Primary Threat. Джек Марс
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they big enough, and well-trained…”
“Of course not,” Trudy said. “Not on their own. But we can’t assume anyone is acting by themselves. There are dozens of environmental groups, several of which are also radicalized. There are major corporations, especially oil companies, jockeying for position. There are Middle Eastern countries wondering if oil exploration in the Arctic is about to leave them in the lurch. And of course, there’s Russia and China.”
“The banner,” Luke said.
“Yes. The banner calls America hypocrites and liars. That doesn’t tell us much, but the simplicity and garbled syntax of it suggests that the people who made the banner are not native English speakers. Meanwhile, the apparent professionalism of the attack suggests at least a high level of training, including cold-weather training, and probably combat experience.”
Luke could see where she was headed with this.
“Most of the Arctic countries are either close allies of ours, like Canada, Norway, and Sweden, or have friendly to neutral relations with us, like Iceland, Denmark, and Finland. And I don’t think the Russians or Chinese would attack us directly, especially not after all the recent trouble. But would they fund and train a cat’s paw, a group that either feels disenfranchised by us, or expects they are about to become disenfranchised?”
She paused.
“Of course they would,” Swann said.
Trudy nodded. “They might just.”
“So a new, radical anti-American group, kind of like an Al Qaeda of the Arctic?”
Trudy shrugged. “I can’t say that for sure. Could be an armed and trained indigenous group or groups. Could be white supremacists from the old Viking world, who are hoping to see the glory of the Scandinavian countries restored. Heck, it could be Quebec separatists. I don’t know.”
To Luke’s left, the glass door to the other passenger cabin slid open. The two men came in. “Good guesses, Ms. Wellington,” the older of the two men said. “Probably wrong, but as scenario spinning goes, pretty good nonetheless.”
The younger guy wore jeans and a T-shirt. The jeans hugged his muscular legs. The T-shirt hugged his muscular chest. The shirt had two words across the front, very small, white on a black background.
GET HARD.
“Guys, I’m Captain Brooks Donaldson, of the United States Naval Special Warfare Development Group, sometimes called DEVGRU, often called SEAL Team Six.”
He was holding up a thick orange wetsuit, complete with hood, gloved hands, and boots. Odd for a Navy SEAL, he had just put down a soft drink can on the table. Luke stared at it. Dr. Peck’s ginger beer.
“I want to talk to you all a little bit about hypothermia. It’s important for us to think about. For all we know of freezing and its physiology, no one can predict exactly how quickly and in whom hypothermia will strike—and whether it will kill when it does. We do know that it’s more likely to kill men than women, and it’s more lethal to the thin and well-muscled—and that pretty well describes everyone in this room—than it is to people with a lot of body fat. It’s least forgiving to people who are ignorant about its effects. In other words, if you’re not prepared for it, and you don’t know what to do about it, it can easily kill you.”
Already, Luke didn’t like where this was going. Nobody had told him to expect anything about wetsuits or hypothermia or Navy SEALs who drank soda pop. The man, Donaldson, indicated the wetsuit in his hands.
“This suit is your first line of defense out there against hypothermia. The demonstration suit is orange, and your operation suits will be black, but don’t let that distract you. Just imagine this one as black. In orange or black, or purple or pink, or any color at all, these are state of the art, probably the best cold-water immersion suits in existence at the current time. It provides both flotation and hypothermia protection. Its features include lifting harness and buddy line, five-fingered insulated gloves for warmth and dexterity, inflatable head pillow, face shield and water-tight face seal, adjustable wrists and ankles, 5mm fire retardant neoprene, hailing whistle, light pocket, and non-slip thick-soled booties. But it’s a little bit of work to put on and take off in stormy conditions. And I’m going to show you how to do that.”
Everyone in the cabin was staring at him.
“Any questions before I begin?”
Murphy raised a hand.
“Yes, Agent…”
“Murphy.”
“Yes, Agent Murphy. Shoot.”
Murphy glanced at the ginger beer can on the table. He scowled, just a little bit. Murphy was an Irishman from the Bronx. It wasn’t clear to Luke what Murphy’s exact thoughts were about that ginger beer, but it sure seemed like he didn’t approve.
“What are we talking about here?”
Donaldson seemed confused. “What are we talking about?”
Murphy nodded. He gestured at the orange wetsuit. “Yeah. That. Why are you telling us about it? We’re not SEALs. We’re not really water people at all. Newsam, Stone, and I are all former Delta Force. Airborne assault. I was 75th Rangers before Delta, Stone was 75th Rangers, Newsam was…”
He paused and looked at Ed. Ed was slumped very low in his chair. Any lower, and he would ooze out onto the floor.
“82nd Airborne,” Ed said.
“Airborne,” Murphy said. “There’s that word again. You can show us that suit from now until we land, and all next week, but that’s not going to suddenly make us into divers.”
“I’ve done some diving,” Ed said.
Murphy stared at him. Luke wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen someone stare at Ed that way. Murphy was a vehicle that didn’t have reverse.
“Thanks,” he said. “You diving wrecks in Aruba really helps my argument.”
Ed smiled and shrugged.
The SEAL nodded. “I get your point. But this is an underwater operation. We will drop into the water at a temporary camp being constructed right now on a floating ice sheet about a mile and a half from the oil rig. I thought you knew that.”
Luke shook his head. “This is the first we’re hearing of it.”
“There’s no way to go in there by boat,” Donaldson said. “We have to assume that our opponents will have all the approach points covered. They appear to have heavy weaponry available to them. Any boat slogging its way through the ice to that oil rig is going to get hit, and hit hard.”
“Can we come in from the sky?” Luke said.
Donaldson shook his head. “Even worse. They’re expecting a storm to pass through that area in the next few hours. You do not want to be falling from the sky during an Arctic storm, I promise you that. And even if things clear, then they have a clean shot at you as you come down. It’ll be like shooting ducks. There’s only one way in, and that’s to come out from under the ice and take them by surprise.”
He paused. “And we’re going to need all the surprise we can get. As much as we’re going in hard, we need to keep at least one of the attackers alive.”
“Why’s that?” Ed said.
Donaldson shrugged. “We need to know what these men wanted, what their plan was, and whether they acted alone. We want to know everything about them. Assuming they don’t leave us some kind of manifesto, and since no one has claimed responsibility for the attack so far, we have to assume the only way to get that information is to capture at least one of them, and preferably more than one.”
Now Luke really didn’t like it. They were going in under the ice, and when they came up, they were supposed to capture someone. What if they were jihadis who didn’t give up? What if they fought until their last breath?
The whole operation seemed hastily organized and poorly thought through. But