“Let me have the gloves,” he ordered. “I’m cutting a few of these lines.”
“You do that and they’ll notice some minor power outages here and there on the sub,” she responded, peering up at him and handing him the gloves. “Nothing too major.”
“That’s too bad. I want major.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “You mentioned something before about the main power cables to the ESGN being up there. I’m trying to think of what kinds of havoc we could do to the control room instrumentation if we were to disconnect it from here.”
“I wish I had the schematics,” she said, thinking. “My guess would be some malfunctioning of the sonar equipment, but that’s it.”
Time was of the essence, McCann realized. The space between the frames was now large enough for him to be able to get through. Getting free of this office wasn’t enough. Once Hartford reached the mouth of New London harbor and dived, the stakes rose substantially. Somehow he had to stop the ship.
For a brief second, the thought ran through his mind that maybe the hijackers’ object wasn’t just to try to disappear into the Atlantic. Perhaps, much like the terrorists who’d flown those planes into the buildings in New York and Washington, these people intended to cause major damage here on the East Coast.
But that was too grim a possibility. What they intended was outside of his field of action. McCann decided to focus only what he could do.
As much as he loved Hartford, he’d tear his ship apart, piece by piece, if that’s what it took to stop them.
Chapter 9
The crew knew him only as Mako. He often went by other names, but this one, he felt, suited him.
Short and solidly built, he had a head of bristly blond hair that was heavily streaked with gray. Mako was in his late fifties, ancient by normal standards in his line of business. If there was anything called normal in the mercenary business. But clients never asked his age, and he didn’t offer. He prided himself on a reputation for being intense, brutal, accurate, and he was the only absolute expert for hire in this field, as far as he knew. He spoke eight languages fluently, and he believed in no country or God. His loyalties were to himself and to the one who was transferring a fat amount of cash into his bank account at the moment. And of course, next week or next month or next year, when he was ready for a bit more excitement, the allegiance would shift to someone else.
Mako stood on the periscope platform a step above the conn. The crosshairs in the periscope view locked on the waterline of the Coast Guard cutter. The ship was on a course that would put them directly in the path of the bow of the submarine. It was a larger cutter, and Mako could see helmeted Coasties manning machine guns fore and aft.
Mako made a 360-degree sweep with the periscope. Two small navy launches were running alongside Hartford. There was another smaller Coast Guard cutter following in the sub’s stern wake. He was keeping his speed at only three knots. They were staying close, obviously waiting for orders. “Increase speed to five knots.”
“Very good, sir.” Paul Cavallaro was sitting in the X.O. chair, and he passed on the order. “Speed, five knots.”
Mako looked away from the periscope optic module and glanced around the control room at his four-man crew. The geographic plot of their course and destination was already visible on the navigation screen.
“We have to shake them a little, boys. Show them we mean business. Have two MK48s loaded into the trays.”
“We need to turn on the PA, sir,” Cav reminded him.
“Do it.” Mako ordered, looking back through the periscope. “I have a target. Now mark.”
“Target mark set, sir. We have a firing solution.”
“Offset zero degrees,” Mako directed. “Low active snake. Give me a read back.”
“Attention!” another one of his men barked. “Firing point procedures, tubes one and two, zero degree offset, thirty-second firing interval.”
Mako watched the firing panel until the torpedoes were programmed. He looked through the periscope again. “Last call, shit head. You might want to move your carcass.”
“Ship ready.”
“Weapons ready.” The calls sounded from the crew.
“Stay right there and I’ll shove these torpedoes up your ass,” Mako warned, looking into the periscope again.
“If we shoot now and hit that cutter, sir, we risk damaging our sonar.”
He looked at Cavallaro for a moment and saw the doubt in the young man’s eyes. It was more than sonar that he cared about. “We’ll risk it. I want to show these morons we mean business.”
Mako looked through the periscope again. They were near the mouth of New London harbor. Beyond the Coast Guard cutter, the rising sun was reflecting brilliantly off the New London Ledge lighthouse. This had to be done.
“Solution ready.”
Mako looked one last time. The cutter wasn’t giving up. You asked for it, asshole. “Tube one, shoot.”
“Set,” Fire Control responded.
“Fire.”
Chapter 10
Just a few seconds after a shudder went through the submarine, a loud boom nearly knocked Amy off her feet, and her ears felt a sudden change of pressure.
She stretched out her hands and arms toward McCann. She’d been standing on one of the boxes, working on removing the overhead panel. He reached for her, steadying her just as a second boom rocked the sub, tumbling her into his arms.
“What was that?”
“A pair of torpedoes hitting something.”
She held onto him, every nerve in her body jumping. This was it. The end of her life. And she hadn’t said goodbye to her children. She’d made no plans about who would raise them. Her mind raced in a hundred different directions.
Ryan would take the kids, since he was their father. But his heart wouldn’t be in it. His job and life style wouldn’t allow it. Kaitlyn and Zack would be better off with her parents, but the kids really had too much energy for them. They would be a burden. Her sister would be the most likely person. But she was on the West Coast. And did she tell anyone about the last life insurance policy she’d bought? Would they disqualify any claim because this hijacking would be construed as an act of terrorism?
She pressed her hands to her ears. They hurt.
“Yawn, Amy. The concussion causes a change in pressure.”
He had to repeat it a couple of times before she shook herself out of a self-misery that was drowning her. Scared and confused, she looked up at him. Every line in McCann’s face was tight. His dark eyes looked almost black, and they were blazing. He cupped her hands over her ears.
“Open your mouth wide. Yawn.”
She did as she was told and felt her ears pop. She had to do it a few more times. “Who fired the torpedoes?”
“We did, I think.”
She started shaking. She lived in Stonington, half a block from the water. How far out from the mouth of New London harbor would they have to be to get a direct shot at Stonington? Her two angels were still in bed. Her eyes welled with tears, but she didn’t care.
He motioned over his shoulder at the outboard wall. “I’m almost there. I’ll have to work my way through any other obstructions after I climb in. It looks like I’ll have a clear drop to the torpedo room, though.”
She nodded.
“I want you to stay here for now. Do what we decided on the wiring above the panel. Wreck that navigation instrumentation, if you can.”