“Nice job, everybody. Especially you, Mr. Murphy, and you, too, Max. Tell the team who installed the rocket torpedo and modified the tube to expect a little something extra in their next paychecks.” Although each member of the crew shared in the Corporation’s profits on a sliding scale, Cabrillo delighted in handing out bonuses for work above and beyond. It was part of the reason he engendered so much loyalty, though mainly that came because he was the best natural leader any of the people under him had ever worked for.
“Look at that!” Eric Stone gasped.
On the main display, he had shifted the camera view to show the spot of ocean where the Kilo had launched its ambush. The water boiled like a maelstrom, and, in the center of the disturbance, a blunt object rose from the sea. As the bow of the Iranian sub emerged, they could see her hull plates were buckled, as if she had run full speed into a seamount. The normally convex nose was dimpled in the center, the result of the rocket torpedo exploding sixty yards in front of her.
The craft continued to surface, bobbing on waves of her own creation. As it steadied, Stone zoomed the camera in on the damaged hull plates, the Oregon’s computer automatically compensating for the ship’s motion so the image remained rock steady. Air bubbled up from around the torn metal—not much, but enough to indicate the Kilo was taking on water. Hatches on her conning tower and her fore and aft decks were thrown open and a stream of men poured out of the crippled sub.
“You getting anything from them, Hali?” Juan asked.
“General distress calls, sir. Their pumps are barely keeping pace with the flooding. They are requesting assistance from the naval base at Chah Bahar. Her captain hasn’t ordered them to abandon ship, but he wants all unnecessary personnel on deck in case they founder.”
“Are they asking for help from any ships in the area?”
“Negative, and I doubt they will.”
“Agreed. Firing at civilian freighters without warning violates about fifty international treaties.”
“And what do you call what we did back at Bandar Abbas?” Max asked, just to tease.
“Petty larceny,” Cabrillo dismissed, “punishable by a fine and a couple hours of community service.” Just then, the pair of S-3Bs off the American aircraft carrier streaked over the Oregonand flew less than a hundred feet off the surface of the ocean as they roared down the Kilo’s length. Sailors dove flat on the decks as the jet wash ripped across their uniforms.
“Chairman, the pilot of the lead Viking still wants to talk to you,” Hali said. “And I’m getting an official request from the carrier that we remain in position. It’s a Commander Charles Martin, aboard the George Washington.”
“Pipe it over,” Juan said, and settled earphones over his head and adjusted the integrated microphone.
“This is Juan Cabrillo, master of the MV Oregon. What can I do for you, Commander?”
“Captain Cabrillo, we would like to send over a contingent of men to debrief your crew about what just occurred. The captains of the Sagaand Aggie Johnstonhave already agreed. A helicopter can reach you in twenty minutes. The guided missile cruiser Port Royalwill be there in two hours if you don’t have facilities for landing a chopper.”
“With all due respect, Commander Martin, none of my crew saw anything. I myself was asleep, and the watch stander on duty is blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other.” Martin’s voice sharpened. “Captain, I needn’t remind you that coalition forces operating in these waters reserve the right to inspect all shipping entering or leaving the Persian Gulf. I call this a request out of courtesy, but it is an order. You will remain where you are and prepare to be boarded.” Juan understood the pressure the Navy was under to interdict potential terrorists from using the Gulf as a highway for weapons and fighters, but there was no way he was going to let them inspect the Oregon.
Corrupt officials in foreign ports could be easily dissuaded from searching the scabrous freighter, but this was not the case with the U.S. military.
“Could you please stand by?” Juan requested. He covered the mike with his hand and called over to Hali Kasim. “Get Overholt on the horn. Tell him what’s going on, and have him get these guys off our back.
Eric, set a course bearing one hundred and five degrees, and make our speed eighteen knots.” He took his hand away from the microphone. “Sorry about that, Commander. We can’t land a chopper on the Oregon, so you’ll have to send a boarding party from the Port Royal.”
“Very well, Captain. Plan on our arrival at about eleven hundred hours.”
“We’ll leave the light on for ya,” Juan drawled, and ended the call. He glanced around the Op Center.
“Anyone want to bet? Twenty bucks to the person who guesses the closest.” The crew knew immediately what he was referring to.
“They’ll call back in ten minutes,” Hali opined.
“Five,” Linda said.
“They’re going to have their hands full for a while.” This from Mark Murphy. “He won’t notice we’re under way for at least a half hour.”
“I’m with Linda,” Eric said. “Five minutes. We’ll split the twenty.” Juan looked over at Max Hanley. “Care to venture a guess?” Max studied the acoustic tile ceiling for a moment, then leveled his eyes on the Chairman. “Right about now.”
“Holy crap,” Hali cried. “He’s right. Martin’s hailing us again.”
“Put him through,” Cabrillo ordered.
“Captain Cabrillo, consider this your final warning,” Commander Martin said. Juan could hear through the clipped speech that the officer’s teeth were clenched. “If you do not stop immediately, I will order the circling Vikings to open fire on your ship.”
Cabrillo didn’t doubt Martin’s sincerity. But he was also tired of dealing with the man. “Commander, an Iranian submarine just took a potshot at a fully loaded supertanker. I’m not going to wait around for them to come after us. I will be clear of your interdiction sphere before you arrive and there isn’t much you can do about it.”
“You will—” Martin’s voice suddenly cut out. He came back on the line thirty seconds later. Juan couldn’t quite place the new tone in his voice. Awe? Fear? Respect? Some combination of all three?
“Captain, you are free to leave the area at your own discretion.” Cabrillo wondered who Langston had gotten to make the call. It had to be the commander in chief for Naval Operations for the Indian Ocean or one of the Joint Chiefs. Whoever it was, it was nice to have some pull in Washington.
“I thought you’d see it our way. Thank you and good luck. By the way, the Iranian Kilo’s taking on water, so if you want a look inside her I suggest you hurry. Oregonout.” A meaty hand appeared under Juan’s chin. He pulled his wallet from his pant pocket and slapped a twenty-dollar bill into Max’s palm.
Max sniffed the money as though it was a fine cigar. “Like taking candy from a baby.”
“Doesn’t surprise me you know what that feels like.” Cabrillo stood. “Nothing like a little naval battle before breakfast to make you hungry. Navigator, what’s our ETA at the rendezvous site?”
“Not until midnight,” Eric replied.
“Okay, I’ll want senior staff on watch, so shuffle your schedules as needed. I have to go call Langston, thank him for his help, and then explain why we’re only delivering one rocket torpedo.” As he made to leave the Op Center, he grabbed the twenty from Max’s hand. “For costing us that second torpedo, you still owe the Corporation four million, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and eighty bucks.” CHAPTER 6