Stephenson was dreaming of his wife when a knock at his door woke him. Senior Chief Wilson entered his stateroom and handed him sheets of paper.
“I had news that couldn’t wait, sir.”
Stephenson rubbed his eyes.
“What is it?”
“Warnings from squadron about violating our patrol area. The captain said to ignore them since it was just a squabble between some destroyer admiral and submarine admiral. He said the submarine guys can go to hell.”
“Where are we?”
“Southern end of our patrol area.”
“Damn it,” Stephenson said as he slipped his camouflage shirt over his white crew neck.
“There’s more, sir.”
“What else?”
“From the Atlantic Fleet Intelligence to your personal inbox. I wanted to deliver it myself. I couldn’t help but see as I printed them for you. They’re weird pictures of… Well, you’ll see.”
Wilson dropped the pictures of the Bainbridge’s captain on a desk. Stephenson paged through them.
“These are embarrassing and show poor judgment.”
“Read the note, sir.”
“It’s from a Commander Sanders,” Stephenson said. “It states that these were sent by the captain’s fiancée to a blacklisted domain in Iran. We’re the subject of an unknown operation.”
“Dang, sir.”
“Are we still in modified emissions control?”
“Yes, sir.”
Stephenson darted for the combat information center.
Salem’s linguist held the high-frequency radio handset, translating Farsi into Arabic, as he conversed with a man whose voice he recognized from an important meeting long ago.
“Yes,” he said. “I have just inserted the coordinates of the Bainbridge into my system. I am ready to launch.”
The linguist translated the Trigger’s response. The supertanker serving as the launch platform had just fired two dozen Chinese-designed C-802 anti-ship missiles at the Bainbridge.
Salem knew that the C-802 missiles would not reach the Bainbridge or explode if they did, since they had no warheads or terminal guidance systems. They were pre-production skeletons that the Trigger had selected to overwhelm the destroyer in a calculated decision-making overload. As part of the coordinated attack, Salem had to launch the Leviathan’s Harpoon missiles now.
He wished the Trigger good fortune and turned to Asad.
“All Harpoons are programmed for the coordinates of the Bainbridge and released for launch,” he said. “Launch all Harpoons immediately.”
“Yes, Hana.”
Asad turned and stopped at the sound of deep thuds from above that sounded like metal hitting metal.
Salem looked at the petrified Asad and then gazed into the overhead. His pulse quickened as he saw smoke billowing through the hull’s insulated lagging.
Focusing beyond the smoke, he noted a black line tracing a tight circle through the lagging. He tapped Asad on the shoulder, startling the young naval veteran.
“This room is dangerous. Go to the torpedo room and launch the weapons,” Salem said. “I will deal with this.”
As Asad marched away, Salem told the linguist to fetch the Hamas soldiers with their weapons.
“Get out of here, Ali,” Salem said.
“Hana, I don’t understand,” Yousif said.
“Our destiny lies with launching weapons. There is only danger in this room. Join Asad in the torpedo room.”
Yousif departed as Hamdan returned with his three younger combatants. The hole in the operations room had been half cut, and the instrument making the cut nicked a hydraulic line, shooting a stream of glistening fluid.
“Hana?” Hamdan asked.
“I don’t know who or how. I just know that we must defend ourselves.”
Hamdan positioned himself and his soldiers at four quadrants of the growing circle with rifles pointed up.
Salem envisioned an instant massacre of the Hamas team.
“No,” he said. “Follow me. Now! Make for the torpedo room. Slow their advance so that we can launch all of the ship’s weapons!”
The soldiers backed toward Salem as he passed under the forward hatch. He slid down a ladder to the torpedo room and saw the soldiers stop above the ladder and assume firing positions.
Hamdan appeared above the ladder and extended two pistols to Salem.
“You may need these,” he said. “We’ll use rifles.”
“I need three minutes more than I need bullets,” Salem said, cradling the weapons under his arm. “Three minutes to launch the Harpoons and to reload. The Bainbridge is in torpedo range.”
Hamdan’s face softened.
“It is my destiny,” he said, “to protect you for those three minutes. It is your destiny to ensure that those three minutes matter.”
Salem locked eyes with the soldier and clenched his hand. If Hamdan concealed secret orders to kill him, Salem forgave his companion.
A rapid change in air pressure and a hiss from the torpedo room diverted his attention, and Hamdan disappeared above the ladder.
Behind him, Asad’s voice verified Salem’s hopes.
“The first Harpoon is launched,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Jake asked.
“Yes!” Remy said, his hand pressing his sonar headset to his ear. “The Leviathan just launched a weapon. And now another!”
“Open the outer door to tube one,” Jake said.
Remy nodded to a young mercenary beside him who handled the task.
“The outer door to tube one is open,” Remy said. “Three… wait, now four weapons were fired thus far.”
“Any coming at us?”
“Wait. Six weapons total!”
“Tell me if any are coming at us, damn it!”
“I think they’re all missiles. I heard weapons broach the surface, but I hear no high-speed screws and no seekers.”
“Encapsulated missiles,” Jake said. “Either Popeye or Harpoon, but out of range of any targets.”
“Who are they shooting at, Jake?” Remy asked.
Jake wondered where Pierre was and what he would do if their positions were reversed.
“Doesn’t matter. Targets over the horizon we don’t know about. Prepare to launch tube one at the Leviathan.”
Faces in the Mercer’s operations room turned cold. Henri turned from his ship’s control panel.
“You’re sentencing Pierre to death,” he said.
“We don’t know that.”
“In that minisub, the shock wave to his broadsides would be his demise.”
“He’s my friend, too, Henri. But the Leviathan is probably reloading right now.”
Henri looked to the deck, showing his straight silvery hair, and the returned his attention to his panels
“Do what you must, Jake. I will support you.”
A final hiss, whine, and rumble reverberated throughout the minisub’s hull.
“What was all that?” Gomez said.
“The launching of weapons,” Renard said.
“I know, but what type?”
“Missiles, most likely. I counted at least four weapons but probably more. A torpedo salvo is unlikely, but given our hijacker’s lack of sophistication, I cannot rule it out.”
“Shit!”
“Indeed,” Renard said. “We must hurry.”
Whiffs of smoke swirled from the circular incision as Renard watched Gomez and Smith elevate the laser cutter up its hydraulic ram. A third SEAL pressed a suction handle onto the Leviathan’s green metal and squatted to jerk it upward. Smith and Gomez knelt, bracing themselves on one hand each and holding a grenade in the other.