It was three o'clock in the morning on a clear night. Through the binocular lenses of his periscope Springfield saw a mottled shape a half mile away rolling in the sea like a beached whale. Dherzinski. One man stood on top of her low stubby sail wrestling with a lifeline. As the big ship rocked in the waves, Springfield saw that the line stretched across to another much smaller submarine.
"Leo, start the camera. I think we've got our hit-and-run artist here."
Pisaro put his eye to the Nikon's viewfinder and activated the motordrive. The camera began taking rapid-fire pictures.
"We got a Hotel class boomer and what has to be the Alpha," said Pisaro. "They're not acting like they know we're here."
"Then they'll know any minute," Springfield replied. "Their radar will pick up the scopes. Dherzinski is sending a container across. They've got a man rigged to the lifeline. They're taking him off the Alpha and putting him on the missile sub—"
"Sonar to control. They're echo-ranging. They've got us."
"Radar to control. They've picked up the periscopes. I've got two discrete frequencies."
"They're cutting loose the lifeline," Pisaro announced. "They're closing the hatches."
"Attention all hands. This is the captain. Prepare for steep angles and deep submergence. Control to radio, prepare a position report and the following message: Soviet Hotel class FBM Dherzinski and Soviet Alpha class SSN photographed on surface. Will follow FBM according to orders."
"Radio to control, aye aye."
"Sonar to control. One sub is flooding his tanks, he's making way. It's Dherzinski."
"Steady now," said Springfield. "We'll wait until the Alpha is down before we transmit. We don't want them to intercept our message. Control to sonar."
"Sonar, aye."
"Keep track of the boomer. We'll want to pick up its trail fast, as soon as we're sure the Alpha isn't on our tail. We've got to get free of him first."
"Sonar to control, echo-ranging. Dherzinski is making six knots. She's not going down easily. The Alpha is holding steady on the surface."
Through his periscope Springfield saw Federov staring back at him through infrared binoculars. He knew the Russian was waiting for him to transmit.
"Sonar to control. Dherzinski is still on the surface, speed eight knots, course zero zero zero."
"Mr. Pisaro, shoot the infrared film."
Pisaro changed film and fired off thirty-six exposures of Potemkin. He detached the film cartridge from the camera and called to the quartermaster. "Chief, get Luther to process this film right away."
"Sonar to control, the Alpha is flooding torpedo tubes."
"Steady as she goes. He won't fire from the surface. That's suicide. Control to weapons. Flood tubes."
"Weapons to control. Flooding tubes."
"Mr. Hoek, program your fish to home on the Alpha. Do you have her signature?"
"Yes, sir."
"Easy on the trigger, Lieutenant. Very easy. Give him a chance to back off."
In the sonar room Davic was yelling at the blip on his screen. "Shoot him. Shoot him now—"
Fogarty turned on him. "Shut up, Davic. Shut the hell up."
"Chickenshit…"
Sorensen wheeled around, barely restraining himself. "Get out of here, Davic. Take your white suit and go to your damage-control station. Now."
Davic hesitated for a moment, then put on his asbestos suit and left, trailing an untranslatable curse.
28
Federov gazed through binoculars at the four thin vertical lines that poked out of the sea a half mile away — radar and radio antennae and two periscopes. He still had no positive identification but he felt certain it was Barracuda—who had a better motive? And of course by now they must have deduced or established that Potemkin had not sunk. Once more he realized what a self-serving game it was to assume the Americans were stupid or easily fooled. The acoustical device may have bought them time. The apparatchik had brought them a crisis.
He had outrun Barracuda, outdived it, out maneuvered it, but he had not escaped it. They were good, damn them. The very stealth of the American submarine disturbed him. No, this was no chance encounter; the Americans had tracked him — precisely how, he wasn't certain, though a likely possibility was that they had managed to lay down a bottom sonar system, as rumor had had it. He also realized with a chill that the American sub could have sunk him. But they had observed him, and more… He had no doubt that the American commander was taking his picture, and he could not allow that film to be delivered to the Pentagon. His orders, which had always seemed to leave him too little room for discretion, even if he realized the reason for them, had been delivered in person by Gorshkov the day Potemkin had sailed — under no circumstances was he to permit discovery of this top-secret, most advanced submarine. Well, he had been discovered. Now he had to take the action necessary to offset the damage of that discovery.
But first he must do what he could to drive off Barracuda to make possible Dherzinski's escape, then using Potemkin's depth and speed, try to recover his advantage. Both sides knew the rules, the FBMs of both navies were supposed to be untouchable. Yet now both sides had violated that unspoken understanding. His side had by dispatching Dherzinski from its hidden station to save his ship and its wounded, and the Americans had by persisting in tailing the FBM and even, no doubt, photographing it just as they had Potemkin. He had wondered when he sent his message to Gorshkov describing his condition whether the admiral would risk exposure and identification of Dherzinski to save Potemkin. He was glad he had, but wondered what he would have done in Gorshkov's place…
All of which was at best a momentary diversion from the action he knew he must take. Barracuda must be silenced. He would make a threatening gesture, then submerge… to attack from the surface would give the American an opportunity to shoot back, and possibly destroy the Potemkin… And the destruction of the Potemkin must not be allowed, it was not even thinkable — which thought helped him push from his consciousness what he was charged with doing… Secretly, in a corner of his mind, he wished the American would escape, save him from what he must do — and then quickly he shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate on his mission… Damn you, damn you, damn you was the inclusive litany reverberating in his brain, but nobody was listening, and now he no longer could.
He spoke into his headset. "Radio, did the American transmit?"
"No, sir, not yet."
He took a deep breath, wiped his eyes. "Range to target."
"Range one thousand meters."
"Start torpedo guidance sonar."
"Guidance on."
And silently he screamed across the sea at the periscopes, at the American captain, at Gorshkov… This is madness…
In Barracuda's sonar room Sorensen and Fogarty snatched away their earphones just in time. The screech of the Russian targeting sonar erupted from the loudspeakers.
"Sonar to control, she's activated her target frequency."
"Down scopes. Retract antennae. Right full rudder. All ahead full. Stern planes down twenty degrees. Take us down to four hundred feet, Leo. All hands prepare for evasive maneuvers."