Operation Petrograd

Thirteen

The water was warm in comparison to the air temperature. Carter, Barber, and Morgan surfaced between a pair of sub pens on the west side of the turning basin about halfway between the road and the Petrograd sub. They were in the shadows there, and had surfaced on Carter's signal to get their bearings.

Carter spit out his mouthpiece and pulled Morgan closer. "As soon as we round the corner into the pen, I want you to plant your explosives."

"How long do you want on the timer?"

"Wait until we come out. I'll tell you then. But we might be on the run, so you'll have to work fast."

"Aye, aye," Morgan said.

"You all right?" Carter asked Barber. The man seemed to be hyperventilating.

"Let's get on with it," he snapped irritably.

Carter debated with himself if he should send the CIA man back to wait with Hansen. But it was too late now. It would be much safer for them all to go ahead rather than split up and risk discovery.

They submerged again and continued along the length of the turning basin. They were only a few feet under the surface. Below and to either side the water was inky black. But above, they could see odd shapes from the strong lights shining in many of the individual submarine pens.

Near the far end of the turning basin they angled into the Petrograd's pen and surfaced just behind the stern of the huge boat.

Carter reached out and touched the black hull. The surface was soft, almost rubbery; it reminded him of the skin of a dolphin. Evidently it was a special surface treatment that helped absorb radar and sonar pulses, much like U.S. stealth-capable aircraft.

For a minute Carter watched along the length of the boat for a sign of activity. A series of very strong overhead lights illuminated most of the boat. But only every fourth light was on, and there were no workmen or naval personnel on deck.

He turned and motioned for Morgan to submerge and place the explosives. "We're going aboard now," he whispered. "As soon as you're ready, stand by back here. If anything goes wrong aboard, set the timer for a few minutes and get the hell out."

Morgan nodded, then sank silently out of sight. He was in his element now, and Carter knew the man would do exactly as he was told.

A Soviet guard, his automatic weapon slung barrel down over his shoulder, appeared on a catwalk at the front of the pen, walked to the end, turned, and slowly walked back the way he had come, disappearing beyond the conning tower. He was bored. He hadn't even looked down at the sub as he passed.

Carter reached down, pulled off his flippers, clipped them to his belt, and then scrambled up onto the after-deck, using the vent holes as handholds.

Barber joined him a few seconds later as Carter pulled out his remaining gas bomb and the silenced Mac 10. Barber had his gun out.

Silently they hurried forward to the lee of the huge sail that housed the conning tower itself, periscopes, antennae, and the bridge.

They crouched in the darkness. A few seconds later the bored guard crossed in front of the catwalk, turned again, and walked back.

The moment he was out of sight, Carter and Barber climbed up onto the cigarette deck, then around to the bridge. The hatch was open. A dim white light shone from below, and they could hear someone talking in low tones.

Carter motioned for Barber to watch for the guard on the catwalk, then he set the timer on Pierre, waited a second or two, and tossed the bomb below.

It hit with a metallic clatter. For a moment the talking below ceased, then someone swore. An instant later, Pierre went off with a soft pop.

Carter looked up as the guard on the catwalk passed once again. But he had not heard a thing. The sounds of the diesel engine running somewhere nearby were loud enough to drown out any incidental noises.

The guard turned and went the other way, disappearing again.

The entire setup was beginning to bother Carter. Security here was supposed to be very tight. But the perimeter fence had not been electrified, nor had there been any foot patrols out there in the woods or at the edge of the sub pens. To cap it off, the guard here at the Petrograd sub itself seemed indifferent to his duty. It didn't make a lot of sense.

Carter swung his legs over the edge of the hatch and cautiously climbed down into the boat. The air smelled like a mix of almonds — the residue of the gas from Pierre — and new electronic equipment.

No one was on the upper deck. It was obvious that this boat was still under construction. There were blank spots in the equipment racks, gauges missing, wires hanging ready to be connected.

Barber came down the ladder, closing and dogging the hatch behind him.

