Malenkov leaned around the end of the building, took aim, and fired four quick shots in unison.
Behind them, the sound of another siren grew. Gromeko glanced back. Headlights were coming down the alley behind them.
The gunfire tapered off. Gromeko dashed forward, grabbed Zosimoff, and pulled him into the shadows. He glanced to the right, counted two other marines. One of them was pulling the other to the other side of the warehouse.
“Now!” Gromeko shouted. He lifted Zosimoff over his shoulder. “Into the water!”
The car behind them rocketed up on its rear wheels as it left the alleyway of the rear set of warehouses. It slammed down on the gravel before plummeting into the alley where the Spetsnaz team was stalled. Two bullet shots rang out. The tires on the left side of the car exploded, causing the driver to lose control. The car drove into the warehouse with a loud crash as it hit. Cursing from inside told Gromeko whoever was in there was still alive.
“I’m going to kill them!” someone shouted from the open window of the car.
Malenkov dashed across the road and took position on the other side. A pepper of gunfire hit the gravel, sending bits over his head. He fired a couple of shots at the marines.
Gromeko walked as fast as he could across the road, the weight of Zosimoff holding him down. Dolinski walked alongside, firing his pistol calmly, without aiming, at the end of the warehouse where the last two marines were. “That will keep their heads down.”
“That was Russian, Sarge!” one of the marines shouted.
Gromeko was unable to make out the reply. His English was not as good as Malenkov’s. He reached the other side. Malenkov stood to help ease Zosimoff down. A bullet caught Malenkov in the chest, knocking him backward into the water. Malenkov turned and pulled himself toward the rocks, holding onto it.
“How badly are you hurt?”
“I am fine,” Malenkov said, running his hand over his chest.
“Just a little blood is all.” He held up his left hand covered in blood. “And I seem to have lost my pistol.”
Gromeko and Dolinski lay down on the rough rocks leading to the water. “Where is the chief?” Dolinski asked. He leaned up and fired another shot at the marines.
“Stay there, Starshina Malenkov,” Gromeko said. “We’re coming.”
One of the marines dashed to the truck, reached in the driver’s side door and pulled his walkie-talkie out. The sound of urgent words could be heard by the Soviets. There was little doubt that this place was going to be flooded with reinforcements at any time.
Fedulova ran from his position at the warehouse toward the truck. The marine on the walkie-talkie didn’t see him until too late. Fedulova pistol-whipped him across the face, and then put the barrel against the man’s face. He looked at the other marine at the end of the warehouse and in Russian told him to drop it.
Gromeko doubted the American understood the words, but the intent was obvious. Instead of dropping his weapon, the marine fell back into the shadows.
“Leave him, Chief!” Gromeko shouted. He looked at Dolinski. “Help me,” he said, nodding down at Zosimoff.
Fedulova whipped the pistol against the captive’s head, knocking him out, then stood and sprinted toward the officers.
By the time the two men were at the edge of the water, the chief had come over to the side of the road. “Sir, let me help.”
“Get Malenkov,” Gromeko said. “We got Zosimoff.”
Within a minute, the five men were in the water, treading it softly as they eased out into the harbor away from the lights. Then they turned left, working their way toward the drainpipe. Behind them, the sound of voices and shouts filled the night for the first few minutes, before sirens joined the group. Gromeko wondered for a moment how American prisons were.
“Okay, Oliver,” Chief Stalzer snapped, running his handkerchief over his face, wiping away the water from his quick splashes at the sink when they woke him. “What in the hell do you have?” he asked, the words trailing off when he caught sight of Burkeet sitting on the other chair.
“Oliver thinks he has the Soviet Echo on sonar, Chief.”
“Inside Subic? Could be, but they’d be so far out; it would be an anomaly, sir. I doubt we are picking up a Soviet submarine tied up pierside here, sir. We got too much self-generated noise from this many ships parked about the place.”
“The skipper is on his way down, Chief. I would like you to see what Oliver has. I would like to be able to tell the captain exactly what we have.”
Oliver wanted to shout. He wanted to stand up and tell them both to go to hell. He wanted to cry, too. This was the Echo. He knew it. And he had doubts the chief would agree with him, because the chief was just like that. Deriding him all the time and even more so since he had been the main man tracking the submarine.
“Give me the headset,” Stalzer said, snapping his fingers as he held his hand out.
Oliver handed it to him.
Then both he and Burkeet watched as Stalzer listened to the noise. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Up periscope,” Bocharkov said, his eyes riding the eyepiece on the way up. Belowdecks, the sump pump kicked in.
“I thought I told everyone to secure everything!” he said sharply, leaning away from the eyepiece. “Secure those pumps! Now!”
Orlov grabbed the microphone and relayed the order to Engineering.
Oliver put the headset on. Almost immediately the sound of hydraulics filled his ears. “I hear something.”
“Lieutenant, I’m telling you there is nothing there.”
Oliver took the headset off. “Here, Chief. Maybe there wasn’t anything when you had them on, but there is something now.” As Stalzer took the headset, Oliver reached up and turned on the speaker.
The sound of hydraulics was drowned out by the rise and fall of another piece of equipment.
Stalzer pressed the headset against his ears. He reached forward and tuned the passive sonar, watching the frequency readout of the noise. He paused at fifty hertz, and then rapidly moved it to sixty hertz, paused, then back to fifty. A deep breath filled the chief’s chest. He lifted the headset. “Damn!”
On the speaker, the rising and falling sound of the equipment stopped.
Stalzer looked at the readout. “Shit, man, fuck, Oliver.” Then the chief looked at Burkeet. “He does have a Soviet submarine, sir.”
“Heard that hydraulics?” Oliver asked, smiling. “Damn, I knew it.”
“That was a periscope coming up, and the louder noise was one of those well-made Soviet pumps. Stupid skipper to keep those pumps working if he is just outside Subic Bay.”
“So Oliver is right? We have a Soviet submarine inside Subic Bay?”
“Sir, Subic Bay is a big-ass bay. He could be a hundred miles from here, his noise riding the underwater currents.”
Oliver squirmed with pleasure in his seat. “Damn, I knew it.”
Stalzer slapped him lightly upside the back of the head. “Don’t be so happy about it.”
“It’s too loud to be a hundred miles out, Chief.”
Burkeet looked at Stalzer. “You think?”
Stalzer ran his hand across his face. “Sir, I may have exaggerated with saying a hundred miles. The sump-pump noise is something that would ride for miles, but the hydraulic noise of the periscope is not that loud. Most times you have to be in direct path to hear it.” He sighed. “I know there is going to be no living with Oliver, but the only way Oliver could be getting this,” he said, shaking his head, “is if that submarine is within ten to fifteen miles of the Dale.”