Paths of Courage (8 page)

The captain of the
Maru Blue
lowered his binoculars and handed them to Ali bin Rashid, pointing to the white mountain rising out of the ocean on the horizon.

“Heard Island… And that my friend is ‘Big Ben' directly ahead,” he said in soft tones.

“Very impressive,” the al-Qaeda operative replied, scanning the island's highest mountain, Mawson Peak – an active volcano. “How soon will we arrive?”

“Three hours, then we will drop anchor in Atlas Cove.”

Rashid smiled and handed the binoculars back to Captain Moradi.

“Heard Island,” offered the captain, “was named after Captain John Heard, an American who sighted the pinpoint of land in 1853.”

“The infidels are everywhere,” snarled Rashid. “Where did you learn this?”

“It is my job to know everything about the oceans.”

“Tell me more about this little island.”

“It is one of the remotest islands in the southern Indian Ocean. That's why it was chosen. Atlas Cove is a sheltered inlet at the northwestern side. It was here that most of the scientific stations were set-up. The island is officially Australian territory.”

“Are we likely to encounter anyone?”

The captain laughed. “No, all scientific research was abandoned late last century. It is now only inhabited by sea mammals and birds. The remote location precludes it from regular shipping lanes and from being overflown by commercial airlines; also, and most important of all, away from the all-seeing eyes of satellites.” He hated the Americans with a passion since the time they murdered his grandfather during the attempted rescue of the embassy hostages in Tehran back in 1979. He did not hesitate to join al-Qaeda when they came to Iran to seek recruits. He left the Iranian Navy, obtained a commercial captain's licence and gave his services to the organization without question whenever and wherever required. He was able to master most seagoing vessels and find the appropriate, trustworthy crews equally fervent for the cause.

Rashid seemed assured and wanted to know the statistics of this island.

The captain obliged. “It is roughly circular, around twenty-five miles in diameter, and has over seventy percent of its surface permanently iced, some say up to 500 feet. Big Ben feeds a dozen glaciers descending from the summit, forming large ice cliffs along the coastline. Atlas Cove, fortunately for us, is fairly sheltered from the winds. It's a godforsaken wasteland, gale-swept for most of the year and represents the tip of an underwater mountain range rising three to four miles above the ocean floor.”

Rashid nodded. “Inhospitable, to say the least. But it will serve our needs,” he said quietly before slipping back into a silent, reflective mood. As a boy from an impoverished family living in the Saudi Arabian city of Riyadh, Rashid had been encouraged by his father to follow the teachings of the puritanical Islamic preacher, Abdul Wahhab. His head was filled with the austere and deeply conservative brand of religious zealotry that had not progressed since the Middle Ages. However, as a young man, he had no ambitions to become a cleric so he joined the Saudi Arabian Army and rose against all odds to become a major in the Intelligence Corps whilst still secretly following the Wahhabi doctrine. On the surface, all seemed well. He managed the two diverse lives without too much effort, but beneath the surface he was gradually drawn into the hatred that bubbled amongst a minority officer class against the Saudi Royal Family. At first he supplied them with periphery general intelligence, increasing to specific classified information of the Saudi Army's military movements and also those of its Western allies. Eventually it became too risky to carry on, so Rashid's beliefs led him to leave the army and join the terrorist group al-Qaeda.

After many months of negotiation, the North Koreans had agreed to supply a warhead carrying the specific weapon required by al-Qaeda and would also act as an intermediary in obtaining a missile and a nuclear submarine for the right price. The
Maru Blue
had spent three days at Nampo, during which time Rashid attended several secret meetings with Korean officials to finalize details and take possession of the warhead. On the last day, in a secure underground laboratory full of technicians and military personnel, he had inspected the gleaming white warhead and watched as the contents were assembled with great care and placed securely within the cone. The outer edge was prepared for easy attachment to a missile and was then carefully stored away inside a foam and metal-lined wooden crate. It had been a much harder task to obtain the nuclear submarine and cost a great deal of money. The North Koreans had lied to the Russians, telling them they wanted to start a blue water presence in the Pacific. Rashid recalled their scepticism at the time, but the deal eventually had gone through. This had called for a total handover of the vessel to a predominantly Korean crew away from prying eyes and the return of the Russian trial crew to Vladivostok. The deal also included a full complement of live torpedoes and SLBMs. The Russian Eastern Command, in need of funds, reluctantly accepted most of the conditions, but would only provide four missiles for testing purposes. They stopped short at supplying the missiles with live warheads. This of course did not bother Rashid, as he only needed one missile anyway; the Koreans were providing the warhead. Rashid had also guessed rightly that from the Russian point of view, the quicker they fulfilled their part of the deal and banked the money, the better. Thus, for a considerable sum of money, al-Qaeda eventually purchased the perfect delivery vehicles: four Russian R-29 ([SS-N-18)
Stingray
submarine-launched ballistic missiles (SLBM), a deadly warhead and a partly manned Delta III Russian nuclear submarine from which to launch it deep beneath the waves on the doorstep of the infidel's lair.

