White Death

3

Off the northern coast of Russia

TWELVE HUNDRED MILE S southeast of the Faroe Islands, the search-and-survey ship William Beebe lay at anchor in the frigid waters of the Barents Sea. The letters NUMA were embla- zoned on the 250-foot-long turquoise hull. Named after one of the pioneers in deep-sea exploration, the Beebe bristled with muscular cranes and winches capable of hoisting entire boats off the ocean floor.

Four crewmen dressed in Neoprene wetsuits stood on the stern deck, eyes fixed on a patch of ocean where the surface roiled like a bubbling cauldron. The surface grew paler and mounded into a foamy white dome, and the submersible rescue vehicle Sea Lamprey burst from the water like a mutant leviathan coming up for air. With the precision of a navy assault team, the ready crew pushed an outboard-powered inflatable down the stern ramp into the water, scrambled aboard and raced toward the wallowing submersible.

The ready team attached a towline to the bright-orange vehicle, and a winch on board the Beebe hauled in the submersible until it was under the tall A-frame that angled out over the ship's stern. Kevlar cables were fastened to eyebolts on the submersible's abbreviated deck. The powerful A-frame motor growled, and the submersible was hoisted from the sea. As it dangled from the cables, the Sea Lam- prey offered a full view of its unlovely cylindrical hull and strangely truncated accordion bow.

The A-frame swung slowly over the deck and lowered the vehi- cle into a custom-made steel cradle, while the waiting deck crew placed a ladder against the cradle. Then the hatch at the top of the low conning tower opened and clanged back on its hinges. Kurt Austin poked his head out and blinked like a mole. His steel-gray, almost platinum, hair was radiant in the intense metallic light of the overcast sky.

Austin greeted the deck crew with a wave, then squeezed his

broad shoulders through the narrow hatchway, climbed out and stood next to the conning tower. Seconds later, his partner, Joe Zavala, stuck his head out into the fresh air and handed his partner a shiny aluminum case.

Austin tossed the case down to a stocky, middle-aged man who stood at the base of the ladder. The man was dressed in a wool turtleneck sweater, yellow rainproof pants and a slicker. Only the high-peaked cap on his head identified him as Russian navy. When he saw the case go airborne, he let out a yell of despair. He caught the container, hobbled it for an instant, then hugged it close to his chest.

As Austin and Zavala descended the ladder, the Russian opened the case and removed a paper-wrapped object cushioned in protec- tive plastic foam, then he unwrapped the paper to reveal a heavy square bottle. Holding it like a newborn, he mumbled in Russian.

Noticing the perplexed looks on the faces of the NUMA men, he said, "Pardon me gentlemen. I was offering a prayer of thanks that the contents of the container were undamaged."

Austin eyed the label and grimaced. "We just dove three hundred feet and cracked into a submarine to retrieve a bottle ofvodla?"

"Oh no,ff Vlasov replied, digging into the case. "Three bottles. The finest vodka made in Russia." He carefully unwrapped the other containers and planted a noisy kiss on each one before laying it back in the case. "Jewel of Russia is one of our finest and Moskovska is su- perb. Charodei is the best chilled."

Austin wondered if he would ever understand the Russian mind- set. "Of course," he said cheerfully. "Sinking a submarine to keep your booze cool makes perfect sense when you explain it that way."

"The submarine was an old Foxtrot-class boat used for training," Vlasov said. "It hadn't seen service for more than thirty years." He gave Austin a 14-karat-gold smile. "You must admit it was your idea to place objects on the sub to test your ability to retrieve them."

"Mea culpa. It didn't seem like a bad idea at the time."

Vlasov closed the cover of the case. "Your dive was a success, then?"

"By and large," Zavala said. "We've got a few technical problems. Nothing major."

"Then we must celebrate with a drink," Vlasov said.

Austin reached over and took the case from the Russian's hand. "No time like the present."

They picked up three plastic cups from the mess hall, then headed for the ready room. Vlasov opened the bottle of Charodei and poured a healthy portion into each cup. He raised his drink in toast. "Here's to the brave young men who died on the Kursk.

Vlasov slugged down the vodka as if he were drinking herbal tea.

Austin sipped his drink. He knew from past experience that demons lurked in the potent Russian firewater.

"And here's to something like the Kursk never happening again," Austin said.

The Kursk sinking had been one of the worst submarine disasters on record. More than a hundred crewmen had died in 2000 when the Oscar II-class cruise missile sub had sunk in the Barents Sea after an explosion in the torpedo compartment.

