Chandler and another radioman showed up with a plastic binder. Both enlisted men hurriedly pulled on their foul-weather gear, and armed with the phone number of the Atlantic Fleet Message Center, proceeded up to the first deck to the bridge access trunk.
“Jackson says he’ll arrange to get us transmitter parts and anything else we need, possibly through the Russians.”
“So they’ll tell the Russians we’re here?” Jerry spoke without thinking, out of habit. It felt weird, like the Navy was betraying their presence, but then they weren’t covert now.
Rudel was understanding. “It goes against my grain, too, but the Navy’s got almost a day to bring the Russians up to speed. Knowing that we’re in the area will help prevent an incident.” Then Rudel corrected himself, “. another incident.”
“He’s also endorsing my decision to return to the collision site. He agrees it’s the right thing to do, but he also feels that it will open up the biggest can of worms since
Jerry tried to imagine the reaction back home. Crippled U.S. sub. Missing Russian sub. CNN. State Department. International relations. Media feeding frenzy. His sister Clarice in Minnesota. His uncle the senator. What would they think?
The two ITs scrambled down the ladder, and one of Jerry’s quartermasters went up to disconnect the suitcase. They were submerging; thank Neptune and all the other gods of the sea.
They’d found a way to report, to tell the Navy what was happening, and that was a good thing. But part of him was very sad, a strange feeling considering the circumstances. He thought about it for a while, and realized it was because of the special incident report. He remembered a half-formed thought pushed aside while he was writing the message, but now he had the time to consider it fully.
It would take a little time to go through channels, but sometime tomorrow, Denny Rountree’s parents in Florida were going to get the terrible news that their son was dead.
13. HOME FRONT
“Yes, sir. I’m watching the news as well. No, sir. I have no idea how they found out so quickly. My staff and I only got the word late last night from Norfolk.”
Captain William Richardson, USN, spun in his chair at a knock and waved the yeoman into his office. Petty Officer Second Class Michaels walked in and held up a binder with a colorful title page and CD in a plastic case, smiling.
Richardson smiled back and gave him a thumbs-up even as he continued the conversation. “Admiral Keller is due to land in about an hour and a half. We have a briefing scheduled for him at 1400. I understand, sir. I’m sure he would want you there as well. Yes, sir. Of course not, sir. Someone will meet your plane and bring you straight here. Thank you, sir.”
Richardson slammed the phone down, stood and grabbed his service dress blue uniform blouse. “We’ll need another car at Andrews in half an hour. SUBGRU Two will be landing at 1125 from New London and he will join the admiral for the brief.”
Michaels handed over the combined package with one hand and reached for Richardson’s phone with the other. “He didn’t give us a lot of warning.”
“We’re lucky he called to complain about the television coverage. Someone in New London was supposed to phone ahead.”
Michaels nodded as he punched the buttons.
Richardson finished buttoning his coat and quickly flipped through the hard copy of the presentation. “And this has the stuff from BUPERS, the shots of Rudel and his service record?”
“Third slide. This is OPNAV N77 at the Pentagon. The executive assistant needs a driver to meet Rear Admiral Jeffrey Sloan, Commander Submarine Group Two, at Andrews at 1125. No, I’m not kidding. Our extension is 4257, and it’s room 4A720. Thank you.”
While Michaels ordered the car, Richardson hurriedly stuffed the binder, a stack of papers, and a laptop into his briefcase. He finished as the YN2 hung up. “Hernandez is at the Mall Entrance waiting for you. And Lieutenant Meeks has already left to meet Rear Admiral Keller.”
“Good.” Richardson headed for the door. “And now we’ll need two flag-rank reservations for tonight instead of one.”
“I’ll see to it, sir. Good luck at the White House.”
Richardson stopped to check his uniform and reflexively glanced at the television mounted in the corner. It showed a black-and-white video image of a submarine plowing through the water. The legend below said “USS
He hadn’t taken three steps down the hallway when a woman’s voice behind him called out, “Captain Bill! I just heard the news.”
He turned to see a tall woman walking quickly to catch up. Her expensive dark-colored suit made her ash- blond hair look all the brighter. Richardson waited the few moments it took for her to catch up. “Dr. Patterson, it’s good to see you.”
Richardson turned back and resumed walking. If he hurried, he’d make the briefing on time.
Patterson matched his stride easily. She was half an inch taller. “I just came from the CNO Intel Plot. They brought me up to speed on
“What? Oh, of course.” Richardson corrected his initial reaction.
“Pardon me if I hurry, Doctor, but I have a briefing at the White House.”
“Yes, the NSC meeting at 1130. I won’t slow you down.”
“Thank you. I’ve got to get there early. I’ll be presenting. ” Richardson actually stopped walking. “Are you going to be at the meeting?”
“I think the Navy would want me to be there,” Patterson answered matter-of-factly.
Richardson started walking again, maybe a little faster than before, and thinking faster still. He was due to brief the National Security Council in less than an hour about the
His audience would include the President’s National Security Adviser, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Chief of Naval Operations, the Director of National Intelligence, and half a dozen other luminaries. He would brief them on the situation and answer questions about submarines in general and
There were two other briefs after his, one about the Russians and one about the weather. When they were over, the assembled national-level decision-makers would list possible options and recommend one or more to the President of the United States. This was the real deal.
His intention was to give a good brief, answer their questions to the best of his ability, and otherwise keep the hell out of the way. Richardson was a full Navy captain, a “four-striper.” He’d commanded two nuke subs, one a boomer, but these people operated at a much higher level.
Dr. Joanna Patterson was angling for an invite. Could she bring anything useful to the party? She was President Huber’s science and technology advisor for intelligence, which meant she looked at intelligence from a scientific viewpoint and told President Huber what she thought. It said a lot about Huber’s opinion of her.
Joanna Patterson watched Bill Richardson consider her request, and she knew that’s all it was, a request. One simply did not show up at an NSC meeting because one had something useful to say. One was invited.