Rashid surmised it was not improbable for the Russians to think that, with the new North Korean acquisition using an inexperienced crew, it was more than likely the Americans or British would soon sink the vessel anyway if it encroached upon their turf. No one then, apart from the Koreans, would be the wiser. Rashid, however, knew once his task was successfully completed, the submarine would be scuttled. He knew also that the ninety Iranians now crewing the
Maru Blue
were ready to man the submarine when the time came. As Islamic militants and sleepers, they were now about to glorify Islam, strike a fatal blow to the infidel and, if necessary, die in the process.

Eventually, the
Maru Blue
sailed past Rogers Head, the bleak promontory dividing Atlas Cove from Corinthian Bay to the east, and finally anchored in the cove several hundred yards from shore. Darkness had almost descended. The weather was unusually good for this time of year with light winds, intermittent rain squalls and moderate seas. The captain and, in particular, Ali bin Rashid hoped it would stay that way, at least until the transfer had been made. Both men also hoped that the submarine was not that far away. They did not relish the thought of waiting too long in these bleak, foreboding surroundings. After shutting down most of the ship's systems, they could do nothing now but wait for the submarine to arrive.

Ryder awoke abruptly, shaken by Chol.

“We have a problem,” he whispered, finger to lips. “Patrol!”

Immediately Ryder reached for his gun and sprang to the cave entrance. He was followed closely by Chol, Song and Grace. Joining Bom in the dense bush outside, they watched in the fading light as a twelve-man patrol traversed a clearing in the shallow valley below and headed up the slope towards them.

Ryder focused his binoculars on the patrol. “We're lucky, no dogs,” he said calmly. “If we remain in cover here, they might pass without spotting us.”

“Not if they see this cave,” said Grace.

“Then we'll have to pray they don't,” hissed Ryder. “They're too close. If we move now, they'll see us for sure.”

“We won't stand a chance if they do, boss,” said Chol, his soft features now taut.

Ryder's mind raced. If the cave was spotted, then surprise would be their only choice. He whispered to the others. “If they make for the cave, we take them. Make every shot count.” He looked at Grace, who nodded determinedly, but he could see her fear. “Grace, you take the nearest two; Greg, you take the next two; Cam the next pair and Dan the following three. I'll take the remaining three.”

With guns ready, silencers attached, the group waited.

The patrol wound its way in single-file through the tall pines and scattered bush, and was now less than a hundred yards away.

Suddenly, from between the bush and trees, a large black bear emerged with two cubs and ambled towards the cave.

The group looked aghast at the animal, then back at the oncoming patrol.

Grace was the nearest to the hulking forms. “This must be its lair!” she shot, voice low and urgent as she watched the big mother bear, now only yards away.

“Shoot it!” Ryder hissed between clenched teeth.

The bear caught their scent and rose on its hindquarters.

The patrol saw it and stopped in its tracks.

The throb of a helicopter came on the air, then suddenly flew over the ridge in a crescendo of noise. Moments later, it landed in the clearing below.

The patrol's attention was immediately diverted, as was the bear's. Ryder feared more troops were on their way. But he need not have worried; no one emerged from the craft. The patrol promptly turned towards it and scrambled back down the slope, much to Ryder's relief.

The bear's attention, however, wavered between looking up through the trees, then at the helicopter, then at the entrance to the cave. It saw the group, roared violently and lunged towards Grace.

Ryder fired at the same time she did. Both their shots hit the target; his neatly penetrated its eye and Grace's two bullets full into the heart.

The animal crashed heavily to the ground, still alive, and Ryder quickly finished it off with two more bullets to the head.

