The SEAL with the lifting handle yanked the severed metal as Gomez and Smith rolled their grenades into the gap. The SEAL dropped the metal back into place and pressed down on it. Moments later, Renard heard the cracks from within the Leviathan.
“Again,” Gomez said, clutching a new grenade. “Open!”
He and Smith pushed the grenades deeper into the gap, the third SEAL closed the gap, and again grenades cracked under the metal.
A SEAL presented Gomez a handheld electronic periscope, and Gomez had the circle of metal removed a third time. He slid the periscope’s neck down, watched its battery-powered monitor, and swiveled the device.
“The room’s empty,” he said. “The way is blown clear.”
He signaled for two SEALs to enter the Leviathan. In a flash, a rope unfurled from the minisub’s overhead, and two men followed it through the hole. As he lined up his next two men, a pilot called to him. Renard missed the verbal exchange, but Gomez crept to him and explained.
“The Georgia just ordered us to abort,” he said.
“Dear God, man! Why?”
“Your submarine just shot a torpedo at us.”
“Jake,” Renard said, his voice tapering.
“Whoever you left in charge makes up his mind fast,” Gomez said, “The Leviathan blows up in two minutes.”
Stephenson entered the combat information center and picked up a phone.
“Captain speaking.”
“Sir, this is the XO,” Stephenson said. “I need to inform you that you’re violating orders from squadron and patrolling restricted waters.”
“Noted. It’s already in the deck log. What do I care about a submarine exercise? We can annotate in the log that you protest, if you want to protect your career.”
“I’m more concerned about a note with photographs I received from fleet intel. I won’t insult you with the details, but it’s possible our patrol locations have been compromised. I recommend abandoning emissions control and lighting up in full defense.”
“You know how to protect this ship from any supposed threat, right?” Pastor asked with anger and insecurity in his voice. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then do it. Any damned way you see fit.”
The captain hung up. Stephenson walked toward the combat information center’s watch officer to order him to beef up the Bainbridge’s defense status when a tense voice from a console operator stopped him.
“Low flying aircraft — inbound! Low on the horizon.”
Stephenson continued to the watch officer and stood before his throne.
“Secure modified emissions control,” he said. “Raise the ship’s defenses to full alert.”
The officer barked out commands to set Stephenson’s will in motion. When he was done, he relinquished the throne to Stephenson, who had a sick feeling that the fully awakened Aegis system would recognize the contact on the horizon as something more sinister than a low flying aircraft.
CHAPTER 21
“Can you lock the hijackers out of the weapons systems from the operations room?” Renard asked.
“Yes,” Marom said.
“And then what?” Gomez asked. “The Leviathan isn’t going to be here in two minutes.”
“Perhaps not,” Renard said. “But if Jake still has the command wire to his torpedo, I can inform him via underwater voice to shut down the weapon.”
“The underwater voice should reach him at this distance,” Marom said. “This is possible.”
The glare remained hard on Gomez’ face. The lack of his secretive smile concerned Renard.
“Let’s do it,” Gomez said. “You two go in after me and Smith. Marom first. Straight to the control panel. My last two guys after you. Watch for bent metal and wires in the overhead on your way in.”
Gomez and Smith disappeared into the hole, and Marom shimmied his way after them. Renard began his descent, hand over hand, curling his legs around the rope. He saw hydraulic fluid dripping from a depressurized line and an electrical bundle shredded with its metal brackets twisted by a grenade.
As his feet touched the deck, he saw Smith and Gomez guarding the forward door and the first two SEALS guarding the aft entrance. Marom leaned into a system monitor while tapping keys.
Renard saw a microphone clipped against a control box to the underwater communications. He marched to it and examined its dials. The writing was foreign, but he understood its function.
“This is the underwater communications?” he asked.
Marom looked up and nodded.
“Don’t call off the torpedo until he’s locked the hijackers out of the weapons,” Gomez said.
“Bad news,” Marom said. “They’ve taken local control of two tubes, which they are reloading. They will be able to launch these reload weapons, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
The last two SEALs landed in the operations room.
“Yes there is,” Gomez said. “We can let the incoming torpedo sink the ship.”
“Not in time,” Marom said.
“Give me some good news,” Gomez said.
“I’ve locked out the other eight tubes.”
“Okay,” Gomez said. “What did they fire?”
“Six Harpoons. They reloaded two torpedoes. I recommend that the incoming torpedo be shut down and we take the torpedo room by force. They will likely fire the next two weapons, but we might be able to shut them down.”
Gomez nodded.
“We’ll take the torpedo room,” he said.
He barked out orders, and four of his SEALs disappeared through the room’s forward door. Smith moved to guard the rear door.
“Marom,” Gomez said, “help Renard get that incoming torpedo shut down. Go!”
Marom sprang to the unit, adjusted the controls, and handed the microphone to Renard.
“Speak, and quickly please,” Marom said.
Renard spoke with deliberate clearness in his native tongue so that the echoing and reverberating energy of his voice would reach the Mercer’s sonar with clarity.
“Jake, Pierre, I have the Leviathan. Shut down your weapon. Jake, Pierre, I have the Leviathan. Shut down your weapon.”
On his third iteration of his mantra, Renard cringed as a torpedo alarm whined.
“The seeker of the inbound torpedo is active,” Marom said as he walked across the room to silence the alarm.
“One minute estimated until impact,” Gomez said. “We still have time to get out and take our chances driving away in the minisub.”
Renard shook his head while repeating his prayer into the communications unit, trusting that Jake would answer.
“The inbound aircraft is now identified as twenty-four inbound hostile missiles,” Stephenson said. “The bogey is reclassified as twenty-four subsonic vampires. Engage all vampires with birds.”
The watch officer he had just relieved moved below him, orchestrating the efforts of people seated at consoles and concerned faces entering the room in response to the Bainbridge’s call to general quarters battle stations.
“Two birds per vampire?” the officer asked.
“Yes,” Stephenson said, confirming the advantage he allowed the Bainbridge in using two Standard SM-2 Block IV missiles against each incoming weapon. He wanted the doubled probability of knocking down the incoming attack, and he judged it worth expending half of his defense arsenal.
“To the bridge,” Stephenson said, “All ahead flank, come left smartly to course zero-nine-zero.”
He clenched the arms of his chair as the deck tilted and thunder rumbled from the Bainbridge’s forward vertical launch cells. A coffee cup hit the deck and shattered as the Bainbridge inclined through its turn, and tense voices echoed.