“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Salem said. “Who do you need awake?”
“Myself, Bazzi, and one man roaming between us.”
“Then I will be the roaming man.”
The rotund professor of electrical engineering stood.
“Hana, no,” Yousif said. “You’re exhausted.”
“As we all are.”
“I managed a couple hours of sleep on the Jammal,” Yousif said. “Let me walk the spaces while you sleep.”
“Then who will relieve Asad and Bazzi?”
“Latakia will manage the control center while I sleep,” Asad said. “Yousif, I’m afraid you’re the most qualified to understand the propulsion spaces in Bazzi’s place. You should sleep now and let one of our soldiers march the open spaces.”
“Where are they?” Salem asked.
“Probably sleeping,” Asad said. “They were in the crew’s berthing last I knew.”
Salem drifted in a haze of fatigue to the crew’s berthing area. The compartment was dark except for a reading light in one bunk. Hearing a man snoring, he thought that his Hamas-trained operatives had demonstrated wisdom beyond their youth by resting at their first chance.
The curtain in the illuminated top bunk slid open, revealing that at least one man remained awake. He moved to it and saw Hamdan holding a Qur’an.
“You’re a warrior like the Prophet,” Hamdan said.
“There is none exactly like him.”
“But there are many who honor him through action,” Hamdan said. “As you have and must continue to do.”
“He was a unifying leader in a fragmented, agrarian society,” Salem said. “Comparison between the Prophet and men of today is difficult.”
Hamdan closed his holy book.
“I was warned you overanalyze things.”
“Thought is what drives us.”
“I disagree,” Hamdan said. “Passion drives us.”
“Okay then. What passion drives you? What drove you to Hamas?”
“Purpose,” he said. “I sold meats — beef and lamb — on the Euphrates riverfront in Ar Raqqah, and I ran my business profitably. But to what end? To start a family and seek a life of comfort, hoping and waiting for others to shape the world for me?”
“I doubt that would ever be your fate.”
“I knew that younger men,” Hamdan said while nodding at the other bunks, “would need men to lead them. I felt the calling, and I have been rewarded by being selected to join you.”
“You look tired, Hamdan.”
The soldier slid the book in a cubby hole by his head.
“I’m stronger than my fatigue.”
“I appreciate that,” Salem said. “But you have systems and processes to learn. A fresh mind will be necessary.”
“Then you want me to sleep?”
“Soon. I first want you to walk the ship for a three-hour duty session. We’re going to take turns watching the ship and sleeping.”
“I’m ready for duty,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“And what of you, Professor Salem?” Hamdan asked. “You gave up a life of education and privilege.”
“Privilege? Hardly. I consider education to be every man’s birthright, and I have found that the academic field is intriguing and rewarding.”
Hamdan slid his bunk curtain aside and slid his feet out of the bunk.
“But I will share with you,” Salem said, “that I found leaving my life easy. I lost my wife and son to a drunk driver — a fat, wealthy, lazy waste of humanity that had inherited his life of leisure and sloth. He was drunk on American whiskey driving a western-made luxury automobile. I intend to inspire people to cast away the sense of entitlement that allowed that wretched waste of human flesh to take my life from me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Salem said. “It’s not your fault. I blame the state of the world. And that’s what I intend to fix.”
Six hours later, Salem awoke, alone in the captain’s stateroom. He urinated and watched his toilet drain dry after flushing it.
He slipped into the jumpsuit of the deceased Israeli commanding officer, climbed to the control center, and saw its lone occupant, Asad, pacing.
Haitham al-Asad had transferred from a tour as the executive officer on an ex-Russian Osa II missile craft to Russian-sponsored submarine training in preparation for Syria’s purchase of Amir submarines. A generous sum of money to his relatives and to the Syrian Navy had purchased his discharge and his loyalty to the mission taking place aboard the Leviathan.
Unsure of Asad’s abilities, Salem trusted his instincts that Asad would prove competent in submarine operations and tactics. His instincts seemed on target.
“Did you sleep?” Salem asked.
“A few hours. And you?”
“Enough, but there’s a problem with my toilet. I flushed it and it didn’t refill.”
“There’s probably a problem with flowing water.”
“How so?”
“Based upon what you just said, there is none.”
“But we can make more, right?” Salem asked.
“In theory, we can do anything we want,” Asad said. “In reality, we have too few people and too much to learn. It took four of us to start the distillate unit the first time, and we did it with all diesels running on the surface. I expect a surprise or two when trying it at snorkel depth.”
Salem stepped to the conning platform and sat.
“Then we put all our effort into it,” he said.
“Oh yes? And what about starting a diesel at snorkel depth? We have yet to attempt that trick.”
“The ship was built for that to be routine.”
“It may all become routine in a short time,” Asad said. “But we have contaminated food to discard, bodies to stow, blood to wipe, sealed dry stores to clean, and — as you just enlightened me — drinking water to make.”
“One thing at a time,” Salem said. “First we snorkel. Is Bazzi ready?”
“Yes. We’re as ready as we can be,” the ex-naval officer said. “Everyone is awake and has at least three hours of sleep. Hopefully, we are an alert crew.”
“Good.”
“We checked the ventilation lineup to the diesel, but I’ll feel better once I see it working.”
“Go to six knots and twenty meters,” Salem said.
“Yes, Hana, but you have to raise the periscope. It’s best that you look through the optics instead of the monitor. There’s better focus.”
Salem twisted the metal hydraulic ring clockwise, heard hydraulic valves clunk overhead, and watched the silvery tube rise. He pressed his eye to the optics but his field of view remained dark.
“I don’t see anything through the periscope,” he said.
“That’s because we’re too deep,” Asad said. “I’ll take us up to fifteen meters.”
The blackness on Salem’s monitor turned gray.
“I still don’t see anything,” he said.
Asad jumped from his control station and gazed at the monitor showing a video of the periscope’s view.
“Damn. We didn’t darken the control center to prepare your eyes for the night,” he said as he returned to the control station.
Salem withdrew his eye from the optics and became disoriented as the control center’s lighting inundated his dilating pupil. Then the room turned dark, backlit by panels and red ground lighting.
“You’ll need fifteen minutes to get used to the darkness,” Asad said. “Thirty to be completely comfortable. But there’s no harm in looking now and seeing what you can see. I’ll raise the snorkel mast.”
Groping for the handles, Salem palpated their rubber grips with his fingertips to orient himself in the dark.
“Snorkel mast is up,” Asad said.