The Belgorod (K-329)
Hovering over the DASH mid-Atlantic data node
1053 local time
Just when Konstantin thought his luck might be beginning to turn, the conning officer summoned him. As he made his way forward from the drone hangar control room to the conn, he could not help but notice the worried expressions and nervous stares of the crewmen who he’d ordered to battle stations.
A part of him resented them for their cowardice and doubt.
Do they not trust me? Do they not know that I, and I alone, am in command and my will should not be questioned?
Another part of him challenged this callous thinking. His standard operating practice was to make an announcement explaining the tactical situation to accompany changes in readiness or prior to commencing a new evolution. In this case, he had not.
They are young—very young—and they are operating in an information black hole. It is not mistrust you see in their faces, it is uncertainty.
He started nodding to his men and making eye contact to show them his confidence. Only then did he realize he was walking with his right palm pressed to his abdomen. Instead of the acute flashes of pain he’d been dealing with the past forty-eight hours, this steady burning gnaw he felt was new. And new was not a good sign. New was terrifying.
It’s the cancer, a fatalistic voice reminded him, consuming you from the inside out.
As he reached the threshold of the control room, he forced both hands to his sides.
“Captain in control,” Blok said, announcing the CO’s arrival on the conn.
“As you were,” he said and walked straight to Blok. “What is the problem?”
“Sonar picked up a series of powerful transmissions,” Blok said.
“High-frequency active?”
“No, sir.”
“An American submarine?”
“No, we don’t think so.”
“Stop with the guessing game, conning officer,” Konstantin said, his irritation rising, “and just tell me.”
“I think it is better, sir, if you take a look for yourself.”
“Fine,” Konstantin said and shoved past Blok, stomping toward sonar.
He opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit sonar suite without knocking.
“Captain,” the sonar supervisor said, momentarily taken aback. “Would you like to see the recording?”
“Of course I want to see it,” he snapped.
Collect yourself . . . Ignore the pain.
The sonar lead swallowed nervously and gestured to the nearest sonar terminal. “This is the signal. I will play the recording back for you.”
The captain leaned in, placing his hands on the seat back of the chair in front of him. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the frequency. “This signal is 151.7 hertz?”
“Da, Captain.”
“You’re certain this is not the signal we are generating?”
“I’m certain,” the sonar supervisor said. “The noise augmentation device is strongest on relative bearings one-four-zero and two-four-zero, which makes sense, as it is coming from own-ship aft of the bow sonar array. This signal was detected on bearing zero-four-nine true.”
Konstantin’s mind churned like a computer analyzing scenarios.
“Where is the carrier now?”
“With our towed array stowed, we lost contact with the American fleet, but if we extrapolate the last known data, this signal would match the carrier’s estimated position,” the sonar lead said.
Then this is the Americans and it was intentional. It means they have identified this frequency, and they know we are here. But have they broken the riddle? Do they know we are not the Gepard? Is this their way of gloating, telling us they see through my deception? Or are they trying to communicate?
“There’s something else you should know, Captain,” Blok said and looked at the sonarman. “Tell him about the frequency-shift patterns you observed.”
Konstantin listened as the sonar supervisor explained how the 151.7-hertz frequency underwent a series of small frequency shifts and then how a second 161.7-hertz signal had appeared and exhibited a similar pattern, with both signals taking turns alternating. When the sonarman was done with the explanation, the captain said, “It is a code. They are using frequency-shift keying to send a message.”
“Da,” the sonarman said. “This makes sense, but do you think the message is intended for us?”
“I don’t know,” Konstantin said truthfully. “But we need to find out, so get to work decoding it.”
“Aye, Captain, but I am . . . not a code breaker. I am sorry. I will try of course, but—”
“I know this, comrade,” the captain said and put a hand on the man’s shoulder, “but we have men on board who are. I will send Gustanov to help you. He is a cryptological and signals expert. Send for me the instant you have something.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Konstantin turned to Blok. “Is that all, conning officer?”
“Sir, the ship is manned for battle stations and I have given orders to the section leaders to search every crevice and corner of the ship for the device,” Blok said.
“Very well. I’m returning to the drone hangar control room. We will hover here until the device is found and destroyed.”
“But, Captain—”
“Nyet,” Konstantin said sharply. “When we run, we run in silence. They will not fire on us without provocation. I know the American President. I have studied him for years. He is logical and cautious. That is why we will win, comrade.”
“Yes, sir.”
Konstantin turned to leave, but then a new thought occurred to him, a tactic he’d not considered before when he’d been the hunter instead of the hunted.
“Conning officer, flood and make ready torpedo tubes three and four in all respects.”
Blok balked for a second before repeating the order back, upspeak at the end making it sound like a question.
“Da, you heard me. Tubes three and four—make ready in all respects.”