“Come on, hurry up,” the lookout said, his voice sharp with urgency. “What’s taking so long?”
“You think you can do any better, you step up to the plate, asshole,” the signalman muttered. Binoculars were glued to his face as he stared at the incoming vessel. “Assuming I’ve got the right contact, then whoever’s running the signal light is about as ham-handed an operator as I’ve ever seen. I’m not entirely sure it’s not some kid playing with switches or a short in the circuit somewhere.”
True, but not entirely true. Signalman Second Class Avery Hardin hadn’t read light since A school, and he was finding it damned difficult to keep up with whoever was on the other light. He ran through the letter combinations, wondering if he’d gotten it right, if the guy on the other end could even spell. If he’d been entirely certain of his read on the flashing lights, he’d have smacked the lookout to kingdom come for giving him a hard time.
He could have called for help — any one of the signalmen would have been glad to come up and help him out. But admitting that he couldn’t do what he was supposed to be able to do was just a little more than Hardin was capable of doing. He was the signalman on watch — he would break the light.
“They got the guns out,” the lookout reminded him. A pattern of bullets stitched the water alongside the carrier as one of the fifty-cal teams limbered up. “They got helos with guns. You take your sweet time, they’re going to kill that boat.”
“I got it,” Hardin said finally. At least, I think I do. “Give me that.” He snatched the sound-powered phone from around the lookout’s neck. “Combat, this is Signal Bridge. Flashing light from unknown surface contact garbled on other end. Best translation reads as follows:
PASS TO ADMIRAL WAYNE: CHINESE REQUEST PERMISSION TO APPROACH AND DEBARK PASSENGERS. TEN SOULS ON BOARD. SOMEONE SENDS.
With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Hardin passed the message on to the watch officer, suspecting but not knowing for sure that he’d garbled it very badly.
“They wouldn’t dare,” Admiral Wayne shouted. “By god, I’ll fry in hell before I see one of them bastards on my ship!”
“Sir, the signalman did say the transmission was broken and garbled,” Bam-Bam pointed out. “That might not be an accurate translation. It sounds like we’re supposed to understand what that means.”
There was a brief pause, then Admiral Wayne said, “Ask the boat who Stony’s wife is.”
“What?”
“Just do it, Bam-Bam,” the admiral said. “Tomboy told me Stony was going to try his best to get out here, and if that’s him, we need to find out pretty damned fast. Otherwise, we blow that piece of shit out of the water.”
“Ask him who Stony’s wife is,” the lookout repeated. “You can do that, can’t you?”
“Sure, sure — hold on a second.” Hardin shut his eyes, desperately dredging up his rusty signal skills. It was taking too long, too long. He made a silent vow to himself that if he just didn’t screw this up, if whatever god looked after sailors and fools let him do okay, he’d get right to work on his Morse code skills. Never again would he be caught so rusty in what he was supposed to know.
Hesitantly, he flapped the shutter on the signal light, pumping out a series of dots and dashes that he was pretty sure made up the question the admiral had asked him to ask.
“Dit-dah-dit. Not dit dit dah,” the lookout said suddenly. “You screwed it up.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“A striker. One who learned Morse code in four years of high school ham radio. Dit dah dit — trust me,” the lookout answered. He looked deep into Hardin’s eyes, saw the fear and uncertainty there, and felt a wave of power surge through him. It was his contact — his. He would make sure this was done right.
The lookout put his hand over Hardin’s and clicked the shutter open and shut, moving precisely but faster as he picked up the feel of the mechanism. He blinked out the end transmission signal and then moved his hand away. Hardin said nothing.
The lookout squinted out at the vessel, still difficult to make out in the water. He saw the first flash, puny and barely detectable.
“Here.” Hardin pressed his binoculars into the lookout’s hands. “You talk — I’ll copy.” He held the grease-pencil board steady on the stand. “Go ahead. You’re better at this than I am and I don’t want to screw it up.” It hurt to admit it, but he knew immediately that it was the right thing to do.
The lookout started echoing the blinks and flashing, mentally translating them into words as he did so. By the time the other vessel reached the end of the transmission, he’d already broken the code.
“Tomboy,” he said confidently.
Hardin nodded. “That’s what I got, too.” He picked up his sound-powered phone and relayed the message to CDC. Then he turned back to the lookout. “Thanks, man. You know what I mean. You ever need something, you come see me.” He paused for a moment, a look of shame on his face. “Everything that’s at stake — I mean — hell, we’re at war. I could have screwed it up big time, gotten some people killed. Thanks. Like I said — you need anything, you come see me.”
“Actually, I do need something,” the lookout said, still staring out at the contact — his contact — in the water so as not to miss any more transmissions. “I got to get someone to sign off on my watchstanding qualifications so I can take the signalman third class exam. But with the four on four off schedule, I haven’t had time, and the deadline is tomorrow.”
“Consider it done.” Hardin smiled. “On the condition that you never screw up and get out of shape on flashing light like I did.”
ELEVEN
Jack kept up a constant scan of the water around them as he sat on hold, scribbled numbers down, and then redialed the cell phone, but it was Adele who saw it first. It was an odd streak of white water moving at a direction different from the whitecaps, and at first she couldn’t figure out what was causing it. A whale immediately below the surface? A reef that wasn’t on the charts?
Then it hit her, and she turned immediately to tug on Jack’s arm. “Look,” she said, pointing to the east. “That water.”
Before he could answer her, a thin black metal pipe poked up from the surface of the water, swiveled about, catching the sun in a quick flash as it faced them, and then disappeared. It was followed shortly by the entire upper deck of the submarine emerging from the water, then quickly disappearing. Jack’s mouth dropped open for a minute, then he resumed dialing even more desperately.
“Submarine,” Adele said, awed. It gave her a creepy feeling, knowing that it was cruising through the water below them, silent, deadly, and could surface underneath them at any moment. “Ours?” she asked.
“No. Not ours. And if they don’t know it’s here, they’ve got to be told immediately.” He snorted in frustration as he encountered another busy signal on the eleventh number he’d dialed. “If only I can find a way to get a message to them.”
As he continued dialing, Adele kept her gaze on the sea around them.
“Conn, Sonar, regain of contact on Sierra two,” Jacobs said. After an hour of slowly quartering the strip of ocean assigned to them, he’d finally caught the first hint of the other boat.