But why was there a minefield around the northwestern edge of Bolshevik Island?
Jerry had never heard of it before, and had to look the place up. Off the central part of Russia’s northern coast, it was one of the larger islands in the Severnaya Zemlya chain and marked Russia’s northernmost territory, jutting well into the Arctic Ocean. An Internet search turned up information on a scientific base on the northwest corner, on Cape Baranova. The “ice base,” as it was described, had no residents other than the people at the base, and no industry. The island’s principal exports were ice, rocks, and birds.
Weiss’s report said that the hole in Toledo’s hull was consistent with the size of a small torpedo warhead. The UUVs confirmed that the sub’s location was consistent with the mine’s detection range, and was within the range of the torpedo. In fact, while searching the ocean bottom around Toledo, Walter had mapped debris that could be part of a 324-millimeter torpedo propulsion section. The second report, brief as it was, conclusively answered the question of how Toledo had been lost.
There would be no accident investigation for Toledo and her crew. She had not been lost to mechanical failure or human error — the Russians had sunk her.
Even if the Russians hadn’t wanted to sink anyone, they’d planted a very lethal minefield that had functioned exactly as designed. Whatever that minefield guarded on an island two hundred miles north of nowhere was important enough that they were willing to kill anyone who came too close.
SUBRON Twelve’s cover letter to the two reports said that they would be continuing the official search, while waiting for guidance from above on what, and when, the families would be told. Jerry could well believe that Commodore Bob Dorr was seeking guidance from higher up in the chain.
Jerry’s first impulse, and he imagined everyone’s, was to tell Toledo’s loved ones immediately. But revealing the location, and especially the cause of Toledo’s loss would trigger an international crisis that would reveal the current “media firestorm” as the petty exercise in political theater it was.
If the navy told the Toledo’s families what happened, it would have to publicly accuse Russia of sinking her. Questions would be asked about why the boat had been so close to the Russian border. Jerry didn’t know the exact purpose of her mission, but Fedorin wouldn’t miss the opportunity to raise a stink and accuse the U.S. Navy of being up to no good. Especially now with Hardy as the president of the United States; the man the Russian leader held responsible for the loss of Gepard.
But the Russians were clearly up to no good. The longer they thought the Americans were in the dark, the better.
Jerry’s yeoman called into his office, “Commodore, your wife is on line two.” Emily usually called in the early afternoon, after Carly came back from daycare. Emily claimed it was her desire to hear another adult voice, but it was really just a chance to spend a few minutes together, at least over the phone.
As soon as he answered, Emily asked, “Have you been watching the news?” The squadron office usually had at least one TV set turned to an all-news channel, but Jerry had ordered that the sound be muted unless something important was happening.
“They just aired a short piece saying that the Navy was searching close to Russian territory. That was news to me.” She didn’t sound entirely happy.
“It’s news to me as well,” Jerry replied. It was only a small fib, since while he did know where the search area was; it was indeed news that the media had found out — and not good news. How much more did they know? “Hang on one moment please, honey.”
Jerry called to his yeoman, “I need to see Commander Gustason, please,” and Jerry’s chief staff officer appeared at his door just a moment later. “Emily’s seen media coverage saying that the Navy’s looking for Toledo near Russia.” Gustason’s eyebrows went up in surprise, but he could see Jerry’s hand covering the phone, and remained silent. “Find out what they’re saying.”
Gustason nodded and disappeared. The couple chatted about Charlotte’s day and exchanged reminders about an upcoming house project. Jerry tried very hard to focus on his spouse’s words, while the back of his mind processed the media’s latest revelation. It kept intruding with a nagging question—What else did they know?
Gustason reappeared at his door after a few minutes, and Jerry excused himself. “Dylan’s waiting to talk to me, honey.” She finished her thought and hung up, yielding to the needs of the navy.
Jerry waved him in as he said goodbye and hung up. “I got more from the Internet than CNN,” the commander reported as he sat down, “but it’s very limited.” Jerry relaxed a little, and his CSO continued. “A news article on CNN cites ‘unnamed sources,’ and just says that they’re searching for Toledo in the Arctic Ocean, not the northern Atlantic, and that the searchers were concerned because of how close they had to go to the Russian border.”
Gustason sighed. “Somebody talked to a reporter. Maybe someone who was worried they’d get shot at. There must be over a thousand people who know the search plan. It’s not just SUBRON Twelve or SUBFOR. All the units taking part in the search, and all the people supporting those units, and all the people they’re reporting to at the Pentagon. They all would know.”
Jerry laughed softly, in spite of the news. “The reporters really should at least look at a map before saying we’re searching close to Mother Russia. The search area is easily over a hundred miles from Franz Josef Land, and you can bet that the search plan included ‘DO NOT CROSS THE RUSSIAN BORDER’ in bold type.”
“Written by some very wise staff officer,” Gustason replied.
“At least the leak wasn’t either of Carter’s reports,” Jerry added, patting the document in question. “Any leak concerning Toledo’s loss is bad enough, but it could have been much worse.”
“Your orders, Commodore?” Gustason asked.
Jerry scowled. “None, CSO. It’s not our ball game. SUBRON Twelve and SUBFOR will have to carry on while the Russians go into a defensive crouch. Whoever leaked this to the press was not serving the national interest.”
“Understood, sir. Oh, I’ve got your airline tickets and hotel reservation in Arlington all set. Your flight departs pretty early tomorrow morning, at 0645. Your driver will be by the house at 0430.”
“Uggh.” Jerry winced. “What an ungodly hour!”
“You’re the guy who wanted to attend Carter’s formal debriefing at the Pentagon, so I don’t want to hear any whining… sir.”
Jerry saw the broad grin on Gustason’s face. “You are a cold-hearted man, CSO.”
Gustason nodded, accepting the compliment, and then left. Curious, Jerry turned on the television set in his office. How bad had the press coverage actually gotten? He flipped through different news channels, and all of them were now discussing the “stunning” revelations about possible Russian involvement in Toledo’s loss. A bevy of talking heads chewed on the new information, trying to make speculation sound like wise deduction.
Their conclusions were unanimous. There was some sort of navy cover-up, of that they were certain. Clearly, the navy was not doing its job properly, and of course was hiding the fact. They mentioned the “growing chorus calling for congressional investigations…”