The cubs scrambled over their mother.

Grace bent down and picked up one of the spitting cubs. “What shall we do with these?”

“Kill'em,” Ryder snapped, wanting to get away quickly.

“Do we have to?” she pleaded.

“They'll die anyway; it's more humane this way. They'll either die slowly from starvation or get eaten by other animals.”

She nodded and put the cub down; the decision was his.

He raised his gun and, without hesitation, put a bullet through the head of each cub and turned away. “Let's get the shit outta here. I want to be at that lake tomorrow, first light.”

As they headed off into the trees Ryder worried about the patrol. He hoped it had just been a part of an exercise and not specifically on the hunt for them. It could only be the latter if they had discovered the body of the goat herder, the dead truckers, or the soldiers where Grace had been detained. But Ryder knew it would have to be an extraordinary hunt to have tracked them this far from the findings. But somehow the nagging thought would not go away that the patrol was searching for them. They would need to be extra vigilant from now on.

Captain Grosky moved towards the periscopes in K449's control room.

“Periscope depth,” he ordered.

Minutes later he commanded, “Up periscope.” Then swivelled the peaked cap and waited impatiently for the viewer to reach eye level.

When it arrived he lowered the hand pieces, clamped his head to the viewer and swung it around.

Almost immediately, the
Maru Blue
came into view riding moderate waves in Atlas Cove under a leaden sky. The captain felt a sense of relief, tinged with sadness. He would now have to hand over command to the Korean admiral. “Down periscope. Go to surface.”

On the bridge of the freighter, the duty officer notified the captain as soon as K449 had broken the surface 200 yards out on the starboard beam. Within minutes Captain Moradi, together with Ali bin Rashid, watched the sleek black warship wallow in the swell as men sprang from the aft hatches and began to lower an inflatable into the water. Rope ladders secured, four men clambered down the submarine hull and were transported the short distance to the
Maru Blue.

In the freighter's wardroom, Captain Moradi and Ali bin Rashid formally welcomed Admiral Park Hyok, Captain Grosky, Captain Asad Kamani and Lieutenant Hamid Zaha on board. After introductions were made, all six sat down to enjoy Turkish coffee and sweetmeats. Of the men present, only Captain Grosky and Admiral Park were totally unaware as to the true intentions of the others. Once the small talk had finished, followed by discussions on the technical capabilities of K449 and handing over procedures cleared, both were politely dismissed and both men returned to K449 to prepare for the transfer of command and the crew to the freighter. The remaining four then got down to the real business at hand.

“The weather has been good for the last few days, but could change any time. We must fit the warhead quickly and get underway,” said Rashid.

“How will we fit it without arousing the suspicion of the Russian captain?” Captain Moradi asked.

“Simple,” replied Kamani. “We tell him we are going to test fire one of the
Stingrays
as part of the training procedures and we need to have a dummy warhead to obtain full simulation.”

“Anyway, it will not matter once we torpedo this crate with the Russians on board,” said Rashid.

“Agreed, but we still need his experienced technicians to fit the warhead without taking the missile out of the firing tube.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“What do we do with the Korean?” Lieutenant Zaha asked.

“Kill him,” Rashid replied. “After the formal handover, his usefulness is over. We must keep up the pretence that he will command. If we leave him with the Russians, they might well cause trouble before we go – trouble we may not be able to contain. We'll dispose of the body once out at sea.”

There was a short silence before Rashid continued. “First light tomorrow, we begin fitting the warhead and transferring the crews if weather permits. This has to be done quickly so that we can leave as soon as possible.” He turned to Captain Kamani. “Asad, you will take full command from this point on. We will assist you wherever we can and offer you counsel should you so require.”

“Thank you Ali, I agree we must leave here with all haste.”

“What course do you intend to take, Captain?” asked Rashid.

“We will take a course due west into the Atlantic, then head north, keeping as close to the African shoreline as we dare, cross the equator into the North Atlantic -”

“Have you been in contact with the outside world coming here?” cut in the
Maru Blue
captain, looking urgently at Rashid.

“No. Radio silence was maintained at all times,” Captain Kamani replied before Rashid could.

“Then you are unaware that the infidels have placed a blockade on the Koreas and are patrolling all entrances into the Atlantic, including the North Pacific,” said Captain Moradi.

