Dangerous Ground

17. DISAPPOINTMENT

The first excursion into Oga Cuba had been a long one and the Manta’s batteries were sorely depleted. It took almost eight hours for them to recharge, during which Jerry tried working on the division’s paperwork and the next item in his qual book. Unfortunately, he got hauled into the planning sessions for the next series of sorties and had to spend a lot of time with Patterson and the Captain instead. So, while the batteries were recharging, Jerry worked with the two of them and Emily to develop a search plan for the rest of Oga Guba. Since Emily’s ROV’s didn’t have the speed or endurance to conduct extensive searching, the task fell entirely on the Manta — and by default, Jerry.

Russian territorial waters extended twelve miles from the coast, but the Manta’s acoustic modem only had a maximum range of seven and a half miles. That made it possible to search much of the littoral. And while Patterson made it clear that she would have preferred searching all the way to the shoreline, it was just for the sake of thoroughness. From the Yablokov and Bellona reports on the Kara Sea dumping grounds, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the Soviet’s disposal methods.

“The Soviets didn’t appear to have any organized system for where they dumped their radioactive waste,” complained Patterson. “They scuttled a nuclear submarine in twenty meters of water, dumped defueled reactors in seventy-five meters, and ordinary solid waste in the deep trench to the east of the island. Any bottom type, any depth, inside or out of territorial waters, it didn’t matter. And Soviet records are so poor they can only say the number of waste containers is somewhere between six and eleven thousand.”

Jerry had heard the statistic before, and waited patiently for Dr. Patterson to refocus on the search plan. She was demanding, arrogant, and impatient, but she knew her stuff and she obviously cared.

“All we have to do is find evidence of new containers being dumped, that the Russian government is no better than their predecessors. We can then alert the world to the threat and also cement the President’s position as an environmental leader!”

“And to find those containers, we need to decide where we are going to look.” Hardy’s reminder snapped Patterson out her reverie. “Doctor, you’re the expert here. Where should we search?”

She sighed heavily. Annoyed that Hardy didn’t just get the political ramifications of the mission. “It doesn’t really matter. One spot is as good as another.”

They picked five search areas, all roughly of the same size and slightly overlapping each other. By the time they were done, it was a little after 1600. Patterson headed aft to finish working on the results from the samples, and Hardy disappeared into his stateroom.

The Manta’s batteries would be fully charged by 1930 that evening, so that gave him just over three hours to do all the things that he was supposed to have done since breakfast that morning. And he was supposed to have the six to midnight in control. And the noon to six tomorrow. He’d miss both of them while he flew the Manta.

Jerry had to talk to the XO. He found Bair in his stateroom. “Sir, regarding my watch in control this evening…”

“Already taken care of,” Bair interrupted. “Patterson talked to Hardy this morning, and as of now you’re off the watch list.”

Jerry felt a few of the bricks from the ton on his back disappear, but he was still concerned. “What about my qualifications?”

Bair smiled. “Not a problem. We’ll just have you stand double watches on the way home.”

“I was afraid of that, sir.” Jerry replied.

“I’ll give you all the help I can,” Bair assured him, “but for now your only task is the Manta and supporting Dr. Davis’ ROV operations. Without that, there’s no mission. Let Foster run the division. Besides, you’ll be almost living in the torpedo room anyway.”

“Yessir,” Jerry acknowledged reluctantly and headed down to his spaces. He had to find Foster and fill him in and for a moment reveled in not having to look over his shoulder while he tried to run the division.

That evening and for the next two days, Jerry flew five sorties in Oga Cuba. Before each flight, Jerry would program the search pattern into the Manta, which was smart enough to fly on autopilot once it was launched. While that would help reduce pilot fatigue and the chance of missing anything, it didn’t help with the actual survey. Somebody had to watch the screen and interpret the sonar image. Captain Hardy made it clear that while the enlisted men could help with the watch, the Manta operator was the “primary sensor operator.” If the Manta flew, Jerry had to be there to see what it saw.

