Red Heat (28 page)

Whichever way, Nikolai figured they were in big trouble.

Admittedly, the enemy’s maneuvering had gotten his adrenaline pumping at the possibilities, both good and bad. The question was, how should he steer
Ostrov
to react? Defense or offense?

Somehow he needed to lure the 093’s commander into revealing his plan. Difficult, but not impossible.

For hundreds of miles around them, the ocean floor was riddled with high seamounts and deepwater trenches, peaks, troughs, and canyons. In other words, perfect for what Nikolai had in mind. A submarine could play a mean game of hide-and-seek within the mazelike features of the undersea landscape. How—and if—the enemy followed them would reveal much about their intent.

And if they wanted to take things further than a game, he and
Ostrov
would be ready.

Nikolai turned to his navigator,
Praporshchik
Zubkin. “Nav, how close are we to the nearest deep canyon?”

Zubkin pursed his lips, spread out a chart, and pointed to their position. “Do you want to go north or south,
Kapitan
? There’s the Bowers Ridge area curving around up here. And down here are Agattu and Abraham canyons. They are the closest. How deep do you want to go?”

The maximum depth for a Kilo-class 636 in top condition was around three hundred meters. The Aleutian Trench went down to more than seven thousand. But the comblike network of faults and troughs that led from the island chain down into the ocean trench varied wildly in every aspect, from the bottom depths to the actual geological formations—some shallow and sandy, some steep and rocky.

Exactly what they needed. It would be hard to run. But easy to hide. Hell, they didn’t call the Kilo-class 636 “the black hole” for nothing. When
Ostrov
went silent, there wasn’t a nuclear sub on the planet that could detect her. Not without the nuke’s sonar going active and aggressive against the unarmed scientific vessel—which could easily be construed as an act of war.

Either way, the Chinese sub would be forced to show her true colors.

But first, he really did need to test
Ostrov
’s fitness at depth.

“Turn west,” Nikolai told the nav. They’d already cruised south to within striking distance of the Aleutian Trench. No sense backtracking. “Plot a course for . . .” The curved network of deepening canyons beckoned. He pinpointed a spot in one of the two that Zubkin had pointed out, which also happened to be the two biggest canyons and filled with a cornucopia of natural formations they could use as shields and blinds if it should come to that. “Let’s head for Agattu Canyon first. Do a few angles and dangles. See if the 093 tags along.”

Zubkin grinned.
“Da, Kapitan.”
He made some swift calculations and slid the charted figures over for his approval.

Nikolai nodded. “Steady on course two-three-zero, Mr. Zubkin, and make your speed four knots,” he commanded, his blood humming. He was so ready for this hunt. “Ease us down to one-zero-zero meters.”

The men snapped to and his orders were repeated down through the chain of command. Seconds later,
Ostrov
nimbly changed bearing, slipped over the edge of the ridge, and descended into the abyss.

The big Chinese nuke slowly turned and glided along in
Ostrov
’s baffles, like a giant menacing shark following their scent. For half an hour Nikolai had done a series of circles and turns as they descended into Agattu Canyon. Not exactly a crazy Ivan, more like strolling around the block a few times to see what shook out. The Shang class stayed with them the whole way, a long lurking shadow, not aggressive but keeping steady pace.

There was no mistaking it,
Ostrov
was being deliberately pursued.

In the central post, the navigation table was covered with both their Russian charts as well as the American ones brought along by the scientific team. Because so much of the seabed in this area hadn’t been mapped yet, there were whole blank sections on all of them. It was folly to rely on just one navigational chart. Or on any of them, really.

Which was what Nikolai planned to take advantage of.

“Slow to three knots,” he ordered. “Watch your depth, nav,” he called as they inched their way further down into unknown territory. He turned to
Starpom
Varnas, who had finished questioning the crew and returned to the central post to take over OOD duties. “Announce every twenty meters we mark, and have each watch report in as we go deeper. I want to know immediately if any problems develop.”

“Da, Kapitan,”
Stefan Mikhailovich said in curt tones. Even though he and Misha had confirmed Walker’s story of being asleep during Julie’s attack, the
starpom
was still convinced of the American’s guilt and was angry Nikolai not only refused to put the man under arrest but had allowed Walker to remain free in the central post.

The better to keep an eye on both of them, Nikolai figured. He had a feeling if they found themselves alone in a compartment, only one would emerge alive.

He strode across the space to check the sonar repeater over
Lyeĭtenant
Petrov’s shoulder. He’d wanted his best men front and center on this evolution, and since the radio was basically useless under the surface anyway, he’d assigned Danya as conning officer and phone talker. Aside from watching all the repeaters, the radioman would keep up a running commentary on everything that came over the circuits, acting as the hub of communications coming from the various watch posts around the boat.

As the sub descended, the digital images on the sonar monitor were getting harder to interpret. In his mind’s eye, Nikolai converted the snowy patterns into a mental picture of the sea bottom, the cliffs and mounds, the slopes and bommies, and the fathomless trench below.