Carter looked down into the lower level. The odor of almonds was stronger here. He could see at least two men down, one of them slumped over a piece of electronic equipment.

Barber looked over Carter's shoulder.

"The ECM room," he said softly. "The chip is down there."

Something was definitely not right. Where was the security?

Carter scrambled down the hatch into the ECM room. A third man lay crumpled on the deck in front of a tall equipment rack. Electronic gear was crammed into nearly every available space in a large compartment.

Barber came down.

"Dog the forward hatch, and watch aft," Carter said. He took off the carrying case, opened it on the deck, and opened the tiny compartment that would hold the chip.

He was sweating now in the warmer air of the sub. Something was wrong. Drastically wrong. He could feel it thick in the atmosphere.

Barber disappeared through an aft hatch as Carter straightened up and looked around the compartment. The main computer took up the forward starboard corner, just about where Forester had guessed it might be. It did not look much different than his best guess either.

Carter went to it, studied the panel for a moment or two, then undid four knurled knobs that dropped a clear plastic window. Inside, a triangular stainless steel plate was secured by three snap catches. Carter undid these and carefully eased the cover off, pulling it free from a thick rubber gasket.

A puff of warm dry air came out of the narrow cubicle behind. The chip itself was plugged into an oblong socket about the size of two large postage stamps. It was held in place by a pair of Phillips head screws.

Carter pulled out his stiletto, and working slowly so as not to strip the screw heads, he worked the screws out.

Barber came back. "There's someone else in the boat," he whispered urgently.

Carter looked up. "Where?"

"Aft. The crew quarters, I think. Sounds like a lot of them. Maybe as many as a dozen."

"Can you lock the hatch from inside here?"

Barber shook his head. "I can close and dog it, but there's no way of locking any of the hatches on the boat except for emergency dive conditions. And then every hatch is locked from both sides."

"Then stand watch. If anyone shows up, kill them," Carter snapped. He turned back to the chip. Already temperature and humidity control had been lost on the delicate electronic circuitry. He had no idea how long the chip would last outside its protective cocoon, but he didn't think it would be very long at all.

He reached inside and eased the tiny chip out of its nest. The instant contact was broken, the computer's panel went dead and a klaxon broke the silence.

The computer protected itself, Carter realized. The chip had been alarmed. That was why security was seemingly so lax on the base.

"Let's get out of here!" Barber shouted.

"Watch aft," Carter said calmly. Carefully he turned with the chip and brought it over to the open carrying case.

"There's no time for that now!" Barber shouted.

"Watch aft!" Carter snapped without looking up. He laid the chip within the tiny compartment in the carrying case, then closed and locked the hinged cover over the nest. Three lights winked green on a small control panel: one indicated that humidity was being controlled, another monitored temperature, and the third was for a tiny maintenance current fed into the chip to maintain its memory.

Carter closed and sealed the carrying case as Barber fired a burst from his Mac 10. Someone groaned.

Going aft was out of the question, as was the conning tower. The guards would be expecting them to come out that way.

"Dog the hatch!" Carter shouted. He slung the carrying case over his shoulder and went to the forward hatch that led into officer country, beyond which were the torpedo rooms and missile launch facility.

Barber joined him a moment later. "What are you doing, for crissakes?"

"We can't go aft, and they'll be watching for us to come up through the conning tower," Carter said, stepping into the radio room.

Barber came in and started to close the hatch.

"Leave it mostly open," Carter told him. He went to the forward hatch and opened it. No one was there.

"But they're coming!" Barber protested.

"If they see that the hatch is open, they'll think we went topside," Carter said. He stepped through into the main corridor into officers' territory. "Get your ass in gear, Tom," he shouted back.

Barber raced across the radio room and ducked through the hatch.

"This one we close," Carter said. While Barber was closing and dogging the hatch, Carter hurried forward past the officers' wardroom, battery room, and around the missiles in their launching tubes.

The klaxon seemed far away here. For the moment the search would be concentrated aft, and up in the conning tower itself. But it would not take them very long to realize what had happened.