The pace was hard. Fully charged, the Manta’s battery would last for twenty hours at five knots or eight hours at ten. There was no such thing as a short sortie. Patterson and Hardy both insisted that unless the Manta was actually charging, it would be searching.

It took ten hours to charge the battery when it was flat. Jerry could bet on sleeping about half that time, but even after Bair excused him from standing watches, there was still some work he couldn’t get out of.

While the Manta was charging, Hardy kept Memphis in motion. The sub would head away from the coast as soon as the Manta was recovered, never lurking in the same place for more than a few hours. They would head for the deepest water nearby, then loop back to take up position in time for the next sortie.

For the most part, the Russians left them alone. There were two settlements on Novaya Zemlya, both military bases. Supplies came into them by ship, but from the western side. If the Barents was the Russian Navy’s front step, the Kara was more like the side yard the kids never played in.

The watches, keyed up after their distant encounters with Russian units, started to get careless as monotony set in, and with Hardy’s concurrence, the XO started inserting synthetic contacts into the sonar and fire-control system. Hardy was merciless when the first contact was missed by the sonarmen for a full five minutes.

Once a day, Memphis carefully came to periscope depth to receive the Fleet broadcast. They would always extend the periscope with its ESM intercept antenna first, before raising one of the communication antennas, but it only picked up the fixed surveillance radars that lined the coast. Both the periscope and comms antenna were very small and were further treated with radar-absorbing material, so there was no chance of them being detected by the coastal stations.

They did find things. On Friday, the first full day of searching, on the second sortie of the day, the Manta’s sonar picked up a jumble of shapes on a smooth seabed, and Davis quickly launched one of the ROVs to investigate.

While Jerry’s Manta circled protectively, Huey photographed and sampled a previously unknown waste dump. At least one hundred, and maybe as many as two hundred steel waste cylinders littered a mile-square area. Half-buried in silt, Patterson and Davis estimated they’d been there thirty years or more. All were corroded, and some were cracked and obviously leaking.

Dr. Patterson could hardly contain her excitement as Davis methodically ran Huey’s camera over the canisters, then carefully sampled the seabed.

“Look at all this waste! And from the initial readings, some of it is spent fuel. There must be at least ten times the amount of highly radioactive material here than was released during the Chernobyl reactor incident. Over fifteen thousand cancer-related fatalities have been linked to that environmental disaster. If this stuff spreads, it will be much, much worse,” mused Patterson with awe in her voice. “If this wasn’t such a remote area, this would already be an international catastrophe.”

They also found a smaller site the next day on the fourth sortie. The Manta’s sonar return was even more confused. When one of Emily’s ROVs reached the location, its camera revealed a tangle of machinery, badly rusted, but only slightly radioactive. They were also nearly buried in silt, and it took some time for Emily, using the axial thruster, to uncover a cluster of 1970s-era machine tools. She used the ROV to photograph everything and sampled the seabed, but Patterson wanted to go further.

In the control room, she argued, “If we use the sample tube correctly, we may be able to bring back a small piece from one of the cutting surfaces. We could find out what materials they were machining.”

“How radioactive would the sample be?” Hardy demanded. Every sailor in the space was thinking the same question.

“Possibly quite radioactive” she answered excitedly. “Steel absorbs neutron radiation and becomes…”

“Yes, Doctor,” interrupted Hardy, “please remember we’re on a nuclear submarine. We’re familiar with the process.”

“Of course, Captain,” replied Patterson with a condescending tone. “The radiation hazard, as you know, is dependent on the type of steel. If it is plain carbon steel, the hazard is quite low, as most iron and carbon isotopes are beta emitters…”

“Electrons ejected from an isotope’s nucleus that can’t even penetrate a piece of paper,” Hardy said impatiently. “But if that machine out there worked on irradiated stainless steel, then that means the potential for cobalt-60, which has two very nasty gamma rays. And since the ROV is detecting some gamma activity, that should concern me very much, shouldn’t it, Doctor?”

