Clive Cussler - KA03 - Fire Ice

by Fire Ice(lit)

"A squadron of fighter planes would make short work of Mr. Razov," the vice president said.

  "Do we have enough evidence to blast this ship out of water, especially with the situation in Russia?" the president asked.

  Sandecker said, "That's an excellent point, Mr. President. As we all know, Russia is in turmoil with Razov's rightwing forces battling the moderates. Razov would use any at. tacks against Russian ships to show that the U.S. is the enemy. The moderates would be done for. Russia's nuclear arsenal would come under the control of the Cossack lunatic fringe."

  "But we can't let that ship carry out its mission," the president said.

  The receptionist knocked softly at the door, then opened it. A young woman rushed in with a folder in her hand. "Sorry for the delay," she said breathlessly. "We ran into complications."

  "That's quite all right," Sandecker said, "but how complicated could it be to find one ship?"

  "That was easy," she said, handing over the folders. "We picked up the target so quickly we decided to look at the rest of the East Coast down to Florida."

  "You found another ship, then?"

  "Actually, sir, we found three of them in position off the East Coast. Another three appear to be on their way, and there seems to be some activity off the Pacific coast as well."

  "Thank you," Sandecker said, dismissing the courier. When she was gone, the president exploded. "Three ships? And more on the way? Damn! How will we know which city is the target?" The shadow of a cloud passed over the president's face. "What if there is more than one target?"

  Sandecker turned to Yaeger. "Hiram?"

  "Kurt and Paul did all the hard work," Yaeger said. "They gave me access to the encrypted files aboard the Ataman ship, but Razov was using a steganographic system. The communications were hidden within digital photographs - it's become a standard tool of terrorists because the images can be tough to decipher. In this case, it was a photograph of a Russian restaurant menu. It was part of what Razov called Operation Troika."

  "Razov told me that Troika was nothing more than a nickname for his plan to open trade centers in three U.S. cities," Austin said. "There was nothing secret about it."

  "The menu hid his plans for the real operation," Yaeger continued. "The key to deciphering the code was on Razov's yacht. Thanks to Kurt again, Max and I were able to get into the yacht's central control system. We tracked down the bi- nary code in a dark comer of the system. The actual operation is not Troika, but Wolfhound."

  Austin raised an eyebrow. "Gorky and Sasha," he said. Seeing the quizzical expressions around him, Austin explained: "Those are the names of Razov's pet wolfhounds. He's pretty infatuated with the two mutts."

  The president said, "I like dogs, too, but I'm more interested in the nuts and bolts of this operation."

  Yaeger said, "The Wolfhound file indicated that the three , ships would be off the cities of Boston, Charleston and. Miami."

  "But... those are the cities where Ataman plans to open his trade centers," the vice president said. He seemed stunned.

  "What better cover for an operation?" Sandecker asked.

  Yaeger said, "The admiral's right on the mark. I came across orders to evacuate Ataman personnel and interests in all three cities. Unfortunately, there was no information in the yacht's computer system about whether one city or all the cities are targets."

  "My guess is Boston," Austin said. "There's a major international financial conference going on right now at the Boston Harbor Hotel. It's being attended by representatives from all the countries that have been trying to undermine Razov."

  "Then the other ships are decoys?"

  "I won't rule out the possibility that Razov means harm to all three cities, but Boston may be his prime target." Austin opened a manila folder he'd been holding on his lap. He pulled out two transparent sheets and put them on the presidential desk. "This is a map of Rocky Point. The other sheet is a mylar transparency of Boston Harbor and surroundings."

  The president laid the transparency over the map and swore under his breath. "They're almost identical."

  Austin nodded. "I think that when Razov chose Rocky Point to try out his wave-making machine, he picked a place as close to his intended target as possible."

  The president banged his hand down on the desk and reached for his phone. "That does it," he said. "I'm calling an emergency meeting of the cabinet and Joint Chiefs of Staff to discuss air-and-sea strikes, no matter what the risks. We may have to evacuate those cities. How long do we have?"

  Hiram said, "The operation is to be launched in less than twenty-four hours."

  Sandecker said, "The panic of a mass evacuation may cause as many casualties as an attack. May I suggest a middle course, Mr. President?"

  The president's hand froze in midair. "I'm listening, but I can't forget my duties as commander in chief."

  "We're not asking you to. From what we've heard, the immediate threat is to Boston and possibly two other cities. According to Hiram's information, the command center is on the yacht. I propose that we disable the central control. As insurance, we send boarding teams aboard all three ships and deactivate the explosives. In the meantime, we can delay the arrival of the other ships, maybe under some pretense."

  The president scratched his chin in thought. "I like it. Of course I. can't give official approval of an operation in international waters. I need deniability in case things get dicey."

  "This wouldn't be the first time that NUMA has operated out of sight and sound of official channels," Sandecker said.

  "No, it wouldn't," the president said dryly. "What do you think, Sid?"

