America (36 page)

*   *   *

“The P-3 is leaving,” Eck told Kolnikov and Turchak. “His noise is fading.”

“Which way?”

“He went out to the west.”

“If this guy knows we're back here,” Turchak said, “he'll torpedo us as we break off contact.”

“I've been thinking about that,” Kolnikov said.

“You should have sunk this guy when we had the advantage of surprise.”

“
I
should have! Just killed them all and nuked off into the sunset. Yeah. Isn't that right, Heydrich?”

Heydrich got up from his chair and wandered out of the compartment.

*   *   *

In the Pentagon the secure telephone on the desk of Vice-Admiral Navarre rang. He answered it and found himself talking to SUBLANT, a two-star admiral. “Sir, I thought you should know. We have received a message from a P-3 sent to investigate the area where the cruise missiles were fired from this morning.
La Jolla
heard the firings and went to investigate. She put a voice message in the water that the Orion picked up. She reports that she has contact with
America
and asked the P-3 to leave the area.”

“When was this?”

“Just moments ago, sir. The P-3 asked to remain close enough to monitor the sonobuoys in the water, just in case, and I agreed. He is going to pull off about fifty miles and orbit high.”

“This wasn't the way we planned to hunt for
America.
What went wrong?”

“Sir, the message directing our boats to come to periscope depth went out as an advisory, not mandatory.”

“I'm going to tell you again, just this once. We will never find
America
with passive tactics: She's too quiet. I want P-3s to get there as soon as possible and echo-range with those sonobuoys. When they have her illuminated, they can call the attack subs in. Not before.”

“Yes, sir. But that didn't happen this time. We didn't get the plan out. Now
La Jolla
says she has a contact on
America.
We have another boat in the vicinity that can reach the area in several hours at high speed.
Colorado Springs.
She was at communications depth to receive our original situation update … so I authorized her to proceed into the area.”

“Did
La Jolla
ask for help?”

“No, sir. In fact, the skipper requested that everyone stay out. But
America
is so stealthy, I just don't feel it wise to bet everything that
La Jolla
can sink her.”

Navarre didn't know what to say. A hell of a day … American submarines hunting American submarines.

“I've got a real bad feeling about this,” he said finally. “We're after a rogue grizzly bear. I think the only safe tactic is to let P-3s illuminate
America
and our boats shoot from long range. If we do it any other way we're going to lose boats.”

“Sir, the problem is,
La Jolla
says she's on her. We have no way to pull her off, even if we wanted to. The question is what is the best way to help
La Jolla
prosecute this contact.”

“You're the man on the hot seat,” Navarre said. “Keep me advised,” he added and hung up the phone.

SUBLANT was going to pile in the forces until
America
went down. And damn the cost! What else could he do?

*   *   *

On one of their trips to look out the windows, Jake thought he saw someone across the lawn, at the edge of the woods. He paused and waited. Ilin joined him eventually and they both watched. After five minutes they saw a moving figure—perhaps the same one, perhaps someone else—well back in the trees.

“If they crash in here with guns blazing they'll kill us both,” Jake said. “You realize that?”

“I've watched your television shows.”

“On the other hand, if it's you they're after, they can pot you any old time going into or out of the embassy. Heck, they can just go back there now and wait for you to show up.”

“If they were after me,” Ilin replied dryly, “they could have shot me this morning when the limo drove out of the embassy gate. It's you they want.”

“You are a real ray of sunshine.”

“Just explaining why I don't think they will teargas the house and knock down the door. I saw that on television last week. California must be a marvelous place. Three beautiful women with gorgeous hair, magnificent chests, and submachine guns. They didn't even bother with body armor. Only cretins would shoot at women like that.”

There were half a dozen cans of beer in the kitchen fridge, so Jake thought, Why not? He passed one to Ilin and opened one for himself.

“After the SuperAegis satellite was lost, why did your people send you to the liaison team?”

