"Don't tell me you think the Russians took the sub?" Sandecker said, ignoring the secretary and directing his question at the president.
Wallace again turned to his vice president. "Sid, you've been on top of this since day one. Can you explain to the admiral?"
"Of course, Mr. President. I'd be happy to. It relates to our earlier topic, Admiral. Shortly after the NR-1 disappeared, we were contacted by sources within the Russian government who said they might be able to retrieve the sub and its crew. They believe its disappearance ties in with the turmoil in their country. Beyond that, I can't say for now. I can only ask your forbearance and patience."
"I fail to follow that line of logic," Sandecker said, boring in. "Are you saying we should rely upon a government that could fall at any moment to protect our people? It seems to me that the Russian top brass are going to be concentrating more on saving their butts than looking for an American research submarine."
The vice president nodded in agreement. "Nonetheless, we have agreed to hold off. Even with their problems, the Russians are in the best position to handle something that's happened in their backyard."
CIA Director LeGrand had been silent up to now. "I'm afraid he's got a point, James."
Sandecker smiled. LeGrand must have been brought in as the "good cop" to playoff "bad cop" Tingley. The admiral could play games, too. He furrowed his brow as if he were making a tough decision. "It appears my good friend Erwin i concurs with your caution. Very well, then, I won't press the point further."
There was heavy silence in the Cabinet Room, as if no one could believe Sandecker would give in after only a skirmish.
"Thank you, James," President Wallace said. "We had a chance to chat before you arrived. We know there's a big temptation, especially with your personal interest in this, to bring NUMA in."
"You're asking me to keep NUMA at arm's length from the sub's disappearance, then."
"For now, Admiral."
"I can assure you that NUMA will not search for the NR-1. However, please let me know if and when we can be of help."
"Of course we will, Admiral." The president thanked everyone for coming and rose from his chair. Sandecker wished him good fishing and left the room, allowing the others to hash over the meeting, as he knew they would. An aide was waiting to escort him to a side door. As he drove through the gate a few moments later, the guard grinned. "Hot enough for you today, sir?"
"It must be my imagination, Norman," Sandecker said, with a grin. "The temperature always seems to be a few degrees warmer in this part of Washington." He gave a jaunty wave and drove out into the traffic.
ON THE WAY back to NUMA headquarters, Sandecker punched out a number on his cell phone. "Rudi, please meet me in my office in ten minutes." Sandecker drove into the garage under the thirty-story tubular building that served as the nerve center for NUMA's worldwide operations and took the elevator to his top-floor office. He was behind the immense desk made from the hatch cover of a Confederate blockade runner when Rudi Gunn arrived carrying a briefcase.
Sandecker waved his second-in-command to a chair. Gunn, a short thin man with narrow shoulders, thinning hair and thick horn-rimmed glasses, listened intently while Sandecker described his White House meeting.
"Then we're pulling out of the search?" Gunn said.
Sandecker's eyes blazed. "Hell, no! The fact that they put a shot across my bow doesn't mean I'm going to heave to and run up the white flag. What have you learned?"
"I went right to work on the premise we had discussed. That the only thing with the ability to hijack the NR-1 from under the nose of its support ship would be a bigger sub. Any number of countries have submarines large enough to carry off the NR-1," Gunn said. "I asked Yaeger to run some profiles." Hiram Yaeger was NUMA's computer whiz and head of its vast data network. "We concentrated on the USSR because of their preference for building monster boats. My first thought was something like the Typhoon."
Sandecker sat back in his chair and cradled his chin in one hand. "With a length of more than five hundred feet, a Typhoon could easily piggyback our missing minisub."
"I agree. They were designed to fire missiles from the Arctic Circle. The flat missile deck could have been converted for carrying cargo. But there was a problem when I checked further. All six Typhoons were accounted for."
"All right. But I've never known you to give up easily, Rudi. What else do you have?"
Gunn reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder. He handed a picture from the folder to Sandecker.
"This shows a Soviet India-class sub photographed on its way to the Pacific from the Northern Fleet." He passed over several sheets of paper. "These are schematic diagrams. She's a diesel-electric, nearly three hundred fifty feet long, and was designed supposedly for underwater rescue. That semirecessed area abaft the sail was fitted out to carry a couple of deep-diving minisubs. In wartime they could be used for clandestine ops with Spetsnaz special forces brigades. Only two India-class subs were built. They were to have been broken up after the end of the Cold War. We've been able to verify that one was indeed scrapped. We don't know the fate of the other. I think it was used to hijack the NR-1."
"You sound quite sure of this, Rudi. Remember, our premise is still only a theory."
Gunn smiled. "May I borrow your VCR?"
"Be my guest."
Gunn dug into his case again and pulled out a videocassette, went over to the paneled wall, opened a door to a cabinet and popped the cassette into the VCR.
"As you know, the NR-1 had the capability to broadcast a television picture from the ocean floor," Gunn said.
"I approved the NUMA funds myself. Great educational program. The pictures bounce off a satellite and into classrooms around the world. Teaches youngsters that the ocean is a lot more interesting than MTV. I understand the program has worked out well."
"Extremely well, in this case. This picture was sent from the NR-1 the day she disappeared."
Gunn pressed the Play button on the remote control. The screen went fuzzy, then turned seawater green. Bright floodlights illuminated a slender black hull. There was no sound. The time and date showed in the corner.
Sandecker was sitting on the edge of his desk, arms folded. "Looks like the bow view from the sail cam," he said.
"That's right. Keep on watching. Right about now…"
A sharklike shadow loomed below the hull. Something much bigger than the NR-1 had come up from below. After a few minutes, the sub began to move forward at great speed until it was obscured by bubbles. The screen went fuzzy again.
"This picture was sent from the sub via satellite at exactly the time of her disappearance. It only ran a short while, as you can see, before it was shut down."
"Fascinating," Sandecker said. "Run it again, please."
Gunn replayed the tape.
"Does the White House have a copy of this video?" Sandecker said.
"The transmission came directly to NUMA. My guess is they haven't seen it."
"Good work, Rudi," the admiral said. "There's an important piece of the puzzle missing, however." He reached into the desk humidor and pulled out two cigars – he had them personally selected and rolled for him by the owner of a Dominican Republic plantation – and held one cigar above the other. "Assume the bottom stogie is much larger than the one on top. It comes up under the smaller boat. Then what?" He moved the top cigar away. "You see what I'm getting at. There might be a problem getting the smaller sub to play piggyback."
"It wouldn't be easy unless – "
"Unless the NR-1 were cooperating. Which Captain Logan wouldn't do unless he were forced to."
"Exactly my thoughts." Sandecker tossed Gunn a cigar and clamped the other in his teeth. They lit up and sat in the cloud of fragrant smoke.