‘Just a minute.’ Stan checked his computer monitor and shouted over to the nearby desk of software engineers.
‘Any of you guys got what I’m getting?’
One technician turned round, looking grave. ‘We’re seeing it too.’
Stan looked at her again. ‘The ship is sinking.’ He said this so quietly that she wasn’t sure she had heard him properly.
‘Stan?’ When he didn’t respond she searched the faces round the room. In all, eleven technicians worked at SeaTek Research. Most were at their desks, crowded around banks of computers, communications and radar equipment.
She drew a sharp breath. ‘Stan, how do you know that?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Because they just sent a distress signal on their emergency frequency which was relayed by the AWACs. We’ve just received it.’ Stan clicked on the screen and his printer leapt into life.
Her stomach suddenly felt hollow. ‘Let me see it.’
Stan handed her the slip.
MGRS [40N EN 00000 73749] EST 19:21:40
Mosquito taking on water. Abandoning ship. All aid required.
Natasha read the note quickly. ‘Is there anything we can we do to help them?’
‘Yes, yes’ Stan muttered distractedly. Natasha shook him by the shoulder. She faced him directly and spoke slowly to ensure the message was getting through.
‘Stan, what can we do to help?’
‘We have to follow procedure, that’s what we have to do’. Stan turned back to his desk. He reached for a file on a nearby shelf and scanned the index. Then, flipping to the correct page he began dialling the numbers listed. First he spoke to the project director, then to the Dept of Defence - the government agency that was sponsoring the project.
While Stan was on the phone the rest of the team gathered round his desk. As soon as finished he turned round in the chair to address them. ‘That’s it, I’m afraid’ he said.
‘What about the supply ships?’ asked one of the team.
‘The distress signal didn’t mention any of the supply ships so I think they must be going to the rescue. Tribune’s radio isn’t powerful enough to be heard more than a few miles away’ said Stan. ‘But I guess that the AWAC will already be in touch with the DOD.’
‘How many were on board Stan?’ asked one of the technicians.
‘Fifty seven, including the Captain and crew’. Stan’s voice was almost a whisper.
The phone rang and everyone waited while Stan spoke. He wasn’t long.
‘That was the DOD. They’re organising a flight from Vieques in Puerto Rico. The nearest ship is 350 miles north east - she picked up the same message we got so they are already on their way. ETA is seven to eight hours, by which time it will be dawn.’
‘The Arabesque or Tribune should be there much more quickly’ pointed out Natasha.
‘Do we know what happened?’ enquired the technician.
Stan shrugged. This was by far the most puzzling part. ‘The seas were reasonably calm and the winds moderate. The only thing I can think of is a collision, possibly with one of the supply ships - but we’ve not had any information from them, just the Mosquito’s message relayed by AWACS.’
There was a break while everyone digested the news.
‘There is nothing else we can do’ said Stan. ‘I’ve alerted everyone I can think of.’
Natasha voiced the thoughts of the team. ‘I just hope everyone managed to get to the lifeboats in time.’
At last Stan managed to patch a comms link to the flotilla. The Arabesque’s signal was temporarily routed through AWACS, from there to the Defence’s Security Cooperation Agency in Arlington, and then to the base at SeaTek Research near the Naval Undersea Warfare Centre on Rhode Island. The speakers crackled and a background hiss could be heard.
Stan picked up a desk mike. ‘SeaTek to Arabesque, what is your position?’
‘Arabesque to SeaTek, we can see survivors in the water. Can’t count the number of lifeboats but there are several. Changing course to intercept.’
Natasha jolted upright. ‘Wait’ she shouted across to Stan.
The team turned to look at her. Even Stan turned around this time.
‘Nat, what’s the matter?’
‘Just a minute, let me think’. Natasha messaged her temples. ‘Something isn’t right here. I don’t know what it is but it just doesn’t feel right.’
The speakers crackled into life. ‘SeaTek, we’re over the area where Mosquito sank. We can see four lifeboats in the water. Preparing to ..’.
