“Tough and in charge, sir.”
“The country is lucky to have you in that seat, Mr. President.”
Hawkins was pleased with the response, but he knew he’d only hear the truth from his campaign manager, Bob Fortier. The old pit bull never minced words. He didn’t care about hurting the President’s feelings or chewing him into little pieces and spitting him out. He was a no-nonsense, straight-from-the-hip guy who, when it suited him, could be a wheeler and dealer who knew exactly how to get a job done. Right now, Fortier was standing behind the military advisors, near the window. His stony expression revealed nothing.
They needed to wait for the camera crew to leave the room. Someone handed the President a cup of coffee. He gulped half of it down, not minding the hot liquid burning his tongue and throat. He was in overdrive now, and he needed to stay that way until this thing was behind them.
When the television crew finally went out ahead of most of the staff, Joe Smith jumped to get his two cents in before anyone else could talk.
“Mr. President, your stance of not giving in to these thugs’ demands is rock solid,” the rear admiral said passionately. “I think it’s brilliant to lay out a detailed counter-attack strategy of your own before the American public. Put these barbarians on the defensive and keep them there.”
“Thank you, Admiral. I appreciate your support.”
“What I must disagree with,” Smith continued, “is your insistence that you remain at the White House, and announcing this to the country on live TV and radio. Everyone, Mr. President, including these hijackers, is listening, and you know damn well that we’re within the range of a Tomahawk cruise missile from Hartford. At this very minute, a missile could be headed for us, and there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to knock it down before it strikes.”
“Do you think I should be afraid, Admiral?” Hawkins asked with a smile, glancing out the window at the sunny skies of Washington, DC.
“Not afraid, sir, but cautious.”
“I’m taking precautions. The Vice President has been taken to a safe location. If the worst should happen and these thugs, as you call them, are not the cowards they appear, then I am sure that this great country of ours will continue to function even if the White House comes down around my ears.”
“Mr. President—” Smith started again.
“I have great faith in our military superiority,” Hawkins continued.
“Naturally, sir. But that doesn’t mean you should be exposed. Take yourself out of the line of fire,” the rear admiral wasn’t about to give up. “We don’t want to give these people a target.”
Hawkins passed on his cup to be filled again. “Life is about choices, Joe, about roads that we decide to take or not to take. Each step paves the way for the next. Each road leads us to a new adventure,” he said. “The events of this morning stand in history as the greatest threat ever raised against the American people. The magnitude of evacuation that is going on all along the East Coast is the largest ever engineered anywhere. People are scared, Admiral Smith. There is chaos across the country. I’ve ordered every facet of our government to do what we can to assist our people.”
“All completely admirable, Mr. President—”
“Now, by staying at the White House, Admiral, I’m doing exactly what I’m ordering my troops to do. A captain remains at the helm of his ship until the very end. People need to see that I’m calm, in charge, and not afraid. The American people need to see that, and the hijackers need to see that. This is the road that I’m determined to take. Whatever road my actions lead me to, then I shall welcome that venture, as well. But in the end I believe the men aboard that submarine will back down. If they don’t, they’ll rue the day they were born, Admiral.”
With a nod, Rear Admiral Smith acquiesced. Hawkins looked over at Bob Fortier. The old man was watching someone beside him. It was a reporter from the Post, and the man was writing notes ferociously on a pad.
The President glanced back at Fortier, who gave him an approving look.
Chapter 29
When the two men paused outside the locked engineering office, McCann stood with Amy behind him, his pistol leveled at the door. He didn’t think either of them was breathing as they waited. They knew when the hijacker put his hand on the door latch, but the door didn’t open.
A moment later, they saw them on the monitor. They’d moved to the next level up and were working their way past Maneuvering.
That was half an hour ago.
McCann looked at the monitor of the Multi-Function Display. The two men had finished their search of the engine room and had moved into the forward compartment of the sub. He could see them now in the torpedo room.
Rivera and his coworker were keeping their attention on their own jobs as the other two checked outboard of the racks. There was no view of where he’d left Brody, so McCann had no way of knowing if the sonar man was still unconscious, or whether it had been discovered that the duct tape that bound him had been removed.
McCann switched views and stopped at a blank screen. He frowned.
“What was this supposed to be?” Amy asked.
“The control room,” he told her. “They’ve disabled the cameras, figuring we might get access to an MFD. Whoever’s running the show up there doesn’t want us looking over his shoulder.” Whoever is in charge, McCann thought to himself, knows details even as minute as this.
McCann guessed he had Cav to thank for that.
“And maybe they’re afraid you’d recognize them.”
McCann’s thoughts had been moving more along tactical lines, like how many men were in the control room, what stations were left unmanned, and if there was any way he could force his way in. Fear of recognition on the part of the leader of the hijackers had never crossed his mind.
“I have a question for you,” Amy whispered. “Do you think they might have sealed off the engine room at the reactor tunnel?”
He thought about that a moment. “They might have, but I doubt it.”
“Why?”
He’d already accepted the fact that Amy Russell was no doormat, no matter how dangerous a situation became. He was also resigned to the fact that she expected answers.
“Because once they’ve locked down that door coming through the reactor tunnel, they’d need a combination code to reopen it. That code is locked in the safe in my cabin.” He shook his head. “They can’t risk not having access to Maneuvering or the engines at this point.”
“So how are we going to shut down the reactor?”
“I’ll show you when we get there. But first we need to get our bearings on where this sub is headed and what they want to do. I also need to figure how much time we have.”
McCann jotted down a few notes on his pad.
“Those two torpedoes were the only ones that were fired,” Amy said quietly. “They’ve got Tomahawks in the Vertical Launch tubes, don’t they?”
He heard the quaver in her voice and turned to look at her. Her chin was high, her blue eyes clear and direct. She was doing her best to stay strong, and he admired her for that.
“Yes, they do. And it’s possible they won’t use any of the weapons remaining on board,” he suggested. “We’ve been cruising at periscope depth. That tells me they’re in communication with the surface. Most likely they’re making their demands.”
“How do you know we’re still at periscope depth?”
“I just know.” He thought about it a second. “The pitch of the deck hasn’t changed since we submerged…and from this.” He grinned and pointed to the MFD.