Henri stood over him.
“You said you’ve become a Christian.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “I guess.”
“Guessing is good enough. The desire to make an effort is an acceptable start.”
“Okay. What’s on your mind?”
“We should pray.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. Today’s torpedo isn’t semi-lethal or quasi-humane. It’s a heavyweight, and you’re about to kill people.”
“Maybe. Probably. Okay, you’re right. Dmitry killed four people with his torpedo last week. I don’t want to get touchy feely and hold hands or anything. I have a submarine to command.”
“Just bow your head for a moment and listen to me. I normally do this silently when we’re launching weapons, but this is the calmest attack we’ve ever conducted. So I took the opportunity to join you.”
“Fine. Go ahead.”
Jake quieted himself and listened to the Frenchman recite gracious words on the behalf of the souls his weapon would cause to perish. They provided him minimal hope that the burden of dealing death could be borne by a power greater than himself.
“I’m not sure that worked,” he said.
“A single prayer rarely does,” Henri said. “It may take years to see an effect.”
As Henri returned to the control panel, a technician announced the Specter’s torpedo’s detection of a target. Seconds later, the weapon’s telemetry data to its future victim aligned with the location of a liquefied natural gas tanker that steamed north of Crete.
Jake watched the satellite view showing the ocean erupting through the severed tanker. Residual heat from the Black Shark torpedo’s warhead rose upward into two of the super-cooled tanks and sent a ball of fiery gas into the sky.
“Should we go deep, Jake?” Henri asked.
“Normally, I would. But in this case, I’ll refer to my boss.”
He toggled the satellite image to Renard’s face.
“Should I just stay here at periscope depth?” Jake asked.
“Best that you do. I believe that maintaining high-bandwidth communications with me is more prudent than running from ghosts. You face a different fate than Dmitry. I reassure you that nobody will come for you except the Greeks themselves.”
“I know that’s the plan, but it sounds too good to be true.”
“All other local players are either in direct support of your actions or complacent to spectate. All forces that will come for you, including the submarines, are coming from Greece.”
Jake toggled his console to bring up an overhead view of his waters. He tapped keys to highlight the Hellenic fleet. Eleven submarines, thirteen frigates, and countless gunboats and helicopters dotted the Aegean Sea. Most were in ports, but a significant force steamed within a day’s travel from him.
“Okay, Pierre,” he said. “Let me know what’s coming for me as soon as you can.”
“Of course,” Renard said.
“I guess you have plenty of time to warn me. They’re two hundred miles away, and I’ve got a half-day head start.”
“Indeed.”
Thirty minutes passed before Renard offered his first political update.
“Interesting, but not completely unexpected.”
“What?” Jake asked.
“The Greek prime minister has made an announcement about our tanker attacks. He’s blaming the Turks.”
“Everyone mocked him last week when he blamed the Turks for destroying the first tanker.”
“The international community did, but the people of Greece are being fed enough lies about possible sabotage or air-dropped mines to cast doubt on the situation. He’s now claiming that early evidence of our coordinated attacks on the tankers today points to Turkish doing.”
“Why?” Jake asked. “What does making up such a crazy story get him?”
On the screen, the Frenchman’s eyes narrowed.
“It turns the ire of the Greek people away from his corruption and focuses it on a common enemy. It’s also far better for him to blame a nation than to admit to being outflanked by a small band of vandals.”
“But we’ll prove him wrong with Terry’s phase of the attack.”
“Indeed we will, but not yet,” Renard said. “Actually, his adherence to the Turks as the instigators plays into our plans. Head east now, and prepare to attack any Greek tankers that may have the courage to steam towards the Aegean Sea. There’s one coming from Cyprus that will make for a perfect target, should it maintain its course and speed.”
“They won’t possibly risk it after we’ve sunk three tankers inbound for Revithoussa.”
“Don’t underestimate pride or desperation. The news of our attacks today have already hit the energy markets. Prices are irrational. Panic is escalating about the viability of Greece’s energy supply.”
“That’s part of our plan, right?”
“Indeed. But remember that the Greek military reaction will include ruthless retaliation. Whether it’s a solitary ship or the entirety of the Hellenic forces, be ready to keep them occupied and away from Terry.”
“Will do.”
“And for God’s sake, stay alive. You’re impossible to replace.”
CHAPTER 5
Volkov stooped over the central plotting table and marked the crude distance between himself and the dolphins’ report of the Iranian submarine that chased him.
“If I believe the dolphins,” he said, “the Iranians sense where we are and where we’re going.”
“It illogical,” Anatoly said. “The dolphins can only say they’re beyond ten nautical miles. Based upon the geometry, I would guess at least fifteen. But I cannot hear them, and there’s no possible way they hear us. They must be guessing about our direction or guided by divine power.”
“Agreed. I’d like to rid ourselves of this nuisance.”
“You could send a slow-kill weapon at them,” Anatoly said.
“With the uncertain information we have from the dolphins, the chance of hitting is questionable. I’d be announcing our location with a tracer bullet they could use in reverse.”
Volkov looked to the dolphin trainer, who sat and tapped nervous fingers on the console beside the sonar expert.
“Vasily?”
“It’s hard to tell,” the trainer said.
“I haven’t asked my question yet.”
“You want to know if my babies can attack the Iranian submarine. They can plant the charges, but with the uncertain range, I can’t tell you if your detonation signal would reach.”
“I’m willing to have them plant the charges and then take my chances on the detonation signal,” Volkov said. “If the Iranians ever come close enough to threaten us, they’ll be close enough for our detonation signal to reach.”
The trainer’s tight eyes betrayed his pain.
“If you send them beyond the reach of our communications, they may become lost.”
“Is a two-step order possible? Order them to plant the charges and then to immediately return to us?”
“I’ve never taught them sequential orders. It would only confuse them.”
Volkov rethought his tactics. Having fled the scene of his attack at twelve knots, he saw several advantages in slowing. He could preserve his battery, listen for the Iranians, and give his mammalian weapons a chance to return.
“How close are they to their feeding and sleeping window?”
“They’re already in it. By nature, they’d be eating and then resting now. But they’re conditioned to push themselves.”
“Get a location check on them.”
“Of course,” the trainer said. “Right away.”
Three sequences of chirps whistled from the Wraith’s sonar system, over loudspeakers, and into the control room. The cetaceans sent three sequences of responses, verifying their distance and bearing from the submarine.