“That’s what confirmed it for me, too. Wrong place, wrong time, and operating as a team. That’s nobody’s standard procedure except — just guessing — a local Persian country with a bunch of small submarines who hates everyone else’s submarines who might show up near their homeland.”
Anger rose within Jake, and he clenched his jaw to remain silent while analyzing his thoughts.
After a few calming breaths, he realized his frustration.
He’d been right. Cahill and Renard had been wrong.
They should’ve stopped the Goliath hours ago with a slow-kill weapon, ignoring the danger of sinking it. Now, twenty miles from Iranian waters, they walked into at least one ambush from a navy with two dozen submarines, countless mines, anti-submarine helicopters, and super-cavitating torpedoes.
Unsure if he should share his inner angst, he welcomed Volkov’s return to his screen along with his translator. “Dmitry’s launched two slow-kill weapons. To minimize alerting the adversaries, he won’t turn on their active seekers until a mile from the nearer target. He’ll steer the weapons as they acquire one or the other target.”
Renard sounded eager. “Very well. Was there any sign of a counter-detection of the drone?”
“Dmitry says no, but there’s a good chance the targets heard the drone anyway. They’re probably hoping we didn’t get returns off their hulls.”
Jake pushed his agenda. “But this forces the question. They obviously know we’re here, and we’re within their weapons range. Do we evade, or do we hope they have too much vested in the Goliath’s survival to risk it?”
“Evasion is impossible. You can’t abandon the Goliath.”
The comment irked Jake. “Now’s a good time to explain your plan, then.”
“Indeed. Given the discovery of the submerged targets, I want Dmitry to steer left to course three-zero-zero and slow down to listen for counterfire. That leaves you, Jake, to do exactly what you want to do and shoot the Goliath.”
Feeling mixed emotions, he looked to the Australian, who remained plastic. So, Jake kept talking. “Well, it’s not that I want to shoot the Goliath. I just don’t see any other choice.”
“But you do have a choice. You can choose the amount of damage you inflict, and I’ve made that decision for you. You’re going to use one modified slow-kill weapon.”
“Just one? I’ve made two of them, and I’ve got a team modifying a third.”
“One bomblet will be sufficient.”
Jake saw the Australian creep up beside him. Resigned to the outcome, the Goliath’s commander appeared calm. “How can you be so sure to hit the port engine room with just one bomblet?”
“Our Taiwanese support team verified you can take manual control of the torpedo’s detonator while keeping its influence field energized. That means you can guide it in from behind the port propeller and detonate it with some certainty under the engine room.”
Jake envisioned the tactic with a mix of hope and doubt. “Did you explain our predicament to the Taiwanese buddies?”
“I did. I trust them with everything, including my shame.”
Jake was encouraged but wanted to hear confirmation from the brilliant minds who developed his weapons. “And they said it’ll work?”
“It will be difficult, but yes. Maybe. Well, it’s like I said. There will be some certainty.”
In the screen beside Renard’s face, Volkov turned and exchanged words in Russian. As the Russian commander stood to walk away and join his team, Remy announced his findings. “The submerged contacts are moving.”
Volkov’s translator confirmed it. “I think I just heard you say the submerged contacts are moving. We notice it here on the Wraith, too.”
Keeping his eyes on his sonar ace, Jake watched thick hands press a headphone into the toad-head.
Remy’s torso curled while his mind filtered reality from sonic hallucinations. “Ghadir-class submarines.”
Behind Jake’s shoulder, the translator agreed. “We’ve classified the submerged contacts as Iranian littoral combat submarines.”
Jake aimed his chin at the translator. “So have we. Ghadir-class. They’re small, but they’re maneuverable and carry two full-size torpedoes each.”
Remy’s update was reassuring. “Not to worry, Jake. They’re turning and running. I hear no incoming weapons.”
“We, too, hear no incoming weapons on the Wraith. Dmitry says the drone would certainly have heard such weapons if they had been launched.”
Jake agreed, but he needed to vent his frustration. “Dmitry’s right. We just dodged a bullet. They were looking for bearing separation between us and the Goliath, and as close as they were to our track, they would’ve had it. We were one drone detection away from being vaporized.”
Renard attempted a positive spin. “But now we know that Iran’s involved. You’ve gathered valuable information.”
“Okay, but that leaves a bunch of submarines out there to ambush us. Not to mention mines, which can be turned on or off depending on the Iranian’s whims. We need to act now.”
“Agreed. Move into position half a nautical mile behind the Goliath’s port hull, and then I’ll explain the details about your final shot to end this nightmare.”
CHAPTER 17
Olivia rested her elbows on her desk and dropped her head into her palms. “How many enemies can one man have?”
Without evidence of an Iranian connection, she’d released Matthew Williams an hour ago, agreeing with Renard’s theory of desperation driving the Goliath’s flight for Persian waters.
Her last update placed the stolen ship twenty miles from the dangerous navy’s coastal region, and the Frenchman’s assurance of ending the nightmare before allowing a boundary crossing faded into fiction with time’s passage.
For the first time in a decade, she believed Pierre Renard faced eminent and unqualified defeat.
Although wanting to believe in him, she needed to begin the damage control phase of a problem she had to define no longer as theirs but as the Frenchman’s alone to bear.
Her inner monster demanded a clean break from the mercenary fleet, and one request to the commander of the U.S. Fifth Fleet would suffice.
One call stating the Frenchman had turned on her would doom the Goliath. She knew she could pressure the Omanis to get out of the way and free an American anti-submarine aircraft or a submarine hidden nearby to bring swift closure.
But while she stared at her phone, she hesitated to call the vice admiral.
She wondered if she owed Renard his last chance, and she admitted that down deep, the inner girl still cared for Jake. The romantic love had vanished, but they shared an unforgettable past, and she wanted him to be okay.
She wavered. “Damn you, Pierre.”
Changing direction, she sought friendly help. She stood and walked to the window to gaze at the thick, dark foliage marking the tree line beside her building.
She drew a deep breath and called her mentor, who waited several rings to answer.
Rickets was hard to hear. “Hold on a second, Olivia. I’m walking outside.”
“Thanks, Gerry.”
“I had to excuse myself from the dinner crowd.”
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s no big deal. Are you okay?”
“Not really. Are you alone?”
“Yeah. Nobody can hear me, and my cell phone’s secure.”
“I think I screwed up.”
“How bad?”
She let the inner girl express fatigue and fear in her voice. “Real bad. I screwed up real bad.”