“That will take a lot of warships!” Kamani shot back, seemingly shocked at what he was hearing. “How do you know this?”

“The maritime authorities issued a general signal, when we were one week out from Nampo, warning that all ships on the high seas could be boarded by international inspectors at any time. Fortunately, we missed the immediate blockade, but it has been a concern,” Moradi answered.

“What do you know about the patrols?” Kamani pressed.

“Not much, only what we have picked up from media broadcasts. They have reported that American and British warships have congregated in large numbers between South Africa and the Antarctic especially, and also in Drake Passage and up off Greenland. The reason: joint exercises, but it is obvious the infidels suspect something is in the wind.”

Kamani stared at Rashid. “What could they possibly know?”

“Maybe the Russians blabbed the sale of the sub… Possibly the Koreans – who knows?”

“Who knows! Who knows!” screamed Kamani angrily, slamming his fist down hard on the table, scattering cups and plates, glaring at the al-Qaeda negotiator. “By the sound of things, the entire world knows! Our whole strategy was based on stealth and surprise. The surprise element, it would seem, has now disappeared.” Then a few moments later, in a calmer tone, he said, “It does not matter. What does matter is that our task is now going to be that much harder and infinitely more dangerous.”

“Allah will protect us; we shall succeed,” said Rashid.

“That, my friend, we have to believe,” Kamani replied quietly.

“They cannot possibly know the target,” offered Zaha, Kamani's XO. “That is surely known only to us and a trusted few?”

“You are correct,” Rashid answered. “But we can only assume they do not know; that is why the infidel is blocking all entrances into the Atlantic and patrolling the northern Pacific. They are covering all options.”

“I accept the target is unknown to them,” said Kamani. “But if the patrols are as intense as you say, we may never have the opportunity to reach it. I am not so concerned about the surface ships, it is the submarines. America and Britain have the most advanced hunter-killers; no doubt they will be out there in great numbers too. We would be extremely vulnerable if located and attacked.”

It was Ali bin Rashid's turn to show a little anger this time, and he spat, “We are told that you are the best, Captain Kamani. A great deal of time, money and effort has been expended on this mission in the name of Allah. If you feel it is now beyond you, then I suggest we abort and return to find someone else less fearful to accomplish the task.”

The captain shot up from his seat and both men glared across the table at one another. For a moment it looked as if the two would come to blows.

The freighter captain quickly stepped in. “Please, in the name of Allah, this is not the time to fight amongst ourselves. We are the soldiers of the Great Almighty on a paramount mission; we must direct our energies towards the destruction of the infidel if we are to live in eternal peace.”

“This man has insulted me,” spat Kamani.

“I have not questioned your bravery, only your resolve,” Rashid replied sharply. “Nothing runs easy in this world. Is it not enough that I am prepared to place my life in your hands, even under the conditions we now face? I trust your judgement, no matter how good the submarines against us are.”

Kamani sat down, seemingly satisfied with the al-Qaeda negotiator's attempt at an apology.

No one said a word for several seconds, then Kamani spoke. “Under the circumstances, we cannot risk entering the Atlantic as planned. We will have to try another way.”

“Another way!” Zaha exclaimed. “Not back up the Pacific, under the Arctic Ocean and then through the Norwegian Basin?”

Kamani did not answer, but continued to stare at the bulkhead beyond, deep in thought.

“Not Drake Passage?” Zaha pressed. “That way would be pure suicide.”

“Strait of Magellan,” Kamani finally said.

“Where is that?” Rashid asked.

“At the bottom of South America; it cuts through Chile, Tierra del Fuego and Argentina, joining the Pacific and Atlantic some 200 miles north of Drake Passage. It is worth a try; the Americans and British may not expect a sub to attempt the 360-mile long snaking passage bisecting the Andes in the west and the Argentinean pampas in the east. In places the Strait is very narrow and dangerous, currents are a hazard, but I have been through in a French sub and know what to expect. As I said, it is worth a try, and with a little luck it could be less risky than the alternatives. It will mean retracing our route here back along the Antarctic Circle for several thousand miles.”

“That is not too much of a setback if it means we can outwit the infidels,” said Rashid.

“I agree,” said the freighter captain. “But we can still expect a certain amount of warship activity with Drake Passage not that far to the south.”

