“Brown. Listen hard. There will be no move to board or cut them off until I order it. That is a direct order.”
“Aye, sir.”
Pottinger hung up and stared at his notes for few seconds. Punching the number of his next call, he thought that he should have retired the last time he’d had the chance.
Chapter 8
They were a two-person wrecking crew.
Everything that was screwed, bolted, or glued to the outboard bulkhead was being removed. McCann was determined to get the two of them out of this office. Their only possible escape lay on the other side of the wood-veneered, sheet metal bulkhead that formed the outboard wall.
“Once we remove this bulkhead, you know we won’t be able to go forward or aft,” Amy told him as she moved the things he was ripping out to the far side of the office, near the door. “The frames running up and down cut off most of the space, and the piping and cable banks take up the rest. Going up or down is the only possibility, and I’m not sure we’ll be able to do that.”
“I know we can’t go fore or aft,” he replied. “Going up won’t work, either. Even if we can get up into the sonar equipment room, we’ll be forward of the control room and cornered. The only way to go is down.”
“To the torpedo room,” she replied.
“Right.”
McCann remembered that Rivera, one of the torpedo men, had stayed on board last night. He didn’t want to believe that any of his nine men were involved in what was going on now. He imagined them in situations similar to this, maybe even worse. Still, someone was operating this sub.
Unlike the Florida flight school courses taken by the 9/11 hijackers, learning to operate a submarine wasn’t available in any class open to the public. The people running the show here had to know their stuff. And this worried McCann even more. They also had to know the extent of the power of this single vessel — and how McCann’s key-and-vault combination information made them an entirely different threat. That was the only explanation he could think of as to why they would keep him alive.
“Are we still on the surface or do you think we’ve submerged?” Amy asked quietly.
“We’re still on the surface.”
She took a clock and a file holder that he’d stripped off the wall and put it behind her. “The navy must know by now what’s happening, don’t you think?”
“A missing sub doesn’t go unnoticed for too long,” McCann answered, working on a final sheet metal screw. “Yes, I guarantee you that the navy knows this sub has been hijacked.”
Dropping the screw on the deck, he turned his attention to the other edge of the bulkhead panel. He had no access to the screws securing that side since they were buried behind the file cabinet. Using the screwdriver, he dug at the edges of the panel, trying to wedge it back enough to get a good grip on the thing.
“Then shouldn’t they be stopping us?” she asked, adding as an afterthought. “They can, can’t they?”
“They can blow us out of the water. But considering the nuclear reactor that powers us, I’d say they won’t, at least not while we’re in New London harbor.” There was no reason for Amy to know that this submarine was also armed with two nuclear warheads. That was top-secret information. It was bad enough that he suspected the hijackers had this knowledge.
“Great.” She sat down on one of the paper boxes, watching him. “I feel like a death row inmate who’s been given a second final meal while they tune up the electrical generator.”
McCann jabbed himself on the hand with the screwdriver, but the surface wound was well worth it because the paneling was clearly starting to give in. She was right there, moving everything else away so he had elbowroom. Driving the screwdriver back in at another point along the edge, he pried the panel back an inch. As he did, Amy leaned over him and jammed a stapler into the opening, effectively wedging the panel open.
He sat back on his heels, and she saw the blood on his hands.
“Use these,” she said, retrieving a pair of work gloves from the pocket of the jacket she’d taken off. “You’ll get a better grip.”
The gloves provided the grip he needed. Bracing himself against the cabinet, he yanked the panel back, exposing a small bank of cables, a pair of small copper pipes, and insulation. The space was not the rat’s nest he’d expected.
“A little space, but you’ll never get through,” she told him, looking over his shoulder. “On the other hand, I might.”
“I’ll get through,” he said, determined. “We just need to cut those cables free and I think I can work my way down between the frames.”
“We’ll end up behind the starboard torpedo racks,” she said, thoughtfully. “We’ll be able to climb out from there.”
“I’ll go. This is the safest place for you to be.”
“I don’t think so,” she argued. “Right now, I feel like a sheep in a slaughter house. They locked us in here because they want to know where we are. If you get spotted out there, they’ll come right back here looking for me.”
“I don’t know what I’ll be facing, or who might be waiting down in the torpedo room to greet me.”
“I think I’ll take my chances,” she told him, grabbing a pair of wire cutters off the counter. “We have to do some path clearing before we climb anywhere in there.”
“Those are high voltage,” he pointed to specific cables.
“I know that,” she said. “I’m only going to cut the metal bands holding them together. I’m not going to cut the cables. May I?”
“I’ll do it.”
She motioned for him to let her by. “This is one area where I do have some expertise, Commander McCann.”
It went against his principles to let her get involved, and not because she was a woman. She was an innocent civilian.
“Tell me what to cut and I’ll do it,” he told her.
“You really don’t know how to let people work, do you?”
He snorted, taking the wire-cutters out of her hand. Turning his back, he started yanking some of the loose insulation out of the opening.
She picked up another wire-cutter off the counter and forced her way next to him as she crouched down.
“I’m helping,” she said stubbornly. “This is a union shipyard.”
“You’re salary personnel. Besides, I guarantee you that we’re not in the shipyard anymore.”
“Look,” she said seriously. “My life is on the line, too. There’s too much at stake for me to be a passive observer.”
He looked at her for a moment, then handed her the work gloves. “Put these on.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
McCann noticed Amy glance at her watch before pulling the gloves on. The pained look in her expression was impossible to miss.
“This is the normal end of the shift for you, isn’t it?”
“Another hour or so.”
“Worried about your family?”
She nodded and looked away. Her eyes were glistening with emotion and she swiped impatiently at something on her cheek. She was doing her best to be tough.
“It’s too soon for them to know what’s going on here.”
“I hope so,” she whispered, focusing more closely on the puzzle before them. She started pushing at the cables.
McCann admired her strength. She was holding herself together better than he’d have thought. There were a half dozen cable hangers holding the bank in place.
“You cut the bands on as many as you can see above us,” she said. “I’ll cut the bands on the ones below us.”
He followed her directions, cutting and moving cables as she directed. In a few minutes, they’d cut enough of the hangers to allow McCann to shove the cable bank aside. Above the opening, several cables separated themselves from the bank.