“I do,” said Parker. “And I’m sure we all sympathize with the task I’ve given you, but can you just tell me what the hell you do have, sailor?”
McGrath cleared his throat. “Well, since very little of this is sequential or connected by secondary source threads, I’ve had to do some conjecture.”
Olmstead nodded. “Please…go on, all right? We won’t hold it against you if you’re wrong.”
Parker smiled to himself on that one. Yeah, right. One of the military’s prime missions is to punish mistakes—the enemy’s…or yours.
“First thing I checked, because it was the easiest, was the two ships mentioned in the log. The Sturm was a light cruiser in the German Kriegsmarine, reported lost at sea in late spring, 1945. The Nebuchadenezzar is a lot weirder. It was a whaler out of Innsmouth, Massachusetts—last seen entering a strange, glowing fog bank off the coast of a small island, Ponape, in the South Pacific. I found that in the captain’s log of another whaler, the Miskatonic, who witnessed its vanishing.”
“Greenland’s a long way from Micronesia,” said Dex, wondering what the hell he’d stumbled into.
McGrath nodded. “Yessir, it certainly is.”
“What else?” said Parker. The business of the sailing ship gave him a bit of a chill. No easy explanation for it. “You have anything to give us a better idea what’s under the Greenland Shelf?”
The archive specialist paused to consider his answer. “Well, I don’t have anything relating specifically to it. But I have some documents on the 1947 expedition to neutralize a Nazi base under the ice in Antarctica.”
“I know something of this.” Parker nodded. “Give us the condensed version, Chief.”
McGrath adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, nodded. “Well, basically, even though the war had been over for more than eight months, Nimitz and Forrestal sent a Carrier Task Force to destroy a hold-out Nazi base called ‘Neu Schwabenland’ also know as ‘Station Two Eleven’. The action was called Operation High Jump. Admiral Byrd had five thousand men under his command, and they had a hell of a battle with plenty of casualties on both sides. A bunch of Nazis escaped by submarine to Argentina.”
“I’ve seen these files,” said Olmstead. “Truman authorized another remote nuclear test to finish it off. The Germans were entrenched and weren’t about to give the place up.”
Parker had heard sanitized versions of Admiral Byrd’s exploits at the South Pole, but this one sounded a lot more interesting. “Did we get inside the base? See what was going on?”
“I don’t have anything verifying we did,” said McGrath. “Just some speculation the Germans had found evidence of an advanced civilization.”
“That sounds familiar.” Dex grinned. “They seemed to be pretty good at doing that.”
The archivist ignored the remark, kept looking through his notes. “Admiral Byrd reported to Forrestal that reports of ancient ruins under Antarctica were very possible. He claims to have used airborne magnetometers to detect large hollow spaces under the ice. Byrd also cited reports of ruins in Micronesia—a place called Nan Madol, or Nan Matal, where divers and archeologists have found a sunken city that could be a half million years old. And oddly enough, those ruins are off the island of Ponape where the Nebuchadenezzar vanished. Byrd also mentioned an immense platform in Baalbek, Lebanon—the largest consciously designed construction on earth—that some scientists believe it’s just as old.”
“I think we’re getting a little far afield,” said Olmstead. “We need something more concrete.”
If this comment bothered McGrath, he didn’t seem to show it. He looked down at some papers beneath the purview of the webcam, shuffled them. “I also found some transcriptions from Werner Heisenberg’s diaries. He was pretty prolific, but I had some of my staff scanning the entries for anything pertinent.”
“And?” Parker liked that McGrath was thorough, but his delivery was a little too slow for his tastes.
“And it looks like he visited something code named ‘Triple One’…three times…by U-boat.”
“Station One Eleven,” said Dex.
“Unbelievable,” said Commander Drabek. “So everything Bruckner said is true…”
Parker looked around the table. “None of us here are the right people to evaluate what that place might mean for scientific or military applications. We’re going to need other eyes on this site.”
Commander Drabek nodded. “I’m no scientist, but from the briefing docs, it looks like the Nazis might have been fooling around with a possible answer to our energy problems.”
“It’s vital we secure control of this facility,” said Olmstead. “Once we do that, we can get some investigative teams, military and scientific in there.”
Dex held up his index finger. “I think that’s what the bad guys are thinking, too, don’t you?”
“In a race to get there first,” said Drabek. “They’ve already got a jump on us.”
“Maybe not,” said Olmstead. “They’re facing the same problems we are. Maybe even worse.”
Parker was trying to take it all in—the implications, the logistics, the need to get the highest decision-makers into the loop.
He looked at Olmstead. “Harry, there’s not going to be time to do a lot of convincing. Either the Joint Chiefs and the President get onboard in a hurry, or this isn’t going to happen.”
“I know,” said the CTG Director. “Looks like you and me have a few conference calls to make.”
Drabek held up a hand. “Okay, our priority is to get to that site first, and secure it. But if we get there second, then what?”
Olmstead shrugged. “I don’t think we can determine our action until we know what we’re up against. We need to know the size of the enemy force, their hardware, and their intentions.”