Patterson, surprised by Hardy’s quick appreciation of the situation, was momentarily left speechless. She briefly stared at him, reassessing his abilities, as if she were evaluating a political opponent whom she respected. “You are correct, Captain. However, I believe the risk will be minimum and we should still attempt to gain a sample if we can.”

Hardy was adamant. “Very well, Doctor, but I’ll only allow it if the piece is not highly radioactive. If it is, I’ll have it thrown overboard in a heartbeat. I won’t allow my crew to be unnecessarily exposed to a significant radiation hazard and I don’t even want to think of what it would do to our radiation monitoring system.”

Patterson nodded to the phone talker, now merely a senior petty officer and not the Weapons Officer. After several sorties, Hardy had relaxed a little about Jerry’s abilities with the Manta, as well as Davis and her ROVs. The talker passed the decision on to Davis, who said she’d do what she could. As Huey’s camera zoomed in on a cutting tool, Patterson couldn’t bear to watch and headed for the torpedo room.

She arrived to find everyone manning their stations, but Emily Davis was the center of attention as she searched in the murky water for a piece small enough to fit in the sample container. Focused on the controls and the video display, she did not acknowledge Patterson’s presence until she spoke.

“Dr. Davis, you need to locate a small piece of steel. Make sure it’s not aluminum or plastic. And it has to be from a working surface, so it will have traces of whatever they were forming. And…”

“Doctor, I’m a little busy right now.” Davis said. She managed to mix both patience and frustration in her tone. “This ROV is not designed to retrieve pieces of metal. I don’t have a remote claw, much less a cutting tool, so I’m reduced to looking for pieces that broke or fell off the equipment when it hit the seabed. And since steel is denser than aluminum or plastic, it’s probably completely buried in the silt. And I don’t have a digging tool, either!” she finished sharply.

Patterson, taken aback, said, “I’m sure you’re doing your best.”

She didn’t say anything else, but did stay and watch as Davis maneuvered the ROV near the pile of junked tools. Time after time she approached and used the thrusters to move silt away from the machinery. Then she’d wait for the water to clear so she could search the bottom.

After many tries, they were unable to find anything, but Patterson had Davis continue the search until Duey’s battery ran low. Jerry was busy with the Manta, but he could see that Patterson was disappointed and argued with Emily briefly before leaving the torpedo room.

After the ROV was recovered, Jerry was waiting for the Manta, still twenty minutes away, which had been farther out. He asked Emily, “Why was that sample so important? What was she looking for?”

“Nothing specific,” Davis replied, “But she’s looking for a smoking gun. She doesn’t have what she needs yet.”

Jerry was confused. “But we’ve confirmed the information in those other surveys, and we’ve found more stuff the Soviets had dumped.”

Davis shook her head. “It’s not enough. The Russians cooperated with the surveys and admit they don’t know where everything is. Finding some of the old missing material is good, but that’s not going to make news.”

She stepped away from the ROV console and the torpedomen servicing Duey. She pulled Jerry aft to a quieter spot in the torpedo room. “I’ve learned this much from working with Dr. Patterson. The government and the media need an immediate threat. These dumpsites are all bad, very bad, but they’re not going to be a significant ecological problem for another twenty-five, maybe fifty years. President Huber can’t make headlines with a problem that’s half a century away.”

“But we found canisters that were leaking,” Jerry protested.

“It isn’t spreading. They’re small leaks and our sampling so far shows that the effect is highly localized. The radiation hasn’t even reached the shore. Right now”—and she emphasized the word—”it’s not even a threat to Novaya Zemlya, much less continental Russia, even much less Europe or the rest of the world.”

Jerry smiled grimly. “So Dr. Patterson not only wants to find new radioactive waste that’s been dumped since the Russians said they stopped, but she needs to find waste that has been spreading, big time.”

