only response was a burst of automatic gunfire that shattered the lamp and showered Gates with shards of broken glass.
Well, that didn't work too well, he thought.
"Jess, give them a warning burst," Gates said into his radio.
The SAW gunner stitched the ocean in front of the lead Russian. The Russians responded with their own automatic fire, rounds pounding the bulkhead below where Brown and McCabe were sheltering.
"So much for diplomacy, skipper," Brown said into his radio.
Gates heard the clatter of a grappling hook hitting the main deck. He watched it snag on the inside of the gunwale's tumblehome and become taut. One of the CIVMARs darted out from the air castle, cut the rope with a knife, and ran back for cover. A second grappling hook flew over the gunwale and took hold. The CIVMAR rushed forward again. A hail of blind fire pounded into the side of the ship, sending the CIVMAR scurrying back to cover.
"Chee, fire a burst over their heads, and have the CIVMARs move forward with their fire hose."
Chee acknowledged Gates' order with an immediate burst. The CIVMARs rushed forward and released the stream of a fire hose onto the assault boat. Russian curses and the sound of bodies splashing overboard filled the night. The fire hose tactic was nonlethal, but in the Arctic temperatures exposure to the hose stream or, worse, immersion in the ocean could cause hypothermia and be as deadly as a gunshot wound.
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