“Neutral is fine. I obviously vote yes, which makes it a deadlock, at least in this theoretical exercise.”
“But it’s not a theoretical exercise,” Henri said. “Your decision is final.”
“Right. So start driving us due north at twelve knots. We’re doing it.”
“We’ve followed you into danger in every ocean, and you’ve never led us astray,” Henri said.
Jake reflected upon his history with the French mercenaries.
“You’ve never been in the Arctic with me.”
“But I feel like I was there with you, based upon the amount of times Pierre’s told me the story. My point stands. You are truly charmed like he says, and I have to believe that. I’ll put us on ordered course and speed.”
Henri stepped to his control station, and the toad-head shook.
“I still don’t like it,” Remy said.
“I understand. It goes against everything you hold sacred in submarining.”
“Not quite everything, but close enough.”
Remy returned to his console, and Jake went to his elevated conning platform.
“Henri, bring the ship to periscope depth. Prepare to snorkel. I want to add whatever juice I can to the batteries.”
The deck angled upward and rocked. When shallow, Jake pressed the icon that raised his periscope for a panoramic view of ships crossing his path. After lowering the periscope, he had Henri raise the snorkel mast.
“Commence snorkeling.”
The hull rumbled with the gentle vibrations of the sound-isolated diesels, and air rushed through ventilation ducts.
“Raise the radio mast,” he said.
“The radio mast is raised,” Henri said.
“Download the satellite broadcast.”
A minute later, Henri reported that he had the update of tactical data but nothing personal from Renard. The icons slid to their new positions on the display.
“That’s it,” Henri said. “There’s nothing else.”
“That means no progress with negotiations,” Jake said. “It’s time.”
“I’m ready.”
“Link with the satellite, transmit a hail to Pierre.”
“I’m transmitting a hail to Pierre.”
Jake angled a microphone from his console towards his mouth as the speakers carried the Frechman’s surprise.
“Jake?” Renard asked.
“It’s me.”
“It’s good to hear from you, though surprising.”
“I broke radio silence for a good reason. I’m sending you a data feed with a plan I want to run by you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Here it comes.”
He tapped an image that sent the ideas captured in the Specter’s tactical system to Renard’s makeshift command post, buried within a Ukrainian naval base.
“Shall I digest it now?” Renard asked.
“Yes. I’m okay being exposed by my masts. I want to be found as part of my plan.”
“You jest.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“Well then, shall we indulge in a video discussion?”
“Sure.”
After watching Henri and his radio operator work their panels, Jake accepted a popup window’s prompt for a video feed. Gray ovals underscored his mentor’s eyes, and frayed silver strands formed mats atop his crown.
“God, you look tired, Pierre. Aren’t you sleeping?”
“Not really. I’m more anxious in command centers than when at sea commanding submarines. There’s something energizing about the proximity to the action. Speaking of which, you appear thrilled to be alive.”
“I guess that’s what happens when I have an idea I like.”
“May I have a moment to review it?”
“Sure.”
Renard angled his nose to a side monitor, frowned, and then raised an eyebrow.
“Do you really expect me to approve this?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong? You already said you’re willing to give up your ships. I’m giving you a chance to keep them.”
“It’s not them I’m worried about.”
The Frenchman blinked and shrugged.
“Well, alright, I am worried about them,” he said. “They cost more than my net worth and would take years to replace. In all candor, if I lose them, I’d be forced into retirement, and our operations would shut down forever.”
Jake tipped his head and glared.
“Is that what you want?”
His mentor’s hesitance worried him.
“No. I’m not quite ready for that. But I wouldn’t find it completely deplorable either. I am getting on in years.”
“You’re barely past fifty-five. Stop whining.”
“Tell me how you feel in twenty years.”
“I will. But back to right now. I want to win this mission, and I don’t consider it a win unless we get out of here with our ships.”
“I won’t condone your suicides.”
Renard’s pessimism stung, but he expected it and countered.
“Leave it up to Terry, then. Let him decide.”
“Though he lacks your jaded edge, he’s an adventurous young man. I fear that you’re formulating an ongoing subconscious duel of bravery and one-upmanship.”
“Huh. Good insight. I can’t say I deny it.”
The Frenchman turned his head.
“For God’s sake.”
“What?”
“I’m sending you a satellite feed. Look at yourself.”
Jake beheld the feather-like wakes that his radio mast and snorkel mast combined to generate.
“I told you, I want to be found.”
“You look like a training video on how to fail in commanding a submarine. How fast are you moving?”
“Twelve knots.”
“Shall I order you a new radio mast now, or would you like me to wait until a particularly rough wave snaps it off?”
“Just wait. What I’d really like is for you to approve this plan and get Terry acting on it.”
He watched the Frenchman lift a Marlboro to his lips and whip a gold-plated Zippo lighter underneath it. Smoke rose from the amber, and then his mentor blew a cloud.
“I imagine that if I say no, you’ll attempt to contact Terry yourself directly, despite the possible consequences.”
“I thought about it. But I figured you’d say yes. So I haven’t decided yet if I have the balls to collude with him and override you.”
Renard sucked two lungs full of apparent calmness from his cigarette and pushed gray wisps from his nostrils.
“I know you have the balls, so to speak. So I may as well display mine and give you my approval. You have it.”
“I knew you’d love the idea.”
“I accept it. I’ll hail him now. Keep your masts up.”
“I’ll wait, masts up.”
The video stopped, and Jake waited in solitude as his team kept the ship moving forward on course, at speed, and at depth.
Even the priest contributed, having learned to track ships on one of the rudimentary, anti-collision plots. Jake called up Andrew’s plot, noticed a ship on his right that moved to his left, suggesting a possible intersection.
Before he could query Andrew, the holy man leaned toward the sonar technician seated beside him. Jake watched the men nod to each other in apparent confirmation of safety. Seconds later, the bearing to the incoming sound passed in front of the Specter, continuing on the left and away from a possible collision.
After what felt like eternity, his mentor’s face reappeared.
“I’ve sent a message to Terry,” Renard said. “I cannot verify his receipt yet, but I am hopeful that he’ll acknowledge.”
“It’s pointless without him.”
“Keep faith in me to connect with him, and I will keep faith in you to do your part. Take your ship deep now. You don’t want to behave like an idiot and make it obvious.”
Jake ordered the masts lowered and the submarine taken deep. He pushed forward at fifteen knots.