Chapter 32
Arctic
Full house!” Raine said, slapping his cards down on the table of the Cheyenne’s wardroom.
Drake frowned. With a flick of his wrist, a lousy two pair went spinning to the center of the table. Williams and Juri were right behind him. The Finn commander had been kicking their asses.
Raine, the dealer for the next hand, smiled and began shuffling.
Working in elite special operations units had more than its share of excitement—firefights, HALO jumps, submarine infiltrations. That said, no soldier could completely escape the interminable curse of military service: long periods of boredom between the rushes of adrenaline.
Drake’s eyes shifted to the digital clock on the wall.
An hour earlier, when the Cheyenne had still been on the surface, he had typed up a hasty mission report, attached photos of the dented ELT, and launched it into the ether via encrypted satcom.
The moment MESSAGE SENT was confirmed, Captain Hansen had ordered the boat rigged to dive.
Drake and his team had stowed their gear, and soon after the poker game had broken out.
There was never any question as to which direction they would sail. The Chinese were almost certainly the ones yanking their operation chain, and the sonar techs had very clearly tracked the Chinese icebreaker Snow Dragon 2 crashing eastward. It didn’t take a genius to make the connection.
Raine was dealing the next hand when the Cheyenne’s captain appeared from the companionway.
“I’ve got an update,” Hansen said. “Came in right before we submerged.” He paused a beat, taking in the table full of bullets. “It’s as we suspected. The CIA has confirmed the crash site. Roughly one hundred sixty-five nautical miles east of our little detour.”
“Which means the Chinese beat us there,” Williams surmised.
“That’s the funny thing,” Hansen said. “There’s still a chance we can win the race.”
“How?”
“This device the CIA wants so badly—somebody used it to transmit the exact coordinates of the crash site to Langley.”
“No shit?” Drake said. “You mean there are survivors?”
“Nine, apparently. Along with this mystery black case that’s got everyone spun up. The Chinese are in the area, but they got distracted.”
“Distracted by what?”
“Most of the wreckage sank, and the Snow Dragon 2 has apparently locked on to the signals from the airplane’s black boxes—the real ones. They ended up in deep water. But the section of wreckage with the survivors is sitting on an ice floe fifteen miles away.”
“Somebody’s smiling down on us,” Williams replied.
“Time will tell. At any rate, we have new orders. We’re to make best speed to the scene and recover both the survivors and this precious black case.”
“Will the ice be thin enough for us to surface?” Raine asked.
“When the plane crashed it made a hole in the ice pack that’s more than big enough. The breach is starting to freeze back over, but for our purposes—it’ll be like punching through a wet paper bag.”
“How long until we arrive?” Drake asked.
“At present speed, six hours.”
Glances were swapped all around the wardroom table. “A lot can happen in six hours,” Drake said. “The Chinese might spot the survivors.”
“That’s a possibility,” Hansen replied. “Unfortunately, we won’t be able to receive any comms until we arrive. If the situation changes, it’ll be up to us to figure out how to respond.”
Raine swapped glances with his team and asked, “What’s our part going to be in all of this?”
“That remains to be seen,” continued Hansen.
“For the time being, we haul ass east. When we arrive, we’ll stop and listen.
I doubt we’ll have any trouble finding the icebreaker again.
If we find her in the same place, idling to hold her position, then we surface in the big hole, give aid to the survivors, and lock down the black case. ”
Juri looked at him. “And if she’s on scene and has already collected everything?”
“Then things get more complicated,” the skipper admitted. “But headquarters made one thing very clear—our absolute priority is to find that case.”
“Do you think the Chinese might be after it as well?” Williams asked.
“There’s been no mention of that, but out of caution we should assume they are.”
Drake saw concern cloud over the captain’s expression. “Is there something else?” the former SEAL inquired.
Hansen cocked his head. “I’m still concerned about that sonar hit we got earlier, the one that ghosted away. We’re making good speed at the moment, but we’re also making a lot of noise.”
“Wouldn’t anybody tailing us be just as loud?”
“Yes, and we haven’t picked anything up on passive monitoring. It’s just one of those things that keep captains awake at night.”
“So don’t sleep,” Williams said. “It’s only six hours.”
Hansen grinned wearily. Saying, “I’ll let you know if anything changes,” he disappeared down the companionway.
The wardroom fell silent.
Raine set down the deck of cards and said, “Am I the only one thinking about our new orders?”
“The use-of-force provision our governments pushed through with uncharacteristic efficiency,” Drake stated, the exact same thought on his mind. “Somebody in D.C. thinks this could go hot, and they want legal cover to put every available gunslinger into the fight.”
Williams said, “The order talked about ‘limited authorizations for use of force.’ But the more I hear, the more I see the limitations disappearing.”
Drake pushed back from the table, stood, and gestured to the cartridges on the table. “We’ve got six hours, gentlemen. Better tidy these up—we might need them for something more than target practice.”