He narrowed his eyes. “Sonar, conn. Keep a sharp lookout on the geography,” he said, and Danya repeated it over the circuit. “We’ll want to find some nice confusing features down there to shield us if we’re to play hide-and-seek with these clowns.”

After a second, Julie’s voice piped up in English. “What do you mean, hide-and-seek? You aren’t actually planning to provoke them, are you?”

Nikolai swiveled his head to her, blinked, and suddenly realized Walker must have been translating what was being said. How had he not known the man spoke Russian . . . ? Nikolai’s suspicions about the tight-lipped UUV pilot rose even higher. He might not have been responsible for Julie’s attack, but Nikolai still didn’t trust the man.

“No,” he told her. “Not provoke. Draw them out. They’re tailing us and I want to know their intentions.”

“Yeah.” She made a face. “If that’s even possible. The Chinese tend to be pretty subtle in their military strategy.”

Nikolai regarded her, recalling that China was her specialty at CIA. “So you agree their intentions are military.”

“What else could they be?”

“Indeed.” He shot her the shadow of a smile. “Then we shall be disciplined and calm, and await the appearance of disorder among the enemy,” he quoted.

Her lips parted in momentary astonishment.

Was she really so surprised a Russian naval captain had read
The Art of War
?

Apparently not. She gave him an odd smile. “And thus the enemy shall provide us with the direction of his own defeat.”

For a moment their smiles and gazes held. Damn. A woman who could quote Sun Tzu. He was definitely in love.

“Unless, of course,” Walker said dryly, shattering the moment, “they decide to launch a torpedo or two and just blow us out of the water.”

Julie went pale. “Not funny.”

Nikolai punched a finger toward him. “Don’t press your luck, mister.”

The other man shrugged. “You think I’m kidding. I’m not.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Nikolai said darkly.

At this point he didn’t know what to believe. About the Chinese or about Walker. Walker hadn’t lied about his alibi for the time of the attack. Nikolai had believed him to the extent of allowing his blood to be drawn as he’d requested. Although it couldn’t be tested, and thus proved or disproved, until the scientists came back on board, after what happened to Julie, Nikolai would believe the saboteur capable of just about anything, including drugging the man. But Walker
was
lying about something. Nikolai could feel it in his bones.

Unfortunately he didn’t have time to think about that right now.

“One-zero-zero meters,” Danya reported. “Passing over the Aleutian Bench. No problems reported, sir.”

“Very well.” Nikolai consulted the nav, adjusted the course, and ordered them out of the canyon and down over the steep cliffs to two hundred meters—two-thirds of the way to
Ostrov
’s maximum depth.

Still the 093 shadowed them.

Nikolai glanced back at Julie. Her face held a look of intense concentration. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, vaguely surprised she wasn’t getting more panicked about being submerged this deep.

“Dissimulation,” she said.

“Pardon me?”

“Our Chinese tail.” Her brow beetled. “They strive to appear harmless, therefore they must be dangerous. They seem to be following us, so they must surely be leading us. They let themselves be seen, thus they must be hiding something we aren’t supposed to see.” She met his gaze. “Something that will achieve their true purpose.”

More Sun Tzu.

“But we’re in front of them,” he said. “How can they be leading us?”

Her gaze shadowed. “You said yourself it’s a game of cat and mouse.”

Nikolai regarded her. “And you think we’re the mouse?”

“Aren’t we?”

He allowed himself the hint of a smile. “I sure as hell hope not.” However, she did seem to possess an innate understanding of the subtleties of their stalker’s actions. He would do well to pay attention to her instincts. This was her area of expertise, after all. His smile faded. “So, if your theory is correct, what
is
their true purpose?”

She wasn’t going to say it aloud, but the objective for the Chinese wasn’t so difficult to guess.

To stop the SD card from falling into the hands of their enemies—namely, Russia and the United States.

That must be the ultimate goal of this exercise for the 093. There was really no other possible reason for their behavior—as inscrutable as it was. And at least one other person knew it—the person working for them aboard
Ostrov
. Nikolai just wished he knew if that traitor was still actually on board at the moment, or off on Attu Island.

“Is there scuba gear on the boat?” Walker asked, breaking into their contemplative silence.

Nikolai frowned. “Yes, of course.” He glanced at
Starpom
Varnas, who had actually brought his own gear along.

“Scuba is standard equipment,” Varnas said, who had been listening with one ear to the conversation. “In case repairs are needed below the surface.”

“Perhaps that’s your answer,” Walker said.

Nikolai scrutinized his bland expression. “You’re saying you think someone is—what? Planning to jump ship using scuba gear, and . . . and then what? Get plucked up by the Chinese sub?”

Varnas snorted.

Walker’s head tilted, ignoring the
starpom
. “You have a scenario that fits the facts better?”

Nikolai sighed inwardly. Well, no. Not really. But that one seemed . . .

Чертов ад.

Okay. Just improbable enough to be correct.

