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* * *

An hour later, he came shallow and slowed to twelve knots. He raised his masts to snorkel and to reach Renard.

“Good news,” the Frenchman said. “Terry dropped a delayed communication buoy and has acknowledged his compliance with your plan. He’s broken trail and is altering course.”

“Good. Any sign of the Kilo changing course yet?”

“It altered course to intercept you twenty minutes ago. It’s still at snorkel depth and being tracked on satellite — as you are most assuredly being tracked by satellites and radar while you expose your masts.”

“The surface fleet isn’t reacting?”

“No, as expected. Any hunt they could mount would now include the risk of attacking their own submarine.

“Then my job is pretty simple. It’s up to Terry now. Did his message have anything in it about his confidence?”

Renard smirked.

“Of course. It’s from Terry. He said to tell you that your idea was bloody brilliant and that your faith in his abilities is grossly overinflated, despite his assurances that he’ll somehow manage to impress you and succeed.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“That’s enough bravado. Get deep again before the Russians see through your ploy.”

* * *

Another hour later, Jake reached the edge of his declared minefield. He slowed the Specter to five knots, came shallow, and raised his masts. His mentor’s face appeared.

“Nothing new to report, I’m afraid,” Renard said.

“That’s good news.”

“For your plan, yes. For my negotiations, no. There’s been no movement on the minefield, and the entire squadron of Fencer attack aircraft at Sevastapol is on the runway being fueled. The pilots aren’t in their cockpits yet, though, which makes me think they’re being trained on tactics to deal with Terry’s defenses.”

“An entire squadron for us?”

“They’ll make sure they succeed, and I suspect political games are being played between admirals trying to claim the ultimate victory against you.”

“Too bad politics can’t delay them forever.”

“They can’t.”

“So it’s time for me to play my last move. Hold on.”

“I’ll wait.”

Jake moved between the shoulders of Antoine and his apprentice, Julien, who served as his expert on drone operations.

“Are you ready?” Jake asked.

“Yes,” Julien said. “Drone one is ready in tube five, programmed to swim on course zero-four-zero, speed five knots.”

“Very well. Launch drone one.”

“Drone one is swimming out of tube five. Drone one is clear of our hull and deployed. I have wire connectivity and confirmation of propulsion.”

Jake returned to his screen.

“The drone is deployed. I’m going to head below and become a ghost.”

“I pray that your drone fools your enemy,” Renard said.

“It will. But if it doesn’t, we’ll make it work somehow.”

“I know you will. I appreciate your plan. It is indeed genius, and I must admit jealousy for not having thought of it myself. You’re setting the right trap, and I believe in your ability to execute it.”

“Thank you, Pierre.”

“But don’t become arrogant. Your intended victim has super-cavitating torpedoes, drones as good as yours, and the entirety of a fleet and naval air station behind it. Keep your wits about you, or you’ll get everyone killed.”

CHAPTER 18

Volkov stared at his chart.

“The Specter’s last known position was here,” he said. “At that point, two hours ago, it snorkeled and conducted radio communications.”

With catalyzed zeal, his executive officer bounded from the sonar operator’s side to the charting table.

“It started with its masts raised in the Turkish waters, where you thought it would be. From there it’s drawn a straight line by raising its masts again an hour later, and yet another hour later. It’s a simple pattern.”

“The simplicity alarms me,” Volkov said. “Its commanding officer may have suffered a tactical setback that forces him to snorkel every hour, or he may have suffered a short-term memory lapse and forgotten how to command a submarine.”

“Either scenario is unlikely, sir.”

“The more likely option is that he’s intentionally going out of his way to demonstrate his location, course, and speed to us.”

“That would mean that he’s trying to send us a message.”

The executive officer lifted a stylus and traced the Specter’s path forward.

“If he stays on course, then he’s heading into his own minefield. We need to analyze the probability of that happening before we can interpret his message.”

“Agreed. The declaration stated that he laid drifting mines with a time limit of twenty-four hours. We’re still within that timeframe, and the drifting mines means that his map of their locations is imperfect. Even if he adjusts for currents, he’s undertaking a fool’s journey unless he can command the mines.”

“I assume that he can turn his mines on and off with the proper sequence from his sonar system, just as we can with our mines.”

Volkov granted that the Specter could navigate its own minefield, but the reality of one mistake leading to oblivion made him challenge the practicality of the theory.

“Would you run through your own minefield if you were commanding the Specter?” he asked.

“I would for lack of other options. It’s the only place where our ships cannot follow. And for all we know, he may be resetting timers on the mines within his reach to extend their lethality for days. He’d need only stay submerged and hide from aircraft while he hopes that diplomatic pressure shifts in his favor.”

“I don’t understand diplomacy as you do, but I don’t expect that he’ll be breathing long enough for it to matter, if I have an opportunity to influence his fate.”

“You don’t mean to pursue him into the minefield.”

Volkov looked for signs of renewed cowardice but saw hardened resolve.

“No, but I believe that’s his message,” he said. “It’s an invitation. He’s taunting the fleet to follow him in.”

“But why, sir? Why not just slip away and hide and use the minefield for defense?”

“There are many possibilities. One of which is that he’s trying to distract us from the Goliath.”

“The Goliath, sir? I don’t see what help the Goliath could need, since it escaped our torpedoes without harm.”

“I agree that the Goliath has no need of his help, but given the absurdity of his actions, we need to consider all cases.”

The executive officer nodded in apparent deference to Volkov’s lead in the analysis.

“I understand, sir.”

“The second possibility is that he thinks one or more of us will take the bait and follow him in.”

“He’s a fool if he expects rash impatience from a navy that knows discipline and rigor.”

“If he’s really sending us a message, there must be more options to consider,” Volkov said. “For example, he may be informing us of his ability and commitment to extend the duration of his minefield to match that which we created in the Bosporus.”

“That’s logical, sir. It’s possible that he’s sending several messages. I could see him announcing his commitment to hiding in his minefield, threatening to extend it beyond twenty-four hours, and daring us to follow him in. He’s desperate and groping at all his possibilities, however remote they are to help him.”

After a year and a half of watching his second-in-command flounder in arrogant incompetence, Volkov appreciated exchanging ideas with an awoken mind.