Chapter 25
Arctic
Within minutes of arriving at its targeted coordinates, the Cheyenne’s sensors began registering erratic hits. It took only minimal fine-tuning to lock down a hard emergency locator signal.
“We’ve got it, Captain,” said the comms supervisor. “Strong ELT directly above us on VHF emergency frequency.”
“Right where they said it would be,” Hansen remarked. “Bring her up to one hundred feet and ready the camera.”
While those orders were carried out, Hansen cross-checked other variables. Temperature and pressure measurements, estimates of currents that might suggest upwelling columns of water.
Soon a video feed was up and running from the mast-mounted upward-looking camera.
Vague grayscale images of the ice above filled a primary monitor.
The camera was designed for low-light conditions, and software helped highlight variances in the thickness of the ice.
They were looking for an answer to one question.
Was the ice, as satellite reconnaissance had suggested, thin enough for the Cheyenne to penetrate?
The camera swept left and right, and a definitive answer emerged.
“Video and surface ice projections concur,” said LCDR Bennett. “We’re looking at less than a meter overhead, no significant fissures noted.”
Hansen locked eyes with his XO, got a nod, and said, “All right, let’s do it. Prepare to surface and configure for breaching.”
“Am I the only one who sees the problem here?” Drake interrupted. The SEAL had been watching from the perimeter.
Hansen looked at him and cocked his head. “Let me guess. If this is where our airplane crashed, then why isn’t there a giant hole in the ice?”
“Seems like there ought to be.”
“I admit, it crossed my mind. But ice up here can be tricky. This jet went down ten hours ago, and the pack is moving constantly. Pressure builds up, and one ice sheet can roll over the edge of another. We make a pretty big hole with the Cheyenne when we surface. Sometimes it stays there for a month, other times it’s gone within hours.
As far as this downed airplane goes, I figure most of the wreckage sank.
But apparently a few pieces, including this ELT, must have ended up on the surrounding ice.
The big breach probably filled right back in. ”
Drake appeared placated, but not completely convinced.
Hansen didn’t blame him because he was feeling it as well. The rushed tasking, the brief shadow they had noted on sonar, a Chinese icebreaker steaming full bore in a different direction. Instincts he always trusted, but could never quite quantify, were shouting for caution.
Cheyenne’s periscope and masts were retracted, and her dive planes rotated to the vertical position. As the slow rise began, all eyes went to the depth gauge.
First contact was gentle, a slight thumping noise and a tremor in the deck. Then the grating became louder. Within thirty seconds, it sounded like the Cheyenne was churning through a giant rock-crusher.
BY THE TIME the access hatch opened, Drake and his team were suited up and ready to go. They stepped out on deck in full winter gear, their SCAR-Hs on chest slings.
They normally wouldn’t have weaponed-up for a simple search on an Arctic ice field, but soon after the Cheyenne had burst through the ice, they’d received updated orders.
Drake’s team was to search for a hardened black case that had been on the airliner, and a photo was included.
There were no specifics as to what it contained, other than a vague description of a “device that is vital to U.S. national security.” They were also warned that an adverse foreign power might also be seeking the device.
Williams then reminded his fellow operators that their joint operations agreement with the Finns had been revised with laserlike speed, including a “use of force” authorization.
It was enough to put everyone on edge. There was consensus on only one point, and it mirrored Hansen’s concerns: They still weren’t being told the entire story of what was going on.
Drake and his men moved forward and gathered at the base of the sail.
On the bridge above, Captain Hansen and two junior officers were scanning in all directions with binoculars.
The weather was marginal, with low scudding clouds and a strong wind.
According to weather reports, a storm was approaching from the northeast, but conditions here would remain stable for a few more hours.
“Any luck?” Drake called up.
Hansen lowered his optic. “I don’t see anything, but the visibility is lousy. We’re still getting a solid ELT on a due-east bearing.” He made a chopping motion with his hand toward the starboard beam.
Drake performed a comm check on his secure handheld radio, and a seaman in the Cheyenne’s control room responded clearly. After descending to the ice field, he addressed his team. “Okay, we start in that direction. Line formation on me, left and right, fifty-yard stagger.”
The commandos formed up and set out cautiously. The thin ice that had been favorable for breaching in a submarine might be less so for hiking with gear. After a hundred yards, Drake decided the surface was solid, and he picked up speed.
For ten minutes they saw nothing but snow-dusted ice and the occasional fissure. Then, on the far right, Juri shouted, “Over here!”
The group joined up around him, and soon everyone saw it.
A hundred yards in the distance, a yellow object of some kind sat alone on the ice.
Minutes later the team was standing around it in a semicircle.
The device resembled a large medicine ball, and its steel shell showed two substantial dings.
There was a handle on top, and beneath that was a toggle switch and a blinking green light.
“Is that what I think it is?” Williams asked.
“Has to be,” Drake answered. He bent down, picked the device up, and turned it by its handle. The back side was stamped with instructions and manufacturing information—scripted in Mandarin, French, and English. “Gentlemen, I give you one portable emergency locator transmitter.”
“I did not know they made such things,” said Juri.
“Standard equipment on airliners and business jets. Helps rescue crews find you if you go down.”
“Or gullible navy intelligence units,” Williams said dryly.
Four sets of eyes scanned across the ice, both near and far.
Raine said what they were all thinking. “There is no other wreckage here.”
“And no black case,” Williams added. “Only one ELT in the middle of nowhere.”
Drake nodded and said, “Quite clearly, somebody is screwing with us.”
“Maybe somebody Chinese,” Williams speculated.
“Could be, but that’s not a slam dunk. If we send in some pictures of this thing, include the manufacturer and serial number, we might get an answer.”
They were back at the Cheyenne ten minutes later, Drake hauling the ELT. Having seen them coming, Hansen had descended from the towerlike structure atop the vessel, known as its sail, to deck level.
Drake dropped the device with a thud on the sub’s steel deck. He said nothing, only watched Hansen as he ran the same thoughts they already had.
“I’ll be damned,” the captain said. “And that’s all you found?”
“Nothing else man-made in sight. And definitely no black case.”
“Okay, I’ll send a report up the chain.” He gestured to a petty officer, who began taking pictures of the ELT with a tablet computer.
When the man finished, Drake asked the captain, “Where do you want me to stow this?”
“Are you kidding? Bring an electronic beacon on board my boat? Might as well tie some tin cans onto the rudder while you’re at it.”
“So what do we do? Just leave it here? This thing might have intelligence value.”
“What if we turn it off?” Raine conjectured. The Finn reached down and flicked the switch. The green light kept blinking.
“Probably can’t turn it off,” Hansen surmised. “It’s a survival tool, and once it’s activated, it’ll probably chirp until the battery dies.”
Everyone pondered the problem, until Williams said, “I’ll take care of it, Lieutenant.”
He picked up the device, heaved it out onto the ice, then leveled his SCAR-H and took careful aim. After six 7.62x51mm rounds, Drake walked out and performed an inspection. “Looks dead to me,” he said. “Green light is definitely not blinking. Permission to come aboard, Captain?”
Hansen smiled cheerlessly and waved the SEAL aboard.