Miriam did as ordered and, after chewing three more pieces, handed over the entire wad. Vince added his piece to this collection, rolled the sticky wad into a ball, and stuck it to the side of the plastic soda bottle.
“Now go and unroll that mattress, pull it in the far corner, and get behind it,” he instructed.
Vince began crumbling the gray wafer, and he deposited the broken-up pieces into the bottle. He then shook the bottle, and as soon as all of the gray chemical residue had dissolved, he tightly capped it. As expected, the plastic started to get hot from the reaction that was occurring inside, and Vince stuck the bottle directly on top of the cell’s locking mechanism, then took off to join Miriam.
No sooner did he duck behind the mattress than a loud explosion sounded. A cloud of fetid smoke filled the cell, and they had to wait for it to dissipate before seeing if the lock had triggered.
At first glance, it appeared that the explosion had failed. The door remained in place, and Vince found it hard to hide his disappointment. He went up to the entryway, grabbed the steel bars, and when he yanked them toward him, the door swung open with a loud click. They were free to go, and both of them didn’t tarry.
No alarms sounded as they began their way down a dark passageway. The rough limestone walls were solid, and Vince guessed that they had absorbed much of the blast’s report.
Blind luck brought them to a long passageway where a cool draft of moist air invitingly beckoned. They headed directly into the breeze, and they heard the sound of rushing water long before seeing the current responsible for it. The stream itself was a narrow, quick-moving ribbon of white water, a good quarter the width of the Eleven Point. It snaked off in both directions, through a smooth limestone tunnel, and Vince supposed that it could just fit one of the three dark green fiberglass canoes he spotted sitting on an adjoining ledge.
Chapter 34
Because of the rote nature of submarine duty, meals were something to look forward to. Of all the submarines in the fleet, the Polk featured an award-winning dining facility, with the best food ‘service beneath the seven seas.
Brad Bodzin and Jaffers were certainly looking forward to their meal as they arrived in the mess, got in line for the steam table, and picked up their trays. They were scheduled to take the next sonar watch, and a full belly would keep the hunger pangs at bay throughout this six-hour shift. Both of the sonar men filled their trays to nearly overflowing with hamburgers, baked beans, corn on the cob, onion rings, and French fries.
The only one of the twelve elongated, picnic-style tables that had two vacant places left was the one usually reserved for the Chiefs. COB was already seated there, along with the senior radio technician. Chief “Shorty” Hassler, and one of the boat’s SEALs.
“Can we join you, COB?” Bodzin asked.
“Make yourselves at home,” COB answered.
They wasted little time setting their trays on the red-and white-checkered tablecloth, and they dug into their food like they hadn’t eaten in a week. They were well into their respective meals when Mallott came over, wearing his customary khakis and royal blue polo shirt, complete with a crest displaying a palm tree and a colorful parrot, with jimmy’s buffet embossed in gold below.
“Well, gents, how do you like your chow?” Mallott queried.
“I’m not complaining any, Howard,” said COB.
“But whatever happened to that low-fat, reduced-cholesterol menu you were promoting? Why, we haven’t had turkey in a whole three days.”
“Who said anything about abandoning my low-fat menu, COB?” replied Mallott with a wide grin.
“Those are lean bison burgers you’re scarfing down, with those rings and fries cooked in pure canola oil. Why, even your shakes are made of reduced fat ice cream. Inside Jimmy’s Buffet, you eat good and healthy at the very same time.”
Mallott excused himself, leaving the diners to sip their shakes and reflect on their full bellies.
“Any luck tagging the bogey that struck the Rhode Island, Mr.
Bodzin?” asked COB.
“Negative, sir. The current watch team hasn’t heard a peep out of them. While I was in my rack, I played the tape of the collision over and over. Whatever the Rhode Island hit, it came out of a black hole, and returned there afterward.”
“Maybe they struck a whale, or a submerged wreck,” offered Shorty.
“I seriously doubt that. Chief,” Bodzin replied.
“The only thing that could have caused all that damage to the Rhode Island’s sonar dome was another submarine.”
COB directed his next inquiry to their senior radio technician.
“Hey, Shorty, what’s the skinny on that latest salvo of EAMs?
Are they legit, or just another drill?”
Shorty made certain that he had the undivided attention of all those present before replying.
“The latest news is that this last alert was generated by a Russian test launch that was mistakenly thought to be the first wave of a full-scale nuclear attack. Lieutenant Ritter says our boomer was actually spinning up its missiles, and was less than ten minutes away from a launch when the termination order came down from TACAMO.”
COB finished his milkshake and grunted.
“Yet another reason to give some serious thought to that Global Zero Nuclear Alert Treaty that’s been making the headlines lately. With our hairtrigger nuclear response, we’ve been very fortunate all these years that we haven’t been the victim of an accidental war. Even if we have a legitimate crisis, at least if it took a while to marry up the warheads with the delivery bodies, there’d be some time for cooler heads to prevail.”
“Bullshit!” replied the SEAL.
“That fucking treaty is a oneway ticket to certain destruction. If such an agreement was signed, do you really think the Russkies or the Chinks won’t keep a few nukes stashed away for safekeeping? Then if they got a hair up their ass, they could hit us with a surprise attack, and we’d never have the capability to retaliate. Hell’s bells, they’d think nothing of blowing us to kingdom come, and we’d be down here stroking our cocks while our loved ones back home were being incinerated.”
Chapter 35
Both Vince and Miriam shouted out in relief when the underground river they had been following dumped them and their canoe unceremoniously into the Eleven Point. It had been a wild ride, which reminded Vince of an amusement-park log flume attraction.
With practically no direct lighting of any sort to illumine their way, they had been at the complete mercy of the narrow, swiftly moving subterranean spring. Vince steered from the aft position, and they somehow circumnavigated a twisting series of tight turns that ended with an incredibly sharp drop-off. They couldn’t begin to count the number of times that the keel of their canoe scraped rock, and the gunwale had a nasty dent in it after they crashed into a protruding boulder. But they had survived their ordeal, soaked and chilled but none the worse for wear, and Vince’s main priority now was to make certain they weren’t captured again.
“Where are we, Miriam?” he asked from the rear of the canoe.
Twilight had arrived at this portion of the Eleven Point, and Miriam scanned the riverbank, where a lowlying veil of mist was beginning to form.
“It appears that we’re just upstream from Greenbriar Hollow.”
A chorus of bullfrogs and cicadas sounded over the gentle rush of the water. Vince swatted at a pesky mosquito, and ducked when a small, brown bat flew close overhead.