The Seventh Angel - Страница 49

Ann set her coffee cup on the table. “Where do we fit into this? I assume you dragged us out here for a reason.”

“That submarine still has forty-five nuclear weapons on board,” Captain Bowie said. “We’ve been assigned to engage it before it launches another nuclear attack. Unfortunately, our options are extremely limited. Guns and missiles are no good against a submerged target, and we can’t use ASROC missiles because of the ice cover. That leaves torpedoes.”

“Okay,” Ann said. “I’m still not seeing the connection. We don’t know anything about missiles, or torpedoes, or any of that stuff.”

“Our Mk-54 torpedoes weren’t designed for under-ice operations,” Chief McPherson said. “We’re concerned that acoustic reflections under the ice could prevent the torpedoes from finding their target. Specifically, we’re worried that the Mk-54’s active sonar will lock on to the ice keels that protrude from the underside of the ice pack, and attack them instead of the submarine.”

“I hope you don’t think we can answer that question,” Ann said.

“Not at all,” the chief said. “At the moment, no one can answer it. I’ve spent about three hours on the satellite phone with the torpedo engineers at Raytheon. They designed the Mk-54, and they don’t know the answer either. They’ll have to conduct extensive field tests to be certain, but they ran some quick and dirty computer simulations for me, and the results don't look good. Our torpedoes will probably not be able to locate the submarine in the under-ice environment.”

“That’s where your Mouse unit comes in,” the captain said. “We need it to go after the submarine under the ice pack.”

Ann was tired, and her weariness made her a little slower on the uptake than usual. So it took a few seconds for the meanings of the captain’s words to sink in.

She frowned, almost certain that she’d misunderstood him. “You’re saying you want to use Mouse … as a weapon?”

Captain Bowie shook his head. “Not exactly. What we need …”

Ann held up a hand. “Mouse isn’t configured for combat. He wasn’t designed to fight.”

“We know that,” Bowie said. “We don’t expect the Mouse unit to attack the submarine. That wouldn’t work. Your machine can’t carry a heavy enough explosive charge to guarantee a kill.”

“So what do you have in mind for Mouse?” Sheldon asked.

Bowie crooked a finger toward Chief McPherson, who laid an odd-looking device on the table top.

It was shaped roughly like a double-decker hamburger — round, with a domed top and a slightly concave bottom. It appeared to be constructed of metal and plastic. Several circuits and mechanical fixtures had been strapped to the outside using the red waterproof adhesive cloth that the Navy called ordinance tape.

“This is the acoustic transducer from a Mark-63 expendable mobile target,” the chief said. “The 63s are training tools. We toss them in the water, and let our Sonar Operators track them for practice. But in this case, we’re only going to use the acoustic section, so we pulled that part out and modified it.”

She pointed to the hodge-podge of add-on circuits. “It’s not pretty, but we’ve got it configured to respond to a coded external pulse. If we ping this thing with the right frequency, it kicks into beacon mode, and begins transmitting a loud acoustic signal that our torpedoes can track.”

“I’m totally lost,” Ann said. “Where does Mouse figure into this?”

Bowie spoke up. “The beacon has a magnetic base. We want Mouse to locate the submarine, and attach the beacon to its hull. Then, we need Mouse to come back out from under the ice and report back to us, so we know that the beacon is in place.”

“Okay,” Ann said slowly. “Then what?”

“Then Mouse keeps an eye on the sub for us,” the captain said, “and lets us know if it comes within weapons range of the ship. When the sub gets close enough, we trigger the beacon so our torpedoes can lock on.”

“You want Mouse to be the finger man,” Ann said. “He doesn’t do the killing; he just points the finger, and you guys take care of the dirty work.”

“Well,” the captain said. “I suppose …”

“Just a second!” Ann’s voice came out much louder than she’d intended. Her words seemed to reverberate in the suddenly-quiet wardroom. “How many people are on that submarine?” she asked. Her voice was softer now.

