V Plague (Book 11): Merciless (12 page)

“Explain something to me, Commander.  We’re the United States Navy.  We routinely listen to, map, plot, chart and image every square foot of ocean on this planet.  How is it we’ve never seen this before?”

“I had the same thought, sir.  So I started looking through archived imaging.  This was taken from one of our aircraft tracking a Russian sub, six months ago.”

He retrieved another photo from the file and passed it across.  Packard placed it next to the first one, in the center of his desk, and looked back and forth between them.  The platform was visible in both, a dark blob representing the sub showing in the second.  The glowing ring was noticeably absent from the older image.

“Is it in the water?”

“No, sir,” the Commander handed over a thin stack of photos showing the same area of the ocean.  “All different spectrums of light, including infrared.  The water is surprisingly clear and in some of these we can see nearly all the way to the seabed.  It’s definitely buried.”

“New construction?”  Packard tapped the photo that showed the ring.

“The first two photos I showed you were taken just over six months apart, sir.  Something that large couldn’t be constructed beneath the ocean floor in that amount of time, especially since much of that time has been post-attack. 

“Seaman Simmons explained to me that there are additional spectrums of electromagnetic energy that the NSA system is capable of capturing.  Spectrums we’ve never been able to see before.

“At my request, she demonstrated by limiting the satellite to only show what Navy surveillance was capable of recording.  The ring disappeared.  We were unable to see it.  When she added in the NSA enhancements, it reappeared.  That’s how we’ve never spotted it before.  However, I’m sorry sir, I have no explanation for what it is.”

Packard sat quietly for a few minutes, looking at the image.  Picking up the photo, he leaned back in his chair and blew out a sigh.  Finally, he placed it back on his desk and looked at the Commander.

“We need to know what the hell this is,” he said.  “What assets do we have in the area?”

“None, sir.  The Reagan was heavily damaged in the nuclear attack on the Bahamas.” 

“Talk to Captain Wayne.  Tell him this is coming from me.  I want a recon flight to check out that rig.  He’ll make something work.”

“There’s a large helipad on the rig.  Large enough to take an Osprey if we have one available, sir.”

Packard rocked back in his chair, thinking for a moment.

“We’re too thin,” he said, shaking his head.  “I don’t want to risk the loss of another asset unless we’re certain there are survivors present.  Survivors that wouldn’t pose a threat to the aircraft or crew.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, standing.  “I’ll speak with the Captain right away and keep you informed.”

15

Several hours later I stood in the shelter of an equipment shed next to Alert’s primitive runway.  The wind still howled, curling around the edges of the building and adding to my misery.  I was cold.  No, I was flat out, fucking cold!  Colder than I’d ever been in my life. 

I’m not a cold weather guy.  I grew up in the American southwest.  Snow was something I saw on TV in cheesy Christmas movies.  Hell, the first time I ever experienced temperatures below 20 degrees Fahrenheit was when the Army sent me to Germany. 

Screwed to the wall behind me was a thermometer.  It read negative 26 degrees.  I was in Canada, so of course it was Celsius, which didn’t translate well in my head.  I didn’t know what that was in Fahrenheit, and didn’t really care.  I didn’t need a number to know I was freezing my big, white ass off.  If there were brass monkeys about, they wouldn’t have any balls. 

Stamping my feet, I shut down my internal bitching and looked around first one edge, then the other, of the steel shed.  I was close to where the polar bear had been sniffing around.  Skelling had succeeded in putting a scare into me with his story.  I hadn’t survived everything and come this far to wind up coming out of the south end of a northbound bear.  So, as we’d gone outside to meet the inbound plane, I’d volunteered to carry the Weatherby.

The rifle was a beast.  Easily twice as heavy as an M4, it had a long barrel with a good scope mounted on top.  Bolt action.  I wouldn’t be able to put a lot of rounds downrange in a hurry, but that wasn’t the point.  The point was the impact energy of the huge bullets the thing fired.  Whatever you hit, if you hit your target, is going to go down and stay down.

Scattered around me were half a dozen men from the RCAF detachment, Captain Dumas and WO Skelling among them.  A generator that powered the refueling pump and the deicing machine was already running, though I couldn’t hear it over the mournful sound created by the Arctic winds.  That reminded me to take another look around.  I couldn’t depend on my hearing to alert me to the presence of a bear.