Their biggest and most immediate problem, however, was Morgan who had planted plastique on the hull of the sub. By now, if he had followed orders, he would have set the timer and would be on his way out. Carter and Barber would have to get well clear of the sub before it exploded if they wanted any chance of survival.

The torpedo room hatch was closed. Carter held there until Barber caught up.

"Is there any way of finding out what's going on inside?" Carter asked.

Barber shook his head. "Not short of getting on the boat's comms."

Carter stepped back and raised his Mac 10. "Open it," he said.

Barber looked from Carter to the hatch and back.

"Come on, Tom. We're running out of time here."

Barber seemed to snap out of his daze. He turned to the hatch, spun the wheel, and yanked the heavy metal door open, then stepped back.

The torpedo room was dark except for one red light overhead in the middle of the room near the forward deck hatch ladder.

"Someone has gone up," Barber whispered. Whenever a hatch to the outside was opened at night, white lights were routinely doused in the compartment directly below.

Carter stepped into the compartment and hurried to the ladder where he cautiously looked up. The hatch was open. Someone had been in there and had gone up at the sound of the alarm.

Carter stepped back. They couldn't return the way they had come. This was their only way out. And they had to get out now.

"What's wrong?" Barber asked.

"Put your hands up," Carter said.

"What…?"

"Put your hands up. Now! And no matter what happens, keep them up!"

Barber stepped back and raised his hands over his head. Carter laid his Mac 10 down, pulled out his stiletto, and stepped behind the ladder.

"I have him here," he called up through the open hatch in Russian. "He is here! Help me!"

Carter could not see up into the open hatch, but Barber could and he stiffened and stepped back. If there were more than one Russian up there, he and Barber would be in big trouble, the Killmaster thought. But they were already in trouble, so a little more wouldn't matter.

A pair of legs appeared on the ladder. Carter stepped farther back into the shadows as the rest of a Soviet sailor came into view.

"Who is he…?" the Russian started to ask, when he realized that something was wrong. He started to raise his handgun.

Carter stepped around from the opposite side of the ladder and glanced up through the open hatch. They were in luck this time. No one else was up there, though he could hear sirens screaming all over the sub pens.

The Russian, sensing that someone was behind him, turned around. Carter stepped into him, his left hand clamping over the man's mouth while with his right he drove Hugo's razor-sharp blade into the man's chest, piercing his heart.

It was over in seconds. The Russian's eyes went wild, he stiffened for an instant, and then his legs collapsed under him, blood pouring down the front of his uniform.

Carter laid the body on the deck, pulled out his blade, and sheathed it without taking the time to clean off the blood. Barber had stepped back in horror, his hands still over his head.

Carter snatched up his Mac 10. "Let's go," he said, and he scrambled up the ladder. He stuck his head up just barely over the edge and looked outside.

Lights seemed to be flashing everywhere around the sub pens, most of them concentrated, however, on the Petrograd's conning tower, leaving the foredeck in relative shadow. There was a lot of activity on the catwalks at the front of the pen; Carter could hear men running, orders being shouted.

In the confusion they would have a chance, Carter figured. But they'd have to take it right now.

He ducked back and looked down at Barber who was just below him on the ladder.

"We're going topside — crossing the deck and jumping into the water. Put your mouthpiece on now, and no matter what happens, don't stop, don't slow down, don't look around — just follow me!"

Barber nodded uncertainly.

"Let's do it, then," Carter said. He clamped the mouthpiece between his teeth, looked up over the edge — nothing had changed — then scrambled the rest of the way up on deck.

Keeping low. Carter moved directly to the port side. As he stepped off the edge of the deck, down into the water, he glanced over his shoulder in time to see Barber right behind him. Then the water was closing over his head, and he swam down and to the left, following the curve of the hull.

He held up to make sure Barber was right behind him, and together they hurriedly swam to the stern of the boat.

Something touched Carter's knee from below, and instinctively he spun left and reached for his stiletto. But it was Morgan. The UDT man appeared in front of Carter's face mask. Barber was right beside them. He appeared to be having trouble breathing again. It was fear.

