To Kill the Potemkin (25 page)

"Yeah,
but this
one's waiting for
us."

Lopez
watched the
torpedomen rivet their eyes
on the mate.

"No
shit,
Johnson. Why would they do
that?"

"They
want
revenge because we sank their
boat."

"Bullshit.
They're waiting for the
boomer,
Vallejo
."

"How
do you know,
Lopez? They want to
even the score. Wouldn't you?"

"Johnson,
you've
got a big mouth. If I
hear this from anybody else, I'll know where it came from. All of you,
listen.
The Russians are not interested in us. There's a shitload going on here
that
you people know nothing about because you don't need to know. Don't
sweat it.
When we get back to Norfolk, all of you will get thirty days' leave.
Think
about that and forget the Russians. After we chase these Ivans away,
we're
goin' home. This is my last cruise and I want it to be a good one."

The
torpedomen
appeared unconvinced, but none
spoke. Lopez swore under his breath, cursing Springfield for not
informing the
crew that the Russian sub never sank. He was still muttering when the
exchange
between the captain and the radio operator came over the command
intercom. As
the torpedomen listened, they grew visibly concerned. Lopez lit a cigar.

"It's
just
routine," he said,
"and you all know it. The trawler in the bay reports all ship movements
to
the picket. They're waiting for
Vallejo
, not for us."

A
moment later
the ship began to submerge. As
the hull compressed, the torpedomen gasped at every creak and groan.
Every eye
was on the new torpedo doors. Every weld had been X-rayed twice, and
the tiger
team had taken the ship for a brief sea trial, including a dive to
eight
hundred feet, but Lopez had sealed the hatch and prepared for the
worst. When
Springfield adjusted the trim and leveled the ship, all systems were
functioning
normally. The torpedomen's cheer sounded like a sigh of relief.

"You
happy,
Johnson?"

"We
ain't here to
fight the ocean,
Chief."

Lopez
frowned and
shook his head. "Open
the hatch. It's stuffy in here. Johnson, I want circuit tests on all
the
on-board computers in the fish. I'm going up to have a word with the
skipper."

The
captain
reduced speed to a crawl and
began to circle. In the sonar room Sorensen closed his eyes and pressed
his
earphones tight against his ears, listening for the picket. When the
circle
closed, he spoke into his headset, "Sonar to control. Negative
contact."

"Very
well,
sonar. If she's here, we'll
have to wait until she tips her hand."

Slowly
Barracuda
swung back toward the
bay where
Vallejo
was due to emerge in ninety
minutes.

Sorensen
took off
his headset and turned on
the speakers. Fogarty watched the blank screen, giving a little start
each time
the brief sound of a distant surface ship flashed a target across one
sector of
his screen.

"What's
the
matter, Fogarty? You
jumpy?"

"God,
Sorensen,
we steamed out here like
a battleship. If there's a Russian picket, she's locked onto us."

"I
guess you are
jumpy. Relax. This
Russian isn't going to pull any dirty tricks. It's our turn."

Fogarty
rubbed
his eyes and stretched.
"It's been a long day and I could use some sleep. Instead, I get more
Russians."

Sorensen
glanced
at the chronometer in his
console. "You'll have plenty of time to sleep when this cruise is over.
Meanwhile, get Davic and Willie Joe in here. We have to try out the new
down-searching passive array they installed in Rota. And get us some
coffee.
Let's stay awake."

In
the galley
Fogarty found Cakes sipping tea
with Stanley. Fogarty asked, "What's shakin', Cakes?"

"Lopez
just came
through with a big mad
on. Said he was goin' to shut down the rumor mill. You heard any good
rumors
lately, Fogarty?"

Stanley
spoke up.
"I hear the Russians
put out a contract on
Barracuda
.
They want us bad. No shit, just like the Mafia."

Cakes
shook his
head. "What, like the
Mafia?"

"Sure,
man. This Mafia is all KGB. Same in Japan, this Yakuza. they all KGB,
too. The
Italians are just fall guys, get all the bad rep."

Cakes
laughed. "Why put a contract on us, Stanley?"

Stanley
put a finger to his lips and whispered. "We sink their ship, kill their
sailors. They want an eye for a tooth."

Fogarty
poured two cups of coffee and balancing them precariously returned to
the sonar
room where he found Davic and Willie Joe crowded around Sorensen's
console.
Sorensen had activated the new sonars.

Barracuda
was at four hundred feet. A school of tuna passed under the
ship at a thousand feet, turning the screen into a swirl of green dots.
Sorensen took his coffee from Fogarty, punched a button, and most of
the fish
disappeared. "This sonar is computer-enhanced. It compensates for the
thermals," he said. "Not completely, not perfectly, but it
helps."

"What's
the point?" Davic asked. "No sub goes that deep anyway."

Sorensen
said, "I dunno, Davic. You never can tell. Go ahead and sit down.
You're
going to have to learn how to use this."

Davic and
Willie Joe each took a turn, and Fogarty was taking his when the
overhead
speakers came to life.

"Attention
all hands. This is the captain. I'm sure you all recall Admiral Netts'
visit to
our ship in Naples. Now that we have put to sea, I am authorized to
read you a
communication from him. It is dated yesterday and addressed to all the
officers
and men of
Barracuda
,
SSN
five nine three. The message is as follows:

"That
is all."

Stunned
silence greeted the captain's speech. In every compartment each
sailor was thinking the same thing, but in the torpedo room, Johnson,
the mate,
said it aloud. "Holy shit, the ship that hit us is still alive. Alive
and
kicking and maybe after our ass." A rumble of assent issued from the
other
torpedomen.