All was clear and I turned back to see Dumas walking towards me.  He leaned forward, into the wind, as he trudged across the ice.

“They’re on final approach,” he shouted to be heard, turning and pointing to the northeast.

I looked where he indicated, unable to see anything.  A moment later, the pilot activated his landing lights.  Slowly they drew closer, appearing to be simply hanging in the sky above the wave tossed ocean.

As suddenly as the lights had materialized, the outline of a large plane emerged from the blowing snow.  I blinked in surprise to see what at first looked like a commercial jetliner.  I’d expected a C-130, but as it bumped down onto the ice and approached, I saw the paint scheme and realized this was a Navy transport.

Skelling ran over to where Dumas and I stood.  Leaning close to his CO’s ear, he shouted over the roar of the jet’s thrust reversers.

“We don’t have stairs or a ladder, sir.  I’ll have one of the men bring the Hummer around.  We’ll have to climb onto its roof to access the aircraft.”

Dumas nodded as Skelling turned and grabbed one of the waiting men, holding his head close to deliver instructions.  A moment later the man turned and ran for the large garage where we’d parked a few hours earlier.

I understood the problem Skelling had identified.  Remote outposts are normally resupplied by some sort of heavy lift, cargo plane.  C-130s are almost ubiquitous, especially if the US or one of its allies is involved.  A C-130 has a rear ramp that lowers to the ground for ease of loading and unloading.  No air-stairs or ladders needed.

This thing, I didn’t know the Navy designation, but it looked just like a Boeing 737.  It had a passenger door near the front, and another behind the wing, that were both a good ten feet above the ground.  Maybe the military personnel could have scrambled up a rope, but I doubted any of the scientists regularly practiced climbing.

One of Dumas’ men stood in the middle of the runway.  He held a large flashlight in each hand, long orange cones attached to each lens.  They glowed brightly in the polar twilight as the jet slowly taxied to where he waited.  Using the lights, he guided it to a stop next to the fueling point.

Remembering what my job was, I took another look around the area as power lines and a fuel hose were dragged across the ice to the parked aircraft.  Nothing was moving other than the ground crew.  Turning back, I looked up as the door opened.  A man I didn’t recognize, wearing US issue winter gear, looked out and waved.  Dumas returned the wave.

The man withdrew and a slighter figure stepped up to the edge.  Long, brown hair whipped in the wind and my breath caught in my throat when I recognized her.  Rachel!  She was alive!

Thrusting the Weatherby into Dumas’ arms, I hurried forward, removing the cold weather mask the Canadians had given me to protect my face.  Rachel saw me before I made it to the plane.  She turned and shouted to someone inside the aircraft, then dropped to a seat on the floor, scooted forward and jumped.

Her feet went out from under her on the ice and she wound up on her ass.  By the time I reached her, she was back on her feet and slammed into me, arms going around my neck like a vice.  Neither of us said anything, just stood there holding each other until the Hummer arrived and the driver beeped the horn to get us to move.  Holding her hand, I walked Rachel a safe distance away.

“How?”  I shouted to her.

“We had engine trouble, so the pilot landed in Pensacola.  While we were there fixing it, he got the call about you.  We diverted.”

She smiled a bright smile, then wrapped her arms around me again and buried her face against my neck.  I held her tightly, afraid at any moment I would wake up and discover this was all a dream.

“Excuse me, Major.”

I opened my eyes and looked at WO Skelling.  He was standing a respectful distance away, a small smile on his face.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.  “But the pilot insists on speaking with you before allowing us to board.”

“Let’s get out of the weather,” I said to Rachel, leading her to the Hummer which was now parked directly beneath the jet’s door.

There was a short ladder attached to the rear of the vehicle for access to its roof.  From there, it was an easy climb up into the aircraft.  I sent Rachel first, following close behind.  Coming through the door, I smiled when Irina stepped forward and hugged me.

“Good to see you,” she said, a big smile on her face.

I smiled and hugged her back, then looked at the pilot.  He was an Air Force Captain and looked about as tired as I felt.

“We’re evacuating the station personnel with us, Captain,” I said, before he had a chance to speak.  “Fifty-six souls, half of them Canadian military.”