“And she hasn’t found either yet.” Davis leaned closer and spoke softly. “Last night she told me that she had simply assumed the sites would be polluting the area nearby. She didn’t believe the Russian or the other reports that suggested the problem was not as severe as first thought. Now she’s wondering if she will find what she needs.”

“It’s only been three days,” Jerry replied just as softly. “We’ve got two more weeks of surveying.”

“She’s not a patient person, and like I said, she just assumed the radiation would be spreading. In her business, she has to be certain of things. Now she’s not sure of anything. She’s getting scared, and she’ll be pushing us all very hard until she finds what she needs.”

And Patterson did push hard. After they finished searching Oga Guba, Memphis headed north for Tsivol’ska Guba. In 1966, the nuclear-powered icebreaker Lenin suffered a nuclear accident that killed thirty sailors. It took six years to repair her and she received a new propulsion plant. Her three old reactors were removed and dumped in the bay in 1967, along with a container loaded with damaged fuel elements.

Dr. Patterson was especially interested in the last item. “The last survey was twenty years ago. We’re going over every inch of the damn thing. We’ll compare the new data with the earlier survey results and see if it’s leaked at all.” At her direction, Davis used Dewy to thoroughly photograph every surface and then sample the seabed on two sides.

The radiation from the Lenin reactors was extremely high, nearly 100 rem per hour. Davidson whistled when he saw the readings and muttered in awe, “That must have been one hell of an accident.” An understatement if there ever was one, but one everybody could agree with. And yet, despite the clear evidence of significant activity, neither the reactor compartment nor the spent fuel containers showed an appreciable leakage into the nearby environment.

Tsivol’ska Guba was larger and it took six sorties over three days to cover it. They found more spent solid waste canisters, a few pumps, piping, and some junked machinery, but everything was either listed in the various reports — or looked like it should have been. Jerry saw Patterson’s frustration grow. After that came Sedov Guba.

During the transit north, Hardy asked Patterson if he could read the various reports she was referring to, so that he could “get smarter on the problem.” With obvious delight, she handed him four sizable documents and offered to discuss them with him at his convenience. She beamed over the idea that Hardy was finally coming around and becoming more environmentally aware.

MEMPHIS arrived at Sedov Guba on the fourth of June and the search procedure was started all over again. The Yablokov report listed a collection of spent fuel canisters there, and after locating and surveying that site, Jerry and Emily flew another six collection sorties covering most of the bay.

While they found a lot of material, including solid waste canisters, a few fuel rods, and even a discarded experimental reactor vessel, it was all consistent with the Russian documentation. Everything they found had been there for decades, and while there was some leakage from corroded containers, the contamination hadn’t gone very far. Like the other sites, the radiological problem appeared to be very localized.

Patterson was not getting what she needed and her desperation grew. She started taking water samples every six hours, hoping that leeched radioactive material might be collecting in pockets of water in the bay. She even talked to the Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Ho, about ways of increasing the sensitivity of the tests, on the theory that the pollution was there, but at extremely low levels.

On Wednesday the eighth, with Sedov Guba finished, the crew stood down from ROV operations for a day. Jerry was still excused from watch-standing, and he used the time to catch up on the jungle of paperwork that had flourished on his desk. The stack took up so much of his desk that he moved the whole mess to the wardroom, where he could spread it out on the table.

Emily Davis was already at work when Jerry came into the wardroom, but she quickly made room for him and his mountain of paper. Her half of the table was covered by a chart, printouts of the local tide tables, and a couple of textbooks on nuclear chemistry. “What’s this about?” Jerry asked.

“It’s another one of her ‘ideas,’” Davis explained cynically. “She wants me to see if currents or tides could be carrying the leaking waste in toward shore.”

“And that would explain the low levels elsewhere in the bays?”

