Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [80]
‘Where?’
‘Sir, at the end of that transmission we just heard, they said “c’est moi le requin”. Now, I missed the start of the transmission. Did they say that at the very beginning? “C’est moi le requin”?’
Schofield didn’t know, he didn’t speak French. It had all sounded the same to him. He tried to replay the radio message in his head. ‘They may have,’ he said. ‘No, wait, yes. Yes, I think they did say that. Why?’
Rebound said, ‘Sir, “le requin” is French for “shark”. “C’est moi le requin” means “This is Shark”. You know, like a military codename. The French unit here at the station was called “Hyena” and that one we just heard was called “Shark”. You know what I’m thinking, sir –’
‘Oh, damn,’ Schofield said.
‘That’s right. I’m thinking they’re out on the water somewhere. Somewhere off the coast. I’ll bet you a million bucks that “Shark” is a warship or something sailing off the coast of Antarctica.’
‘Oh, damn,’ Schofield said again, this time with feeling.
It made sense that whoever sent that message was a ship of some kind. And not just because of its code-name. As Schofield knew, because of their extraordinarily long wavelengths, VLF transmissions were commonly used by surface vessels or submarines out in the middle of the ocean. That was why the French commandos had brought the VLF transmitter with them. To keep in contact with their warship off the coast.
Schofield started to feel ill.
The prospect of a frigate or a destroyer patrolling the ocean a hundred miles off the coast was bad. Very bad. Especially if it was aiming some kind of weapon – in all likelihood, a battery of nuclear-tipped cruise missiles – at Wilkes Ice Station.
It had never occurred to Schofield that the French might not bring an erasing device with them, but would rather leave it with an outside agent – like a destroyer off the coast – with instructions to fire upon the station if that destroyer did not receive a report by a given time.
Shit, Schofield thought. Shit. Shit. Shit.
There were only two things in the world that could stop the launch of that erasing device. One, a report coming in from twelve dead Frenchmen sometime within the next three hours. That wasn’t going to happen.
Which meant the second option was the only option.
Schofield had to get in contact with the US forces at McMurdo Station. And not just to find out when American reinforcements would be arriving at Wilkes. No, now he had to tell the Marines at McMurdo about a French warship sailing somewhere off the coast with a battery of cruise missiles trained on Wilkes Ice Station. It would then be up to the people at McMurdo to take out that warship – within three hours.
Schofield keyed his mike again. ‘Book, you hear all that?’
‘Yeah,’ Buck Riley’s voice said.
‘Any luck with McMurdo?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Keep trying,’ Schofield said. ‘Over and over. Until you get them on the line. Gentlemen, the stakes in this game have just been raised. If we don’t get through to McMurdo in less than three hours, we’re all gonna be vaporised.’
‘Scarecrow, this is Fox,’ Gant’s voice said. ‘I repeat. Scarecrow, this is Fox. Hey, Scarecrow? Are you out there?’
Schofield was out on the pool deck on E-deck, watching the cable descend into the pool, thinking about cruise missiles. It had been about ten minutes since he had heard the transmission from the French vessel, ‘Shark’. Book, Rebound and Snake were all still outside trying to raise McMurdo.
Schofield keyed his mike. ‘I hear you, Fox. How are you doing down there?’
‘We are coming to three thousand feet. Preparing to stop the cable.’
There was a short pause.
‘Okay. We are stopping the cable . . . now.’
As Gant said the word ‘now’, the cable plunging into the water suddenly jolted to a stop. Gant had stopped its descent from inside the diving bell.
‘Scarecrow, I have the time as 1410 hours,’ Gant said. ‘Please confirm.’
‘I confirm the time as 1410 hours, Fox,’ Schofield said. It was standard deep-diving practice to confirm the time at which a dive was to start. Schofield didn’t know that he was following exactly