Jimmy whipped 50 off the first number, and divided the second one in half. He changed the West to East and came up with 22.30N38.00W. He checked on his detailed computerized chart of the Central Atlantic, and recorded the precise spot where he believed the Barracuda was steaming, probably three hours ago. He checked back with the previous numbers and plotted the submarine 700 miles farther east than they’d been on Tuesday morning.
He calculated the speed, and like the faraway General Rashood, he assessed it at just below 10 knots. He keeps that up, he’ll spring one of those SOSUS wires for sure in the next few hours. Jimmy Ramshawe’s confidence was rising by the minute. The submarine was slightly farther north, maybe 60 miles, but the overall difference was definitely 700 miles. That put her on a direct route to the Canary Islands.
He called Admiral Morris, who guessed it might take four hours to get surveillance ASW aircraft into the area, which would mean the Barracuda would be possibly 70 miles farther on. But they had no further guarantee of her course, which could change at any time. And that presented a large surface area — as much as 5,000 square miles to search.
George Morris called Admiral Morgan, who followed the conversation on his wall-sized computer chart, which was now in the Oval Office. He said to put the information on the wire immediately to Admiral Doran in Atlantic Fleet Headquarters, Norfolk, and to the CNO in the Pentagon.
“George,” said Arnold. “This comes down to the same thing, as always. A huge area to search, out in the middle of the Atlantic, and almost no chance of catching him if he’s deep and quiet. Also, we don’t know the timing of the signal from the Barracuda.
“I think Jimmy’s right. It was probably sent three hours before we picked it up. But it could have been yesterday. This bastard is very smart. Note that there was no time and date on the signal. I guess they know when he’s scheduled to transmit, and so long as he says nothing, they know he’s on schedule.
“But I continue to think any kind of wide search in the remotest areas of the Atlantic is hopeless. We’re not going to find this son of a bitch until we can drive him inshore. Then we have an excellent chance.”
Ten minutes later, Admiral Doran was on the line to the Oval Office. His view was the same as Arnold’s. “We could waste an enormous amount of time and effort out there. And it’s still only about a 5 percent chance we’d catch him,” he said. “The value of that signal is it confirms the existence of the Barracuda. And it confirms roughly where he is, or was, plus his course and obvious destination. We just have to force him inshore…Any luck with the French?”
“I’m speaking to their Foreign Minister in a half hour, Frank. At this stage I’m not hopeful. I think it’s going to come down to President-to-President. But I’ll be doing my best to scare this little son of a bitch in Paris.”
Admiral Doran replaced the receiver. He instructed someone to alert all Atlantic ships as to the perceived whereabouts of the Barracuda. And then he returned to the colossal task of evacuating the Norfolk shipyards.
One hour later, thirty minutes late, Kathy got the French Foreign Minister on the telephone. Arnold did not know the man, and decided that politeness was the sensible course to steer. They introduced themselves, formally. The Frenchman spoke good English and the Admiral decided to come straight to the point.
“Minister,” he said, “you probably already know why I’m calling. You must have read about the terrorist threat in the newspapers, right?”
The French minister confirmed and impressed his apprehension upon the Admiral.
His government had just received a report from the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology about the likely effects of a tsunami caused by the explosion of the Cumbre Vieja, and were concerned with the apparent seriousness of the situation. However, his Government wasn’t yet fully convinced that the threat was actually real. Contrary to the States conviction, they had seen no hard evidence that it would take place.
Arnold asked him to simply accept, on trust, the opinion of the United States military on this matter. “Mind you, we intend to do everything in our power to stop them,” added Arnold. “And we’re not asking for assistance, though there will be damage to the cities and coastlines of many other nations.”
“Yes, the Swiss scientists confirm the damage would be widespread,” was the reply.
“And of course your own coast in Brittany may be on the receiving end of a very substantial tidal wave, possibly 80 feet high, straight into your Navy headquarters in Brest. That’s almost as much trouble as we’ll be in four hours later.”
“I understand,” said the Frenchman hesitantly. “The issue for us is, firstly, do we believe in the threat? Secondly, do we think it is sufficiently serious for us to dismantle the entire European Global Positioning System? I’m sorry to say that the answer would be no.”
“Well, we are not asking for a complete dismantling,” said Arnold. “Just a forty-eight-hour shutdown, if we have not already located and destroyed the submarine. You do understand that we will black out our own satellites, which represents a total of 90 percent of all the Global Positioning Systems in space?”
“I imagine you will, Admiral. Given your history with the Middle Eastern nations, I’m afraid the French Government does not approve of anything you do east of the Suez Canal.”
“Then I am obliged to inform you of the consequences. First, you will lose your Navy on your west coast. The Atlantic peninsula of Brittany will be catastrophically flooded. Secondly, you will forfeit the goodwill of the United States for a very long time. And should the eruption take place on La Palma, with all that it entails, we will not hesitate to make public the fact that it was France who essentially caused it, refusing even a modicum of cooperation in the cause of preventing a world disaster.
“Thirdly, the President of the United States will ask Congress to approve a bill to level a 100 percent tariff on all French goods entering the United States. And fourthly, we will lock you out of the oil markets of Iraq and Saudi Arabia, both of which we effectively control. Which would seem a pity, for the sake of turning the fucking lights out for a couple of days.”
“I will relay your thoughts, and your threats, to my President,” replied the French Foreign Minister.
But Arnold had already slammed the phone down. “Vive la France, asshole,” he growled, to the mild surprise of Kathy, who had just come through the door with his roast-beef sandwich with mustard, but no mayonnaise.
“Everyone’s late today, the French Foreign Minister, the sandwich…I’m being treated like someone who works in the mailroom.”
Kathy laughed. “No luck with Paris?”
“None. Can you get the French Ambassador in here right away. I need to try to get him to understand.”
“Now?”
The level of jocularity between the two was at its lowest level in recent memory. Outside the door, removal men were carrying priceless tables and lamps along the corridor. Army trucks were lined up outside. Officers were checking and recording every treasure every step of the way. The Pentagon had taken over the networks on the East Coast, broadcasting twenty-four hours a day from the Press Briefing Room four doors from the office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
Government spokesmen were already urging families with no commitment to employers in Washington to leave the city in order to ease congestion. Traffic was being directed to state highways to the north and west, leaving Interstate Highways 66 and 270 in the main for Federal convoys and other official traffic.