“We don’t know exactly,” Chief McPherson said. “The crew compliment of a Delta III is 130, but we’re not sure if the sub got underway with full manning. Fighting had already broken out in Petropavlosk when the K-506 put out to sea, so they may not have a complete crew.”

“But it’s around 130 men?” Ann asked.

The chief nodded. “That’s about right.”

“What are their names?”

The question seemed to puzzle everyone in the room.

Captain Bowie studied Ann, a slight frown on his blandly handsome face. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.”

“The men on the submarine,” Ann said. “What are their names?”

No one spoke. Every pair of eyes in the wardroom stared at her.

“You tell me that there are 130 people on that submarine,” Ann said. “And you want me to help you kill them.”

She locked eyes with the captain. “I’ve never killed anyone in my life,” she said. She snapped her fingers. “Now, just like that, I’m supposed to help you murder 130 people I’ve never even met?”

She slumped back in her chair, letting her weight sag onto the base of her spine. “If I’m going to see the faces of more than a hundred strangers in my dreams every night for the rest of my life, I want to know their freaking names. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

The silence held for nearly ten seconds, before Sheldon broke it. “Ann, we should at least listen …”

“No!” Ann snapped. She looked around the table, meeting each pair of eyes in-turn. “I’m through listening.”

“Mouse does not kill people,” she said. “I do not kill people. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

She stood up. “If that’s what you brought us here to do, you’ve wasted your money and my time.”

Before anyone could respond, she walked out the door.

CHAPTER 37

U.S. NAVAL HOSPITAL

YOKOSUKA, JAPAN

MONDAY; 04 MARCH

2129 hours (9:29 PM)

TIME ZONE +9 ‘INDIA’

The stocky old Russian lay in the hospital bed, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only movement in his body. The heart monitor mounted to the wall near his bed beeped in a soft continuous rhythm.

Agent Ross watched the unconscious man for several long seconds before turning back to Dr. Hogan. “How much longer is he going to be like this?”

Hogan glanced at the heart monitor, and then down at the medical chart in his hand. “There’s no way to know,” he said.

“Doctor, that’s not good enough,” Ross said. “We’ve got a madman holding three countries hostage with nuclear weapons. And some of those weapons are pointed right here, toward Japan.”

Ross exhaled through his nostrils. “This is a good sized naval base. Chances are, we’re standing at ground-zero for one of those nukes.”

He looked back toward the unconscious form of Oleg Grigoriev. “I’ve got to find out what that man knows. I need to know how much longer he’s going to be out.”

“I can’t tell you that,” Dr. Hogan said. “Because I don’t know.” He sighed. “The patient suffered a major pulmonary embolism, secondary to the gunshot wound in his chest. He coded on us, and we nearly lost him. Your partner was here when it happened. Ask him.”

“Agent DuBrul has given me his report,” Ross said. “But he’s not a doctor. He can’t tell me when the patient will be ready to talk again.”

“Neither can I,” Hogan said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you, Agent Ross. I know how important it is that you talk to this man. But I don’t know when he’s going to be conscious again. His vitals are fairly steady at the moment, but he’s not in good shape. We could lose him at any second.”

Hogan studied the patient. His voice was solemn. “This patient could open his eyes ten minutes from now, or ten days from now. Or he may never open them again. Even if he does, there’s no guarantee that he’ll be coherent. A pulmonary embolism restricts blood flow to the brain. The patient may have significant mental deterioration. There’s no way to know until he comes around.”

“If he comes around,” Ross said

Dr. Hogan nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “If.”

CHAPTER 38

USS TOWERS (DDG-103)

WESTERN PACIFIC OCEAN

TUESDAY; 05 MARCH

0609 hours (6:09 AM)

TIME ZONE +11 ‘LIMA’

When Ann opened the door to her stateroom, she found Sheldon standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, or the bulkhead, or whatever the damned thing was called.

She shot him a quizzical look. “Are you waiting for me?”

Sheldon nodded. “Come on. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“A while,” Sheldon said.

“Why didn’t you knock?”

He shrugged. “I figured you needed your sleep. Anyway, it’s not like I’ve got anything to do today.”