“The technical team is below,” Asad said. “Yousif barely fit through the hatch getting out of the Jammal, and then we nearly lost him. He lost sight of the Leviathan and panicked, but I swam back and calmed him.”
“I should have planned for that. Swimming on the surface at night without SCUBA gear — men can become disoriented.”
“You planned this well, Hana,” Asad said. “There was no room for added SCUBA gear, and shame on the able-bodied man who can’t swim thirty meters in calm seas when his life is at stake.”
Salem appreciated Asad’s enthusiasm.
“Latakia and Bazzi have found cutting tools inside the Leviathan,” Salem said. “They’re already working on freeing us from the netting.”
“It will take time to cut ourselves free.”
“How’s the Jammal?” Salem asked.
“I left it at five meters, with cells reversing in its battery. I equalized all starboard compartments, including the lockout chamber, and I left the drain valve open. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Three years of design and testing,” Salem said, “and it ends so quickly.”
“It served us well,” Asad said. “It was a brilliant design. It should slip quietly to its death.”
“The Leviathan is our home now,” Salem said.
“How’s the atmosphere?”
“Open canisters are expended, and we’ve been ventilating clean air for fifteen minutes.”
“That should be enough,” Asad said.
“Men are breathing freely in the control center. Anyone who goes elsewhere is on forced air.”
“What about the Israelis?”
“Our soldiers were skilled,” Salem said. “They swept all compartments, and I doubt there are survivors, but be on your guard.”
Brad Flint tapped the shoulder of his executive officer, who was crouched into the Annapolis’ periscope.
“May I?” he asked.
Baines stepped aside, and Flint flipped his wire-rim glasses under his chin. Bending his tall frame, he reached for the periscope’s control handles and pressed his eye into the optics.
“They’ve closed the hatch and secured snorkeling.”
“Looks like they’ll make it before sunrise,” Baines said. “They’ve been working all night on that netting.”
“Yeah. And we’ve been working all night, too. Stooping over a periscope gets tough after a few hours.”
“Can’t wait until they submerge again,” Baines said.
“And there it is,” Flint said. “Ballast tanks are venting. They’re heading under. Get a message queued up telling squadron what happened. And get as much audio and video footage to them as the satellite can take.”
Salem stood on an elevated conning platform in the aft end of the Leviathan’s control center. He saw crimson pools and smeared footprints tracing lines the Hamas soldiers had taken dragging corpses to the forward hatch.
Lifting his gaze from the blood, he saw Yousif sitting next to the other three academics in beige leather chairs, facing four pairs of stacked monitors. They were scribbling hand-written notes onto loose-leaf paper, translating operations manuals into Arabic.
Those with technical backgrounds made guesses at which information was worth summarizing, playing with the systems to guide them. Yousif turned toward Asad to ask a question, but Salem hushed him.
“We’re submerging,” he said.
To Salem’s right, Asad and Latakia sat at a ship control station, as they had in the Jammal. A clunk and whir above Salem startled him.
“That’s our induction mast,” Asad said. “I control all masts and antennae from here, except the periscopes, which you control with the hydraulic rings around them.”
“Here?” Salem asked, wrapping his fingers around the steel tube encircling a silvery cylinder.
“Yes. But first raise the handles. Then give the hydraulic ring a yank counterclockwise and stand back.”
Salem twisted the ring, watched the periscope glide into the well at his feet, and walked to a monitor showing a video image of the world as seen through the periscope. The outside world turned dark.
When he looked over Asad’s head, the digital readout read fifteen meters. Latakia wore the earmuffs of a sound-powered phone and held a mouthpiece to his lips. He exchanged words with Asad that Salem found inaudible but optimistic.
“Bazzi has control of our propulsion,” Asad said.
Salem realized his lungs were burning from having been clenched shut during the dive. He exhaled as the digital readout crawled to thirty meters.
“Steady at thirty meters,” Asad said. “Speed is four knots.”
Sighing, Salem sat in the chair behind him.
“I believe we’ve accomplished the most ambitious phase of our task,” he said.
He reflected upon his deeds, found them unsettling, and chose instead to assess his next moves. A flaw in his plan surfaced to his mind.
“Damn!” he said.
“Yes, Hana? What is it?” Asad asked.
“Food and water. Contamination. I was so preoccupied with winning the ship that I didn’t think of it.”
“I took care of it,” Asad said. “Some dry stores may be wasted, but I verified positive pressure in the cold stores.”
“Meaning?”
“The refrigerated food was airtight during your assault. The food is good. There might even be some sealed dry goods. With our small crew, we’ll have plenty to eat.”
“And water?”
“I pumped the potable water tanks overboard and ran the distilling unit. But it didn’t make much. Two hundred liters. We’ll need to snorkel again to catch up.”
“Now is a good time to drain all standing water and to mark all potentially contaminated food,” Salem said.
“A saltwater washing of dry food stores, followed by extensive laundering of linens and clothing and a full ship cleaning,” Asad said.
Salem curled forward and rested his head in his hands.
“Hana?” Asad asked.
Salem raised his head.
“Yes?”
“Shall we head west now?”
Standing, Salem felt stiffness in his weary frame, and his mind kicked into gear.
“Not yet,” he said. “This submarine was heading toward Lebanon and Syria, and we just spent an evening on the surface. Somebody may be watching, or listening. We need to continue the charade — act like Israelis.”
Asad sighed and hunched his shoulders.
“I hadn’t thought that far yet,” he said. “But clues to their agenda may be in the torpedo room with their weapons load.”
“Latakia, can you manage up here?” Salem asked.
The retired warrant officer nodded.
“Follow me below, Asad,” Salem said.
Salem found the weapons arrangement to be simpler than he expected. Six racks, three per side, cradled reloads while ten breech doors lined the forward bulkhead. Piping for water, air, and hydraulics ran between the tubes and in unobtrusive recesses that struck Salem with its design elegance.
Asad, short in stature, rolled to the balls of his feet and lifted his nose over the highest rack to inspect weapons. He checked all six.
“I’ll need translations of markings to be sure,” he said, “but I believe we have two heavyweight torpedoes and four Harpoon anti-ship missiles as reloads.”
“Let’s see what’s loaded,” Salem said.
Stacked in five pairs, ten tubes pointed forward. The inner six spanned the common five hundred and thirty-three millimeters while the outer stacked pairs were the larger six hundred and fifty-millimeter variety.