The broadcast from the Arabesque died in mid sentence. There was a confused jumble of noise and Natasha could make out a seaman in the background asking anxiously what was happening. The humming grew louder and the voices more distant. After a minute it reached a crescendo, then stopped altogether. Only the hiss of static could be heard from the speakers.
The Arabesque was off the air.
Stan and two other technicians continued to try raising the Arabesque but after ten minutes they realised it was hopeless. The loudspeaker blared.
‘AWACS to SeaTek.’
Stan switched on the mike. ‘SeaTek, go ahead.’
‘We’ve lost radar trace for Arabesque. Conditions are worsening. We’ve also lost Arabesque on visual.’
There was a stunned silence in the room.
Stan thumbed the mike. ‘AWACS, run a search pattern over the area.’
‘Understood SeaTek, will do. But without a radar signal their chances are slim to nothing.’
‘Thank you AWACS. We have to try.’
Stan switched off the mike and addressed the room, choosing his next words carefully. ‘Look, right now there is nothing more any of us can do. You’ve all had a long day. I suggest you go home, get some sleep and we’ll pick this up again tomorrow. If there’s any news in the meantime I’ll call you.’
Natasha could see no-one wanted to leave. But Stan was right and there was nothing any of them could do right now. A night’s rest would do them all good.
‘One last thing’. Stan surveyed the team.
‘We don’t know for sure what has happened. But whatever it is, I want you to keep it to yourselves. You all know how secret this project is and I shouldn’t have to remind you about that. But some of you know people out there and I don’t want you to talk to any of their relatives or friends. If you receive a call from the media just refer them to me.’
The speakers blared again and the technicians leapt with the tension.
‘AWACS to SeaTek. We’ve lost Tribune on radar. We’ll continue to run the search pattern but it now looks like all ships are lost.’
Chapter 8
Natasha’s clock read 4:37 am as she switched on the bed-side light. She heard her mobile ring again and picked it up from the bed side table.
‘Hi Nat. No news yet. AWACS completed a full sweep.’ Stan was obviously tired.
‘Didn’t they find anything at all?’
Stan cleared his throat. ‘Nothing really. No sign at all of the flotilla but it picked up a distress signal from a lifeboat.’
‘Couldn’t it rescue them?’
‘Sorry Nat, the aircraft isn’t designed to do that. But it did drop off supplies, including some communication packs and a marker buoy. I’ll be keeping a watch on those frequencies.’
‘Any news about Arabesque or the Tribune?’
‘No, none I’m afraid.’
‘How long until the air rescue arrives?’
‘It’s due in about half an hour but I’m not expecting anything new. The weather is deteriorating rapidly so the rescue will be touch and go.’
‘I’m coming in Stan – wait for me.’ Natasha felt she would rather to go to work than be left to left on her own.
‘No - no need Nat. You get back to bed.’
‘I’m already up Stan, it’s not a problem.’
‘You can come in the morning if you like and take over from me. I’m bushed.’
‘OK Stan,’ she said r
eluctantly. ‘I’ll see you first thing.’
‘Sorry to wake you sir. The Secretary of Defence is waiting in the green room.’
The President put the phone down and looked at the clock which registered 4:16 am. His wife was still asleep so he padded across to the built in wardrobe, trying not to disturb her while he dressed.
Before he came to office it wasn’t his custom to check the mirror. But since he started in politics his aides impressed on him the importance of dress sense and grooming. He saw a tall, middle aged, clean shaven figure in the glass. The man staring back possessed a photogenic face, topped by a head of dark blond hair. The media were always referring to his Norwegian ancestry even though he was third generation American.
Five minutes later a tousled President Donahue made his way to the green room. He blinked in the harsh light. ‘Bit early in the day, Harris.’
