“Just what I said. My men have detected a small boat with
approximately six people on board, inbound this location. Unless directed
otherwise, I intend to eliminate these complications. Your orders?” The
Spetsnaz commander’s voice was harsh and broken over the speaker. The Kilo
was moving at steerageway just barely below the surface of the ocean, her
antenna poking up above the surface for a scheduled communications break
with the team ashore.
Rogov paused, staring at the microphone, then swore quietly. The key
to executing this mission successfully required no interference from
outside sources. At the very least, if the natives landed, they would be
witnesses. They must be Inuits or Aleuts, or one of the many other bands
of native Alaskans that roamed the waters between the islands, foraging
from the sea and living as they had for centuries on the desolate islands.
Since the Oscar had eliminated the prying Greenpeace intruders, that was
the only possible explanation. From what the Spetsnaz commander had said,
the boat was too small to attempt trans-Pacific voyages. Therefore, it had
to have come from one of the other islands.
He paused and considered his options. Sinking the Greenpeace boat had
been accomplished silently and stealthily with a submarine, and there was
no evidence left behind to betray the mission. But Inuits–somebody might
miss them, and one of the other isolated islands might have contact with
the mainland. Finally, he reached a decision. “Avoid them if possible.
If you are observed or if they come ashore, take them hostage. We’ll
consider other options at a later time.”
“Very well.”
“And I will be joining you ashore tomorrow morning.” He glanced over
at the Kilo’s executive officer, who was watching him with a faintly
hopeful look on his face. “The Kilo will remain offshore to provide
assistance as needed.”
He hung up the microphone abruptly, knowing that the Spetsnaz
commander understood exactly what the phrase “other options” meant.
The executive officer didn’t. If he had, he would have known that no
Cossack ever left an untrustworthy officer at his back.
CHAPTER 5
Wednesday, 28 December
1000 Local
cvic, USS Jefferson
Commander Busby frowned and stared at the technician standing in front
of him. “You’re sure about this?”
The technician nodded. “No doubt in my military mind, sir.” The
younger man pointed at a series of lines stretching across the printout.
“Look at those frequencies. Those aren’t from military communications.
Not ours, anyway.”
“What are they from, then?” Busby asked. The three lines on the paper
that the technician pointed to were cryptic strings of numbers, indicating
frequencies and times of detection. To anyone else, it could just as well
have been a report from a Supply logistics computer. He smiled for a
second, wondering how many top-secret reports looked just as mundane.
“What’s your best classification?” he asked finally, tapping his
pencil on one column of numbers. “These frequencies–this isn’t a
long-range system.”
“You’re right about that. I’d call it some sort of short-range
tactical system–maybe even hand-held. Look how the signal strengths vary
so widely. Could be caused by geography–somebody walks behind a rock and
the antenna’s not fully extended, you get that sort of dip.”
“Did you check with our SEALS? Maybe they were playing with some of
their toys.”
The technician smirked. “Thought you might ask about that. And no,
it’s not our SEALS. The frequencies don’t match up at all.”
Commander Busby sighed and tossed the paper on his desk. The last
thing he needed right now was evidence of unknown short-range tactical
communications in their vicinity. He closed his eyes for a moment,
visualizing a chart of the area. Nowhere those signals could have come
from but the islands to the north. He opened his eyes and saw that the
technician had come to the same conclusion.
“This is impossible, you know. Just how am I supposed to explain to
the Admiral that we’re detecting radio signals from the godforsaken rocks
called the Aleutians? Nobody lives there, and we’re certainly not ashore.
If we’re wrong about this, we’re going to stir up a hell of a lot of
trouble for nothing. Every intelligence group on board and back home is