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“All right, all right!” said Petrov. “I’ll turn it down…”
“No!” said Balakin.“Look!”
He was leaning over the console, his nose just inches from one of the monitors—the one showing the outside of the explosives shed on the far side of the property. “Shed” was a misnomer. It was a pillbox-shaped building with walls two feet thick and six feet of solid steel descending into the ground to prevent burrowing, animal or otherwise.
Balakin dropped his cigarette through a metal floor grate and rolled his chair forward. The shed was just a blocky outline in the darkness, but there was a bright flare around one side of the heavy metal door, so strong it almost whited out the camera lens. Petrov shot his partner a look. Balakin nodded.
Petrov reached to the far side of the console and pounded a red alarm button. They both stood and tightened their gun belts. Balakin turned the handle to open the vacuum-sealed door. Outside, they jumped into matching black ATVs and raced toward the location.
By the time they arrived, the whole scene was swarming with a dozen other ATVs, their headlights shining across all sides of the shed. The student squad on call had responded to the alarm in record time. They seemed excited that, for once, it was apparently not just a drill. When Balakin pulled up, the students greeted him with unsettling wide-eyed smiles. He nodded back. He avoided the students whenever possible. They made his skin crawl.
Petrov pulled up right behind. He jumped out of his vehicle and walked to the building. He placed his hand on the seam of the metal door. It was blackened and pitted, but otherwise intact. No intrusion. No structural damage. All around the building, ATV engines revved and roared, blocking out any other sounds. Balakin rolled his ATV forward and swiveled the powerful spotlight beam across the thick woods in the distance.
He saw nothing but trees.
CHAPTER 83
The Bering Sea
I THOUGHT THE banging noises were part of a dream, but when I woke up, they were still there. I didn’t know how long I’d slept. Maybe hours. Maybe days. The only light came from the fluorescent tubes overhead. No clue about the world outside. My whole body felt bruised and sore. My skin was still crusty from the salt water, and my throat felt like sandpaper.
I reached into my backpack and pulled out my lone bottle of water. As I guzzled it down, I heard the sounds again. They were coming from the other side of the fortress.
I rolled my aching body off the cot and walked around to the other side of the partition into the main space. I started following the sounds. They had more definition now. Rhythmic. Hollow. Metallic. I looked up and down for something that might have come loose, maybe something knocking into a beam. Nothing. I looked for pumps or heating units. Again nothing. Except for the sleeping area, the fortress was wide open.
The sounds reverberated through the space. I froze in place and tried to triangulate the source. Then I took a few steps forward. The sounds were louder now. Closer.
I was almost at the other end of the vast room when I felt a vibration under my feet. The planks I was standing on trembled in sync with the noise. A few steps farther, I saw a metal hatch set flush with the floor. There was a handle near the top. I pulled on it, but the hatch door was rusted to the frame. I braced my legs and pulled again. The handle ripped off in my hand. I leaned down. No question now. The banging was coming from underneath the hatch. Like somebody or something was trying to get in.
I was out of patience. I grabbed a crowbar and jammed the edge under the floorboards on one side of the hatch. I worked the bar back and forth, splintering the wood until I’d exposed the edge of the metal. I took a deep breath, hooked my hands underneath, and ripped out the entire hatch, frame and all. It fell back onto the planks with a huge bang, leaving a gaping hole in the floor.
I looked down through the opening. I was staring at a black metal object floating in a large chamber of seawater right below the level of the floor. It was about twice the size of an oil drum. One side was banging against an underwater support post. That was the noise.
I dropped to my knees for a closer look. It wasn’t a drum—more like a stubby tube, with tapered ends and a round lid in the center.
A submarine.
CHAPTER 84
Eastern Russia
“I SHOULD HAVE been called sooner,” said Irina, her voice steely.
She stared straight ahead as Petrov and Balakin led her to the front of the explosives shed. Irina was running on two hours of sleep and she was in a dark mood. As she approached the building, students were still circling it in their ATVs. When they recognized Irina, they cut their engines and stiffened in their seats.
Dawn was just rising over the mountains, and the west-facing half of the structure was still in shadow. Irina stared at the damaged door. She leaned in and stroked her index finger over the sooty residue on the metal. She sniffed it.
“Old-school thermite,” she said. “Veryold.”
Thermite was no match for titanium. Even the weakest students would know that. The intrusion attempt had been amateurish. Almost like somebody was playing games, or trying to attract attention. She turned to Petrov.
“You have video?” she asked. He nodded.
Back in the basement security center, Balakin watched nervously as Petrov cued up the segment from the early hours. Irina had her chair rolled up tight against the console. The image was dark, the outlines of the shed barely visible. Suddenly, the explosive flare illuminated one side of the building, blowing out the picture for a few seconds before fading back into darkness.
“Stop it there!” said Irina.
Petrov hit the Pause button. Irina leaned in.
