“Down angle still at 45 degrees, depth passing 950 feet,” the Helmsman said in an anxious tone.
Jacobs watched the depth gauge as the reading exceed 1,000 feet. The rate of descent was slowing, 1,100, then 1,200 feet. The sub’s depth stabilized at 1,240 feet. Jacobs leaned against the sloping wall and breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re no longer sinking,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” Silverton replied, “but our emergency beacon is now two hundred feet under the water. We haven’t got any more cable. How are they going to find us without that signal?”
“That may be the least of our worries,” Jacobs replied. “With the increased depth Lieutenant Grimes isn’t going to be able to stop the torpedo room from flooding. We’re not going to be able to maintain depth. We’ll slowly sink to our crush depth.”
CHAPTER 53
Billingsly was surprised to see Rod Schneider enter his office with a big smile on his face.
“The Chinese Active Auroral Antenna Array is off. It’s been cold for the last four hours.” Billingsly leaned across his desk and snatched the report out of Schneider’s hand. “Hurricane Loretta is breaking up, falling out of Category 2 status as we speak. In 24 hours it’ll be nothing but light to medium rain and 20 MPH winds.”
Billingsly looked the report over. “Why did they stop? This doesn’t make any sense. What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, Admiral. All I can tell you is that the potential storm danger to the Pacific Northwest is over.” Rod turned and left.
Billingsly’s secretary buzzed him, “There’s a Senator Bechtel who just called. She wants you to meet her outside, now.”
Ten minutes later Billingsly slid into the back seat of Senator Elizabeth Bechtel’s black limo.
“What the hell happened to our storm, Admiral?” she demanded.
“Our storm? But this is good news,” Billingsly replied.
“The hell it is,” she yelled. “You know what this has cost me?”
“Cost you?” Billingsly replied, obviously confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I arm-twisted every major contractor on the Pacific Northwest coast for huge campaign contributions with the promise of billions of dollars in reconstruction projects after our Cat 5 storm slammed into Oregon and Washington State. Now your damned storm is dead. I’m not going down because of this. This is your damned fault and you are going to pay dearly for this.”
“My fault?” Billingsly yelled. “How is it my fault? All I did was act in the best interest of the nation. You are the one who acted in your own self-interest. You are the one who traded our National Security to fill your pockets with money! If anyone’s at fault here, it’s YOU.”
Her face was crimson and she looked ready to explode. “Get the hell out of my damned car!”
Billingsly quietly slid back out of her limo, which pulled away from the curb and headed down the street. I don’t know which is worse, being chewed out by the Secretary of Defense, or her, he thought as he slowly walked back into the Pentagon. Probably her. Self-righteous ass. I should have known better than to trust a politician.
As he got back to the door of the Pentagon and entered, he was met by four large men from the Pentagon’s Security Service.
“You’re coming with us, Sir,” the senior man said.
“Where are we going?” Billingsly asked. He didn’t get an answer. They led him through the Security Office and into an interrogation room. He sat and fidgeted for the next two hours. Finally the door opened.
CHAPTER 54
“The BQQ10 bow sonar array is completely dead,” Stephanos reported. “Forward flank hydrophones are also dead. Partial signal from the mid-ship’s flank hydrophones, but they’re clearly damaged and unreliable. Rear flank hydrophones are the only thing functioning. All our sonar transmitters are dead. We can listen, but that’s it.”
“Okay,” Jacobs said. “Then keep listening.”
“So we just slowly sit here and sink?” Silverton asked.
“Not really,” Jacobs replied. “At some point, those mines along the fault line are going to detonate, and we are drifting way too close to them. We may have only a matter of minutes after that happens.”
”I had to ask, right?” Silverton said. Jacobs looked at him and shook his head. “How long before they… you know?”
Jacobs shrugged. “Sooner rather than later would be my guess.”
“Con, sonar, we’re being pinged. It’s one of ours.”
“Who is it?” Jacobs asked.
“The computer’s down, so we can’t identify the screw signature, but it’s a Los Angeles Class sub. They must have gotten a fix on our Emergency Beacon before it went under.”
“Radio room, con, can you bang out an SOS on the hull?”
“Can do, Captain,” the radio room answered. The radioman used two wrenches: a single clang for a dot and twin clangs for a dash, and tapped out the familiar distress call from the sub’s hull.
“Con, sonar, the sub is moving in. We’re being hailed by voice modulated sonar, Sir, it’s the U.S.S. Boise, they want to know our status.”
“Radio, con, tap out the following message: Chinese heavy mines on Cascadia fault. Massive earthquake imminent. Warn COMSUBPAC and mainland. Got that?”
“Aye-aye, Sir. Tapping out now.”
“Con, sonar, they’re repeating your message back verbatim on voice modulated sonar. They want one clang to confirm, two clangs if not correct.”
“Radio room, con, one clang, and one clang only.”
One clang echoed from the hull of the Massachusetts.
“Con sonar, they’re moving off Sir — going to the surface to send your message. After that they’ll be right back.”
“They can’t stay here — we’re sitting too close to those damned mines. We can’t lose two subs over this.” Jacobs said.
“I’m sure they know that, Sir. If they were where we are and you were the one up there, what would you do?” Silverton asked. Jacobs didn’t answer.
Twenty-eight minutes later the Boise returned. “Con, sonar, they report message sent, FEMA notified. Rescue ship en route.”
“Yeah,” Jacobs said quietly. “It’s just never going to get here in time.”
CHAPTER 55
Billingsly had never before seen the man who now sat across the table from him. The man was dressed in and old dull gray sport coat over a white shirt with a small blue pinstripe. He was older, late fifties, almost bald with a ring of short-cropped hair that ran around the back of his head just over his ears, and which stuck out to the point of almost facing forward. He looked at Billingsly suspiciously.
“I want to talk to the Secretary of Defense,” Billingsly said confidently.
“Go ahead,” the man said. “He’s listening.” The man pointed to the small camera mounted near the ceiling.
“Privately,” Billingsly demanded. The man sat still and stared at him. Several minutes passed before Billingsly broke eye contact.
“So, what’s your name?” Billingsly asked. The man continued to stare back at him.
“Are you military or civilian?” Billingsly asked. The man’s blank stare was the only answer he received.
“Okay, why are you holding me?” Billingsly asked.
“You know why,” the man replied. Several more minutes of the stare continued.