Chapter 37
Kasey saw one of the two figures atop the submarine return her wave. Both men on the platform were in uniform. Both were watching them intently. A hatch on the main deck popped open, and two crewmen scurried out hauling gear.
“We need to buy time,” she said to Sharpe.
“Five hours for our sub to arrive?”
“That’s not realistic, so I’m working on Plan B.” She backed toward the cabin. “I’ll explain in a minute. Right now, I need to go back inside and talk to Chen. Stay here and keep an eye on the Russians.”
“No. I have to tell the other passengers about this.”
It was a fair point. The others had been going outside occasionally to relieve themselves.
On top of that, the sub could probably be seen on a sharp angle through the starboard windows.
There was no logical reason to keep the sub’s arrival a secret, and it only made sense that Sharpe would be the one to announce it.
“Okay, hold off for a minute, then follow me inside. When you tell them, stick to the basics. Say that a submarine surfaced nearby and should be providing assistance soon.”
“In other words, don’t mention that it’s Russian.”
“That’ll become clear soon enough. Tell them that you and I are going to determine how to make contact. While we do, everyone should stay inside.”
“Okay.”
Sharpe sounded suspicious. He was trying to decipher what she was up to. Without explaining, Kasey ducked inside.
She was surprised to almost bump into Chen at the entrance.
He was standing gingerly and using a seat back for support, but he had clearly walked all the way aft.
When she’d last talked to him, Kasey had inquired about his mobility.
Chen had been flat on his back since the crash, and he said he wasn’t sure if his injured leg would allow walking.
Apparently, it did. When he let go of the seat, there was only a slight wobble.
“Easy,” she said.
“No, I’m fine. It actually isn’t painful. My leg is just stiff.”
“Good, because I need you to do something for me.” In a low voice, she told him what had happened, and what she had in mind.
When she was done, he whispered, “A Russian submarine?”
“I know. None of us saw that coming. Are you sure you can do what I’m asking? If not, we’ll find another way.”
“No, your plan is a good one.”
Kasey’s “plan,” to the extent that she had one, was for her and Sharpe to walk to the submarine and intercept whoever came ashore.
She wanted to buy as much time as possible, allowing Chen to work his magic with Sky Fire on the far side of the fuselage.
They desperately needed to send a message to Langley to explain the situation.
It would be an unmitigated disaster for China to get Sky Fire back.
But allowing the Russians to take possession was the next-worst thing.
Sharpe came inside, and in a hushed voice Kasey explained her scheme. She hadn’t wanted to lay it out until she was sure Chen was up to it. Sharpe didn’t argue, either because her plan made sense or, more likely, because he couldn’t think of a better one.
He took a few steps forward and gave his passengers the good news. While they were distracted, Kasey retrieved Sky Fire and slipped outside with Chen. She saw a half dozen men on the sub’s deck now, and a gangway was being lowered on a steep angle to the ice.
“Over here,” she said, leading Chen to the port side where there would be no line of sight to the submarine. While he booted up the system, Kasey walked the antenna away from the hull.
She said, “You should use our code names in the message. Yours is Falcon, mine’s Orion.
After you establish contact, keep the connection open for as long as you can.
But keep an eye on me and Sharpe. When the Russians start heading this way, shut down Sky Fire and hide the case where I had it. Any questions?”
“No.”
Sharpe emerged and circled to the port side.
“I didn’t hear any cheering,” she said.
“Oh, they’re happy. Just too exhausted to shout about it. I told everyone to sit tight until you and I got back. I also told them not to worry about Chen—I said I’d given him a small chore outside.”
She looked at the rifle, which was resting next to the canopy. “We should leave that behind.”
“Your reasoning?” he asked, his eyes going to the last point where they’d seen the bear, as if expecting it to reappear.
“Tradecraft 101. We’re air-crash victims, and the first impression of lugging around a rifle doesn’t reinforce the desired image. Once we’ve met these guys, then we tell them about the Winchester and why we’re keeping it handy.”
“Okay. But if our friend comes back, you know what they say… you don’t have to outrun the bear, only the person you’re with.”
“And here’s what you should know—I ran track at the D-one level, hundred-and-ten-meter hurdles. Fourth place at the NCAA Finals.”
Sharpe grinned, and they set out across the ice field, heads down into the wind.
The sub had surfaced less than half a mile away. Sharpe edged in front, keeping a good pace.
“Slow down,” she said. “And try to look a little more unstable.” Kasey feigned a stumble. “We need to look like we’re suffering.”
As they walked, Kasey tracked the Russians’ every move.
The gangway was now in place. No more than fifteen feet long, it was some kind of lightweight aluminum ramp that gave a steep angle down to the ice.
It seemed hardly ideal, but Kasey supposed it made sense—a submarine wouldn’t have space for something larger, and they probably only carried it for those rare contingencies when they weren’t at a proper dock.
She counted ten men in the shore party, and a few of them were carrying rifles.
The group waited on the ice until one last man descended to join them.
If Kasey wasn’t mistaken, it was one of the men who’d waved to her. The Russians began walking toward them.
“Let me do the talking,” she said.
“Won’t that seem odd? I mean, with me being the uniformed crewmember?”
“Maybe. But I need to steer this conversation carefully and we can’t be passing notes.”
“Okay, I’ll chime in with some meaningless drivel, but you can run the show.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
They were halfway to the submarine when Sharpe said, “I think we just got a good break.”
“What’s that?”
“Check the ice ahead, about eighty yards out.”
Kasey lowered her gaze and saw it right away. A fissure had developed, maybe ten feet wide. Two massive plates of ice had been driven apart by the storm and currents. The break ran as far as she could see both left and right, a frigid river separating them from the Russians.
“That is good,” she said.
“They’ll probably figure some way around it, but that’ll take time.”
She paused and looked back at the shattered fuselage. Kasey couldn’t see Chen, but she imagined him typing furiously. Sharpe was right. The icy gap was in their favor, but the Russians would find a work-around. The direness of their circumstance settled like an anchor.
In spite of Chen’s efforts, Langley wasn’t going to have a magical solution.
She doubted the U.S. Navy had any asset closer than the Cheyenne.
The weather was improving but probably still precluded an air rescue.
Conceivably the CIA could approach Russia through diplomatic channels, but what would they say?
You have a CIA officer, a Chinese defector, and a secret technological marvel in your grasp. Would you please set them aside for us?
The more she thought about it, the more isolated Kasey felt.
Sharpe, Chen, Langley—they were on her side.
The Chinese and Russians most certainly were not.
Kasey was trapped between them all, her control of the situation hanging by a thread.
And she could think of only one way to strengthen her hand.
Soon, probably very soon, she would make a move that surprised them all.