An Arctic-weight wetsuit would protect a person against the near freezing temperature of the sea easily long enough to be fished up. But one would have to be equipped with more than a wetsuit to survive a swim to the ocean surface from a hundred meters down. Aside from the difficulty of getting off the hermetically sealed vessel, the outside pressure alone would crush a man to a pulp.

Nikolai turned back to the sonar monitor and considered it. “If you’re right,” he mused, “we’re safe as long as
Ostrov
remains below safe human dive limits.”

Julie peered at him nervously. “Safe from what?”

He thinned his lips. He’d noticed that the 093 was creeping closer. And Walker’s offhanded comment about torpedoes had definitely gotten his attention. “That’s the question, isn’t it? I just have a feeling our friends out there are planning something far less obvious than plucking an agent from the water.”

Walker studied him thoughtfully. “Such as?” he asked.

Nikolai wished he knew.

“One hundred sixty meters,” Danya announced, then came to sudden attention and touched his earphones. “Sir! The COB reports flooding in the engine room!”

Nikolai strode over and grabbed a headset. Over the static he could hear shouting and the distinctive sound of water spraying in the background.

“Engine room, conn. Status report!”

Seconds later came Yasha’s calm reply. “Nothing to worry about,
Kapitan
. Looks like a faulty weld in one of the pipes. We’re fitting it with a bandit patch.”

“That’s the only leak?” Nikolai asked.

“Looks like it,” the COB came back. “I’ll report immediately if the situation changes.”

Nikolai checked the fathometer. Just one hundred seventy-five meters.
The devil
. The boat was showing its age a lot sooner than he’d expected.

Nevertheless, when Stefan Mikhailovich shot him a questioning glance, he nodded. “Continue as ordered,
Starpom
Varnas.”

He noticed Julie gripping the arms of her chair. “Are we going to sink?” she asked, eyes wide as teacups.

Nikolai gave her a crooked smile. “It’ll take more than one faulty pipe weld to sink us,” he assured her.

Everyone was a bit jumpy today—including him—but the fact was, occasional leaks were a way of life on an old boat. Nothing to worry about. Much, anyway.

She looked around and when she saw nobody else panicking, her shoulders notched down a fraction. “Sorry. Still a little shaky.”

“You’re entitled,” he said. “How about if I let you know when you need to be scared? Otherwise, just assume you don’t have to worry. Okay?”

She eased out a breath. “Okay.”

“One-eight-zero meters,” Danya announced.

Nikolai gave her another reassuring smile, then turned back to the instruments. He could hear the ubiquitous creak and groan of
Ostrov
’s double metal hulls as the sub slipped farther down toward the bottom. By now they’d glided free of the canyon and into the open water above the trench. They were entering some very deep territory. The increased pressure felt heavy in Nikolai’s blood and his lungs, and his legs felt leaden.

“Sir! Another leak,” Danya called out moments later. “This one’s in the forward battery compartment.”

The compartment just below his stateroom. Nikolai glanced at the fathometer and ordered the diving officer, “Dive, steady on two-zero-zero!” as he brought his headset up over his ears again. “Forward mechanics, conn. Status!”

“Another pipe weld,
Kapitan
. Working to clamp it,” came the report.

“Are the batteries in danger of compromise?” he quickly asked.

One of the worst potential dangers on board a diesel-electric submarine was the possibility of battery acid somehow mixing with seawater. The result was a release of deadly chlorine gas. Fatal if breathed for longer than a few moments.

“Not as far as we can tell, sir. The waterproof wells should protect the batteries until we can get the weld repaired.”

Even so, he was beginning to get a bad feeling. And it didn’t help that the Chinese sub kept moving closer.

He gave orders for the batteries to be thoroughly examined, just to make sure they’d get no nasty surprises from that quarter later on. He’d dearly like to go down and check them himself. But he was needed here. And that would also mean leaving Julie, which he wouldn’t do.

However, his face must have shown his growing worry.

“Nikolai, go if you need to. I’ll be fine here,” she told him.

“No,” he said. “My men can take care of it.” And he knew they could. He just . . . had a niggling feeling.

“Shall we continue on our present course, Commander?” the navigator asked.

Nikolai pursed his lips. One leak was routine, two was bad luck. Should he risk three . . . or more?

They’d reached a depth of two hundred meters. The Arctic Sea where they were headed was sixty meters at its deepest. There was no reason to push the depth any farther.

But it was high time to address their other concern.

“Nyet,”
he told the nav. “How about those geographical features I asked you to look out for? Anything good within striking distance?”

The navigator grinned in relief, along with every man on the watch. They knew what was coming.
“Da, Komandir,”
he said, reaching for his charts. “Would you like us to disappear, to turn the tables on the 093, or to make the whole Chinese navy tell ghost stories of
Ostrov
for generations to come?”

Nikolai laughed, then turned to the other crew members. “Well, men? What say you? Shall we become ghosts?”

But before anyone could respond, Danya Petrov launched out of his seat, eyes wide, hands pressing his headphones to his ears. “Sir!” he exclaimed. “They’re flooding their torpedo tubes!”