Brindle Harris was already seated and didn’t get up. This was not out of disrespect but he had tiny pieces of shrapnel embedded in his spine from his time in the forces. And the President was not one for standing on ceremony; Donahue had known Brindle Harris longer than anyone else on his staff. They had met in college but went their different ways after graduation.
‘What have you got?’ Donahue said, settling down into the armchair opposite. He helped himself to a freshly brewed cup of coffee.
‘Sir, about seven hours ago we learnt that one of our experimental submarines disappeared.’
‘Isn’t that a minor matter - especially at this time in the morning?’
‘Well sir, the submarine is unmanned. At first we didn’t think there was any loss of life.’
‘And now you’re telling me there are fatalities?’
‘We’re not sure. Initially we thought there had been a collision and the sub had sunk. If that was all there was to it, it would have been written off as an expensive mistake.’
Harris popped a pill into his mouth and swallowed it down with some water before continuing. ‘Then we heard that somehow the main support ship was taking on water. The order was given to abandon ship while they were transmitting a MAYDAY signal.’
Donahue looked carefully at Harris but nothing in Harris’ expression betrayed the constant pain he felt from the shrapnel.
‘About an hour later a support ship went missing. Shortly after the second disappeared as well. There was a communications aircraft overhead, and according to their reports the support ships just vanished from their radar screens. We sent out a search and rescue aircraft immediately but it only managed to find some lifeboats.’
‘Casualties?’
‘We don’t know. We estimate there’s around forty six survivors so far. We’re sending a frigate to pick them up.’
‘So, what are the chances that all the ships were involved in some sort of collision?’
Harris stirred uneasily. ‘Slim to zero I’d say.’
‘Well, what about some other explanation like weather, or sea state?’
‘There was reasonably good weather at the time and the sea state was moderate.’
‘Enemy action?’
Harris shook his head. ‘We don’t have any reports of other ships in the area.’
‘Ships maybe, but what about another submarine?’
‘We’d completed a sweep the day before. If another sub did approach we would have picked up a trace. It’s not guaranteed of course, but it’s unlikely we would have missed anything like that.’
‘How do you explain it then?’
Harris looked the President in the eye. ‘I can’t right now. We should know more when we interview the survivors.’
‘Have any of the families been informed?’
‘Not yet.’
President Donahue re-filled his cup and stirred sugar into the black coffee. ‘What’s so special about this particular sub?’
‘It’s experimental. It’s called Cetus and she carries an unusual weapon. Our Defence scientists have been working on it for the last two years. The weapon generates powerful sound waves in water.’
‘What does it do – blast the enemy with Rolling Stones records?’ the President asked, trying to lighten the mood.
‘No – nothing like that’ replied Harris, straight-faced. ‘I’m told that all objects – including the biggest ships we have in the navy – have a natural frequency. That is, a frequency which will cause them to resonate.’
The President flicked the rim of his cup. ‘You mean like the opera singer and the wine glass?’
‘Precisely’ replied Harris. ‘When the singer reaches a certain pitch the wine glass starts to resonate at its natural frequency. If you have a loud enough note and the right pitch the sound can shatter the glass.’
‘We’ve developed a weapon that can do that - to a ship?’ the President asked incredulously.
‘That’s exactly what I mean sir.’
The President let his coffee go cold, thinking through the implications. ‘Have you tried this out?’
‘We’ve done some testing with a sound cannon in the lab, but not anything full scale. Cetus was on her sea trials when we lost contact.’
‘So that weapon could just have been stolen out from under our noses.’
Harris shook his head firmly. ‘We’ve no evidence of that.’
‘Suppose the sub turned its weapon on its supply ships?’
Harris looked shocked. ‘That’s not possible sir’ he said carefully. ‘For a start, the weapon system was locked down. It’s not possible to activate it.’
‘Well something must have caused the disappearance of the ships.’
‘We’re launching a full investigation when we pick up the survivors.’
‘Were there any communications before the sinking took place?’
