In the maneuvering room Chief Wong opened the main steam valve all the way, and Barracuda's prop suddenly turned the sea to foam. The helmsman pushed his joystick over to the right and tilted it forward. The ship banked, tilted forward, and shot down into the depths.
Springfield watched the depth gauge as Barracuda rapidly approached four hundred feet.
"We're going to come around and make sure there's no torpedo on our stern. Left full rudder."
Still accelerating and descending, the ship wrenched to the left.
"Control to sonar, activate ultrasonic torpedo detection frequency."
"Sonar to control, activating torpedo detection frequency."
A burst of ultrasonic pulses searched the water for a hard, swiftly moving object. "Sonar to control. No contact. He didn't shoot."
"Very well. Secure echo ranger. Helm, make our course zero four five. Depth, eight hundred feet. We'll go under the thermal and give him a run for his money. We have positive proof of her existence, Leo. I tell you, she's going to come after us. We won't be able to pick up Dherzinski until we know the Alpha is on her way north."
Pisaro was still holding the Nikon. "We got the goods. Do you think Dherzinski will try to go back to Cuba?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. If she does try, she'll run into our blockade. Then she'll know for sure that we have the ability to track her. Eventually the Russians will discover SOSUS. When they do they'll know we can pinpoint Dherzinski wherever she goes, and that should be the end of her Caribbean patrols. The next time we have a chance to send up a buoy we'll get a SOSUS report on Dherzinski. Control to sonar, where's the boomer now?"
"Sonar to control. Five thousand, two hundred yards. Speed fifteen knots and increasing. She's submerging now, but I'm about to lose them both above the thermal. The Alpha is still on the surface."
Barracuda descended to eight hundred feet, turned northeast, and began to move away from Potemkin.
Federov scrambled off the bridge, down the ladder and into the control room. One glance at the diving panel told him all the hatches were sealed.
"Identification, Popov."
"It's Barracuda, Captain."
As he had thought. "What's his course?"
"Zero four five. He's running away. I'm about to lose him under a thermal."
"We must catch him." To stop those pictures of Potemkin from being delivered, to insure Dherzinski getting safely back to its lair. Once again a litany, to keep himself on course… "Belay torpedo guidance. We're going right down there with him. Engineering, this is the captain. Fast dive. Take us down to three hundred meters. Flood tanks, now."
Alexis opened all the saltwater vents and Potemkin dropped like an anchor, an extremely dangerous maneuver. One hundred fifty meters down and rapidly descending, Federov ordered, "Blow tanks. Neutral buoyancy. Alexis, stop us at three hundred meters."
It took all of Alexis's engineering skill to slow Potemkin's rate of descent without suddenly popping back to the surface or completely losing control and sliding down to crush depth and imploding. He shouted through the intercom.
"Captain, we must make way to get some lift on the planes."
"All ahead slow."
Potemkin moved forward and gradually stopped sinking. Alexis stopped her at exactly three hundred meters, a thousand feet down.
"Popov, is Barracuda back on your screen?"
"Yes, sir, we're under the thermal now — there he is, bearing zero four five. Speed estimated fifteen knots and increasing. And there's Dherzinski." On Popov's screen Dherzinski was steaming due north, by now almost out of sonar range.
Alexis appeared in the control room. "Captain," he said quietly so as not to be overheard by the others, "are we going to try to rendezvous with Dherzinski again? We have to get these sick men off the ship. They're too sick to work, and I need engineers. I can barely spare the men I need to crank the stern planes by hand."
Federov spoke without looking at him. "We must eliminate the American sub first. There is no other way."
"Did he transmit?"
"No, and we will not give him a chance. You know our orders as well as I do. Don't think about it, Alexis. Don't. He would do the same thing if the situation were reversed." He needed to believe that.
"This American is no fool, Nikolai, and his boat is very quiet…"
"All ahead two thirds," was Federov's reply. "Course zero four five. We're right on his stern now."
In the control room of Barracuda each man felt both tension and exultation. The film was a success: seventy-two sharp photos of the Soviet subs. Luther had blown up one of the photos, and Springfield had a grainy eight-by-ten print of the Russian captain's face. High cheekbones, dark eyes and a peaked cap.
"He must be the CO," said Pisaro, although there was no insignia of rank on the cap. Pisaro nervously lit a cigarette and rubbed his hands over his scalp. "We're outnumbered here, Skipper."
"Leo, all we can do about that is what we're doing, drawing the Alpha off and separating them. Control to sonar, where is Dherzinski?"
"Sonar to control. Dherzinski's speed is holding at eighteen knots. Course holding steady at zero zero zero, but I'm not gettin' much of a signal, Skipper. She'll be out of range in a few seconds."
"Very well. Control to engineering. Make revolutions for thirty knots. Go right ten degrees, course zero five five."
As the ship banked to the right, the side-sweeping sonars picked up the sound of Potemkin's flooding vents. "Sonar to control. The Alpha is descending rapidly. Captain, she flooded her tanks and dropped straight down. She's going to be on our stern, right in our baffles."
Sorensen switched off the intercom and swore at the screen. The Alpha was going down swiftly, using her titanium hull to best advantage. Thirty seconds later, she disappeared. "Sonar to control, the Alpha is gone. Her last recorded depth on the down-searching scanner estimated one thousand feet. She's in our baffles."
Springfield looked at Pisaro, then at the photograph of Federov. "Leo, they're trying to intimidate us with the Alpha. He wants to scare us with his titanium boat. And if he does, he'll get bolder, figure he owns the damn ocean…"
Sorensen stared at his screen. "The last time this bastard disappeared from the screen he hit us," he said to Fogarty. "I've got a feeling… Sonar to control."
"Go ahead, sonar."
"Recommend we clear baffles, sir. I don't know where she is."
"Very well, sonar. Control to engineering, prepare for slow speed. All ahead slow. Go right twenty degrees."
Ninety seconds into the turn, the Alpha reappeared on the screen.
"I knew it," said Sorensen. "Sonar to control. Contact bearing one four eight. Range three two five zero yards and closing. Speed twenty-four knots, depth one thousand feet."
"Very well, sonar. We have her on the repeater."
Springfield crossed the control room to the weapons console and stood behind Hoek. "We've got to threaten him, give him second thoughts. Make him back off… otherwise the bastard will try to finish us… Control to sonar. Prepare to activate target-seeking sonar."
As Sorensen punched at his keyboard, Fogarty felt as if he were in suspended animation. The impossible was about to happen? No one was going to back down?