Chapter Thirty-two

The air had cleared enough in the missile compartment so that Jake could read a laminated sheet of instructions through his OBA facemask.

Where’s a missile technician when I need one, he thought. These valve labels are hard to read.

He twisted an orange hydraulic valve and heard a clunk. A metal ring creaked open above his head, and the missile tube’s locking mechanism rotated open.

“Guess that was it,” he said.

He awaited word from Renard before twisting the final valve to open the hatch.

 

In the control room, Renard listened to the commanding officer of the Tai Chiang over the radio.

“I will speak only with the Sergeant,” Lin said.

“I’m sorry, but he, all of his team, and half of the Americans were killed in a fire,” Renard said. “You’ve seen our smoke?”

“This deviation is unacceptable,” Lin said.

“And, I assure you, colliding with a wall of ice and igniting half of this ship were unacceptable deviations as well. We’ve dealt with them. You, too, must adapt.”

“Open the missile hatches.”

“Just as soon as you contact your superiors to verify that the final payment has been made.”

“Open the hatches!”

Renard watched through the periscope as the Tai Chiang came closer.

“Open the hatches, or I will blow them open.”

“Shooting at your warheads will only damage them,” Renard said. “If you attack us, we will broadcast a message to the United States Coast Guard informing them of our situation. The message is drafted and in our radio queue. We’ve also inserted the message into two water-activated communications buoys. One buoy is in a launcher, the other is in the arms of the man you see shivering in front of our sail.”

“You would threaten me?” Lin asked.

“Not threaten,” Renard said. “Warn. This is a lengthy warship. Any weapons you might shoot would be well placed indeed if they’re to preclude all means of our informing the Coast Guard.”

Renard watched the Tai Chiang slow by the Colorado’s side.

“I have pulled alongside and will be mating our ships,” Lin said. “Open the hatches.”

“Soon,” Renard said. “I will have Scott return inside the ship with his buoy. While I’m doing that, you will begin the final financial transactions - if you want your warheads.”

 

*

“Tripwire,” Schmidt said. “Five feet of ice...”

Brody staggered and grabbed a handrail as the Miami dipped and veered. Overhead, metal scraped and ice cracked.

The control room fell silent as the deck leveled.

“Control room, sonar room,” Schmidt said, “clear water above. We’re free of the icepack.”

“Where’s the Colorado?” Brody asked.

“We hold him on bearing one-nine-two. He’s dead in the water, but we have no clue of range. Should we transmit active?” Schmidt asked.

“No, I don’t want to alert him. We’ll drive the geometry to get his range,” Brody said.

“We can have a range in five minutes.”

Brody swallowed second thoughts about sealing Jake’s fate. Sitting duck or not, he had to die.

“I’m shooting in four minutes,” Brody said. “Get me a range in three. Firing point procedures, USS Colorado, tube one.”

 

“Mister Renard,” Lin said, “I have contacted the appropriate people. Your funds have been transferred. I have been instructed to permit you to verify the monetary transfer. You have wireless phones and know the correct numbers to call. Make haste.”

“Splendid! I will open the hatches and verify the funds. If you’ve lied to me, I will close the hatches on your men’s heads.”

It is settled, Lin thought. I am killing that man.

 

*

The Tai Chiang drifted beside the Colorado. A torpedo nest protruded from the stealth craft over the Trident, and a sliding ladder lay on the nest. A Taiwanese sailor lugging a tool bag braved the crawl across the ladder and jumped onto the Colorado.

The sailor attacked an inverted cleat with a socket wrench set and rolled it over. Shipmates on the Tai Chiang lobbed him a tethered ball. He grabbed it and dragged the attached nylon mooring line to the Colorado’s cleat.

The sailor wrapped the line and moved to three more cleats. As shipmates joined him on the Trident, more mooring lines united the vessels.

Missile hatches on the Colorado’s port side lay open over the water, offering entrance to the warheads.

 

*

Brody saw Schmidt’s head in a doorway.

“Sir, we have a problem. Some ship just tied up to the Colorado. I picked up a fifty-hertz electric plant, but it’s a quiet ship. Probably running sound nullifiers on its machinery and masker air around its hull. We only heard it because we were searching in that direction.”

