Appearing pale and unsteady, Mimi held onto the edge of the hatchway as if for dear life.
“Feelin’ better, hon?” asked Dr. Elizabeth, her concern most genuine.
Mimi shook her head.
“I’m afraid not. No matter what I do, I still feel sick to my stomach.”
“We’s out of da Gulf Stream now, missy, and da waters here are usually as calm as a bathtub. So you can relax, knowing dat da worst is over.”
“Al’s right, hon. We’ve come such a long way to get here, it would be a pity to give up now. Come join me in the sunlight, and breathe in some of this good clean air.”
Mimi somewhat reluctantly took the psychic’s suggestion, letting go of her handhold and unsteadily proceeding into the wheelhouse itself. Isis could be seen lazily sunning herself on the boat’s fantail, where a card table and three chairs had been set up.
“So that’s Andros Island,” managed Mimi, in reference to the passing landmass.
“Are you sure dat you don’t want to stop at Nicholl Town?” asked Al.
“My cousin Sherman will take good care of us there.”
Dr. Elizabeth looked at Mimi while answering.
“I’m sure that he would. But unfortunately, we’ve got another date to keep.”
Al shrugged his skinny shoulders, and quickly reached down to inch back the throttle when the trawler’s engine began sputtering. A thick plume of blue gray smoke billowed from the stern, prompting Al to lift up his head in mock prayer.
“Come on. Sunshine. Don’t fail me now, ole gal.”
Seemingly in response to this petition, the engine loudly wheezed a single time, before finally returning to normal.
“Dat’s my baby,” said Al with a satisfied grin.
Dr. Elizabeth walked over to Mimi, and gently guided her by the arm to one of the chairs.
“You have a seat right here, and everything will be just fine. Can I get you some water? Or maybe you’d like some of my herb tea.”
“I’m fine for now,” said Mimi, as she sat herself down and absently peered out to sea.
“Hon, you look like you just lost your best friend,” observed the psychic, who also sat at the table.
Mimi looked close to tears as she responded to this innocent remark.
“I have, you know. Without Peter, I have no one.”
Dr. Elizabeth reached over and grasped Mimi’s hand.
“Come now, hon, you know that’s not entirely true. You can count on me for a friend. And besides, who says that your husband still doesn’t have some say in the matter? I’ve got a feeling that he’s gonna be influencing your life for some time to come.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Mimi, her interest piqued.
“Do you really feel that Peter is close by?”
The psychic firmly nodded that she did, and with her finger to her lips, she beckoned Mimi to look towards the fantail. Still stretched out on the fish locker there, Isis had awakened, and was now anxiously searching the blue heavens, like someone was calling to her from above.
“She senses something,” whispered Dr. Elizabeth.
“I tell you we’re close, honi can feel it in my bones.”
“Surface contact. Chief, smack in our baffles,” reported the most junior sonarman in the Rickover’s crew.
“Sounds like it could be a small fishing trawler.”
Tim Lacey had been checking on the depth of their towed array, and he swung around to inspect his young shipmate’s CRT monitor.
“Nice work, babe,” said Lacey as he reached up for the microphone and his direct line to the control room.
“Conn, sonar. New contact bearing three-three-zero.
Classify Sierra six, trawler.”
“Sonar, conn. Aye,” returned the amplified voice of the OOD.
As Lacey reached up into the ventilation shaft and pulled out a bag of miniature Snickers bars. Captain Walden entered sonar. Unaffected by the CO’s presence, Lacey reached into the bag and casually handed Walden a candy bar.
“Enjoy it, sir. I know Snickers are your very favorite.”
“Thanks, Mr. Lacey,” replied Walden as he pulled the candy bar out of its wrapper and devoured it in a couple of bites.
“We’re just picking up the Avalon on the broad band. Captain,” informed Lacey.
“She’s tearin’ up the water something fierce, and headed due west.”
Walden held back his response until he had checked the monitor screen.
“I still find it strange that the Academician Petrovsky has yet to respond to that SOS.
Commander Moore reported sighting two diving saucers in their moon pool and you’d think they’d send them down when those aquanauts called for help.”
Lacey tapped the upper portion of the middle CRT screen.
“We’ve been isolating the Russian vessel ever since we left them, sir, and so far we haven’t heard a peep out of them. That’s some support ship.”
“I’m afraid that’s what we get for letting the wolf guard the chicken coop,” offered Walden, who looked up when a loud, hollow pinging noise sounded inside the sonar room.
This same noise generated a painful chorus of shouts from the three technicians. As they tore off their headphones, blood could be seen running out of their ears.
“Son of a bitch!” cursed Lacey, while rubbing his own throbbing ears.
“Someone out there just lashed the shit out of us!”
Spurred into action by this unexpected sonic attack, Walden’s first concern was his men.
“Get your boys down to the doc, and call in the next watch. It’s evident that we’ve got company down here. And I smell a Russian rat.”
“I’d like to remain on duty, if that’s all right with you. Captain,” pleaded Lacey.
“I know the score out there, and if there’s another submarine close by, all I need is another bearing to tag ‘em.”
Walden turned for the aft doorway.
“Do it, Lacey.
And I’ll go and see what I can do about flushing them out for you.”
The captain was furious with rage as he stormed into the control room.
“What in the hell hit us, sir?” asked the OOD, from his position beside the periscope well.
“Someone’s playing hide-and-seek with us,” revealed Walden.
“And we’re not leaving this damn quadrant until we find out just who it is. So let’s start the ball rolling with a nice, quiet turn to clear our baffles.
And if we should happen to encounter any visitors out there, we’ll say hello with a sonic lashing of our own!”
“Well, Comrade Petrokov, how did they react to our little greeting?” quizzed the zampolit with his usual air of impatience.
The Pantera’s senior sonar technician held back his reply until he had a chance to check out each of his sensors.
“I don’t understand it, sir. So far, we haven’t heard a peep out of them.”
“Maybe they didn’t hear us go active,” offered a junior associate.
“They heard us all right,” returned his bearded superior.
“In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t hear us back in Murmansk.”
Quick to join them after a hasty visit to the helm was Alexander Litvinov. The Pantera’s CO had only to scan the faces of the sonar team to know that their tactic had failed.
“Do you mean to say that the 688 isn’t hightailing it for open waters?” he asked against hope.
“That they aren’t. Captain,” answered the senior sonarman.
“Not only have they gone completely silent, but they don’t appear to have heard us.”
Litvinov began massaging the technician’s shoulders.
“But we know differently, don’t we, Misha? They got an earful, that you can bet your pension on. And instead of making them run for cover, we’ve ignited their are.”