Lopez
looked hard
at Johnson. "Cool
down, Johnson. We're going to find her, follow her, harass
her
ass from
here to Leningrad, but that's it. Got it?"

Johnson
nodded
sullenly, but there was no
doubt what he was thinking... get them before they get us...

In
the sonar room
Springfield's announcement
interrupted the test of the new passive array.

Davic blanched.
"She is not sunk?
Sorensen, what does this mean?"

"It
means it was
hit and run."

"But
the
implosions..."

"Faked."

"You
knew
about this."

"What
if I did?
Now you know about it
too. And I'll give you all something to think about. This is a new
class of
ship that can go down to at least four thousand feet, maybe deeper."

"Four
thousand
feet!" Davic shook
his head. "What is it? A bathyscaph?"

"No,
it's an
attack boat, class name
Alpha. She's a noisy devil. We have her signature. We got it just
before the
collision."

"If
it's so
noisy," Willie Joe
asked, "why can't anybody find it?"

"That's
a good
question. My guess is
she's been running slow and deep, maybe on electric power, but she has
to come
up to pass through the Strait. She got in because we weren't looking
for
her."

"How
many do they
have?" Davic
asked.

"So
far, we only
know about this
one."

"Where
is it?"
Davic persisted.
"Is it coming after us?"

"Why
would the
Russians come after
us?" Sorensen snapped.

"Because
we have
discovered their new
ship, of course."

"I
don't think
they'll do that, Davic.
All we know is that they can go deep. We don't know how. I don't think
they'll
do anything so stupid. I figure all they want is to get that sub out of
the Med
and on its way home." At least I hope that's all, he added to himself.
And
then, as much to reassure himself as the others, he said, "Jesus
Christ,
we re not at war with these people."

"We
should nuke
their shipyards," Davic muttered.

"The
next time I
see Admiral Netts I'll
tell him you said so, Davic. In the meantime let's get on with this
test. This
toy just might help us detect a deep-running sub."

Exactly
on
schedule they heard the thrashing
sounds of a submarine.

"Sonar
to
control. Contact bearing zero
seven two degrees, speed twelve knots, course two eight eight, range
eight
miles. It's
Vallejo
,
skipper."

"Very
well,
sonar. All hands man
maneuvering stations."

Davic and
Willie Joe took their asbestos
suits and went forward to their damage-control stations.

"Control
to
navigation, set course zero
seven two degrees."

"Navigation,
aye.
Course zero seven two
degrees."

"All
ahead half."

"All
ahead half,
aye."

Barracuda
accelerated, her course parallel to that of the big missile ship
emerging from
the bay. The two subs swept past each other a hundred yards apart,
frothing the
sea like a pod of whales, then turned and steamed past one another
again. They
crisscrossed back and forth twice more.

Fogarty
was
shaking his head. "Why don't
we just send the Russians a telegram telling them where we are?"

"That's
the idea."

"But
that's nuts.
Can't they tell us
apart?"

"No.
Our
signatures are almost
identical. We have the same reactor, same reduction gears and the same
prop as
Vallejo
. He has to get within a mile to tell the difference.
For the
moment, we're bait. We want this Russkie to come after us so
Vallejo
can
escape. That's the name of the game, to help
Vallejo
shake her tail.
Hang on. You'll see. HMS
Valiant
is just inside the
Strait, off
Gibraltar, and some heavy-duty British ASW forces. No Russian captain
has ever
tried to run that gauntlet except the damned Alpha. We still don't know
exactly
how that son of a bitch got in there, but he did, and maybe this one
will try
it, too, if we can't juke him into coming after us."

"Maybe
the picket
is the Alpha."

Sorensen
let his
face fold slowly into a
smile. "And if it is? Is that what's making you nervous?"

Fogarty
shrugged,
trying to maintain a casual
air. "He rammed us once. I'd rather not give him a second chance."

"You
know what I
think, Fogarty? I think
you're pissed off at the Russians for fucking your head around. I think
your
high-minded ideals are out the window. I think you're ready to make
war."

"I'm
not crazy,
Sorensen."

"I
hope not."

"Except
this is a
war now, Sorensen...
an electronic war of nerves..."

"It's
Cowboys and
Cossacks, Fogarty.
It's just a game. Believe it."

Did
he?

Half
an hour into
the exercise, at a
precisely timed moment, both subs suddenly went quiet and drifted,
their
momentum carrying them in opposite directions.

Sorensen's
fingers stabbed at his keyboard.
In the abrupt silence that followed the shutdown of machinery he heard
a faint
mechanical rumble. An instant later, it stopped.

"Got
her. That's
it. Sonar to control.
Contact bearing two three zero degrees. No range, but he's not too
close. He's
holding still, skipper. No identification yet."

In
the control
room the bearing of the Soviet
sub appeared on the navigation and weapons screens.

"Bingo,"
said Lt.
Hoek.

"Where
is
Vallejo?
"
Springfield asked.

"Right
here,
skipper," Pisaro
answered, pointing to a blip on his chart.

Vallejo
was making a
wide
turn to the right, away from
Barracuda,
and
descending to one thousand
feet.

Springfield
spoke
quietly into his
microphone. "Attention all hands. Prepare for quiet running. Quiet in
the
boat."

In
the sonar room
the air conditioner stopped
whirring. Sorensen switched off the overhead speakers and said quietly
to
Fogarty. "We're going to try to make this Ivan think we're
Vallejo
. We're going
to go north. If the
Russian takes the bait and follows us, then
Vallejo
is clear."