“She hopes so.” Davis shrugged. “It’s not my area of expertise, and I don’t have the best references, but I’ve never heard of that phenomenon. It’s not supported by the other documents, and from what I can tell the local tides are all different. To suggest that this might be what’s been happening in all three of the bays we’ve searched, just doesn’t make any sense. She’s pretty desperate. Right now she’s in her stateroom tearing apart every environmental report she’s brought with her, looking for anything that will help.”

“Help prove her point?” Jerry asked.

“If she doesn’t come back with enough new evidence of environmental abuses by the Soviets or the Russians, then she’s finished. Her career as a presidential adviser will be over.”

Jerry settled down to his paperwork while Emily continued hers. His stuff was routine admin, though, and it couldn’t hold his attention. He considered Patterson’s problems and his own.

If she did not find what she needed, would the mission be considered a failure? Memphis had been sent to survey the area and collect samples. On a reconnaissance mission, there were usually no expectations. You went, you looked, and then you reported what you saw. This mission had been ordered because of what some people expected to find. Political reputations would be gained or lost based on their patrol report.

And frankly, Jerry wasn’t interested in being a part of a hyped claim of impending environmental disaster. Personally, he was glad that the contents of the drums and casks and waste containers hadn’t spread. It was just bad news for people who had said with such certainty that it had. They wanted a stick to beat the Russians with, and they hadn’t found one yet.

Patterson had staked her political and scientific reputation on proving a point. She’d made a promise to her boss, who happened to be the President of the United States. It was a strong reminder of why the military stayed out of politics.

On Thursday, the ninth of June, Memphis moved slowly into Techeniye Guba, the northernmost and last of the four bays they were to search. The crew was in good spirits, looking forward to starting for home in a few days.

Two previously surveyed sites, a lighter full of waste and a discarded reactor compartment, were located and verified. Like the other locations they’d already examined, there was little sign of the waste having spread.

At dinner that evening, some of the officers began to talk about the trip home. Four more Manta and ROV sorties over the next two days would cover the bay, and then they’d be finished.

Dr. Patterson listened to the conversation quietly, but Jerry could see she was not happy. She hadn’t been all day and now she spoke. “Captain Hardy, I’d like to extend the survey.”

“What?” Hardy’s surprised outburst caused the officers to jump out of their seats.

“I want to add some more sites to the search plan, perhaps even cover another bay.”

“Doctor, I can’t see the point of remaining here any longer. It only increases the risk of the Russians…”

“But we haven’t found what we were looking for!” she interrupted.

“Doctor, you’ve surveyed four previously known dumps and located over a dozen new ones. We’ve collected samples and photographic evidence.”

“It’s not enough. We’ve been looking for evidence of new waste being dumped or that the old waste had been entering the environment in significant amounts and we’ve found neither.”

“Maybe it’s not there to find.” Hardy’s bland statement was logical, but Jerry knew the effect it would have on Patterson. If it was true, then her plans were ruined.

“And maybe we just haven’t found it yet. We’ve only surveyed a fraction of the coastline. With more time…”

“Which we don’t have,” Hardy reminded her sharply. “You were on a tight schedule. We increased speed to get here, and we’re going to have to hurry on the way back.”

“Even an extra day would help. I know there’s that much margin.”

“Which means, what, another two or three Manta sorties? We’ve done twenty so far and have another four planned. What will two more provide us in terms of definitive evidence?” Hardy softened his tone slightly. “Doctor, you’ve convinced me of the danger to the environment that these dumpsites presents, but maybe it will take longer than you think to spread.” Paterson’s expression showed how worried she was that Hardy might be right.

Jerry expected Patterson to order Hardy to comply, to threaten him if he didn’t cooperate, but she simply sat there, silently. Finally she said softly, “I’ll just have to hope we find more in this bay than we did in the others.”

The next day Jerry’s Manta began searching Techeniye Guba. Within an hour, he found a cluster of spent fuel canisters. On the second sortie, a pile of junked pumps and other propulsion-related machinery. The ROVs’ investigations showed that neither presented the kind of immediate threat that Dr. Patterson was now longing for. Disappointed, she pushed Jerry hard to keep the Manta out as long as possible and shared her frustration with anyone that came within earshot.

