Under the Ice

“Because I happen to know almost precisely where that evidence currently lies. All that we have to do now is find the Il-76’s cockpit voice recorder, or as it is more commonly called, its black box. And it so happens the cosmonauts in our Salyut space station have already picked up this device’s ultrasonic homing signal, on the ice directly adjoining the northern coast of Baffin Island. So all that remains to be done is to go up there and grab it. Then we merely have to analyze its digital tape; that holds a detailed account of every single second of that flight, from its liftoff in Irkutsk, to the plane’s final moments. And if it’s indeed learned that an American missile was responsible for taking the Flying Kremlin down, can I at the very least count on having your support in the planning and carrying out of a proper retaliatory attack?”

“Why, of course!” returned the two bureaucrats almost simultaneously.

Fighting to control his joy, Admiral of the Fleet Mikhail Kharkov turned his glance on his old friend, Ivan Zarusk. A wide smirk etched the Defense Minister’s face, and Mikhail couldn’t help but smile in this moment of triumph.

Chapter Six

It was late into the night before the USS Defiance was ready to set sail. A cool, penetrating breeze blew in from the north as two uniformed figures stood on the vessel’s exposed sail. The taller one pulled from his lips the pipe he had been smoking, and called out to a bearded dockhand below.

“Release number one!”

As the last line connecting the Defiance to the docks was freed, the XO addressed his next command to the bridge’s black plastic, intercom handset.

“All back two-thirds.”

A frothing patch of agitated seawater formed astern and the sub’s black hull began inching its way into the Thames River. Al Layman relayed another order into the intercom, and as the propeller shaft reversed the direction of its rotation, the vessel began to head for the open sea.

“Well, Skipper, seems we’re not the only ones working late tonight. Looks like the men and women over at Electric Boat are getting in a little overtime themselves.”

“That’s nothing unusual,” returned Matt Colter, as he scanned the brightly lit, industrial complex that hugged the waterfront on this portion of the Thames.

“With all the new orders the Navy’s throwing their way, EB never shuts down nowadays. And even then, their backlog of past-due product is growing.”

“That’s what we get for having only two company’s geared to produce submarines,” observed the XO.

The blinding flare of a welder’s torch lit the black night, and the Defiance silently surged past the mammoth marine construction facility, where its own keel had been laid over fifteen years ago.

“By the way Al, did you ever get ahold of your wife?” queried Matt Colter.

“Sure did. Skipper,” replied the XO, who paused a second to put a flame to the tobacco in his pipe’s bowl.

“Even got to see her for a whole quarter of an hour back in the officers’ club. She looked great. That aerobic’s class she’s been attending has done wonders for her.”

“I hope you didn’t spill the beans on that second honeymoon you were planning.”

“For once in my life I was able to keep this big trap of mine shut,” observed the XO.

“Otherwise, that anniversary celebration could have been our last.

Now, I only pray Donna doesn’t get wind of the fact I’ve got another woman shacked up in my quarters here on the Defiance.”

“Like a good Navy wife, she’d understand, Al. I hope you were able to make our guest comfortable.”

The XO thoughtfully exhaled a long ribbon of fragrant smoke from his nostrils before responding.

“At least Ms. Lansing didn’t seem to be carrying any hair curlers or blow dryers on board. With the eager assistance of Lieutenant Marshall, Chief Sandusky, and several assorted gawking seamen, we were able to accommodate her. For a dame, that one sure travels light. She seemed to be carrying along more technical gear than personal belongings.”

“I don’t like having a woman on board any more than you, Al. But if she’s able to get that newfangled surface-scanning Fathometer working like it should, it’ll be well worth the hassle she’s causing. Besides, Dr.

Lansing seems to be definitely low profile. She’ll do her work and hopefully stay well out of the way of the men.”

“I sure hope so, Skipper. Because even without a lot of makeup and provocative clothing, the doctor seems to exude plenty of good old-fashioned sex appeal.”

The captain grunted.

“So I’ve noticed, XO. So I’ve noticed.”

A contemplative silence followed, and all too soon they were leaving the lights of Connecticut behind them and entering the black waters of Block Island Sound. It was as the sub’s rounded bow bit into the first Atlantic swell that a sudden voice sounded over the intercom speaker.

“Captain, we have a surface contact on radar, bearing one-four-zero. Range five and a half miles and closing.”

The lights of this ship could barely be seen in the distance. Matt Colter spoke into the intercom handset.