  "Razov's treachery can't be tolerated. My first instinct is to blow him out of the water. I'd keep the attack subs and fighter planes ready to destroy him, his yacht and ships if the plan doesn't work out."

  "Fair enough," the president said. "Well, Admiral, looks f like you have my 'blessing.' But no one outside this room can ever hear about it. Sid, I want you to get this thing moving immediately with special ops and the armed services." He checked his watch and got up from his desk. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a Boy Scout troop coming in from my home state for a Rose Garden ceremony."

  AS THE OVAL Office emptied, Sandecker touched Sparkman's sleeve. "I wonder if I might have a word with you in private." Sparkman gave him a troubled look. "Sure, why don't we go outside and get some air? We can talk about how to keep the White House liaison with NUMA close to our vest."

  They walked out of the executive mansion to the south portico. Sandecker gazed around the manicured grounds. "Beautiful setting, isn't it?"

  "The prettiest sight in all of Washington."

  "A pity you will never get to live here."

  Sparkman laughed, but there was an edge to it. "I have no intention of moving from the naval observatory. Couldn't t afford the heating bills for this place."

  "Don't be modest, Sid. Everyone in Washington knows that you are the heir apparent after this president's term has expired."

  "There's no guarantee I'd be elected or even nominated." There was something in his tone.

  "You're being disingenuous. It's not a sin to have political ambitions."

  "We're all politically motivated in this town, even you."

  "No argument there." Sandecker swung around to face him. "But my ambitions aren't funded by a Russian madman, Sid. Tell me, what did Razov promise you? And don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. You've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar."

  Sandecker's bluff was convincing. Sparkman looked for a moment like he was going to bluster - and then he caved in completely, his face a mask of misery.

  "I was going to get a big cut of the methane hydrates production off the United States. It would have been worth billions," he said, his voice shaky.

  "Now that you've heard the real reason behind those explorations, have you changed your mind?"

  "Of course I have! You heard me in the Oval Office. I'm the one who took the hard line. I wanted to go aft
er Razov tooth and nail."

  "I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that if Razov were blown out of the water, your secret would be safe."

  A wan smile crossed Sparkman's lips. "You're not a man known to dillydally, are you, Admiral? All right. What do you want?"

  "First of all, I want you to know that if one word of what transpired in the Oval Office this morning gets back to Razov, I'll see that you are pursued by the hounds of hell."

  "I may be greedy, but I'm not a traitor, Admiral. There is no way I would aid and abet Razov after what I've learned of his plans."

  "Good. Second, as soon as this is over, I want you to submit your resignation."

  "I can't - "

  "You can and you will. Or else your role in this scheme will be played out on CNN twenty-four hours a day. Agreed?"

  Sparkman's face had a haunted look. "Agreed," he whispered.

  "There's one other thing. Tell Razov that the U.S. is still trying to figure out why the NR-1 was hijacked. A little disinformation couldn't hurt."

  Sparkman nodded.

  "Thank you, Mr. Vice President. I won't waste any more of your time. I know you've got a lot to do carrying out the president's orders."

  Sparkman squared his shoulders. "I'll have someone from my office stay in close contact so we can coordinate our planning."

  The two men parted without shaking hands, with Sparkman heading back to the White House. Sandecker strode to the parking lot, where the others awaited him. He was angry at having to destroy a man's career, angry that Sparkman had been such a fool. His blue eyes blazed with a cold fire as he slid behind the wheel of the Jeep and said, "Gentlemen, I think it's time we put Mr. Razov's wolfhounds in the dog pound."

  -34 OFF THE COAST OF BOSTON

  IN THE EVENT I ever write my memoirs," Zavala said, "What exactly is going on?"

  "This is a scientific mission being undertaken by Siberian Pest Control on a U.S. Navy submarine, supervised by NUMA," Austin said. "Officially, it doesn't exist."

  "Maybe I won't write my memoirs," Zavala said, with a shake of his head.

  "Cheer up," Austin said, glancing around the spacious wardroom. "No one would believe you anyhow."

  Austin had to raise his voice to be heard above the raucous voices of a dozen tough-faced men dressed in black commando uniforms. They were at the far end of the room smearing black and green camouflage paint on their faces. The exercise produced laughter and jokes that rose in decibel level, stoked by slugs from the vodka bottle being passed around. Petrov, who was dressed for combat like the others, dabbed paint on his cheek, hiding his scar, and made a remark in Russian that provoked great hilarity among his men. One man started to howl and pounded him on the back with sufficient force to break the rib cage of an average person.

  Petro grabbed the bottle and came over to Austin and Zavala.

  Austin said, "Sounds like amateur night at the Kremlin Comedy Club. What was the big joke?"

  Petrov laughed and offered the vodka.

  Austin declined and Zavala said, "Thanks, I'm a tequila man."

  Petrov seemed more in his element than Austin had ever seen him. "I reminded my men of an old Russian proverb: 'Live with wolves, howl like a wolf.' " Noting Austin's blank look, he said, "It's like your saying about birds of a feather." Seeing that his explanation still fell short, Petrov said, "I'll explain later." He daubed Austin's forehead and cheeks with paint, Indian fashion. "Now you're properly prepared for action."