“Weapons officer,” Brody said. “How much longer until I have to power down the weapon’s gyros to avoid overheat?”

“Eleven minutes, sir.”

“We remain at firing point procedures on the Colorado. If there’s any sign of counter-detection, we’ll shoot,” Brody said. “I’m taking the ship to periscope depth to identify the new contact. Raising number two scope.”

Through his periscope optics, Brody saw smoke rising from the Colorado, but it was the small vessel tied to it that attracted his interest. Its zigzag, hazy gray paint played tricks with his eyes. He also noticed the open missile hatches and men on the deck of the Colorado, and the warhead transfer became obvious.

“Executive officer, are we recording the scope optics?” he asked.

“Yes, Captain,” Parks said.

“Good, because I have no idea what class of ship that is, but you’re not going to believe what they’re doing. Can you load this image into a communications buoy?”

“Only a still frame, sir, if you want it done fast and with clarity.”

“Then get a still life of this vessel loaded into the primary three-inch launcher. Mark the message for the Chief of Naval Operation’s eyes only. Launch it ASAP.”

 

*

After giving him a tongue lashing in front of his crew, Lin had returned Lieutenant Yang to his post as the Tai Chiang’s executive officer.

Lin listened to him over his headset.

“Simrad acoustic detection,” Yang said. “Bearing zero-one-three,”

“Identification!” Lin said.

“Integrators are processing - probable American submarine!”

“This is a trap! Extending starboard torpedo nest.”

“Sir,” Yang said, “we just received infrared detect on a mast correlating with Simrad detect, range three miles based upon periscope height and Simrad return. The American submarine is shallow.”

“Engaging with the cannon,” Lin said. “Taking manual gun control.”

 

*

Lowering his OBA breastplate to the control room deck, Jake pulled out his wallet. He dropped it to a desk and withdrew account access codes.

“I’m going to pop my head up through the hatch and call my bank, Pierre,” he said. “The wireless phones from the Custom Venture were global accounts. They should work from here. Let me know when you’re ready to make your calls.”

“That will settle our finances, but what of our escape? Your friend is not yet here,” Renard said.

“Grant should be here in less than an hour, but just in case, keep loading up our sea bags for the life raft.”

A crack echoed throughout the control room. Jake peered through the periscope in time to watch the second explosion from the Tai Chiang’s cannon.

A cubic obelisk spat three-inch shells from a thin barrel in front of the Tai Chiang’s bridge wing. Every second, the gun popped a round into the sky. Smoke from the end of the barrel wafted over the Tai Chiang’s bridge.

“What the hell are they shooting at?” Jake asked.

“Not us,” Renard said. “That’s all that matters at the moment.”

 

*

The flash from the cannon’s muzzle gave Brody ten seconds of warning.

“Lowering number two scope,” he said. “Helm, all ahead flank. Left five degrees rudder, steady course one-four-zero. Diving officer, make your depth nine-zero feet.

“Weapons officer,” he said, “shoot tube one.”

Brody’s orders hung in the air as the first round from the Tai Chiang zipped behind the Miami’s sail. The weapon’s fused warhead exploded underwater three hundred feet away.

The shockwave shook the Miami. Five seconds passed and five more rounds exploded as the Miami dived toward the bottom of the hundred-foot sea.

As the ship heeled over, Brody checked a weapons display and verified that his torpedo swam for the Colorado.

 

*

As each pressure wave from the cannon shook the windows of the Tai Chiang’s bridge, Lin sited his rounds like an archer adjusting for wind.

His first five shots passed long. As the Miami’s periscope slipped underwater, he commanded the ship’s combat system to pull back on the gun’s distance. The next five rounds were better placed.

The sixth shot grazed the top of the Miami’s engine room, rebounding and exploding five feet above. The pressure wave ruptured the Miami’s hull and opened a three-foot gash. Water poured in.

The next shot punctured the hull. As the projectile’s nose compressed, its fusing mechanism waited a fraction of a second before detonating the warhead within the Miami’s interior. A wall of air, compressed to the density of steel, expanded in the Miami’s engine room.

The explosion crumpled heavy panels and baked men in the maneuvering control center into unrecognizable mounds against buckled walls. Flesh vaporized as the blast expanded, and the ocean inundated the Miami through the hole ripped in its hull.