“But we can’t guarantee anything if
“Understood, Admiral,” Zhabin said, smiling. “I would make the same orders in your position.”
“Is there anything we can do on our end to help you?” Allende asked.
Lilya answered. “Tell your president that these weapons are opposed by much of Vostov’s own government. But ask him to let us solve the problem ourselves.”
Allende nodded. “Admiral Catardi? Anything to add?”
“Not from my end. I want to thank you for meeting us,” Catardi said.
Zhabin smiled. “Another toast, Admiral and Madam Director. To success with no loss of life.”
Catardi and Allende drank. By the time the farewells had been said, Allende was getting fuzzy from the vodka. She and Catardi watched as the Russian’s vehicle vanished down the mountain road, then climbed into their SUV for the trip to the airport.
Back in the Gulfstream, as it lined up to take off, Catardi looked over at Allende.
“How’d you know the Russians would be open to a talk about this? How’d you know they didn’t agree with Vostov’s placement of Poseidon torpedoes?”
Margo Allende tilted her head and grinned at Catardi. “I’m CIA. We know everything.”
But since that meeting, the situation had gone to holy hell.
“Margo,” Vice President Pacino said harshly to the Situation Room full of admirals, generals, and intelligence agency senior officers. “What the bloody hell is going
“Admiral Sutton, ONI, has an analysis for us, Mr. Vice President,” Allende said.
Frieda Sutton walked to the large display of the chart of the Arctic Ocean. “Our seismic and sonar sensors output their data, that was examined using triangulation from widely separated sensors to come up with this analysis, but be aware, this is by no means definitive. Mr. Vice President, this is our best guess.”
“Skip the goddamned fine print,” Pacino barked. “Just get to it.”
“Yes, sir. Starting yesterday at 1320 Zulu time, the first nuclear detonation was detected here, in the range of one megaton. We believe this was a Russian Magnum torpedo, or, as the Russians call it, a Gigantskiy.” The plot zoomed into a space on the map, at latitude 85 north. “For ninety minutes, there was nothing heard but the aftermath of the explosion, but when that calmed down, there was a very small explosion, probably an impact of a conventional torpedo, which was triangulated to the same place as the Magnum detonation. A few minutes later, at 1458 Zulu, a rocket launch was detected from approximately the same location. We believe this to be a Tomahawk SUBROC lifting off. At 1459, a second rocket launch was registered. Two minutes later, a second Magnum torpedo exploded, this one a few miles west of the original detonation. Very soon after, one of the SUBROCs exploded, perhaps ten or twelve miles north-northwest of the Magnum explosion, registering about 250 kilotons. We only recorded one SUBROC depth charge detonation. The other one must have been a dud.”
“Has there been any communication from the
A third-class petty officer in crackerjack blues knocked and was admitted. He rushed a pad computer over to Admiral Sutton, who scanned it quickly, then passed it to Admiral Catardi.
“Sir,” Sutton said, “we just got a detect of an emergency locator beacon, an ELB, coming from the zone of the first Magnum detonation.”
“Is there a situation report?” Pacino asked.
“There was a faint transmission,” Sutton said. “It was garbled. All we have is the ELB, which is just a dumb SOS transmitter that tries to upload its latitude and longitude.”
Pacino turned to Air Force General Abdul Zaka, the chairman of the joint chiefs. “General, what’s the status of search and rescue aircraft being dispatched to this ELB site?”
“Sir,” Zaka started, glancing at the table, a sure sign the news was bad. “SAR was terminated an hour ago. There’s a ‘once in a generation’ storm equivalent to a Category 4 hurricane brewing out of north Canada that’s headed to the pole.” He projected his display, and Sutton’s map disappeared, a weather map taking its place over the north pole, the circulation of the massive storm showing it approaching the pole within the next hour. “Mr. Vice President, we’re grounded, from Alaska to the Baffin Bay.”
“Can we ask the Russians for help?” Pacino asked.
Zaka shook his head. “By the time they put together aircraft and crews, sir, the storm will have overtaken the ELB location. In a few hours, the entire Arctic Ocean will be socked in.”
“How long will this persist?” Pacino demanded.
“At best, three days. At worst, two weeks,” Zaka said.
“Admiral Catardi,” Pacino said, “What’s the status of the rescue submarines?”
