Fogarty kept his mouth shut. Sorensen looked at him, then broke into a smile and slapped him on the back.
"Hey, okay, lighten up now and get your ass in gear. We have to report to the XO."
6
The ship buzzed with excitement. The word had been passed that an admiral was coming aboard to give Barracuda a special assignment, and the crew was busily preparing for an inspection. Sailors in freshly laundered jumpsuits executed routine tasks with an extra touch of crispness. Internal communications technicians checked every circuit. Settings on the inertial navigation gyros were adjusted. Radar monitored the traffic in the harbor. Only in the galley was there a note of discontent. The admiral would not dine, and Stanley felt dejected.
Sorensen and Fogarty were passing through the control room when Pisaro called out, "Attention!"
Instantly the control room was transformed into a parade ground.
The quartermaster blew his pipes, and two men passed through the hatch.
"At ease," said Pisaro.
Fogarty saw a short pudgy man of sixty in a flowered Hawaiian shirt, flat black sunglasses and a salt-and-pepper beard that wrapped around his jowls like a mask.
"Who is that?" he whispered to Sorensen.
"Netts," said Sorensen. "Vice-Admiral Edward P. Netts."
"Never heard of him," Fogarty said.
"The Russians have."
The second man was impeccably dressed in custom-tailored tans.
"Who's that?" Fogarty asked.
"His aide, Commander Billings. I expect he'll be with us for a few days."
Netts looked around the control room and spotted Sorensen. Quietly, to avoid being overheard by the other men in the compartment, Netts asked Sorensen about the Viktor they had encountered. "I understand it went below two thousand feet. Is that true?"
"Yes, sir. It did, indeed."
Netts mulled over the unhappy implications. "Is the beacon planted on U-62?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Did you go over the plan with the skipper?"
"Yes, sir. It's going to be a piece of cake. Admiral."
"All right" — Netts turned to Pisaro—"let's get on with it."
The admiral was in no mood to see his special assignment torpedoed — he winced at the unintended pun — by a faulty stern plane, a leaky pipe or a crazed computer. He intended to inspect the ship.
At the navigation console the quartermaster was taking a satellite feed of up-to-date information on tide, current, wind and sea conditions. On the display screen an electronic chart of the Naples roadstead was ready and waiting with Barracuda's course already plotted.
At the attack console Hoek took another satellite feed, which showed Kitty Hawk and her escorts on a radar screen. The fleet was three hundred miles from Naples, fifty miles off the southern tip of Sardinia. Netts stared at the screen. "Do they have company?"
"Yes, sir, they sure do," said Hoek, punching buttons. Two more blips appeared, trailing the rearmost destroyer by two miles.
"Boris Badinoff and Natasha," said the lieutenant.
"What about subs? Any sign of the Viktor you met?"
"So far, nada."
"Well, let's hope it stays that way, but don't bet on it. Can you show me Naples?" asked Netts.
"Certainly, Admiral." Hoek punched more buttons and the screen showed the navigation chart. Netts studied the screen. Scattered among the freighters and ferries that appeared as blips on the screen were the buoys that marked the channel.
"Lieutenant, there's a sub waiting for you out there, probably ten or twelve miles out. There might even be two. I wouldn't be surprised if she's under one of those buoys. I suggest that you plot an attack course for each buoy more than ten miles out, just in case one of them moves."
"Aye aye," replied Hoek as he energetically began to push buttons. Hoek was ready for a fight. His breath was short, his chest felt constricted. He was due for a physical when Barracuda returned to Norfolk, and he knew he would never pass. This was his last patrol, and he wanted some memories to take ashore.
Netts led his party forward through officers' country. In the narrow passageways he paid particular attention to the control cables and pipes that ran through the ship, all open and exposed for instant maintenance and repair. The cosmetic paneling that at one time had covered them was ripped out after the Thresher disaster.
Sorensen and Fogarty made their way to the mess. The moment they arrived, Sorensen was cornered by Cakes, who asked, "Who's the brass?"
"Big shot from Washington. Netts."
The steward did a double take. "Cap'n Netts? Ed Netts?"
"Vice-Admiral Netts."
"No shit!"
"Why, Cakes? You know him?"
The steward's eyes seemed to shrink back into his head as if he were trying to hold back a memory that had forced its way into his skull. One hand jerked up to the side of his face and began tugging at his right ear.
A commotion forward signaled the approach of officers.
"Attention!" shouted Sorensen, and everyone snapped to.
"At ease, men," said Pisaro.
Netts immediately walked over to the steward, stuck out his hand and warmly pumped his arm.
"Hello, Cakes."
"Howdy, Cap'n."
"How's the ear?"
"Mighty fine. Ninety-five percent."
"Glad to hear it."
What Netts and Cakes shared happened on August 23, 1944, when Admiral Chester Nimitz pinned the Navy Cross on Cakes Colby for heroism aboard Sargo, Netts commanding. During a depth charge attack in the Sea of Japan, Cakes had sealed himself into a flooding compartment and saved his ship.
With a friendly salute to his old shipmate, Netts descended a ladder and entered the torpedo room. He swept the room with a scowl, taking in the two dummy Mark 45 and twelve dummy Mark 37 torpedoes stacked neatly in racks.
The eight members of the torpedo gang stood at stiff attention, sweating in the intimidating presence of the admiral.
Netts said to Lopez, "Chief, did you run checks on these fish yourself?"
"Yes, sir!"
"You happy?"
Lopez hesitated before answering.
"Out with it, man!"
"Sir! I don't like to go on patrol without no live torpedoes, sir!"
Netts's mood changed. "At ease, men," he said. "I understand your point, Chief, but this is not a patrol, it's an exercise, and it's only for a few days."
"Sir!"
"Yes, Chief."
"What if a war starts during the exercise?"
Netts swiftly crossed over to the attack console and tapped Zapata's cage. "In that case. Chief, you'll go up to the surface and sic this nasty little devil on the Russians."
The admiral then turned abruptly, disappeared up the ladder and headed aft. The Chief had a point, but he couldn't stand there and debate it.
The reactor compartment was divided into two decks. On the lower deck were the reactor vessel and heat exchangers, heavily shielded in a room no one entered while the reactor was operating. The upper deck housed the control rods and a narrow passageway, the tunnel, that led to the reactor control room and engineering spaces. In the reactor control room Netts noted that the reactor was critical and nodded with satisfaction. In the maneuvering room he stood for a moment watching the technicians watch their displays.
Without a word he continued into the engine room, where Chief Wong was running a computer check on the injectors that fed steam into the turbogenerators to provide power for the ship's electrical systems.