Drabek grinned, shook his head. “If we wait for that data, we might be sitting on our hands for a long time. We’re running blind here, and we should assume it’s not about to change. I need to get an ops protocol in place so I can get my men briefed. I’m voting for ‘worst case’—the enemy is in place, in total control of the environment, and two, the enemy is formidable and will require extreme force to neutralize.”
Parker nodded. His pulse was up, and he was feeling not just the urgency of their plans, but the challenge and the excitement of being in “action” again. He’d been dulled into a stupor when they’d installed him behind the big desk. “I think we will also need to consider the stability or fragility of the site as well. Don’t forget, they left an armed nuke in there.”
Drabek shook his head. “Armed but quite probably impotent. We need some info on the viability of a device that old. My guess is it’s as dead as Hitler himself.”
“I think you’re right,” said Parker. “About the info, I mean. We need more input, and we need it fast. I have no idea how dangerous that bomb might be.”
Olmstead tapped his pencil nervously. “There’s no indication the Germans ever successfully triggered a nuke. No way to tell if that thing would’ve even worked.”
Parker didn’t want to be so dismissive. “We cannot make that assumption. I want some nuclear experts in your unit, Commander.”
“I’m counting on you getting me what I need.” Drabek looked around the table with no expression. “Personnel—as well as equipment. I need to be ready whenever the rest of you are, and that takes a little time, even for a Task Unit.”
“Assuming we get top-level clearances,” said Parker as he spread his palms down on the tabletop. “How fast can we get there?”
“From Philly?” Drabek paused, weighing the variables. “We’re talking roughly two thousand miles, Admiral. That’s a hell of a hump.”
“And we’ll need our best underwater vehicle to get under the ice shelf,” said Parker.
Drabek nodded. “If you want a full Team, I’ll need two Dragonfish.”
> “I can get them,” said Parker.
Drabek looked a little surprised. “How fast?”
“I have everything we need in Portsmouth, which is fractionally better than here.” Parker paused to do a little estimating. “By the time we get to New Hampshire, the hardware will be waiting for us.”
This didn’t seem to placate Drabek. “Once we get underway, with the DSARs at full speed, we’re still looking at something like thirty-six hours.”
McCauley grimaced. “That’s a long time in close quarters for an elite attack unit.”
“I agree,” said Drabek. “Talk about losing your edge…Jesus…”
Actually, Parker had already considered this problem. “I’m going to run every logistics solution we may have, depending on the deployment of the various elements of the Atlantic Fleet. There’s a possibility we may have an LHD or a Sub Tender close enough to facilitate.”
Parker referred to an Amphibious Assault ship or a submarine support vessel, which could launch a couple of big CH-53 choppers carrying the Dragonfish as payload.
“If we do, what’s your plan?” said the SEAL Commander.
“The CH-53’s can refuel in flight, giving them unlimited range. If they can maintain 175 knots, they’d cut your transit down to less than twelve hours. Still not optimum, but far more tolerable.”
“Agreed, Admiral. I assume you’ll advise.”
Olmstead held up his pencil to get everyone’s attention. “Any chance we can get one of our hunter/killers in place to monitor the entrance to the site?”
“Good question,” said Parker. “I have it on my list, but that’s something for the JC and the Secretary to decide. All submarine data is always classified. There’s no way to know if any of our boats are close at hand unless the right people want to tell us. We put in the request and we see what happens.”
“That would make things easy—if we could park a Virginia Class by the front door.” Drabek chuckled, and everyone joined him in the tension-breaker.
“Anything else before we get started?” Parker looked around the table, and saw McCauley hold up his hand. He liked his old Master Diver, and if any of the others had anything negative to say about him being included in the operation, he would set them straight. “What do you have, Chief?”
McCauley tried to appear nonchalant as he spoke. “Well, I don’t want to sound sentimental or silly, but nobody’s mentioned we have two hostages…”
Everyone looked from McCauley to each other, wondering who should address this issue. Parker decided to take charge. “I think the rescue of the two hostages is a given, Mr. McCauley. The details of how this might be carried out will be included in the operation protocols.”
“I understand that, Admiral. But, that’s not what I meant.” McCauley paused, waiting for permission to continue.
“Go on then,” said Parker.
“Well, as I stated in my debriefing—I can’t say for sure why Chipiarelli and Captain Bruckner were abducted, but my gut says it was for information more than anything else. I think the enemy using them as bargaining chips isn’t all that likely. They want to know whatever Bruckner knows about the location of One Eleven. Beyond that, I don’t think they give a good goddamn about either one of those men.”
“Point taken,” said Drabek. “That doesn’t mean getting them out alive isn’t a priority. It is.”
McCauley nodded. “Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“We’re not forgetting them, if that’s what you were thinking.” Parker stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. “Now, I think it’s time we got started. We all have jobs to do. Chief McGrath, I’d like to thank you, for all of us, on your quick work. I’ll need you on stand-by if we need more data from the archives.”
McGrath acknowledged him, then signed off. After his LCD went dark, Parker touched a small keypad in front of him, which lowered the screen back into the tabletop. Then he regarded the others. “Commander Drabek, you can take the V-22 to Portsmouth and assemble your team. Harry, you and I need to conference the brass and the white house. McCauley, I haven’t decided what to do with you, yet.”