On the second day, during the third Manta sortie, Jerry picked up a large contact on the sonar. It was so large it couldn’t be anything but a barge or a small ship of some sort.

“Maybe it’s a submarine,” Patterson speculated as Davis sent Huey to investigate. She’d come to the torpedo room as soon as Jerry had reported the contact, even though there was little she could do. She double-checked Davis’ navigation and went over the battery figures to compute how much time they’d have once they got there. Finally a request from Hardy for her to return to the control room left Jerry and everyone else grateful for his intervention.

Jerry’s Manta took up its customary protective circle while Huey approached the contact. Emily kept the ROV well away from the seabed, both to keep from stirring up the bottom and so they could get an overall look at whatever it was.

About twenty feet away, the ROV’s camera finally revealed the edge of a large structure. Stanchions and lifelines identified it as some sort of vessel. She passed the camera down its flat sides to a square-cut end. After some inspection, they were able to determine that it was the stern.

The radiation count was low, barely above background — just a faint gamma count. “So whatever’s in there is either well contained or there is very little in terms of radioactive material,” Jerry surmised. More disappointment for Dr. Patterson.

But what was in there? Patterson’s voice joined them on the circuit, impatient with passing questions through a phone talker. As they speculated, Emily Davis continued to search the exterior of the barge with the ROV’s camera. It was a lot like looking at an elephant through a keyhole. If she moved far enough back to get a larger view, the water completely obscured her view, so she was limited to examining one small patch of the hull at a time.

The barge carried no markings, which was not unusual. The almost complete absence of marine growth and corrosion indicated that it had been there for only about ten years or so. “So the late ‘80s or early ‘90s, right?” Davis asked on the circuit. Patterson concurred.

It had settled neatly on the bottom, scuttled by what appeared to be ballast-tank-like sections along the fore and aft ends. The top of the barge also appeared to have what looked like valve connections, possibly for compressed air lines or to attach a pump of some sort. Whatever this barge was, it looked like it was made to be recovered.

“But what is it?” Patterson asked over the circuit. “The Soviets built specialized barges to hold spent fuel containers. This isn’t the same design.”

The deck of the barge was covered with three hatches, presumably leading down to the cargo hold. One of the hatches lay partially open, leaving a small opening that managed to look both inviting and menacing at the same time.

“Probably popped open by a buildup of air pressure as the barge sank,” speculated Davis on the circuit.

“We’ve got to take a look in there,” Patterson declared.

Howard, the enlisted phone talker, added, “Captain Hardy says ‘Do not go into the hatchway.’”

Patterson’s voice was just as insistent. “I’m sure we can maneuver the ROV inside.”

Davis tried to speak. “Dr. Patterson, the ROV. ”

Howard’s voice came on again. “Captain Hardy wants to see Dr. Davis in control right now.”

Davis replied, “Tell the Captain I can’t leave my station while the ROV is operating.”

There was a pause on the circuit, and then Howard said, “Captain Hardy and Dr. Patterson are on their way down.” His tone carried the message, “Look out.”

Although Memphis was at patrol quiet, with all normal machinery operating, Jerry heard them coming before they even got to the torpedo room. Hardy’s voice carried through the door forward. “…will not risk losing…”

Dr. Patterson cut him off. “If we don’t take a few risks, we won’t accomplish our mission.”

“Madam,” answered Hardy sharply, “we’re submerged in poorly charted shoal waters, sending remotely operated vehicles into Russian territory so we can survey radioactive waste. That’s quite enough risk for me.”

Patterson burst through the door first and immediately started grilling Emily. “Dr. Davis, how hard would it be to send the ROV through that opening to see what’s in the cargo hold? I told the Captain that there would be little or no risk, because of your skill with the vehicles.”

