Dolinski looked as if he were going to argue, but instead he opened his knapsack.
Gromeko nodded. He tossed a belt to Fedulova. “Put this on Zosimoff. Then he grabbed the knapsack and started cramming Malenkov’s and Zosimoff’s wet suits into it. He reached over and pulled the American uniforms from Dolinski’s knapsack. “Put these together in the event we have to ditch them.”
“I thought the rocks were for that.”
Gromeko nodded. He picked up several of the rocks and tossed them into both knapsacks. “That should take them to the bottom, if we have to let them go.” He leaned over to Malenkov. “You still with us?”
“I have not gone anywhere, sir.”
“Lieutenant Dolinski, help me put his flippers on.”
With the flippers on, Gromeko leaned over the man. “I have to lift you to put your tank on.”
Malenkov nodded, but neither expected the cry of pain that escaped. For several seconds they waited for the Americans to appear over the edge of the pipe. When nothing happened, Dolinski and Gromeko helped Malenkov through his painful slide to the edge of the pipe. Fedulova, already treading the water at the end of the pipe, reached up and helped Malenkov into the water.
Fedulova took the face mask off, dipped it in the water, and then slid it over Malenkov’s face. Malenkov raised his right hand in a weak sign of “okay.”
“Chief, you stay with him. Lieutenant Dolinski, you carry the knapsacks. I will tow Zosimoff’s body with me.”
“One question, Lieutenant?” Fedulova asked.
Gromeko nodded.
“How do we get his body into the K-122 once we’re there? The tube is only big enough for one person as a time.”
“It’ll work. The person in the tube has nothing to do but shut the top hatch. We can do that from the outside.”
A minute later the heads of the four Spetsnaz warriors dipped beneath the waters and disappeared from sight. Blood trailed from the bandaged wound on Malenkov and the dead body of Zosimoff. Gromeko glanced at his diver’s watch. The fluorescent hands showed fifteen minutes after two.
In the drainpipe behind them, starlight revealed a coil of wire that had fallen out of Dolinski’s knapsack.
ELEVEN
“What are your recommendations?”
“We could go active on sonar,” Chief Stalzer said.
Joe Tucker shook his head. “Against regulations to do that in port. You don’t know what damage you’re going to do.”
“Don’t know if someone is in the water,” Burnham added.
“Fry their ass.”
“Not really,” Burkeet said. “Could destroy their eardrums if they’re near the sonar.”
“XO, we can always request permission from Subic Operations Center. They can authorize it,” Burnham said.
MacDonald raised his hand. “I have to tell Admiral Green. Meanwhile,” he pointed at the XO, “Joe Tucker, the Coghlan is parked farthest from us. Out near the end of the pier. I need to talk with their skipper and get them involved in this.”
Joe Tucker’s eyebrows furrowed. “Coghlan?”
MacDonald nodded. “The admiral would have to get us permission to use sonar. It would take some time for that to happen, but if we can get another ship to activate its sonar, maybe we can get a passive noise triangulation on this possible submarine.”
“Why don’t we take the motor whaleboat and take off along the line of bearing?” Oliver asked.
“How’s that?” Burkeet asked.
“If we drag a line or wire behind it, it only has to be periscope depth, about fifty feet. If the submarine is in the harbor, we’ll snag it.”
“Sounds simple,” MacDonald added.
“Too simple,” Joe Tucker said.
“Better than sitting here,” Stalzer said. When everyone looked at him, he added, “Sorry. I was thinking out loud.”
“Chiefs have been known to do that,” Joe Tucker said with a smile. “Chief’s right, Captain. Let’s do both. Let’s send the motor whaleboat out along the line of bearing to see what they can see, and I’ll wake up the sonar team on another ship.”
“Sounds like a plan, but let’s do the triangulation before we start putting boats in the water. Meanwhile, I will contact Admiral Green,” MacDonald said. He reached over and patted Oliver on the shoulder. “Good job, sailor. I guess the other question I have is, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
“The chief wanted me to do the PMS today,” Oliver replied. “I didn’t finish it yesterday and it needed to be finished by quarters tomorrow morning.”
MacDonald looked at the chief. “Well done, Chief Stalzer.”
“Thank you, sir. I try to keep our team to a schedule.”
Stalzer failed to see Burnham roll his eyes.
Boatswain Mate Manny Lowe appeared back of the group standing in the doorway to Sonar. “Captain, XO!” he said.
Everyone turned.
“What is it, Boats?” MacDonald asked.
“There’s been an incident ashore, sir. Subic Base Operations is warning everyone to be alert. They’ve had some sort of shooting near the warehouses.”
“What kind of shooting?” Burnham asked.
“Don’t know, sir. They just said for all ships to increase their security until they have apprehended whoever was shooting at the marines.”
“Anyone hurt?” Joe Tucker asked.
“Don’t know, sir. They just said to increase our security.”
Gromeko tugged the dead weight of Zosimoff with him. The weights in the diver’s belt made it harder. He looked up through the clear water and could make out the shadowy outlines of the other three, above and ahead of him. They would reach the K-122 minutes before him.
The weight of the dead man was forcing him to swim deeper than the others. He wondered for a moment if he was going to be able to make it. Then he shook his head. Spetsnaz warriors never had thoughts such as this!
Fedulova and Malenkov were traveling in tandem. Gromeko glanced upward. He could make out Malenkov’s weak kicking. Good! The man was still alive. Dolinski would reach the submarine first. He hoped the GRU Spetsnaz officer would let Malenkov go first.
His eyes dropped as he kicked a little harder. Zosimoff’s head bounced off Gromeko’s stomach as he swam, and when he kicked his flippers for forward motion, his calves and feet hit the body. It was the only way he could move, dragging Zosimoff slightly behind him.
A dark shadow blocked the starlight for a moment. Gromeko looked up, thinking a boat had passed over them, but there was nothing there. Must have been a cloud or a piece of harbor flotsam. He would have heard the engine of a small boat. But boats were heading this way.
The shadow passed again, but Gromeko ignored it. He concentrated on keeping Zosimoff’s body alongside him. The K-122 could not be too far ahead of them.
“Up periscope,” Bocharkov ordered, flipping the handles out, and riding the lens up through the water. He turned the periscope, starting his three-hundred-sixty-degree reconnaissance visual. As he hurried around the compass heading, he passed a series of running lights, causing him to bring the periscope back, focusing on the scene to his right.
“I have multiple small boats leaving the north side of the harbor,” he said.
“Sir, I have lots of noise spikes of small motors coming from the same direction,” Chief Diemchuk announced.
Bocharkov focused the lens with his fingers, concentrating on the boat in the middle. “Looks like a landing craft,” he said slowly, as he shifted the lens onto another boat to the right of the first one. “Second contact bearing zero-two-four appears to be a patrol boat. The hull is too dark to identify, but the fluorescents riding its bow wake show greater speed than the other one.” He leaned back from the periscope and looked at the clock on the bulkhead. It was twenty minutes after two.