Hayat considered his options.
“We can change depth while loitering to verify the arrival of the target,” he said, each word an effort. “We can proceed per plan. Snorkel to a full battery, and then submerge the ship and slow to four knots. We will run on the MESMA system thereafter. This snorkel procedure shall be the Hamza’s last.”
Ten weeks of chasing the Hamza had turned up two detections. The first had been the long-range torpedo shot that had missed. The second, three days ago, had been a snorkeling sound. Renard had followed that sound but then lost it.
Fuel, fresh vegetables, and the original detection of the Hamza had raised his spirits and that of the crew. The second regain had provided new hope just as the fresh vegetables ran out and the crew had to feed upon dry and frozen goods.
Renard sensed that he might never catch the Hamza until it was too late. As he swiped the flame of his Zippo under a Marlboro and puffed it to life, he mulled over his next steps.
As if sent by divine providence, Jake sauntered into the operations room and joined him.
“Maybe we just ought to race ahead of him and wait,” Jake said. “He’s probably slowed to be careful as he gets closer. We already tried to beat him in transit, but I say we just ambush him.”
“I could not have said it better, mon ami,” Renard said. “I grow weary of this difficult hunt. An ambush is exactly what we shall do.”
Rodriguez went over a list of the Hawaii’s supplies. He had already pushed a week beyond the expected patrol’s duration. The outlook was bleak.
“Tell the supply officer to cut back rations,” he said.
Jones looked at him in horror.
“Sir, do you mean to starve the men?”
“No, I mean smaller portions. Every man has the option for seconds, or thirds, or whatever, but we need to be smart about this. No more heaping bowlfuls that someone ends up throwing out because it’s not as good as his wife’s cooking. First rule, you take it, you eat it, or you find a shipmate who will. Second rule, dish out smaller portions so the first rule doesn’t bite us.”
The color returned to Jones’ face.
“I’ll take care of it, sir.”
Rodriguez knew his crew would find a way to stretch the rations, but how long, he couldn’t tell.
“The Hamza’s still tracking at four knots?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jones said. “Almost for a week now. It traveled ten weeks at seven knots and then slowed to four for the last week. At that rate, he’ll be at Pearl in another week. He’s got to be low on supplies, too.”
“That’s comforting,” Rodriguez said. “That might just force him to do whatever he’s going to do and leave before we run out of supplies.”
“I get the sense you’d shoot him now, if you could, sir.”
Reminded of his quandary, Rodriguez cringed.
“Part of me is saying that’s exactly what we should do, but our orders are still to trail and to not engage unless he makes a hostile move.”
“Some might say a submerged approach to Pearl is a hostile move,” Jones said.
“You know I do, but I hate to admit that the bureaucrats may be right on this one. We’ve been doing this to the free world for fifty years. Unless he does something violent, we have no rights.”
“Well, sir, if the Hai Lang shows up, it might take care of this for us, and it may be playing by a different set of rules.”
“We’ll see. It’s this type of game that makes me wake up in the morning.”
Renard had sprinted ahead of his best guess of the Hamza’s position and loitered twenty miles from Pearl Harbor. Knowing that snorkeling would put him at risk, he relied on the MESMA system to keep the ship running submerged and undetected.
After waiting a week with no sign of the Hamza, he grew concerned. The Stennis was scheduled to arrive the next day, and some of its battle group support ships had already docked in Pearl Harbor.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try a drone?” Jake asked. “We have two.”
“Letting you load the second drone was my folly,” Renard said. “It is a waste. Please, do not ask me again. We will find the Hamza with the proper tactics.”
“I hope so,” Jake said. “To miss the Hamza now would be worse than never having tried.”
CHAPTER 32
Jake stood before the periscope well’s railing, below Renard, who stood on the slightly elevated conning area behind the rail. Although his body placement showed deference, he struggled to keep from screaming.
“Pierre,” he said, “you’re stuck in the fucking past. You need to let me use a drone. You’re not going to find the Hamza without it.”
Looking weary and agitated, Renard forced a puff of smoke from his cheeks.
“How?” he asked. “A glorified shell of a torpedo is going to unravel the secrets of the Hamza’s location? The secrets we could not find during a week-long search?”
“Maybe,” Jake said. “It can conduct an active search without compromising our position.”
“No compromise?” Renard asked. “You’d geo-locate us for any listening adversary to within miles of the drone.”
“The Taiwanese designed it for ten miles.”
Jake looked towards the row of Subtics monitors in hopes that Ye would back him up. Ye’s back had been to the conversation, but he turned and nodded.
“We employed one to ten miles during shakedown.”
“Thanks,” Jake said. “Ten miles is plenty of gravy. No one could target us on that, and all it does is tell the Hamza we’re out here. Hell, I know giving up the advantage of surprise sounds stupid, but it might distract them from attacking the Stennis. We’re no longer hunting the Hamza as much as we’re protecting the Stennis.”
Renard slid his Marlboro to the corner of his mouth. He extended his arms to the railing and hung his head. As his voice fell to a whisper, Jake knew he had his attention.
“In French,” Renard said. “For privacy.”
“Okay,” Jake said in French.
“The ship’s speed would be restricted?” Renard asked.
“Five knots, although it’s just a design guess. You’d actually need to come to a stop for a couple hours.”
“That would leave only a few hours before the Stennis approaches the harbor — less if the Hamza intends to attack before the carrier reaches harbor.”
“You heard Olivia,” Jake said. “This guy isn’t interested in random destruction. He’s looking to destroy a symbol within a symbol. He wants headlines that say ‘the carrier upon which Bush declared victory was destroyed in Pearl Harbor’. Plus, he needs to attack from upwind for the fallout to reach Honolulu.”
“Fair enough if you trust Olivia’s analysis,” Renard said. “But she’s pieced together the evidence by herself over a few weeks while pursuing our adversary. The amount of data — the exploration and rejection of scenarios — this type of thing takes teams of analysts in air-conditioned rooms months to resolve.”
“I trust her,” Jake said. “We have to trust her.”
“Agreed,” Renard said, “only because there is no other choice. I still assume that the Hamza is close by with hostile intent. However, I’m at my wits’ end to find it. Go ahead, then. Explain your plan.”