Flustered by the question, Davis delayed. “There are many risks we have to consider. Beyond the obvious one of snagging the cable or breaking it, we don’t know how well Huey will be able to maneuver if we go inside. And how stable is the cargo? Will he be trapped by debris? It might be dislodged by the wash from the thruster. And the silt in there could make it so murky we’d be blind in any case.”

Hardy pounced on her statement. “So you think the risks are too great.” He sounded satisfied. Patterson managed to scowl at both Davis and Hardy at the same time.

Seeing Patterson’s expression, Davis answered truthfully, “I am curious, too, sir.”

“Curiosity is not a good enough reason for risking a multimillion-dollar ROV and the covertness of this mission. Imagine the Russians’ surprise if they discovered a ROV entangled in the cargo hold of a barge inside their territorial waters.”

“Oh, and do you think they come here and check often?” Patterson’s tone was acidic.

Davis raised a hand. “Captain, Doctor, we’re using up Huey’s batteries while we argue. Why don’t I maneuver over the open hatch, point the camera down, and see what we can see?”

Hardy couldn’t argue with that — and didn’t. Patterson just smiled broadly. Jerry had to force himself to watch the Manta’s display, stealing only occasional glances at the ROV’s video screen.

Emily approached the barge slowly, careful to use a path as clear of obstructions as possible. With a delicate touch, she lowered the ROV to deck level, with the camera and light overhanging the open hatch. She panned the lens back and forth.

The inside of the hold revealed only dark, angular shadows. It was an unsatisfying image and Patterson clearly wanted more. “Shift the ROV a little,” she ordered. “Maybe if the light comes in at a different angle. ”

“Yes,” Davis answered softly. Skillfully, she backed Huey away and then approached again, so that the light came in from another direction, almost ninety degrees off the earlier view. It was no more revealing, although combining the two views suggested rectangular boxes or crates — a lot of them.

“We have to send the ROV in,” Patterson insisted.

“What’s the radiation reading?” Hardy temporized.

“Very slight, only 10 millirem per hour,” Davis reported. “The cargo is radioactive, but what it is I can’t imagine. It certainly doesn’t look like spent fuel.”

“Those are not spent fuel containers,” Patterson declared. “At least they’re no shape I’ve ever seen or read of.” She looked at Hardy and put her hand on his arm. “Please, Captain.”

Almost startled by her polite intensity, Hardy nodded silently to Davis, who settled herself and took a deep breath.

“First. I’m going to inspect the edge of the hatchway. I want to make sure that there are no sharp edges or hidden snags.” She panned the camera over all four sides of the opening at maximum magnification. The edges were smooth and regular and were covered with a layer of fine silt. “I’m going to reposition,” she announced and backed the ROV off.

The new path brought Huey in at a forty-five-degree angle, so that its length lay across the corners of the hatch, not its edges. She came up to the opening, paused, then scanned the camera in all directions before moving forward. After a few yards, she paused and looked again. It took two more pauses before Davis was satisfied with the Huey’s position in the hatchway.

She gently lowered the ROV, angling the thruster to move it vertically. While everyone was curious about the cargo, Emily kept the cameras pointed at the edge of the hatch so she could gauge Huey’s movements.

She let Huey settle until the ROV was well clear of the hatchway, at least four feet overhead. The camera’s view was being obscured by silt, but not too badly. “I’m killing the motors,” she suddenly announced. “There won’t be a current here.” Hopefully the neutrally buoyant ROV would hover, motionless, as the sediment settled.

When she pointed the camera down, the image was reasonably clear. They could see the cargo hold, perhaps thirty or forty feet long, running across the width of the barge. It was filled by rectangular boxes, about half the length of the ROV. They had obviously been stacked in two layers in the hold, but had been jostled around somewhat by the sinking.

Risking a short puff of the thruster, Davis pivoted Huey in place, but the rest of the hold simply held more boxes.