“I’d like to be involved, sir.” McCauley stood straight, a determined look on his face.
Drabek’s eyebrows lifted, and he appeared ready to say something negative, so Parker held up a hand. “I know how you feel, Chief. I’ll advise.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“All right, gentleman,” said Parker. “Let’s see if we can save the world.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Erich Bruckner
Somewhere at Sea
When he opened his eyes, he felt so oddly disconnected, he had no sense of orientation or touch. It was as if he were a pair eyes, and only eyes. Or less than that—perhaps just a window providing a view. And the view was nothing more than a hazy expanse of gray nothingness.
An unsettling thought pierced him: if this was death, then it was truly horrifying.
But, no…he felt somehow still alive, but in a tenuous fashion. He felt as if he’d come back to consciousness from a totally blank state. No memory of time, sleep, or anything that preceded it.
Erich forced himself to concentrate on the gray smear that comprised his world, and slowly, it changed as his eyes regained the power to focus, to process information.
And he knew he was looking up at the ceiling of a room.
From that simple discovery, he became slowly aware of his body. He lay supine in a bed, and with great effort he moved his head to the left to see a gray wall. Some kind of metal. Something familiar about the feel and color—he was on a ship.
And he’d been given some kind of powerful drug.
As sensation and thought gradually returned to him, like the rising tides on a beach, he compared this experience to coming back to awareness from his series of operations for gall bladder, a hip replacement, and several heart procedures. The numbing effects of anesthesia receded, and he tried to remember what had brought him to this point of disorientation. Was the room moving? There was something familiar about it.
Lifting his arm, he felt alarmed at how difficult a task it had become. His bones felt dense, heavy, and all his muscles screamed. Only great effort of will and strength allowed him to push on the mattress, and turn to face away from the wall. Then as his vision cleared (thank God he’d let Jason talk him into the Lasik operation), he assessed his situation.
The Spartan fixtures of a ship’s sick bay had not changed since his days in the Kriegsmarine. He knew where he was, but he had no idea who had put him here. The nightmare of the assault on his son’s house now fell back on him like the impact of a cresting wave. And he feared for the lives of Margaret and Jason as well. The harsh bark of gunfire, the terrifying ratchet of the helicopter, and being roughly dragged into the aircraft…all had the surreal quality of being like a bad dream that just might be true. He knew he must keep his thoughts rational. If he dwelled on the possible fates of his family—things over which he had no control—he would be useless. He knew he could not blame himself for what happened because he felt as though he were answering to forces much larger than himself.
Strapped to the wheel of fate.
Across the room, on an adjacent hospital bed, lay another person, staring at him with dark eyes.
“You’re awake,” said Tommy. “Man, I was gettin’ worried. You were out for awhile. Longer than me, I mean.”
Erich glanced at his wrist, a lifelong habit to consult time’s passage, but his watch was not there. “How long?” he said. “Where are we?”
“You? About eight hours, I’d guess. Me? I think I’ve been awake for a couple.” Tommy sat up on the edge of the bed. He was dressed in T-shirt and boxers, just as Erich.
“And what kind of boat is this?”
Tommy shrugged. “Not sure. They’ve got us locked in. Can’t
see much from the porthole. They took our clothes too.”
Erich tried to lift himself to an elbow, tried to sit up. When Tommy saw how challenging a task it was, he slipped off the bed, moved to help him.
“Thank you. You are a good man.” Erich’s head felt light as he gained an upright position. The effects of the drug were still subsiding. He hated feeling so infirm, so frail.
“You remember anything after they got us into the chopper?” Tommy’s dark, longish hair looked matted from perspiration.
“No. Nothing. Perhaps it will come back to me. What about you?”
“Just bits and pieces. That’s the way it’s comin’ back for me. I got a feelin’ they don’t want us to remember, but I do…some.”
“What did they do to us? Where are they taking us?”
“That motherfucker, the guy with red hair and the mustache…I think he killed old Augie.”
“Your friend…” Erich felt a twinge of anger, and yet also a bit of relief that the poor old fellow was out of pain, out of the discomfort that comes with great age. In one small way, Erich envied him.
“He smacked him in the side of the head. I didn’t like the way he fell…and then he…he just never moved after that.” For Erich, the image of Augie challenging the two intruders returned. The old gentleman had walked up to the stocky, red-haired man, yelling into his face.
“Those bastards,” said Tommy. “I owe those fucks—for Augie.”
“You may get your chance. But patience needs be your ally.”
Tommy looked at him, started to say something, but remained silent. Instead, he patted Erich on the shoulder, then turned to look out the porthole where a brassy sun beat down on the flat sea like a hammer.
“What else do you remember?”
Tommy turned from the porthole. “They hit us with those injection guns as soon as we were all in the helicopter—you know like those things they vaccinate the kids with? And I guess it knocked us out pretty fast.”
“Yes, I would agree.” Erich had no memory of anything other than the roar of the rotors and the open bay door of the aircraft. If they had injected him, the effect of the drug had erased the experience.
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