“Yes, sir.  That’s not a problem.  We’ve got room.”

“Then why the delay?”

“Where do we go, sir?”  He asked, a distressed expression on his face.

Shit!  That was a damn good question that I hadn’t even thought about.  The Bahamas were gone.  That left Hawaii.  Or Australia.

“Wherever it is, we’d better decide quickly.”

I turned to see Captain Dumas standing in the door behind me.

“Why?”  I asked, fully expecting to hear that there were Russians on the way.

“We only have enough deicer for one go.  Were supposed to get more two supply runs ago, but…”

The pilot’s eyes grew wide and he stepped forward.

“He’s right, Major.  In this weather, we’re going to ice fast.  We’d better get moving.”

“OK,” I said.  “Do what you need to do.  I’ll have a destination for you by the time we take off.”

He nodded and headed out the door to supervise the refueling.

“Captain, I need your comm room again, please.”

Dumas turned and shouted through the open door for Skelling, telling him to take me to the radio.  I climbed down, Rachel right behind me.  The WO was waiting for us on the ground, holding back a line of scientists who were queued up to board.  We battled the wind, Rachel holding tight to my hand, as we headed for the station.

When we walked in, one of Dumas’ men looked up and nodded a greeting.  He was the only person I’d seen since we’d entered the station.  His job was to wire up the electronics with explosives which would be detonated when everyone was on board the plane.  I didn’t really see the point anymore, but protocol is protocol and I wasn’t going to criticize.

“I’ve got it from here, Larsen,” Skelling said.

The man handed a small chunk of what looked like C4 to the WO, turned and hurried out of the room.  I sat down in front of a panel that already had a blob of the stuff attached to it, pausing before turning on the power switch.  Glancing around I saw three more places where explosive had been placed, each of them with a detonator already inserted.

“Don’t know about you, but I’d feel better if those detonators were pulled while we’re in here,” I said to Skelling.

“You Yanks sure are a nervous lot,” he smiled, stepped forward and removed the detonators from each location.

“At least we know the difference between ham and bacon,” I grinned, turning the power on to the console.

Rachel shook her head as I activated the circuit I’d used to speak with Admiral Packard earlier.  A few seconds later it was answered by the same Lieutenant.  He sounded more interested in being helpful this time when he heard my voice.  A few moments later I was patched in to Pearl’s internal phone system and heard a ring.

“Seaman Simmons speaking,” Jessica answered.

“Seaman?  Guess the hammer came down, huh Jessica,” I said, happy to hear her voice.

“Sir!  Glad to hear you’re OK.  And, yes sir, it did.  I’m out of cyber-warfare and got demoted.  All things considered, I’m pretty lucky.  And, sir?  Lieutenant Hunt told me you went to the mat with the Admiral for me.  Probably saved my ass.  I don’t know how to thank you, sir!”

“You already have, Jessica.  But I need another favor.”

“Name it, sir,” she said.

“We’re about to depart Alert station.  I’m hoping you’re going to tell me that Colonel Blanchard has secured my wife.”

“Yes, sir.  He has!  They’re in Boise, waiting for the SEALs and Doctors from Seattle to arrive before they evac.”

“What about Igor?  The Russian in the Seattle area they were supposed to take with them?”

“They’ve picked up one surly Russian and one big, equally surly dog, sir.  That was the latest message we received from them.”

I leaned back in the chair and blew out a sigh of relief.  Rachel placed her hand on my shoulder and I looked up at her.  Cupping my hand over the microphone, I gave her a quick synopsis of what Jessica had just told me.  She smiled, leaned down and kissed my cheek.

“OK, Jessica,” I said, smiling from ear to ear.  “That’s great news.  We’re heading to Boise.  Please get a message to the Colonel and let him know we’re on the way.  If I had to guess, probably close to ten hours before we arrive.”

“Yes, sir.  I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, Jessica.  Sorry, but I just can’t call you Seaman.  I’ll use your rank when you’re a Petty Officer again.”

“Working on it, sir,” she laughed.

I broke the connection and powered the console down.  Five minutes later, with my help, Skelling had all of the charges in place and the detonators were once again inserted.  Wires from each led to a central trigger that could be activated remotely.