“To a far lesser extent than in the Passage,” Kamani shot back. “Every mile of that 600 between the tip of South America and Antarctica will be covered, if what you say is true. However, there is a good chance warships will not be patrolling the mouth of the Strait. Once we clear it into the Atlantic we will head north slowly for 300 to 400 yards, hugging the coastline, losing ourselves amongst the noisy commercial inshore traffic, fish shoals, turbulent water and changing depths right up to the Caribbean. Then we shall head to the target as planned.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“We are in your hands, Captain Kamani,” said Ali bin Rashid. “Allah be praised.”

The meeting broke up and the four men retired to their quarters.

Several hours later, what passed for dawn in these lower regions broke over the barren landscape of Atlas Cove. The warhead was carefully unloaded from the freighter's cargo hold, craned down to the deck of the submarine and placed next to the open hatch of the silo housing a
Stingray
missile. Fortunately, the weather held, allowing the operation to take place without concern, except for Captain Grosky, who worried his orders had not included the fixing of a warhead to one of the missiles. However, after Captain Kamani told him the warhead was a dummy to obtain a true balance when the missile was test-fired, he did finally relent and order his technicians to attach the warhead.

Eventually the warhead was fitted, the missile hatch closed and the Islamic crew fully transferred to the re-provisioned submarine. Without wasting more time, the formal transfer of command to Admiral Park took place on deck. Captain Grosky took command of the
Maru Blue
and shortly thereafter, K449 sailed out of Atlas Cove under the tentative command of Admiral Park. Captain Kamani was glad to be underway, but surprisingly regretted the two tasks that had to be done before heading due east into the vastness of the southern seas.

Four miles out from the Cove, Admiral Park was summarily dispatched and his body thrown overboard. Kamani ordered K449 to be taken below the surface to periscope depth and then to stop all engines. Here, they would await the arrival of the
Maru Blue
and sink her in deep water with all hands. No evidence must be left of what had taken place over the last twenty-four hours.

After a wait of almost two hours, sonar reported contact.

“Up periscope.” The familiar hiss of hydraulics faded and seconds later Kamani watched as the
Maru Blue
came into view. To make sure she went to the bottom, he had decided to deploy two torpedoes. “Stand by tubes one and two.”

This was to be Kamani's first kill as a submarine commander and he felt a thrill, tempered, however, with the knowledge that he was about to destroy a man he had come to like and respect during the long journey down through the Pacific. It was tragic that Captain Grosky and his crew had to die this way, but Kamani was left with no choice.

“Fire One!”

“Tube one fired.”

“Fire Two!”

“Tube two fired.”

K449 shuddered as the first USET 80 active/passive homing torpedo shot from its twenty-one-inch tube, packing 660lbs of lethal explosive, then again on the second.

The freighter was doomed. Two minutes later, the two torpedoes smashed into the
Maru
Blue
within seconds of one another. The resultant impact and explosion almost split her in two, allowing tons of icy seawater to surge through the huge jagged gap, flooding the holds with such tremendous force that the ill-fated ship ploughed straight to the bottom.

Captain Kamani continued to watch the cold, grey, empty rolling waves for survivors and was relieved when there were none; he had no wish to surface. It was unlikely anyone could survive for very long in these freezing Antarctic conditions anyway.

“Down periscope. Left standard rudder. Steer two-four-zero. Make your depth 500. All ahead flank speed.”

*

Captain Vasily Ivanovitch Denko, commander of the Russian Akula II-class nuclear attack submarine K267, could not believe his eyes as he watched the
Maru Blue
through the periscope. He turned to his XO. “The freighter has been hit and is sinking!” he exclaimed incredulously, stepping back to allow his XO to take a look in time to see it sink beneath the waves.

“My God,” shot Lieutenant Sergio Alexander Nanovich, staggered at what he had just witnessed. “Torpedo?”

“Has to be, no planes this far afield.”

“What the hell was an old rust-bucket like that doing rendezvousing with K449?”

“Grosky's orders were to hand over full command to the Korean admiral once here at the island,” replied the captain. “It must be the vessel that brought provisions and a Korean crew and was taking the Russian crew back. One thing is for certain: that freighter could only have been sunk by K449. No other sub would be in these remote parts.” He slammed his hand hard against the periscope shaft. “Those Koreans are fucking treacherous, murderous bastards… Sergio, get an urgent signal off to command; tell them what has happened and we will await further orders.”