Ilin snorted. “To keep an eye on Mayer, Jadot, and Barrington-Lee.”

“So what have you decided?”

Janos Ilin shrugged. “I look for a gesture, a glance, a wrong move. I listen for a slip of the tongue. So far, nothing.”

“Who put the satellite in the water?”

“I don't know. The FBI may find out, but not by questioning people. Someone will retire to a life of leisure. Or spend too much money. A spouse seeking a divorce will voice suspicions. Something like that.”

“I think you know a lot you aren't telling me,” Jake said, making contact with Ilin's eyes and holding them.

Ilin searched Jake's face, then reached into his pocket for cigarettes. He took his time getting one out, lighting it. “Knocking out the tracking stations at precisely the right time and putting the rocket in the water—someplace—was a sophisticated operation. Several people were involved, perhaps a half dozen.”

Jake nodded.

“Running a covert operation like that would be extraordinarily difficult for a foreign intelligence service. Difficult for anyone, but essentially impossible for a foreign service. Funding, covers, cut-outs, it would be a huge undertaking. As a rule, the larger the operation, the more likely it is to be affected by random chance, by the friction of normal life.”

“So it wasn't Russia.”

“I doubt it. My directorate wouldn't handle it.”

“No one but the Americans wanted SuperAegis,” Jake said thoughtfully, scrutinizing Ilin's face. “Europe and Russia went along only when their tails were twisted.”

Ilin nodded. “They ceased active opposition only when they were backed into a corner, with no other options. America is the only superpower. With an antiballistic missile shield in place, America will be even less inclined to listen to other nations' concerns.”

“I thought expanding the shield to cover Europe and Russia made the system politically palatable?”

“It made the medicine impossible to refuse, but if the system never becomes operational, Europe will not be unhappy.”

“Europe?”

Ilin smiled. He dropped the stub of his cigarette into his beer can, then went to the refrigerator and helped himself to another can. “You Americans! You sit here in your prosperous paradise, with your beautiful houses and stables of cars and supermarkets full of cheap food and think the unwashed hordes in China and India and the Middle East are your enemies. Not so. Your enemy is your largest economic rival. Europe has a larger economy than the United States; in fact, it's the largest economy on Earth. They have slashed taxes, jettisoned massive overregulation, kissed socialism good-bye, embraced capitalism, and adopted one currency. Europe is on the road to becoming a federal state. Europe is the next superpower.”

“Not Russia.”

“Not Russia,” Ilin agreed flatly. “An academic economist I met at a Washington cocktail party told me that Russia will never be able to accumulate capital as rapidly as Europe or the United States. She was right, of course. The place is too large, with a harsh climate and relatively few people. The Russians will always pay more for the infrastructure upon which a modern economy rests. Roads, factories, bridges, food, electrical grids, pipelines, all kinds of distribution systems … everything costs more. Always has and always will. The problem with capitalism is that it is a game Russia cannot win.”

In the silence that followed that remark he lit another cigarette.

“Europe is Russia's natural enemy,” Ilin continued finally, musing aloud. “Has been for centuries. Russia's foreign policy since the Middle Ages has been designed to protect itself from the European powers. As along as they were divided and could be played off against each other, Russia, with its vast spaces and thin, poor population, had a chance. With Europe united, Russia's future looks grim.”

“I see.”

“Today the bulk of our intelligence efforts are directed against Europe. More of them should be.”

“I suppose the Europeans resent that.”

“What they resent is
American
intelligence efforts against them. With the collapse of communism, they directed their efforts against the United States, sought to use their intelligence services to provide an edge for their industrial efforts. Naturally the Americans reacted.” He grinned tightly. “It is a different game these days. Without the ideological bogeyman to frighten people, they can more easily convince themselves that betrayal of their company is not betrayal of their country. After all, they tell themselves, it's only money. Most people want more of it. Want the good life that their neighbors have.” He gestured at the room in which they were sitting. “They want this.”

“And you, Ilin? What do you want?”

