The huge, cavernous building actually housed two work facilities. The near side consisted of a wide floor with steel rails embedded in the concrete to move the cylindrical sections of the subs under construction. The sloping Ways took up the far side of the building. Years ago, McCann had attended the launching of one of the last 688-class subs, standing atop the ship as it slid backwards into the river. Since that day, the far side of the building had pretty much sat empty. Hartford was tied to the pier on this side of the Ways.
“Right here.” She motioned to an ancient shop nestled against the high green walls. “You can come inside if you like, or wait here. It’ll take me thirty seconds.”
He welcomed any reprieve to get out of this weather, no matter how short the duration. Inside, there were three men working on an electronic panel. All of them looked up and nodded. McCann acknowledged them.
He waited right inside the door as Russell went toward the back of the shop to get what she needed. The place was crammed with more equipment than the inside of a sub. Boxes, wires, benches, panels, all kinds of components crowded every aisle.
The men turned their attention back to their work, and McCann looked out through the dirty glass of a small window. As he watched the rain fall, a door opened and a man dressed in a security raincoat came out of the Ways, looked briefly down the road, and then turned up an alley next to the shop. A couple of moments later, a second security guard came out.
McCann immediately spotted the drawn pistol the guard was holding inside his partially snapped raincoat. Before McCann could think of the possible reasons for it, the guard tucked the weapon into the holster under his raincoat and followed his partner into the alley.
Chapter 3
Lee Brody filled his coffee mug and sat back down at the mess table. Taking a sip, he put the mug down on the padded plastic table cover and gazed with satisfaction into the black steaming liquid. Submarine coffee was the best in the navy. No question.
He looked around the mess deck. Everything shone. Shipshape and ready for sea. As it should be. After all, if everything had gone according to schedule, Hartford would be a hundred miles off Long Island by now. Even so, Brody felt good. Two crew members were sitting and talking at the far table. He took another sip. He could feel the soft thrum of the engines; it was a sensation that always gave him that warm feeling of anticipation, of a journey — no, an adventure — about to start.
Growing up near the shipyards in Newport News, Virginia, Brody had always been fascinated by submarines. He’d been aware of them for as long as he could remember. He’d seen them being built, their cylindrical hulls peeking out of the corrugated steel buildings that hung out over the water. He’d seen them tied to the docks, and he’d seen their sleek black forms gliding through the choppy green waters of the outer bay. He’d known men who’d worked on them, sailed them.
Sailing on subs was what he’d dreamed of as a kid as he sat on the pier watching them. He knew from an early age that he would have a life at sea.
Being a sailor matched his personality. The summer he graduated from high school, he’d enlisted. Now, at twenty-three years old, he had no family that he was in touch with anymore. He didn’t care much about the news. He might read the NASCAR results occasionally, but he didn’t really care if Dale Jr. won or if Jeff Gordon won. He never argued politics because he had a notion that government had too much power over people, but not everyone understood that and he couldn’t really explain it. Actually, he had little interest in what happened on the outside. The navy was his world. His family.
It didn’t bother him in the slightest that, every time the hatches slammed shut, he was cut off from the rest of the world for months at a time. Not like some of the other bubbleheads on his crew. He never got close to marrying, never even had a steady girlfriend. No kids that he knew of. No mortgage payments to make. His home was right here. It was the sub he was riding, and the one hundred thirty guys he shared it with were his brothers.
Three years he’d been riding submarines. Electronics was his thing, so he’d trained in sonar tech, working his way up to petty officer second class. Brody knew he was damn good at what he did. His commanding officer, McCann, knew it too. The C.O. told him at his last review that, after this patrol, he wanted to send Brody to school for a new system that was going to be installed on the upgraded 688s and the Seawolf-class boats. That way, McCann said, he’d also be right in line for petty officer first class when he’d put in the requisite time.
Brody didn’t know how to feel about that. The promotion was nice, but it meant that he’d probably be transferred to some other boat to work with another crew. He hated change. He liked what he had. He liked this C.O.. McCann was a decent guy. He was tough, but he had a solid relationship with this crew. Brody had served under three different skippers, and McCann was the best he’d seen. But everyone knew that the commander wouldn’t be staying long. Two more patrols and McCann would be up for captain. He’d get that fourth gold bar, too. He was on his way up. Before that happened, Brody knew he’d have to think hard about where he wanted to be.
The sonar man took his dishes to the galley. There were only the three of them in the enlisted mess; nine in total remained aboard for the twenty-four-hour turnaround it would take to fix what was wrong.
They had left their berth upriver at the sub base yesterday, the tug casting off when they reached the mouth of the Thames River. Everyone on the crew thought they’d be away at least six months. They were being deployed to the Indian Ocean and Persian Gulf. But they hadn’t got much past Groton Long Point when the gyro navigator had shit the bed. Instead of coming about and going back up to the sub base again, the boat waited until the orders had come through to pull into one of the empty berths at the Electric Boat shipyard. These people had built most of USS Hartford. And from what Brody understood, they had a replacement system on hand and everything would be done today.
It was surprising when the C.O. had granted leave to most of the crew for the duration. The men loved it. Most of them had moved their families to the area when they’d first been stationed here.
But Brody had been happy to volunteer to stay aboard. The food was better, and he’d already put himself onto his six-hour sleep schedule. He was also looking forward to starting work on a training manual for one of the new systems in his free time. Without the hustle-bustle of the daily duties, he could get a good start.
He nodded to the other two on his way out of the mess. They were thumbing through some motorcycle magazines.
“When are the yardbirds supposed to get here?” the new galley man asked. Dunbar had been brought aboard to replace one of the old cooks who’d retired after thirty years. The other, Rivera, worked the torpedo room.
“They’re supposed to be on the job at 0600,” Brody answered.
“Who’s gonna babysit them?” Rivera called after him.
“No one’s been assigned. The yardbirds will stick to the control room, and the officer of the watch will keep an eye on them. Also, I was told last night the X.O. will come back this morning to go over it all with them.” Brody headed for the door.
“Want to play some poker?” Dunbar called after him.
“Nah.” Brody shook his head. “I got some work to do.”
“Shit, man,” Rivera complained. “You got plenty of time for work once we get underway again.”