Sunday, 22 May
2220 hours (Zulu +3)
U.S.S. Santa Fe
North of the Seychelles islands
For nearly eight hours after the SEALs had been plucked from the water off the coast of Somalia, the Los Angeles attack sub Santa Fe had been running south at her maximum speed of better than thirty-five knots. Her goal was a place on the charts, a featureless spot in the ocean where, if Yuduki Maru continued on her steady, northward course, submarine and freighter would meet.
The SEALs spent most of that time in the Santa Fe's torpedo room, which had been vacated by the regular crew. The space was cramped to the point of claustrophobia, and the passage was monotonous. Santa Fe's crew seemed to draw apart from the visitors, recognizing them as fellow professionals but unwilling to cross the wall of reserve that separated one group from the other. Submarine crews, like SEALS, were well known for their silence around people not their own.
For the last several hours of the passage, Murdock and DeWitt were guests of the Captain in the control room. Commander George Halleck was a lean, taciturn man, all creases and sharp edges. It was well past sunset on Sunday, though the only indication of day or night beyond the sub's steel bulkheads was the fact that the compartment was red-lit, a measure that preserved the officers' night vision against the need to use the periscopes or to surface.
"We have sonar contact with your target, gentlemen," Halleck said. The three of them, plus Lieutenant Commander Ed Bagley, the boat's Executive Officer, were leaning over the control room's plot table, where a back-lit chart of the area rested under transparent plastic. The Santa Fe's skipper tapped the end of a south-to-north line with his grease pencil. "About here. Course unchanged, still zero-one-two. Speed eighteen knots."
"They're making it easy for us," the boat's XO said with a grin. He was taller than the Captain, and heavier, with thick eyeglasses that gave him an owlishly unmartial appearance.
"How far?" Murdock asked.
"Approximately thirty miles," Halleck replied. "Exact range can't be determined by passive sonar, of course, but my best people have their ears on, and they're pretty sure of the number."
Passive sonar listening for the engine noise of the target was preferable to the more accurate and informative active sonar, because it didn't give away the sub's presence.
"Has anybody else tried approaching them?" DeWitt wanted to know.
"About the time we were fishing you boys out of the water," Bagley said, "they skirted within thirty nautical miles of the Seychelles Islands. Half the Seychellan navy turned out three patrol boats, actually but they didn't come closer than a couple of miles and no shots were fired. It was more like an escort than an attempt to stop them."
"There's also this," the Captain said, handing Murdock a black-and-white photograph. "That was transmitted to us by satellite an hour ago. The time stamp says it happened about an hour before that."
"Still after sunset," Murdock observed.
"Affirmative."
The "photograph" had actually been taken in radar, so details like hull numbers and slender masts were not visible and the water, daylight-bright, had the look of wrinkled metal. Still, the shot showed a remarkably detailed image of a ship, smaller than Yuduki Maru and riding lower in the water. Something like a white bed sheet had been stretched above her deck. "That's Hormuz," Murdock said.
"So the Iranians rendezvoused with them?" DeWitt added.
"Actually, we don't know that for sure. If they did rendezvous, it was at a point where we had no satellite coverage, and our AWACS radar simply didn't have the resolution to be certain. They at least came very close, certainly within a mile or two. Hormuz is now five miles off Yuduki Maru's starboard beam, traveling parallel to her course but quickly falling behind. She can only make nine or ten knots, top speed."
"I guess that confirms the Iranian connection, though, doesn't it, Lieutenant?" DeWitt said.
"I damn well guess it does." Murdock tapped the sheet in the photograph. "What's this? A tarp?"
"Probably," Halleck said, rubbing his chin. "A tarp or canvas rigged as an awning. Whatever they're doing, they don't want our satellites or recon planes to get a good look."
"The question, then, is whether they used that hole in our satellite coverage to transfer part of Yuduki Maru's cargo to the Hormuz."
"Or if they moved soldiers from the Hormuz to the Yuduki Maru," DeWitt pointed out.
"We'll have to assume both," Murdock decided. "It'll be Plan Alfa." In their planning sessions, they'd allowed for the possibility that Hormuz might rendezvous with the plutonium freighter before the SEALs could deploy. Plan Bravo would have sent Blue Squad aboard the Yuduki Maru, with Gold Squad waiting in their CRRCs as a backup. Alfa called for Blue to take the Japanese ship while Gold Squad boarded the Iranian Hormuz. It meant there would be no immediate backup for either team once they boarded the ships. The Fourth Platoon was now deploying to Masirah, just in case something went wrong in Third Platoon's assault.
Murdock suppressed the thought, and the surge of adrenaline that accompanied it. If something went wrong, the mission would be in the hands of Lieutenant Mancuso and Fourth Platoon.
It also meant that, in all likelihood, he and his teammates would be dead.
"We have one other joker in the deck," Halleck said. "Sonar has picked up another contact pacing the Yuduki Maru. It may be submerged."
"The Iranian Kilo."
"Looks that way. The sonar profile looks like a conventional sub. Stealthy, no reactor coolant pump noise or anything like that. She may be trailing the plutonium ship by another four or five miles."
"Have they heard us?"
"Not so far as we can tell. There's been no change in her course or speed since we picked her up."
"How big a problem is she for you, Captain?"
Halleck grimaced, then shrugged. "For us, not much. The big danger is whether she's there as escort, or as insurance."
"What do you mean, Captain?" DeWitt asked.
"He means that if we board the Yuduki Maru and take down the tangos before she reaches port, the Iranians might decide to put a fish into her."
"That's about the size of it," Bagley said. "Washington would have the devil of a time proving the ship hadn't been blown up by us, on purpose or by accident."
"And we get blamed for contaminating half the African coast," DeWitt said. "Cute."
"Will you be able to take her out?" Murdock asked.
"We won't, no," Halleck replied. "Not without letting those people aboard the freighter know we're out here. But the Newport News is already getting into position. They'll take care of the Kilo when you go aboard."
"Good." Murdock nodded. "How much longer to drop-off?"
Halleck consulted the large clock mounted on the bulkhead at the forward end of the control room. "I'd say another twenty minutes to get into position. We'll keep running ahead of them then, and you can leave any time after that."
"Can't be too much longer, or the separation between Hormuz and the Yuduki Maru will become too great. We'd better get ready to swim then. If you'll excuse us, Captain?"
"Of course."
The platoon had been preparing for their swim for the past several hours, going over their rebreather apparatus, weapons, and other gear with the loving care and attention that had long been the hallmark of the SEALS. Each man was wearing a black wet suit and SCUBA gear, and his face had been completely blackened with waterproof paint. Weapons had been sealed, and explosive charges and detonators were stored in waterproof pouches. While they didn't want to sink either of the target ships, the theory was that if they couldn't capture them, the SEALs might at least slow them by damaging some critical piece of machinery.
That, at least, was the idea. The gap between theory and practice, however, was often turned into a yawning abyss by Murphy's Law. All the SEALs could do was try to be prepared for anything that might go wrong... and stay flexible enough to meet the problems they simply could not anticipate.