“Are you asking my price?”

“No,” Jake Grafton said. “I don't think you have one.”

“Thank you,” Janos Ilin said. A smile lit up his face. “That is the nicest compliment I have ever received from an American.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Three hours after the P-3 Orion left them, USS
La Jolla
was still making six knots, still running at eight hundred feet.
America
was a hundred yards behind her, about one hull length, stepped down slightly to stay out of
La Jolla
's wash and clear of the towed array cable. An hour ago
La Jolla
had made a gentle turn of ninety degrees to a course of three four zero. If she stayed on this course for another fifteen minutes, then turned left again, she would be making a perfect square search pattern with the launch site at the approximate center.

Kolnikov had kept the lights on
America
's sail illuminated. With the aid of the blue-green illuminator and the visible light sensors, he had a relatively clear image on one of the vertical displays. He stood staring at it, mesmerized by the gently turning prop, trying to read the mind of
La Jolla
's commander. Did he know he was being followed?

Kolnikov was inclined to believe the American didn't know, but how do you explain those two minor course changes in the minutes after
America
joined behind her? It really looked like he had some noise from the stealth sub on his gear and was checking to ensure it wasn't a false signal. If he knew
America
was behind him, he was pretending just now. Would he let
America
fall back and disengage? Or would he shoot the instant the range opened enough for his torpedoes to arm, which was about one thousand yards?

A hell of a problem.

Turchak was right, of course, Kolnikov mused. And Heydrich, though he hated to admit it, even to himself. He should have fired two torpedoes at the attack boat as soon as she got within the torpedoes' envelope, before the crew even had an inkling that
America
was near.

Fighter pilots kill fighter pilots, submarine captains are supposed to kill submariners—isn't that the way it goes? Sneak up, launch a torpedo or missile before they see you, shoot 'em in the back. Escape before their friends can take revenge. That is the essence of modern war.

God knows Kolnikov had spent enough years training for it. He knew what it was and how to do it.

But this isn't war, he told himself. We stole a submarine for money. If we had stolen a car no one would have gotten very excited. On the other hand, shooting people while you are stealing things is a bad business. Yeah, we had to shoot some people to get aboard the sub, and we killed that American traitor. Thinking about the dead, he waved irritably, as if he could banish them from his memory.

Too many things on your conscience, Kolnikov. Far too many. A dangerous luxury, a conscience, beyond the pocketbook of a poor man like you.

If
La Jolla
makes the ninety-degree left turn—in what? ten, no, eleven minutes—Kolnikov mused, then I'll break away, slow to barely maintaining plane effectiveness, let him motor on until he's increased the separation to a mile or so. Then I'll turn ninety degrees to the right and sail away, staying in his stern quarter, where his sonar is the least effective. In the event he does anything aggressive, I'll be in a perfect position to launch from the port tubes.

That decision made, he descended the ladder to the galley and poured himself a cup of coffee. He sipped the hot, black liquid, savored it, stared at his reflection in the plastic that covered the coffeepot operating instructions, which were mounted on the bulkhead. After several sips, he topped off the cup, then climbed back to the control room, where he perched on the captain's stool and lit a cigarette.

On the proper minute,
La Jolla
began her port turn. Vladimir Kolnikov sighed with relief. He had Turchak follow her diligently around the turn, then as she steadied on her new course, two five zero degrees, he told Turchak to slow to two knots. “Watch out for that towed array,” he warned. “It's right above us.”

“I'll avoid it.”

Kolnikov nodded. He could rely on Turchak, which was a good feeling.

“Rothberg,” he said, glancing around to locate the American. “Check the torpedo control panel. I want to ensure the panel is continuously updating the presets in the torpedoes. I hope to sneak away from her without anyone the wiser, but we must be ready, with our finger on the trigger. I want to let the towed array go by before I turn and point our prop at it. Putting those pulses right into the towed array and expecting them not to hear is asking too much. When we are well aft of it, then we will turn.”