“How slow, Jake?”
“Very. We’re going submerge pier side.”
“I was afraid you would say that,” Henri said. “You wish to submerge while under the canopy so that we are unseen from the beginning.”
“From the beginning.”
“The water will be deep enough, but it will take careful maneuvering to keep us from hitting bottom.”
“When we leave Mar Del Plata, we will head due south for seven hundred and fifty nautical miles. We’ll cover one hundred and ninety miles per day. That’s averaging almost eight knots, and the MESMA system won’t be able to keep up. We’ll have to stop and snorkel twice to recharge the battery, but once we’re on station, the MESMA system will keep us at full battery charge and submerged.”
“Agreed.”
“Once we’re on station, we’ll deploy a drone and use it to delouse ourselves and make sure we weren’t followed. That’s critical. Then we wait for the Argentine submarines. The first will arrive two days later. Then the fun begins.”
“I would hardly describe it as fun,” Henri said. “It’s a sort of morbid thrill to which we’ve all become addicted.”
Jake wondered if Henri and the others enjoyed cheating death, if they subconsciously sought death, or if they cared as little as he did about the distinction.
“Take a fifteen-minute break,” he said. “Then gather the ship-handling team here for a review of drills. I want to make sure everyone knows what to do in crisis situations.”
“I have trained them, Jake. You will be impressed.”
“I’m sure.”
As Henri departed, slid around a polished railing, and stepped up to the elevated conning platform, Jake reached toward the bulkhead and flipped down a foldout seat.
He dialed Renard’s number and placed his cell phone to his ear. He heard nothing, extended the phone, and glared at it. Recognizing that the phone’s wireless signal failed to penetrate the Specter’s steel hull, he felt stupid and cursed under his breath.
Stuffing the phone into his pocket, he stood, walked forward, and then climbed a ladder into the ship’s conning tower. Fluorescent lighting cast shadows within the tower’s damp, echoing metallic confines, and Jake twisted to reach the exterior door.
He creaked open a latch and shoved his shoulder into the metal separating him from the wharf’s briny air. Stepping, establishing his balance on the textured non-skid surface, and closing the door behind him left him leaning against the tower’s outer wall of steel.
As he lifted the phone to his ear, he looked upward and saw the electric brightness bathing the covered pier in an artificial glow. The overhead crane network and the thin metal skin of the wharf’s canopy protected the submarine from unwanted visual observation, but his phone’s wireless signals escaped from openings at either end.
The phone rang and he awaited Renard’s voice.
“Hello, my friend,” Renard said. “I trust you find the Specter to your liking.”
“It’s in top shape, Pierre.”
“Then why do you sound so despondent?”
“Was it that obvious? I was trying to sound cheery.”
“I suspect it’s due to the proper level of fear within you.”
“I don’t know, Pierre. I think you’re wrong about this one. I should be afraid. I should be terrified. But I’m not. It’s like I just don’t care what happens, but I just know that I need to be here.”
“This must feel bizarre to you, facing a British adversary. But trust me as you always have. I promise you, my friend, I’ve always had your best interests in mind. You are charmed, and you will succeed unscathed.”
“I’m having trouble believing you now.”
“The worst demons are in your mind, Jake. They are not aboard a British submarine. If you arrive at the ambush site with control of your own mind, you will have already succeeded.”
Jake studied the length of the submarine and noted its minimal connection to the concrete pier. Four synthetic nylon lines maintained cleat-to-cleat links between the ship and land, and a lone grouping of twisted, shielded electric lines fed power from a wheeled diesel generator to sockets above the vessel’s propulsion spaces.
“Jake, are you listening?”
“Yeah, Pierre. I’m fine.”
“Focus, man,” Renard said.
“Any changes to our mission parameters?”
“None, my friend. Everything is unfolding per my plan.”
“Then I’m ready. I’m getting underway.”
“Excellent. I wish you a safe and productive journey.”
As Jake slid the phone into his pocket, he thought about calling his wife. But he knew that hearing his voice would only distress her, and he sought refuge from his philosophical problems within the bowels of the Specter.
Inside the control room, Jake saw Henri and a handful of Taiwanese and French sailors awaiting his command to simulate emergency procedures. He looked away, waved his hand, and found his way to the foldout captain’s chair.
“We’ve got a ton of time to practice drills on the way down there,” Jake said. “Let’s just get this ship underway.”
“Nightfall isn’t for another thirty minutes, Jake,” Henri said.
“That’s fine. We’ll take our time and make sure we do this right. No scratches, bumps, bruises, or any unwanted marks on our freshly cleaned hull. Do you have communications topside?”
“Yes, Jake.”
“Very well, Henri. Divorce us from shore power and make ready to get underway on the battery.”
Jake watched and listened as his crew prepared the ship for operation. Their speed and efficiency impressed him, although he expected nothing less with Henri in charge.
When his key Frenchman appeared to have a moment, Jake gestured for Henri to join him.
“Is our police escort ready?”
“Yes, Jake. Two shore authority vessels will keep unwanted sea traffic out of our way in the channel until we are in open water.”
“As long as they know where we are, you mean. They won’t be able to see us any better than anyone else.”
“But they know where we plan to be, exactly. And you know my skill with inertial navigation systems and ship handling.”
“Yeah, I do. That’s why I have no doubt we’ll reach open water just fine without so much as having to raise a periscope or a mast.”
“But you will be tracking contacts in the system, will you not? Just to be sure?”
“Yes, Henri. And I’m willing to raise the periscope if things get hairy. Let’s just hope they don’t.”
Several minutes passed as Jake watched Henri collect the final reports and glance at dials and gauges. The knowing look on the Frenchman’s face told Jake the story he needed.
Battery voltage and current draw were nominal, the MESMA system showed safe temperatures and pressures, the rudder, stern plane, and bow planes were working under hydraulic power, the trim and drain system was moving water to the appropriate tanks to keep the ship level when submerged, and lubrication oil temperatures at the propulsion motor showed that an adequate warm up had taken place.
“We are ready to get underway,” Henri said.
“Cast off all lines,” Jake said.
Henri grabbed a sound-powered phone connected to circuit that conveyed his voice through the steel hull to the men who remained topside. Minutes later, three sailors descended into the control room and confirmed that the nylon mooring lines had been thrown to the pier, the cleats turned upside down and fared flush with the hull, and that the ship was sealed watertight.
Jake looked at a fathometer showing eight meters of water below the keel. From reviewing the nautical charts of the egress channel, he expected little margin in his effort to keep his ship’s conning tower concealed just below the water’s surface, until he reached open water.