Arctic Gold

dropped, clattering onto the steel deck.

The naval infantry guard was grabbing for his holstered weapon when Kathy lunged through the door and hit him full in the chest. It had scarcely registered on Dean that she was clutching one of the blankets in front of her, using it as a shield. When she collided with the guard, there was a clatter and a number of large aluminum cans scattered across the deck. Dean dropped to his knees, scooping up the pistol Golytsin had dropped, then coming back to his feet just as the guard slammed backward into him.

The three of them, Kathy, the guard, and Dean, went down in a thrashing tangle of limbs and wildly rolling cans of stewed tomatoes. Somehow, Dean was able to roll out from under and get on top, the Makarov in his hand swinging up, then down with savage force, striking the guard in the side of the head with the weapon’s butt just as the man managed to pull his own pistol free.

The guard sagged back to the deck, unconscious. Dean rose shakily to his feet, the pistol aimed now at Golytsin, standing several feet away. “You okay?” Dean asked Kathy as she scrambled clear of the blanket and got to her feet.

“Yeah.”

“What’s with the cans in the blanket?”

“Improvised ballistic armor,” she said. “I thought it might at least deflect a bullet if he got off a shot.”

Dean was very glad she hadn’t had to put the idea to a test. It might have worked… or the 9mm round might have slammed straight through blanket, tomato cans, and Kathy and scarcely even slowed down.

“Put the guard in the room. And gather up those cans. Benford! You help her!”

“You can’t get out of here, you know,” Golytsin said.

“I’m damned well going to try. And you have a choice.”

“What choice?”

“You can get into that room. We’ll lock you in with this guy. When they let you out, you can quite truthfully say the Americans overpowered you and escaped.”

“Or?”

“Or you can come with us. The offer’s still open.”

Golytsin was clearly thinking about it as he stood there, rubbing his wrist where Dean had nearly broken it. Benford and McMillan together dragged the unconscious guard inside the storeroom, tossing in the blanket and the errant cans. Kathy retrieved the guard’s pistol and the keys.

“Time to make your decision,” Dean told him. “Loyalty to your new masters? Or loyalty to Mother Russia?”

Golytsin turned and entered the storeroom. Kathy began to close the door… and then he glanced around suddenly and said, “Wait! I’ll come!”

“Good man. C’mon.”

“You’re thinking of the Mir subs?”

“You have a better idea?”

“No. The Mirs are kept charged and ready to go at all times. They’re the closest we have to lifeboats in this place.”

After locking the storeroom door, the four of them hurried down the passageway, rounding the ninety-degree bend in the corridor and skirting the opening in the deck leading down into the facility’s control center. The waiting Mir subs were just ahead.

“Everyone grab a dry suit!” Dean called. “We’ll need ’em topside!”

And then a sharp cry came from behind.

“Stoy! Ruki v’vayrh!”

SSGN Ohio Arctic Ice Cap 82° 34' N, 177° 26' E 1204 hours, GMT-12

“Weps,” Grenville said softly. “What’s our war-shot status?”

“War shots loaded in tubes one, two, three, and four, Skipper. Inner and outer bow doors closed. Four Mark 48 ADCAP torpedoes ready for firing.”

“Open bow doors two and four,” he said. “But manually.”

“Open bow doors two and four manually. Aye, aye, sir.”

Using the hand cranks was slower, but it could be done in complete silence. He didn’t want the Victor out there hearing the Ohydro getting set to shoot. Tubes two and four were on the port side of the vessel, on the side farthest from the Victor now, but they would be the first to bear as the Ohio came out of the Williamson.

A minor point. In modern submarine warfare, you didn’t have to be aimed at the other guy to have a chance of hitting.

But it did help. Especially at close range.

“Captain, this is Chief Mayhew.”

“What is it, Chief?”

“I know this is out of order, sir, but… can I talk to you for a sec, here in Sonar?”

“Be right there.”

It couldn’t be super-urgent for Mayhew to sidestep the usual formalities of command protocol, but it did sound important. Grenville walked forward up the starboard passageway and stepped into the sonar shack.

“Whatcha got?”

“Sir… I don’t really have anything… but it’s kind of a… a feeling, okay?”

“A feeling.”

“Yes, sir. We’re still getting occasional transients from Sierra One-one-six, okay?”

“Yes…”

“And we’re getting a lot of background from, from… all over. Ice grinding overhead. We have some biologicals. Lots of noise from the ships on the surface. In fact, half the problem is just hearing the Victor’s transients over all the background-”

“What’s your point, Mayhew?”

“Sir… look here.” He pointed at one of the two display monitors above his workstation. It had been reconfigured to show a waterfall.

“Waterfall” was the term for a particular type of sonar display. It looked like a green TV screen filled with static, but with some of that static just orderly enough to begin to sketch out white lines against the green background. Across the top were compass bearings; down the left side were time readouts, recent at the top to older at the bottom. The waterfall made the universe of sound surrounding the Ohio visible and tracked each source over time. Each line drifted at an angle across the screen, its bearing changing as the Ohio moved relative to it or it moved relative to the Ohio.

“Ignore these three, Captain,” Mayhew said, indicating the three brightest and most slowly moving lines. “Those are the three ships topside. This is Sierra One-one-six.” He pointed to another line that, over the past few minutes, had drifted sharply across the Ohio’s starboard side.

“Not much there,” Grenville said.

“No, sir. We’re close enough to pick up some noise from his screw, and some from his power plant. Down here…” He pointed to a bright patch on the line. “That’s when he opened his bow doors.”

“Yes.”

And thank God a Russian torpedo hadn’t followed a moment later. The other captain was hunting still, not sure where the target was.

“This is what I wanted to show you, sir.”

Mayhew indicated an area of random static, a vague patch somewhere behind the Russian sub. Random static… but somewhat less of it than elsewhere on the screen…

Grenville’s eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing. “Shit!”

“I think-,” Mayhew started to say, but Grenville’s hand was already on the intercom mike.

“Helm! This is the captain! Hard left rudder! Now!”