Harris grimaced. ‘We’ve had some confusing reports that don’t make a lot of sense.’ He coughed lightly before continuing. ‘On one of the tapes we heard a loud buzzing noise while the crew were preparing to abandon the ship. It sank about five minutes later.’
‘Isn’t that the sort of thing that would happen if that sound cannon was aimed at them?’
Harris shook his head. ‘At that stage of the test the safety lock was on. The cannon and its ancillary systems could not be fired without an authorisation signal. That signal was never given – we have proof of that.’
‘Well, I want to know what happened.’ All trace of humour had left the President. ‘Get a task force down there, find the sub, and bring it back.’
Stan looked like a ghost. Natasha packed him off home and sat for a long time twiddling her thumbs waiting for any information about the rescue operation. After a couple of hours with no news she decided to pop down the corridor to see the System Manager. He was a big man and he waved a large gnarled hand at the only chair in the room that wasn’t piled high with printouts. ‘Has there been any more news recently?’
‘Some good, some bad, I suppose. The rescue aircraft from Costa Rica had to turn back due to poor weather. But a rescue ship from the naval base at Guantanamo is on its way.’
‘Guantanamo? You mean where the camp is?’
‘Yep, the same. Most people only know the place because of the camp, but the Navy has had a base there for over a hundred years.’
John sighed and rested his beefy arms on his desk. ‘I was really sorry to hear about Ben. I gather that you and he were, well…’
‘It’s come as a big shock’ she replied sadly. ‘You know Ben didn’t have any relatives here and his parents are too infirm to travel. So I guess I’m the one who will have to arrange the funeral.’
‘Aw, I’m sorry to hear that. Well don’t feel you have to do this on your own. I’d be glad to help in any way I can.’
Natasha smiled. ‘Thanks John, I always know I can count on you.’
‘It’s a sad day, Natasha. I couldn’t get over your email – suspected murder in a hospital of all places. What are these crack-heads coming to?’
‘I don’t know John’ she replied sadly
. ‘The police are beginning to think that the hit-and-run accident on his motorbike may have been the first attempt on his life.’
‘God – I can’t believe it.’ John shook his head in surprise. ‘I mean it Natasha, let me know what you need me to do to help.’
Natasha looked around John’s office. ‘What’s happening here? I saw someone packing up their desk downstairs.’
‘I’m afraid so. There’s a big enquiry on and we’re being shut down in stages. Non-essential staff have already been told to take a holiday until it’s all over.’
‘I suppose there isn’t anything else for us to do anyway’ said Natasha glumly.
I’ll give you a hand if you need any of your stuff moving.’
‘Thanks John’. Natasha didn’t get up. ‘Actually I wanted your advice on something else.’ Natasha fished the envelope out of her pocket.
‘I was given this letter at the hospital. They found it on Ben and they let me have it as it was addressed to me.’ Natasha handed the envelope to John. ‘I wondered if you might be able to tell me what it’s about? She indicated the second column. For instance here is a list of codes, but I don’t recognise them. If they were anything to do with the navigation software I think I would know.’
John scanned the sheet. ‘They look like the codes we give our backup tapes. The column on the left is probably the date when the backup was made and the end column must be Ben’s notes on whether he was able to retrieve data from the tape.’
‘I see. Why do you think he would be interested in backup tapes?’
‘Well, you know how it is. Occasionally the staff forget and delete files they shouldn’t. If we didn’t keep backup tapes then they wouldn’t be able to get the file back. It may be that Ben was searching for a particular file and couldn’t find it on one tape so he tried several others.’
Natasha shook her head. Something didn’t seem right. ‘There are more than twenty tapes listed here - why would he need so many if he was just looking for one file?’
It was the manager’s turn to look puzzled. ‘Perhaps he wanted more than one file. It looks like he tried tapes going back over a month or more. Perhaps when he discovered the files weren’t on the first few tapes he needed to go back in time. But you’re right - it sure does look funny. I can’t think why he would need to try so many tapes.’
Silent Warpath (Sean Quinlan Book 1) Page 7
