“What else do you know?”
“That these guys are not in any hurry to get wherever they’re going.”
“How do you know that?”
“We haven’t gone over eighteen knots since leaving New London harbor.”
Amy’s expression brightened a little. “What do you think their demands are?”
He shook his head and then stopped. “There might be a way to find out.”
McCann could have kicked himself for not thinking about this before. He looked around the small room and pointed to a seven-inch screen two panels away.
“Use the headset and check it out. Normally, it’s not live TV. The set runs off the communication system, which was shut down before. But our friends in the control room might be as curious as we are about how this hijacking is being played on the networks. They could be bringing in the news live, or taping the broadcasts from satellite. Either way, check out the channels and see what you find.”
Amy moved to the chair before the unit, put on the headset, and went to work. “Maybe I can pick up Regis and Kelly Live,” she said, smiling.
McCann realized this was exactly what she needed. To get involved.
He switched the MFD from the surveillance displays to the ship’s stats. He brought up navigation. The GPS system screens came up with no problem, and McCann cursed under his breath at the thought of Cav sabotaging the unit with that phony failure. He looked at the three dimensional navigational fix, getting the latitude and longitude. He then turned to SINS, the ship’s inertial navigation system used to keep constant track of the sub’s position by way of an advanced three-dimensional gyroscope system that followed the movements of the ship from a known starting point. As skipper, he always used both systems to keep Hartford on course. He could see the same thing was being done now.
When he’d come into the submarine service, the plotting on the submarine was done manually, by a junior officer, on tracing paper over a standard navigational chart. Now, in spite of the electronics, he still insisted on using that method, as well.
A thought occurred to him and he pushed to his feet and opened an upright steel box secured to the bulkhead. Aside from diagrams of the propulsion system and the associated electrical components, he knew there were a number of duplicate charts kept here. He searched until he found the specific chart of New London harbor and Long Island Sound. He spread the chart over a table and started plotting the numbers the navigation screens had given him before.
“Where are they taking us?” Amy asked a couple of minutes later.
McCann looked up to realize she wasn’t checking the TV screen. She was watching him intently.
“New York City,” he told her.
“Jeez! What do they have against New York City? Why is it that all these terrorists have to focus on that one city? Why not Chicago or Miami or Houston or L.A., for God’s sake? Haven’t those poor people suffered enough?”
McCann worked quickly to finish graphing the charts. “I don’t know why you’re being so negative. Maybe this is not intended to be an attack,” he suggested. “Could be it’s just a sightseeing tour. A little Christmas shopping.”
“Commander, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
He gave her a quick glance. “I don’t. I’m serious.”
She smiled and turned her chair back to the small TV screen and ran through the channels.
Hartford was traveling at exactly fifteen knots now. Based on the graph, they were on a line directly between Hammonasset Point in Connecticut and Orient Point on Long Island. With the kind of firepower they were carrying, there was no point in moving any closer, as dozens of cities, including New York City, were within striking distance. Their slow but steady approach toward Manhattan probably had more to do with strengthening their negotiating position than anything else.
If they weren’t after something, they could have let the missiles fly the moment they went to periscope depth outside of New London harbor.
“I think I have something here,” Amy said from her chair, readjusting the earphones on her head and leaning closer to the screen.
McCann switched to the surveillance displays first, making sure everything and everyone was where they were the last time he’d checked. The two men searching the torpedo room must have moved onto the next section, for they were no longer in view of the cameras. He thought about Brody. There was nothing he could do for him now, but he hoped he was all right.
He considered the two men. He couldn’t imagine they’d be backtracking to the engine room. But even if they did, the locked door and the two guns he’d taken from Dunbar and his friend gave them more protection than they’d had in the ship’s office. Plus, it was a big submarine and there were a million places to hide.
Amy let out a gasp. “That’s unbelievable. Look at this.”
He moved behind her to see what she’d discovered. The broadcast was live. Just as he’d expected, the only way for the hijackers to know how their destructive plans were playing out was by getting the news via satellite.
The broadcast was from Fox and the aerial shots were of different boroughs of Manhattan. An ocean of people and cars and trucks and buses had flooded the streets. The pedestrians were the only ones who were moving. Total pandemonium reigned.
“What is he saying?” he asked, as a reporter came on. He placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning close to her face. The news bands at the bottom of the screen were too small to read.
“He’s recapping a speech the President must have just made.” Amy took the earphones off, holding one side of it to her own ear and the other next to his.
McCann pressed it to his ear.
“… not meeting their demands. America will not give in to terrorists. As you know, those were President Hawkins’s exact words.”
The screen split, showing an anchor man along with a shot of people leaving the city.
“What does that mean to the people of New York exactly?” The anchor asked. “Should we be evacuating the city?”
As the reporter started to answer, McCann thought he saw a flicker on the MFD displays. Moving back to them, he switched through the functioning camera views. There was still no sign of the two goons who’d been searching for them. The tunnel to the nuclear reactor was clear, too, and back in Maneuvering, his petty officer was still at his station.
“He’s saying he has great faith in our military’s ability to defend the country,” Amy recapped for him. “The President refuses to leave the White House, in spite of Hartford’s ability to reach Washington with a missile.”
She paused for a moment. McCann focused on the MFD screen.
“Is that true?” she asked. “Can the hijackers hit the White House with these weapons?”
“Yes, they can,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the screen.
Things were happening in the torpedo room. Rivera and his helper were shuffling the fish.
He didn’t like the look of this at all.
“There seems to be a demand for lots of money and freeing of some Middle Eastern prisoners,” Amy said, repeating what she was hearing. “An unnamed Islamic terrorist group appears to be behind it.”
McCann doubted the truth of that statement. They were easy scapegoats. If the media used the work ‘Islamic’ in a sentence, nine times out of ten they’d finish the phrase with ‘terrorist.’
“You’re of Iranian descent?”
“Yes, I am.” He looked at her and then turned back to the screen. “Are they saying that?”
“Yeah.” She paused. “McCann doesn’t sound like an Iranian name. I hate it when the media does that.”
“What?”
“They focus on what they want to see and not the whole person. And what does parentage have to do with this, anyway? They’re so full of shit.”