“Go passive,” Monahan ordered, turning hard to the right and reducing speed. He counted aloud to ten, then turned left again.
The missiles passed overhead.
“Bet they were Harpoons,” Monahan said, “targeting on our active radar. What’s our range to target?”
“I read it as five miles.”
“Badr’s close by, judging by the launch.”
“He doesn’t know we’re around, though,” McCory said.
“Probably not.”
The Safari command net reported four more missile launches and gave Baker Two grid coordinates for the launch point.
“That doesn’t help us a damned bit,” McCory complained.
A sudden explosion brightened the darkness. A yellow-white globe appeared on the northeastern horizon.
“Hot damn!” McCory said. “That’s got to be the tanker.”
“Was.”
The reports coming over the command net confirmed their strike.
“Maybe that will spook Badr,” McCory said.
It may have. Either that, or Badr was running from his last launch point. The Tac-Three channel came alive. “Night Light, Echo.”
Monahan grabbed his microphone. “Go.”
“My choppers have got him on IR at three-six, one-one, seven-one, one-four. He’s heading home at six-zero knots.”
McCory switched the armaments panel to infrared targeting.
“The ships will never catch him,” Monahan said. “There’s no coverage to the east.”
“What about the choppers?”
“If they get close, Badr will just shut down. He can outlast their fuel.”
“Let’s have some more turns, Jim.”
Monahan shoved the throttles all the way in. “Plot it.”
“Plotting,” McCory said, pulling the chart from the top of the instrument panel. He found the coordinates Norman had given them, estimated Badr’s speed and their own position, then said, “Take it to eight-four degrees.”
“Turning now.”
Switching the monitor to the infrared, McCory scanned it for any sign of the other stealth boat. There was a heat source to the right edge of the screen, but he thought it was likely created by a ship in Safari Delta. Another red spot was high and probably an aircraft.
“CINCLANT, Safari Echo.” Command net.
“Echo, CINCLANT.”
“CINCLANT, I’m prepared to provide positive ID on both Sea Spectres. My helicopters have both of them targeted. Request that firing on the western boat cease.”
After a momentary hesitation, a new voice came on the air. “Echo, your request is approved. All Safari elements, cease fire on the western boat.”
“That’s my boss,” Monahan said.
A minute later, McCory heard another new voice on Tac-Three. “Night Light, this is Deuce One. I was told to contact you on this channel.”
Monahan pressed his transmit button. “Go, Deuce.”
“I’m closing on Target One.” The pilot provided the coordinates.
McCory plotted them. “Three and a half miles away, Jim.”
“We won’t catch him, if we’re both making the same speed, Kevin.”
“How do we slow him down?”
Monahan went back to his microphone. “Deuce, Night Light. Can you drop a torpedo on him?”
“Affirmative, Night Light. Checking with Echo.” After a pause, the pilot reported, “Dropping a Mark-46.”
McCory hoped no one would shoot at him and activated the radar. He found the chopper ahead of them on the first sweep, but the stealth boat wasn’t visible. The ships of the Safari task forces were falling behind.
“He’s taking her hard starboard, evading the fish,” Deuce reported.
Monahan eased his wheel to the right. If Badr maintained a southerly heading for a while, they would close quickly.
The seconds ticked away.
“Two miles,” McCory reported.
“The fish exploded, fuel depleted,” Deuce reported. “He’s too fast for them.”
“Try the infrared,” Monahan said. “By now, Badr knows he’s got another stealth boat after him.”
McCory switched over.
And the center of the screen held an orange glow. A hot red spot to the upper left was the chopper.
“Got him. I’m launching. Watch your eyes.”
McCory brought up the infrared targeting circle, centered it, then launched all three of his remaining missiles, one after the other.
He shut his eyes until they were all away.
“Coming your way, Deuce,” Monahan said on the Tac-Three channel. “Better back off.”
“Wilco.”
Ticking.
Ticking.
“Hey, Night Light! He’s launched two.”
McCory could see the three white dots that were his own missiles. They were curving down toward the sea far ahead.
But two growing black dots with white halos were headed his way.
“Shut her down, Jim. They’ll be infrared-targeting.”
Monahan pulled the throttles back and turned to port.
“Night Light, Deuce. I’ve lost both of you.”
All five missiles missed their targets. The two from Badr’s boat shrieked past on their right.
Monahan returned to his course and ran the throttles up.
“Night Light, Deuce. Two bits this sucker’s headed for home again.”
“You think east, Deuce?” Monahan asked.
“Damn betcha.”
“Good as any direction,” Monahan told the helicopter pilot
“He’s got to hold it under fifteen knots to avoid wake and a heat signature,” McCory said.
“We’ll close fast. What then?”
“I’m not going to have time to load a missile.”
“You’re a spendthrift with missiles, you know that, Kevin?”
“Lack of practice. Under your right thumb? On the wheel?”
“I’ve got it.”
“That’s your cannon. I’ll activate it.”
McCory leaned over and pressed the two pads on the helm panel that enabled the gun. He switched both Monahan’s and his own screen to night-vision video. A targeting circle with distance elevation markings appeared in the center of the screen.
“Under your left thumb is a rocker switch, Jim. It increases or decreases the target range, raising or lowering the cannon aim.”
“Is it accurate?”
“Damned if I know. I’ve never tried it. I’ll bet you a million bucks it’s skittish as hell at this speed and in these seas.”
“You got a million bucks?”
“No. So I don’t mind losing it.”
“Heads up!” Deuce One shouted.
Less than a mile away, one, then another missile blossomed. The black circles encased in a white border-exhaust flare surrounding the nose cone from McCory’s view — grew rapidly. They never exceeded thirty feet off the sea.
Monahan threw the helm over so quickly that the SeaGhost almost went over. The starboard side rose to a fifty-degree angle, throwing McCory out of his seat.
The boat banged back down, took a wave over the bow that drenched the windshield, then popped back up. McCory came to rest on the deck against the banquette.
Monahan hung onto the wheel, then reached forward to kill the engines.
The SeaGhost had not come to rest when the first missile plowed into the sea off the port side and detonated. The erupting charge of water heaved the boat clear of the sea, canting her over to the right. When she slapped into the surface again, the impact threw Monahan against the wheel, then into the starboard window.
The second missile went somewhere else.
The SeaGhost came to rest, wallowing in the troughs.
Monahan sagged and slipped to the deck.
Shaking his head to clear it — his ears were ringing from the concussion — McCory struggled to his feet and crossed the deck.