“Is it the San Juan?”
“It has to be.”
Jake raised his voice to fill the control room.
“Listen up everyone. We’ve got the San Juan on the towed array sonar,” he said. “Check the bearing on your monitors and look for it on our other sensors. As we pick it up on other hydrophones, we’ll have tons of data on it to tighten its location, course, and speed. So this is a time to practice our targeting skills before we encounter the Ambush. Get on it!”
During the next twenty minutes, the San Juan’s propeller blades, flow noise, fifty-hertz electric plant, propulsion reduction gears, and the periodic cycling of its trim pump filled the ears of the Specter’s sonar team and illuminated its Subtics tactical system monitors with lines of bearing connecting the heard to the listening. Jake wondered if the crew of the San Juan held any auditory clue to the existence of his Specter or if they could only trust in his presence.
“Okay,” he said. “The San Juan just passed between us and drone one. It’s passing over drone two. If the Ambush is trailing it, it will be in our hearing range soon. Shift your focus from the San Juan to five miles behind it. Listen for the Ambush. You know what frequencies to listen for.”
Jake labored to breathe as he awaited a confrontation with his greatest tactical adversary. He became lightheaded but hid his trepidation by anchoring his grip on the polished rail that semi-enclosed the conning platform. He bowed his head to prevent any fear being seen.
Seconds ticked like days, and Jake prayed for Remy to announce his discovery of the British submarine.
Then he realized that the San Juan had driven out of detection range and that the Specter remained alone.
He risked a glance at Remy, who seemed to sense Jake’s query and look up at the perfect moment. He shrugged his shoulder and shook his head.
“Nothing?” Jake asked.
“It’s not here,” Remy said.
“So be it,” Jake said. “The Ambush didn’t follow the San Juan. We have six hours to regroup and do this again with the Santa Cruz. Everyone except the basic watch section stand down and get some rest. Back here in five hours to get ready.”
Henri weaved his way through the moving bodies.
“That tested my nerves,” he said.
“Tell me about it.”
“This heightens the tension for the next go around.”
“No shit. We’re either going to find the Ambush trailing the Santa Cruz, or we’ll find that the Ambush hasn’t taken the bait.”
“What then?” Henri asked.
“Given that it’s quiet as a mouse but has the speed and endurance to maneuver around us any way it wants, I don’t want to find out what happens if we have to face it later on equal footing.”
CHAPTER 9
Commander Nigel Gray gazed through the bridge window of the HMS Dragon. Port Stanley’s nighttime coastline appeared as flat black emptiness save for the sparse lighting of the village spread below him.
It’s time to give the Falkland Islands back to their rightful owners, he thought.
Then he laughed at the sentiment’s sarcasm.
Be honest with yourself, Nigel. It’s time for you to stick your thumb into the Crown’s eye and move on under your own terms.
He pondered the payoff Pierre Renard would render for his deeds. His French game master had offered a sum, and Gray had accepted without negotiation, pointing out that the amount interested him less than the mission as long as it provided him the financial freedom to live anywhere while hiding from the angry eyes of the British government — if he survived to spend it.
Though he slogged through a hollow existence, Gray valued his survival instinct. He respected Renard’s plan to get him out alive, but Gray the survivor had devised a backup escape.
But first, he had to begin.
He dialed a number and lifted his cell phone to his ear. A glance over his shoulder showed two sailors on the bridge, using the high vantage point to watch over the destroyer and its surroundings. One sailor caught Gray’s gaze and nodded.
Gray ignored the man, turned, and let Renard’s voice soothe him.
“How is everything, my friend?” Renard asked.
“I miss you, Mary,” Gray said.
He waited while the Frenchman translated the phrase’s meaning. As planned, Gray intended to seize the Dragon this night.
“Excellent! Expect a gift from me within minutes.”
The smallest of three payment installments, one million pounds, was landing in Gray’s bank account.
“I promise,” Gray said. “I shall call you again soon.”
“Good luck my friend,” Renard said. “God be with you.”
He slid the phone into his pocket and looked to the sailors, one of whom braved a rare attempt of levity with his executive officer.
“Found a new lady, sir?”
“You noticed?”
“How long do you think you’ll keep this one?”
Gray managed a smirk as he noticed an opportunity to strengthen his alibi, or at least a chance to cast doubt on his guilt, if the sailor and the one standing beside him survived to serve witness.
“Perhaps forever.”
The second sailor lowered his binoculars and shifted his gaze toward Gray.
“You, sir? The ship’s senior bachelor? I never thought I’d hear of it.”
“Neither did I. But I may have to actually accept that I’ve been smitten by a lovely lady back home. I’m deeply considering keeping this one and settling down upon our return home.”
“Well, sir. Congratulations. This could be perfect timing.”
“What could be?”
“Your separation from the Royal Navy.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. I am quite ready for the next phase of my life. It’s quite late, gentlemen. Good night.”
He left the bridge, descended into the ship, and returned to the vertical launch system compartment for the first time since hiding his gym bag inside it.
Within the compartment, he glanced at the forest of missile tubes and then shut the door behind him. He withdrew the power source, which had a week ago reminded him of a car battery. Studying it, he wondered if that’s what it might be — rectangular, rigid, and heavy.
He lowered it to the deck and flipped over the plastic guards that protected its conductive leads. With metallic clamping teeth on either end, the conductor he withdrew from the bag reminded him of jumper cables, but instead of plastic insulation, a soft magnetic material encased the conductive wire.
And there was only one wire — designed to connect positive to negative with minimal resistance.
Hoisting the wire from the bag, he stepped forward and tossed the cable forward. Its mass dragged it downward, and its magnetic encasing snapped it against the middle of the back of compartment’s door.
Gray frowned, detached the length from the door, and lifted it higher. He then ran the cable’s magnetically-attached length in a serpentine pattern, covering as much area as the wiring allowed.
A spark flew as he clamped the teeth of one end to the power source. Then, assuring his hands gripped the nonconductive plastic grips of the other end’s exposed teeth, he turned his head and watched from the corner of his eye as he completed the circuit.
Electrons crackled in the air as the teeth engaged, and Gray watched the wire turn orange with heat. He lifted the gym bag and used it as an oven mitt on the door latch, creating a slim opening to the outside passageway.