Mullins led Grant and Adler to a control panel set against the port bulkhead in the room and pressed a black button recessed in the five-inches of steel. A 14"x24" panel lifted, revealing a small rectangular box. "This is it," he smiled. "Inside here is the chip that controls the weapon. This is what the Russkies are asking Santa Claus to bring 'em!" The controlling brain of SNAGS was one microchip, its prongs secured to the green 'mother board' located in the upright panel.
Grant and Adler leaned closer, Adler asking, "What would it take to remove… "
"Hold it!" Grant said in a hushed voice. "Did you hear something?" Instinctively, he and Adler snapped around and pointed their Uzi's toward the sound.
All heads turned as if trying to hone in on anything unusual. Mullins walked quietly to the open doorway, searching all angles down the passageway, then shook his head. "Seems clear." He went back to the panel. "You wanted to know how to remove this, Joe?" Adler nodded.
Grant's gut told him all was not right, and he moved closer to the door. Mullins pointed inside the panel. "There's a small clip behind this and you just pop the board out or pull the chip from the board."
"That's it?" Adler responded, surprised, while trying to get a closer look.
"That's it," Mullins replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Guess the masterminds figured the coded remote control door opener was enough."
Adler shook his head disapprovingly. "Always need a backup… right, sir?"
"You got that right, Joe," Grant answered, then quickly turned his attention back to the passageway.
"This is the backup," Mullins grinned. "Down in the computer and communications center there's the master chip sealed in a secure place. If anything happened to the master, this backup would kick in. Kodiak will receive a signal automatically. Come on, and I'll show you the center, the last stop on the tour, gentlemen," Mullins said as the door closed behind them. "It's my home-away-from-home."
Grant looked at his watch. "Okay, but then we've gotta get ready to move out," he said, cautiously looking up and down the passageway.
They went below to the next level. This time, all three stopped in their tracks, Grant and Adler bringing their Uzi's to the ready. They squatted down and scanned the passageways.
"Shit," Mullins whispered, as he reached for an empty holster, remembering he'd left it on the bridge when he went to wait for his visitors. He pointed to his empty holster, motioning to Grant he was going topside. Grant drew his .45 out of his shoulder holster and side-armed it to Mullins without looking.
With their backs pressed against the bulkhead, Grant and Adler crept sideways along the passageway, looking into each crevice, whispering "clear" to each other to declare the areas searched and to let each other know where the other was. Both strained to distinguish where the sound was coming from. Mullins was on the opposite bulkhead, Grant's .45 in his hand, pressed against his cheek. He motioned for them to follow him to the Computer Center, figuring they'd have more protection once inside. He entered the code on the bulkhead panel, while Grant and Adler stood alongside, watching and listening.
First, Mullins crouched, then rushed into the compartment, covering the right side, then Adler entered, covering the center, sweeping his Uzi back and forth. Grant was nearly through when he heard the escape hatch open above them.
Glancing up, he saw a wetsuited Russian thrust his AK47 through the opening, no more than twenty feet above them. Grant dove behind the bulkhead as AK47 rounds chewed up the paint where he just stood. The noise from the firefight was earsplitting.
Grant and Adler rolled onto their backs and simultaneously returned fire at the hatch but it immediately slammed shut. Mullins scrambled behind the computer console, staring wide-eyed at the wires and cables hanging from the back. "Whoa! This is not a good place!" He crouched low, quickly moving out to the side. "Grant! There're extra Uzi clips behind you in the locker!" Grant heard him but didn't respond; his stare was glued to the hatch.
In the same moment he had called out, Mullins went completely pale, seeing the panel containing the master chip partially open. "Oh, Jesus! Grant! Cover me!" He scooted across the floor and punched in the code. "It's gone! Those bastards got the chip!" he yelled. In the confusion, he failed to notice the red light blinking on the console, the signal that Kodiak knew something had happened to the master chip. Now he raced for the console, calling Kodiak with a brief message.
Adler and Grant shot a glance toward Mullins, then at each other. Adler made a quick scan of the passageway, then shouted, "It's clear! Let's go! Let's go!" Without a word, the three of them scrambled up the bulkhead ladder. Grant reached the hatch first and a quick look assured him the Russians had vacated the area.
Seeing they were in a no-win situation, the tallest Russian commando called to his comrade, "Move, Reznakov! Back to our boat!" As they ran, Grimecko made a quick check that the chip was secure inside his wetsuit.
Within seconds both Russians had clambered backwards through another compartment opening, pulling the hatch closed behind them. Grimecko took the butt of his rifle and hammered it into the control buttons, then he turned and raced to the fantail. Their final objective was to avoid being sucked into the Bronson's churning screws. They reached under the footline and found the ropes hanging from the suction cups attached just below the waterway on the ship's main deck. Jamming the scuba mouthpieces into their mouths, they hung onto the lines and slid into the churning water just rear of the screws, the driving force of the water battering them around like rag dolls. They held on, literally, for dear life, as the rushing water forced them back toward the rudder.
Grimecko had set the side planes of the sub down two degrees causing it to stabilize at a depth of fifteen feet off the Bronson's fantail, beyond the rudder. Now, they worked their way back down the line attached to the small sub, head first, hand-over-hand. Resnakov floated into the rear seat, feeling a sharp pain in his calf, and reaching down, touched a small bullet hole.
The sub lurched forward, Grimecko immediately steering hard to port, sending the sub into a dive, then leveling off at fifty feet. He bit down hard on his rubber mouthpiece, imagining what Vernichenko's reaction was going to be. They failed to complete their mission, never expecting to find three men aboard… three heavily armed men. There had not been enough time for them to try and contact Alexei, to signal him to set off the explosives. But they also had no way of knowing Alexei’s fate.
Back on the Bronson, Grant and Adler raced topside, each of them heading for a different section of ship, trying to find any sign of the Russians. Grant ran aft and yelled "clear!" after checking the midships' passageway. Adler had gone forward and seeing nothing, headed aft, Mullins trying to catch up to him. The Russians disappeared, leaving only traces of blood droplets leading aft.
Gathering momentarily on the fantail, they looked at the wake and blood and knew that was how the Russians left. They moved topside to the bridge, Mullins the first to speak: "All I can say is that those two sure had some balls! Christ!"
Grant took his .45 from Mullins and slipped it behind his back, shoving it into his belt. He wondered how the hell the Russians knew the codes to get into the escape hatch and the computer center, and more importantly, the panel with the chip. Could Donovan have known? But Grant's nagging concern that there might be someone else higher up involved was turning into reality.
Adler stared fixedly at Grant's eyes, seeing the hunter/killer instinct that the SEAL had honed to a razor edge. "Sir?!" he called. "Whatcha got on your mind?" He knew that somebody was going to be in deep shit.
Grant looked up, a scowl creasing his face. He walked toward the forward part of the bridge, his whole demeanor reminiscent of a pissed off cobra with a machine-gun. He turned back to face the two men. "The hunt's on again, guys. Somebody else is involved… and I smell meat." The term was used by combat-hardened SEALs denoting a fellow SEAL who "had been there, had taken no prisoners." He was known to his team as a "meat-eater."