K449 sat silently on the seabed. The occupants, their nerves taut, waited for the sound of approaching torpedoes. The weapons officer’s finger was poised over the countermeasure button, ready to release decoys to deflect the radar energy guiding the torpedoes to the target. He also had a finger ready on the other hand to release homing torpedoes of their own when ordered.
“Captain – sonar. Contact speed and course unchanged. Range 1,000 yards and closing. Depth 400.”
“They would have released by now if they had our position,” said Lieutenant Zaha, relief showing. “Praise to Allah; we are lost in the background.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Kamani replied. “If they ping us again this close…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly.
“The bedrock will protect us.”
“Only if there is sufficient shore noise to cover and confuse the sonars.”
“Captain – sonar. Contact range 500 yards. Course, speed and depth unchanged.”
“They’re almost on us!” Urgency came back into the XO’s voice.
Sweat glistened on the captain’s brow.
“Captain – sonar. Range 200. Speed and depth unchanged.”
“She’s on top of us!” exclaimed Zaha, fighting hard to contain his fear.
A mixture of uncertainty and sharp fear gripped the captain; should he release his own torpedoes now, whilst still holding the advantage, or wait? Tension in the control room was unbearable. Each man knew that whatever happened in the next few minutes would seal his fate.
“Captain – sonar. Contact course change to zero-four-five. Speed and depth unchanged.”
The crew listened to the screw of the British submarine churn 200 feet above them and felt the turbulence as the huge warship swept by so close. The sour smell of fear pervaded the control centre.
“She’s veering northeast! She’s missed us!” exclaimed a jubilant Lieutenant Zaha before giving thanks again to Allah.
Immense relief flooded the control room. That had been nerve shattering.
“I commend your steadfastness, Captain Kamani,” said Ali bin Rashid. “Close call. You are indeed a brave man.”
“Thank you.” Kamani considered that the statement made by the negotiator had now fully atoned for the insult delivered by him at Heard Island. He continued. “However, bear in mind, this may only be a taste of what can be expected if the infidel suspects we are here in the Atlantic.”
“And what are the chances of that?” asked Captain Moradi.
“I do not know. But it seems they were near enough to catch us on the passive, probably when we increased speed, and again when they pinged us. The fact that they are patrolling here, using Astute-class vessels, suggests they are serious in covering all their options. If that sub recorded our signature, they will know we are here and we can expect the rest of the journey to be full of danger – real danger – should they bring in the rest of the flotilla.” He turned to the XO. “From now on we inch our way to the target, keeping as close as we dare to the coastline. We remain rigged for silence and prepared for immediate action at all times.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Captain Kamani silently prayed the infidel submarine had not gained K449’s signature, for if it had, he knew there would be little chance of fulfilling the Islamic dream they had come so far to achieve. There would be no alternative but to die fighting for the glory of Islam.
Three hours later, when it was gauged that the enemy submarine was far enough away, Captain Kamani ordered the engines to be restarted and the course to be resumed.
“Captain – helm. Course zero-three-zero. Speed five knots. Make your depth 400 feet.”
K449 gently lifted off the seabed and slowly headed northwards towards the equator and the North Atlantic.
31
Rain fell at dawn as the group huddled in a small cave at the base of a rock outcrop surrounded by forest. After only a short rest, Ryder’s group was now ready to continue the journey back to the coast. Frank gently turned Grace onto her stomach and replaced the dressing to her wound. The bleeding had thankfully stopped and he hoped that their basic first-aid-kits would last until they reached the submarine. He was concerned by her condition and worried it would deteriorate rapidly; she would have little rest as they continuously moved over the rough, irregular terrain. The four men took turns at carrying the stretcher. Speed was necessary if they were to reach safety before the three-week vaccine deadline.
Bom pulled Ryder aside.
“Twenty-four hours since the mountain, boss. We can expect units out in force soon. Those helicopters last night… not good.”
He agreed. But if they upped the pace, Grace may not survive.
Bom looked him straight in the eye. “She’s slowing us down, boss, and there’s still a long way to go.”
“We’re not leaving her,” Ryder shot back.
“What I’m saying is that maybe two of us should go on ahead with the vaccine and the other two follow as best they can.”
Ryder could see the sense in that, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it himself. Was his concern for Grace overriding the objective? The vaccine is what they had come for and would save a lot of lives if needed, but not if they failed to deliver.
He conceded. “You’re right; makes sense. You and Dan go.”
Bom hesitated. “Makes more sense if you go, boss. Things could get tricky forcing the pace out front. Chol and me can look out for the doc. Our job is support.”
Frank thought about it for a moment; maybe he was right. However, no time for debate; getting the vaccine back was the priority. “Okay, so be it.” He then called Song over, explained the situation and turned back to Bom. “Don’t let those commies get their hands on the doc, you understand?”
Bom nodded.
With that Ryder and Song left the cave, grateful the rain had stopped and the sun now shone. Bom and Chol, stretcher between them, followed shortly after.
32
The black hull of K449 glided silently through the blue depths of the Guiana Basin and entered the eastern end of the five-mile deep Puerto Rico Trench, eighty-five miles north of the Leeward Island of Barbuda on latitude 18.30N, longitude 62W. She had crawled her way northeastwards up the coast of South America at less than seven knots, hugging the seabed wherever she could, keeping to the busy shipping lanes as close to the shore as she dared. With the mass of land always to port, she passed the Brazilian cities of Rio de Janeiro, Salvador and Recife, changing course northwest at Cape Sao Roque, before crossing the equator a few miles north of the Amazon Delta, then on up past French Guiana, Suriname and Guyana. At Trinidad and Tobago she changed course once more, tracking north past the Windward Islands of Barbados, Martinique and Guadeloupe until she reached the westward end of the Leewards.
The journey had been painfully slow for Captain Asad Kamani and his crew as they maintained a silent ship, poring over charts and listening to the incessant sound of the passive sonar. The monotony of daily routine was alleviated only by the thought of fulfilling their glorious mission and the effect of the on-off adrenaline fix, knowing they were being hunted. One wrong move and they could all end up dead at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
In the small wardroom, Captain Kamani, Lieutenant Zaha, Ali bin Rashid and Captain Moradi sat drinking tea. A map of the Caribbean and northwest Atlantic was on the table between them.
“…Once through the 400 miles of this trench, another 1,100 will see us at the firing coordinates here,” said Kamani, finishing his description of their intended route and pointing to a position some fifty nautical miles off the North Carolina coast. He looked tired and perspiration glistened on his strong features, but his eyes displayed determination and fire.