Sarah believed that the lack of understanding of all parties involved perpetrated the flaring violence. There seemed to be no end in sight. Fear and distrust were the breeding ground of war.
And terror was the weapon of those without weapons.
She tried to shake off thoughts of politics, now. She had a job to do, and she focused on the running script at the bottom of the television screen. Most of the images were a continuous loop showing the damage to the lighthouse and the Coast Guard cutter in New London harbor and to the oil rig on Long Island Sound. There were two known fatalities on the rig, but they expected the numbers to grow. The fire was nowhere under control.
“Anything new?” Bruce asked, moving next to her.
He handed her a cup of coffee. She didn’t have to look. She knew it’d be perfect and just the way she liked it. She took a sip. “The networks are already announcing that President Hawkins is planning another press conference at three o’clock,” she told him. “What do you think is left for him to say?”
“That they’ve attacked Hartford.”
Her heart twisted. She looked at Dunn. “Have they?”
“My sources say engagement is imminent,” he said quietly.
Sarah’s breath caught in her chest. She forced herself to swallow the painful lump forming in her throat. Fighting to control her emotions, she took a long sip from the cup.
“It’s okay to be upset,” he said softly. “No one is going to think less of you because of it. For God’s sake, I didn’t even know most of those people, and I’m upset.”
Sarah appreciated what he was trying to do. She looked past the brim of the cup at the television screen again, hoping the unshed tears would hurry up and dissolve.
There were now showing footage of the White House again. The President and some of his cabinet members were leaving the Oval Office.
“They must think that if they show President Hawkins enough times at the White House, then people might believe that he’s really there holding the fort,” Bruce commented.
“He is there, isn’t he?” she asked.
Bruce nodded, taking a step closer to the screen. “But have you noticed that there are a couple of people who should be there, but aren’t?”
Sarah focused on the faces, recognizing everyone she saw. The cameramen were catching every attendee.
“This is a submarine hijacking,” Dunn said. “Who do you see from the military?”
Sarah understood that he wasn’t necessarily asking her, but just questioning aloud.
“The members of the Joint Chiefs, the Secretary of Defense. There’s the Secretary of the Navy,” she said as the men appeared.
“And from the Submarine Service?”
“That’s Admiral Pottinger, Commander of Submarine Force of Atlantic Fleet.”
“He hasn’t commanded a sub in fifteen years,” he told her, staring at the television screen. “Where are the sub drivers? Not at the White House, and not here helping us.” Bruce turned to her. “This is exactly what you were talking about before.”
“You were the one who said we should attack.”
“That’s true, but they should have done it hours ago, before these people got their legs under them, before they got too far into this.”
“Back to the experts.” Sarah took the pad of paper she had tucked under her arm and flipped the pages until she found what she was looking for. “I’ve done a little research since we came back.”
“About experts?”
“Right. For the past ten years or so, under the last three administrations, the exact same sub commanders have been called upon by the president and the media for advice and commentary whenever emergencies came up having to do with submarines. They’re the same experts that General Dynamics Electric Boat Division and Newport News use as consultants to sit in on engineering-design reviews. They’re supposedly sought after by people like Admiral Pottinger and Admiral Gerry for practical advice. I haven’t heard even one of their names mentioned today.”
“Let me guess.” Bruce gave her a sideways glance. “You’re talking about Whiting, Erensen, and Barnhardt.”
“Very good.”
“Between them,” Bruce continued, “they’ve commanded or supervised the sea trials of every sub that has been built for the navy since the late seventies. Since Admiral Rickover died, those three are considered more knowledgeable about subs than anyone on the planet.”
Sarah looked down at her list. “I’m impressed, Commander Dunn.”
“Don’t be,” he told her. “Our minds are in sync. I dug up the names ten minutes ago.”
“If you and I could come up with the same list, then why isn’t the Atlantic Fleet using these people? Why doesn’t the media have them on television?”
“Maybe they are using them. Maybe they have them on the sub that’s chasing Hartford. Maybe they’re working behind the scenes in tactical positions.”
“In that case, it would be nice to have them available to us, too,” Sarah commented. “Some of the questions that are taking us hours to research, these people might have answered in seconds.”
“You’re talking about the overhaul Hartford went through this past year. Four months ago,” he said specifically.
She wasn’t surprised that he’d picked up on that. One of the items on their agenda this morning was to find everything that might be new and different about Hartford.
“There were some system changeovers that were unique to that SRA,” Sarah added. “And the crew of Hartford had to go through some training for it. I’d like to know how practical it’d be for someone lacking this training to operate that submarine. And depending of what the answer might be, I have more questions that could narrow down our search of who could be qualified and trained to head this hijacking.”
Before Bruce could say anything, Sarah continued. “Of course, my questions are based on the assumption that Commander McCann has no hand in the hijacking.”
“Whether he’s involved or not, we could use the help of one of these guys.” Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “I think just because Meisner and company haven’t assigned any of them to our team, it doesn’t mean we can’t go out and get them. Meisner said we have access to every resource and investigative unit of the U.S. Government. And from what I found, Whiting, Erensen, and Barnhardt are kept on retainer all the time. ”
“And if they’re too busy with the tactical side of things?”
“I’ll take care of that part,” Bruce assured her. “There’s three of them. We should be able to get at least one to lend his expertise for an hour or two.”
Chapter 41
Shoved back around a bend in the passageway, Amy held her pistol where she could hand it to McCann if he ran out of bullets.
She’d fired down at the hijacker standing at the bottom of the stairs to the torpedo room, but she wasn’t about to risk shooting McCann in the back. Luckily, the firefight didn’t last long. She didn’t see it happen, but she knew their attacker was killed by one of the commander’s bullets.