“I’m going to approach one,” she announced and lightly touched the controls. The ROV drifted forward, and within a few moments, she was just two yards away from the stacked objects.

“That is not a waste container,” Patterson repeated. “Look at it. It’s a case or a crate. See the latches and the lid? That isn’t how you seal a container of radioactive waste.”

“It is if you’re a Soviet bureaucrat,” answered Hardy. “Especially one who doesn’t give a fig about the consequences. I agree it wasn’t built to hold waste, but that’s doesn’t tell us what’s inside there now.”

“Except that it’s radioactive, but not all that much.” Emily added, looking at the meter.

“How about unspent fuel rods?” Hardy suggested.

Patterson shrugged. “That’s a funny way to store them, and it’s a lot of them to store. See if you can find any markings.”

Emily slowly maneuvered Huey in the hold, bringing the camera to bear on the tops and sides of several boxes. While they may have had markings, they had been sloppily but thoroughly sprayed over with black paint. Only a Cyrillic R, in black, was visible on one of the box ends.

Watching the battery level, Davis finally announced. “I’m bringing Huey out. We need to come home.”

“Wait!” ordered Patterson. “Can we take a sample in here?”

“Of what?” asked Hardy.

“At least get a water sample,” Patterson insisted and Emily complied. First, she stirred up the silt with Huey’s thruster, so that some of the sediment would be included in the sample.

Even as the sample was being collected, Davis carefully positioned the ROV, then ascended through the hatch. This time, with experience and the open water ahead of her, she maneuvered it more surely. She still had to be careful of the thin fiber-optic cable, making sure it did not loop around an obstruction or snag on a jagged surface.

“Take another sample here, right next to the hull,” Patterson directed, although as Davis positioned Huey and started the sequence, Jerry thought she looked unsatisfied.

Davis had barely started the ROV toward Memphis when Patterson said, “Captain, I need to open one of those cases. We have to see what’s inside them.”

Astounded, Hardy firmly replied. “Out of the question, Doctor. We’ve talked about this before. I won’t bring anything radioactive that doesn’t fit in the sample tubes aboard Memphis. And just how did you intend to examine it?”

“With the divers. And they wouldn’t have to bring it aboard if they opened it there, in the hold.”

That suggestion froze Jerry’s blood solid. Send them into there, to open one of those cases?

Hardy was gentler with her idea than Jerry would have expected. “Dr. Patterson, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“It’s shallow enough. And they wouldn’t have to do anything complicated. Just swim in and open a case.”

“Exposing them to whatever’s inside,” Hardy added. “What if it’s toxic or highly radioactive? We don’t know what those cases are made of, so we certainly can’t estimate their shielding qualities. You know that even a small amount of material would constitute a dangerous dose to anyone in close proximity. I won’t risk anyone just to satisfy your curiosity.”

“But this is what we’ve been looking for! We can’t go back with the site unidentified.”

“Doctor, even if I were to agree with you, the barge is miles inside Russian waters. I’d have to bring Memphis in close just so that they could make the swim, and I’m not allowed to enter Russian territory. They’d be unhappy enough about ROVs and the samples if they knew.”

“But we’ve hardly seen any Russian ships or planes. Can’t you just look at the chart?” she wheedled. “If we can get close enough, it’s just a short swim…”

Hardy’s voice showed more irritation. “I will not look at the chart because to do so might imply that there was a chance we’d actually do this. My orders are absolute, and I will remind you that you helped write those orders, and they are orders not just from the Chief of Naval Operations but the President himself.”

Dr. Patterson looked at Davis, as if for support, but Emily’s expression was carefully neutral. The silence in the torpedo room stretched on until, with nothing to say and thunderclouds on her brow, Patterson quickly walked out, almost running, to escape her frustration.

Hardy looked more than concerned, and Jerry wondered how this would read in her mission report — and Hardy’s. Finally the Captain’s features softened. He ordered, “Inform control as soon as you’ve recovered both the vehicles” and then he left.