Carter motioned to his watch and then down to the keel of the boat. Morgan shook his head, indicating that he had not yet set the timer on the explosives.

Again Carter motioned toward the keel, and made a twisting motion with his right thumb and forefinger.

Morgan pointed at his own watch. Carter held up five fingers. Five minutes. Morgan nodded, and motioned off toward the south for them to leave.

Carter started to protest, but Morgan shook his head and urgently pointed toward the south.

The UDT man was right. The chip was more important at the moment than sticking together. Carter held up five fingers again, and motioned for Morgan to head south when he was finished. Morgan nodded, then dived down along the hull toward a spot opposite the boat's nuclear reactor. When he was finished, not only would the Petrograd be a thing of the past, but so would the entire submarine base. All the water in the pens would be contaminated with nuclear waste, making the base unusable for many years to come.

Carter pulled on his fins, and he had to prod Barber to do the same. When they were ready, they headed out of the Petrograd's pen, swimming about ten feet beneath the surface.

Carter was watching his compass. When he figured they had gone nearly across the turning basin, he turned directly south. They would not be able to return the way they had come across the roadway atop the levee. There would be no way of getting up there from the water. Instead they would take the ship canal out to the end of the levee and climb up on the rocks.

They had been out of the sub pen for less than ninety seconds when an underwater explosion hammered into them with unbelievable force.

For a seeming eternity Carter could not breathe, nor in the dark water did he have any clear notion which way was up. It felt as if every bone in his body had been crushed; his ears roared, and his eyes burned and throbbed.

A strange, towering light seemed to be wavering somewhere in the distance to his left. But he could not seem to make his body work, to make it respond to his needs.

His head broke the surface and he spit out his mouthpiece as he choked for air, his stomach churning, vomit coming out of his mouth and nose, blood streaming from his ears and eyes.

A single thought crystallized in Carter's mind: Morgan had been down there.

He turned so that he was facing the flames towering high above the sinking remains of the Petrograd submarine. But it was so far away. Carter tried to puzzle it out. He could not have been more than fifty yards away from the boat when the explosion came, and now he found that he was nearly at the southern end of the turning basin. But how, unless the force of the explosion had set up a strong underwater current that had shoved him down the basin…

One thing was certain. Morgan had died in the apparently premature explosion. Even if he had come right behind them, he would have been too close.

Which left Barber.

Carter's head was beginning to clear, though his hearing was gone for the moment except for a constant roar — almost the same sound as a very large waterfall — and a thin red haze seemed to obscure his vision. The flames reaching up to the night sky out of the Petrograd's pen colored the snowstorm in tones of red.

There was a great deal of activity on the far side of the submarine pens. Lights were flashing. Soldiers seemed to be everywhere. It was hard for Carter to pick out much of anything in the confusion and his dazed state, but as he watched he could not mistake the bundle soldiers were pulling out of the basin almost directly across from where he bobbed just on the surface.

It was Barber's Body. Morgan could not have gotten this far, and the tiling they had pulled out of the water was definitely a body in a dark survival suit.

Carter reached painfully back over his shoulder and touched the reassuring bulk of the carrying case. There was no way of telling if the chip survived the tremendous underwater shock wave of the explosion, but he had come this far with it and was not going to leave it there.

So far a lot of people had died because of that chip. In addition to Tibbet, there was the AXE pilot outside of Tokyo, the Korean gate guard, the radio technician, and Arnold Scott at the Mito compound, and now Forester on the rocky beach, Morgan beneath the Petrograd, and Barber across the turning basin. And at least twenty Russians.

When would it end?

Carter took a last, lingering look across the basin. The Russian soldiers had gone crazy; they were smashing their rifle butts into Barber's body. Only Hansen was left, and he had their only radio for communications with the sub. But Carter was having another of his premonitions that Hansen was gone as well.

He took the mouthpiece into his mouth and slowly sank back into the dark, cold water, his body ready to quit on him, only his sheer will and determination keeping him going.