At the corner of the screen, a tiny red heart symbol continued its steady flash in sync with his own pulse.
He raised his eyes just as the officer of the deck burst from the communication shack. “We’ve received a flash message! Marked for Admiral Petkov.”
The clipboard was passed to Captain Mikovsky, who in turn passed it to Viktor.
He took the board a few steps away and opened it. He read down the brief remarks. A cold smile formed on his lips.
URGENT URGENT URGENT URGENT
FM
FEDERAL’NAYA SLUZHBA BEZOPASNOSTI (FSB)
TO
DRAKON
//BT//
REF
LUBYANKA 76-453A DATED 8 APR
SUBJ
OPERATION CONFIRMATION
TOP SECRET TOP SECRET TOP SECRET
PERSONAL FOR FLEET COMMANDER
RMKS/
(1) LEOPARD OPS SUCCESSFUL AT PB. EYES LOOKING ELSEWHERE.
(2) GO-CODE AUTHORIZED FOR TARGET ONE, DESIGNATED OMEGA.
(3) PROCEED TO TARGET TWO ONCE SECURE, DESIGNATED GRENDEL.
(4) PRIMARY OBJECTIVE REMAINS THE COLLECTION OF DATA AND MATERIALS FOR THE RUSSIAN REPUBLIC.
(5) SECONDARY OBJECTIVE REMAINS TO CLEAN SITE.
(6) BE WARNED THAT A US DELTA FORCE TEAM HAS BEEN DEPLOYED. INTEL REPORTS IDENTICAL OBJECTIVES ESTABLISHED FOR HOSTILE TEAM. OPERATIONAL CONTROLLER STILL AT LARGE. DELTA MISSION MARKED BLACK BY NSA. REPEAT BLACK.
(7) CHANNELS CONFIRM INTENT ON BOTH SIDES.
(8) DATA MUST NOT FALL INTO HOSTILE HANDS. ALL ACTIONS TO PREVENT THIS ARE AUTHORIZED.
(9) COL. GEN. CHENKO SENDS.
BT
NNNN
Viktor closed the binder. He reviewed Chenko’s remarks. Mission marked black by NSA…Channels confirm intent on both sides. He shook his head. It was the usual semantics of covert operations. Fancy words for the tacit agreement on both sides to the private war that was about to be fought out here. Both governments would wage this war, but neither side would acknowledge it ever happened.
And Vickor knew why.
There was a dark secret both governments wanted forever silenced, and an even darker prize that went with it. Neither side would ever acknowledge its existence, but neither could they leave it untouched. The stakes were too high. The prize, the fruit of his father’s labor, was a discovery that could revolutionize the world.
But who would ultimately possess it?
Viktor knew only one thing for certain: it was his father’s legacy. The Americans would never have it. This he swore.
And after that…other matters could be settled.
He glanced again to the Polaris monitor. With the go-code in hand, it was now time to start his own gambit. He pressed the silver button on the side of the wrist monitor, holding it for a full thirty seconds. He was careful not to touch the neighboring red button—at least not yet.
Viktor stared at the monitor. He had these thirty seconds to reconsider his decision. Once Polaros was activated, there was no turning back, no retreat. He continued to hold the button, unwavering in his determination.
During the course of his sixty-four years, he had seen Russia change: from a czarist country of kings and palaces, to a Communist state of Stalin and Khrushchev, then into a broken landscape of independent states, warring, poor, and on the brink of ruin. Each transition weakened his country, his people.
And the world at large was no better. Century-old hatreds locked the world into strife and terror: Northern Ireland, the Balkans, Israel and the Arab states. It was a pattern that was repeated over and over without end, without resolution, without hope.
Viktor kept the button pressed.
It was time a new world arose, where old patterns would be shattered forever, where nations would be forced to work together in order to survive and rebuild. A new world would be born out of ice and chaos.
It would be his legacy, in the memory of his father, his mother.
The center trigger remained dark, but the smaller lights at the points of the star began to blink in sequence, winding around and around.
Viktor released the button.
It was done.
Polaris was now activated. It only awaited the master trigger engine to be deployed at the station. Project Shockwave was about to go from theory to reality. Viktor stared at the flashing lights marking the five-pointed star, winding around and around, awaiting his final command.
After that, there would be no abort code.
No fail-safe.
Mikovsky stepped over to him. “Admiral?”
Viktor barely heard him. The captain seemed exceptionally young at the moment. So naive. His world had already ended, and he didn’t even know it. Viktor sighed. He had never felt so free.
Unfettered of the future, Viktor had only one goal now: to retrieve his father’s body, to collect the heritage that belonged to his family.
At the end of the world, nothing else mattered.
“Admiral?” Mikovsky repeated. “Sir?”
Viktor faced the captain and cleared his throat. “The Drakon has new orders.”
9:02 A.M.
USS POLAR SENTINEL
Perry stood in the control station, his eyes fixed to the number one periscope. They had risen to periscope depth in an open lead ten minutes ago, slowly rising between pressure ridges. Through the scope, he stared out at the expanse of ice fields. The winds had picked up, scouring the frozen plains. Overhead, the skies had gone white. A big storm was coming in. But Perry didn’t need to check the weather outside to know this.
All night long, they had been patrolling the waters around the drift station and the Russian base, watching for any sign of the Drakon, as ordered. But the midnight waters had remained empty. There was no sonar contact, except for a pod of beluga whales passing at the edge of their range. The Polar Sentinel seemed to be alone out here.
Still, tension remained high among his men. They were warriors in a boat without teeth, hunting for an Akula II class fast-attack submarine. Perry had read the intel on the armaments aboard the Drakon. Russian for “dragon.” A fitting name. It was equipped not only with the usual array of torpedoes, but also rocket-propelled weapons: the lightning-fast Shkval torpedoes and SS-N-16 antisubmarine missiles. It was a formidable opponent even against the best of the American fleet…and if pitted against the tiny Polar Sentinel, it would be like a match between a tadpole and a sea dragon.
The radioman of the watch stepped into the control station. “Sir, I’ve raised the commander at Deadhorse. But I don’t know how long I’ll be able to maintain contact.”
“Very good.” Perry folded the periscope grips and sent the pole diving back down on its hydraulics. He followed the ensign to the radio room.
“I was able to bounce the UHF off the ionosphere,” he said as he led the way into the room. “But I can’t promise that it’ll last.”