  "Thanks, Ivan," Austin said, completing the job. "Sure you're up to a field operation?"

  "Are you implying that I'm too old? As I recall, I'm a month younger than - "

  "I know," Austin said. "My dossier: Don't be so touchy. I was thinking about your injuries from our fun night in Boston Harbor."

  "A wonderful battle. I will never forget the way you swung over the deck like Tarzan of the apes. I have a few scratches. Nothing that would slow me down."

  Austin jerked his head toward Petrov's men. "Hope the same goes for your men. Maybe we should give them Breathalyzer tests."

  Petrov dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "I would trust any of those men with my life, drunk or sober. You worry too much. A few shots of vodka before battle is a tradition in the Russian military. It was the secret weapon we used to defeat Napoleon and Hitler. When the time comes, my bandits will carry out the mission with precision and courage."

  Austin glanced toward a young sailor who had stepped through the door. "Looks like that time is now, Ivan."

  The seeds of the joint operation had been hatched after Austin had returned to his office following the White House meeting. Petrov had been waiting for him. When Austin described the plan, Petrov immediately volunteered his men to board the yacht. Austin checked with Sandecker, who liked the idea and got an okay from the vice-president. Russians boarding a Russian yacht would add another layer of insulation between the mission and the president.

  The sailor surveyed the painted faces, trying to pick out someone in command. Austin waved him over.

  "Captain says we're ready anytime you are."

  Petrov barked a command to his men. The transformation was startling. The horseplay came to a halt and the bottle of vodka vanished. The grins were replaced by firm jaws and stony expressions of determination. Hands reached for automatic weapons, and a chorus of metallic clicks echoed throughout the room as loads were checked. Within seconds, the ragtag gang had changed into a fierce-eyed fighting force.

  Ivan gave Austin an I-told-you-so smirk. "After you," he said.

  Austin grabbed the pack holding his Bowen, and with Zavala and the others behind him, followed the sailor to the control room. Captain Madison lifted his eyes from the periscope and said, "We surface in exactly three minutes. The target is one hundred yards away. Seas look fairly calm. You're in luck, the clouds are covering the moon."

  "Thank you for allowing my men the use of your vessel, Captain," Petrov said.

  Madison scratched his head. "This is a first for me, but if your country and mine can cooperate in space, why not under the sea?" He turned to Austin. "Someone at NUMA's got a lot of pull. It's not anyone who can yank a U.S. Navy missile sub off its usual patrol for what seems to be, if you'll pardon the expression, a renegade special-ops mission."

  The four-hundred-twenty-five-foot Benjamin Franklin was one of four subs in its class that had been recruited because it was equipped for special operations. Even Sandecker's considerable influence wouldn't have superseded naval orders without approval, however masked, from the highest level.

  Austin said, "This mission wouldn't have gotten off the ground if it weren't crucial."

  "Good luck, then," the captain said. "We'll standby as long as we have to. Call us when you need a lift home."

  "You'll be the first to know." Austin went over to a bank of computer screens.

  "We're heading out, Hiram," he said.

  Yaeger sat in front of a keyboard where one of the sub's electronics people was explaining the vessel's computer setup. Sandecker had been reluctant to let Yaeger go on the mission, but Austin had pressed his case, saying that Hiram's computer expertise could be vital. The admiral relented after Austin had said he would bring Yaeger aboard only if the yacht's control center had been secured.

  Yaeger shook hands with Austin and wished him good luck. "I'm still working to decipher the last piece of code," he said. "I'll let you know if I break through the wall."

  At a signal from Austin, Petrov gave his men a series of commands. The boarding party made its way through the sub and crowded into the space under the loading hatch. A crewman climbed a ladder and opened the hatch cover, letting in a cold spray. Austin and Zavala went first, climbing through the hatch to emerge on the deck behind the sail. Petrov's men joined them and passed up two large plastic canisters. The canisters were opened, and compressed air hissed into the inflatable boats inside. The sub's crewman whispered, "Good luck," and the hatch cover closed with a soft clunk.

&nbs
p; Moonlight, filtered by the clouds, gave the sea a dark pewter cast. The tall sail, with its horizontal hydroplanes, looked like a giant robot from a science-fiction movie. Austin squinted through the gloom at the silhouetted yacht. Unlike its appearance in Boston Harbor, where it had been lit up like a Mississippi riverboat, the yacht was dark, except for a few lights on its radio masts and the yellow glow of cabin windows.

  The satellites had watched the yacht change its course along the coast of Maine and head south, until it finally stopped off the coast of Massachusetts about fifty miles from the Ataman Explorer /, which was due-east of Boston. The other two Ataman ships had halted eastward of Charleston and Miami.

  The men grabbed their paddles, pushed the boats off the slippery deck into the water and clambered aboard. Donning their night-vision goggles, they silently dipped their paddles, using precise strokes that propelled the bobbing craft through the mounding seas.