Vlasov said, "With your submersible, no young man serving his country in any nation need die such a horrible death. Thanks to the ingenuity of NUMA, we have a way to get into a sunken vessel whether the escape hatch is operable or accessible, or not. The inno- vations you came up with for this vehicle are revolutionary."

"That's kind of you to say, Commander Vlasov. Joe deserves the credit for hammering some odds and ends together and applying good old American common sense."

"Thanks for the praise, but I stole the idea from Mother Nature," Zavala said with typical modesty. A graduate in marine engineering from the New York Maritime College, Zavala possessed a brilliant mechanical mind. He'd been recruited by NUMA Director James Sandecker right out of college, and in addition to his duties on the Special Assignments Team led by Austin, he had designed numer- ous manned and unmanned underwater vehicles.

"Nonsense!" Vlasov said. "It's a long way from the lamprey eel to your submersible."

"The principle's the same," Zavala said. "Lampreys are superbly engineered creatures. They latch on to a moving fish, sink their ring of teeth into the skin and suck the blood out of it. We use suction and lasers rather than teeth. The main problem was coming up with a flexible watertight seal that would attach to any surface and allow us to make the cut. With the use of space-age materials and computers, we put together a pretty good package."

Vlasov raised his vodka glass again. "I hold the proof of your in- genuity in my hand. When will the Sea Lamprey be fully operational?" "Soon." Zavala said. "I hope."

"The sooner the better. I shudder to think of the potential for dis- aster. The Soviets built some magnificent boats. But my countrymen have always leaned toward gigantism over quality." Vlasov finished his drink and rose from his chair. "Now I must go back to my cabin to prepare a report for my superiors. They should be very pleased. I'm grateful for all your hard work. I will thank Admiral Sandecker per- sonally."

As Vlasov left, one of the ship's officers came into the room and told Austin he had a telephone call. Austin picked up the telephone,

listened a few moments, asked some questions, then said, "Stand by. I'll get right back to you."

He hung up and said, "That was NATO's East Atlantic subma- rine disaster office. They need our help on a rescue mission." "Someone's lost a sub?" Zavala said.

"A Danish cruiser went down off the Faroe Islands, and some of the crew were trapped inside. They're still alive, apparently. The Swedes and the Brits are on their way, but the cruiser doesn't have an escape hatch. The Danes need someone who can go directly through the hull and get the guys out. They heard we were out here making test dives."

"How long do we have?" "A few hours, the way they tell it."

Zavala shook his head. "The Faroes must be more than a thousand miles from here. The Beebe is a fast ship for her size, but she'd need wings to get there in time."

Austin thought about it a minute, then said, "You're a genius." "Glad you finally realized it. Mind telling me how you came to that conclusion? It would make a great pick-up line in a bar."

"First, let me ask: Is the Sea Lamprey in any shape to use on a real- life rescue operation? I detected a note ofCYA when Vlasov asked when it would be ready."

"We civil service types automatically take Cover Your Ass 101 when we sign on," Zavala said.

"You must have passed the course with flying colors. Well?" Zavala pondered the question for a moment. "You saw how she handled coming up."

"Sure, like a Brahma bull, but we made it okay. You'd pay big bucks for a ride like that at Disney World."

Zavala slowly shook his head. "You do have a talent for present- ing the possibility of a horrible death in a lighthearted way."

"My death wish isn't any stronger than yours. You told me the Sea Lamprey is built like a brick outhouse."

"Okay, I was bragging. Structurally, she's extremely sound. Op- erationally, she could do better."

"On balance, how do the odds of a successful mission stack up?"

"About fifty-fifty. I can jury-rig some repairs to increase the odds slightly in our favor."

"I'm not pushing you, Joe."

"You don't have to. I'd never sleep again if we didn't try to help these guys. But we've still got to get the submersible to that Danish cruiser. You've figured it out, haven't you, you old fox?" Zavala said, noting Austin's grin.

Maybe," Austin replied. "I've got a few details to work through with Vlasov."

Since I'm about to risk my life on a typical spur-of-the-moment Austin scheme, I wonder if you could tell me whats cooking under that prematurely silver-gray hair of yours?"

– Not at all/5 Austm said. "Do you recall what Vlasov said about Soviet gigantism?"

"Yeah, but-" "Think – Austin said, heading for the door. -Think real big."