“Captain Stenseth, I don’t know who these people are, but they sure don’t look or act like the Canadian military to me. We’ll go get your NUMA boys. And if these jokers interfere with our rescue ops, I guarantee you they will wish they hadn’t.”

THERE WAS NO WAY Rick Roman was going to be denied. Though he and his commando team were severely weakened by their ordeal on the barge, they knew there was unfinished business to take care of. When word filtered down that a SEAL team was being assembled to search for Pitt and Giordino, Roman pleaded with the Santa Fe’s captain to participate. Knowing that his SEAL team was undermanned, Campbell reluctantly agreed. And in a nod toward just retribution, he let Roman lead the team to board and search the icebreaker.

With a hot shower, dry clothes, and two extended trips to the officers’ mess, Roman almost felt human again. Dressed in a white Arctic assault suit, he stood assembled with his team and the SEAL commandos in the enlisted mess area.

“Ever thought you’d be making an amphibious assault off a nuclear sub?” he asked Bojorquez.

“No, sir. I’m still and always will be a landlubber. Though after tasting the chow they serve these squids, I am beginning to rethink my choice about joining the Army.”

A deck above them in the control room, Commander Campbell was easing the submerged Santa Fe to the edge of the ice field. He had spotted a large hummock nearby that appeared to offer some measure of concealment from the distant icebreaker. Dropping the periscope, he watched as the diving officer inched the submarine under the ice, then stopped and gently rose to the surface.

With uncanny precision, the Santa Fe’s sail barely broke through the ice, protruding just a few feet above the surface. Roman’s team and a pair of SEALs were quickly ushered out the bridge and onto the adjacent sea ice. Five minutes later, the sail and masts sank out of sight and the submarine again became a phantom of the deep.

The commandos quickly split up, the two SEALs moving to investigate the Bloodhound, while Roman and his men crept toward the icebreaker. The ship was a half mile away across a mostly flat sheet of ice that offered only sporadic ridges and hummocks for concealment. In their Arctic whites, however, they blended perfectly. Moving methodically, Roman approached the vessel from the sea side, then circled wide around its bow, having to avoid the watery lead that tailed the stern. Spotting a side stairwell that dropped down the ship’s port hull, he moved the team within twenty yards, then ducked behind a small ridge. A few anxious seconds ticked by when a pair of men in black parkas descended the steps, but they turned toward shore without even a glance in the direction of Roman and his team.