This all depended on CHICAGO staying on a straight course. If he changed course, a zig, the process had to start all over again. It often took many hours of excruciating attention to all the nuances of the data before having a solution accurate enough to shoot a torpedo. One wrong move in this cat-and-mouse game and the hunter suddenly became the hunted.
After another hour of tracking the CHICAGO, Hunter turned to Fagan and Jacobs and said, “Well, we know where she is and what she is doing. No indication that she has found us. Normally I'd like to stay here and play. But we need to get on down the road. XO, secure the fire control tracking party. Officer of the Deck, re-station the section tracking party."
Stepping over to the navigation chart, Hunter checked SAN FRANCISCO's intended track, plotted with green tape.
"Track CHICAGO as long as you maintain contact. Be alert for any other contacts. Resume course one-eight-zero. When you get to one-five-five West, one-five North come right to new course two-two-zero. The next waypoint will be one-eight-zero West, zero-zero North."
27 May 2000, 2245LT (2145Z)
“We are on schedule for delivery of the first shipment,” Mustaf growled into the cell phone. “It has tested much more successfully than we anticipated. All of the test subjects were symptomatic within an hour after treatment. They all terminated by the third day, most after the first. Much better than the natural product."
In his office deep underground, just off Peking’s Tiannamen Square, General Liu Pen, the Director of Special Intelligence Operations for the Peoples Republic, listened to the report of his most important asset. “Good, very good. How was the viability of the virus?"
Mustaf answered, "Even better than we expected. It should last indefinitely in storage. Once dispersed, its soil borne half-life is estimated at twenty years."
General Liu Pen was impressed. "Excellent. We must discuss the destination for the first shipment,” he answered. “It is my thinking that we should deliver first to the customer who will advertise our wares to our best advantage.”
“Where do you have in mind?" Mustaf queried. “Our partners at the manufacturing site have their own ideas of how best to use the initial shipments. They are thinking of a few free samples in the local area.”
“I am aware of their desires,” General Pen answered curtly. “I am not interested in their petty little problems. We have a much larger game to play. If they get lost in the shuffle, that is too bad.”
The spymaster continued, “But, I am thinking that their simple plots and intrigues may be useful. We will make Suluvana and his traitors the sham front for this endeavor. While we will stay carefully in the background. Make that blustering fool of an admiral think that he is actually directing how this will be accomplished. As long as we can maneuver him in the way we want to go, he will remain useful. When we are through, the West will be in shambles. You will have your revenge and China will assume her rightful place in the World Order.”
Mustaf replied thoughtfully, "Maybe there is a way to use our impertinent friend. What if his organization became identified with this plot? They would become the most hunted men on Earth."
Liu Pen snorted. It was as close as he ever got to showing humor. "A marvelous idea, my friend. Great minds sometimes think alike. A note will shortly arrive for the head intelligence officer of each of the members of the UN Security Council. It will demand a very large ransom, just as we planned. The added twist will be that the note will be traceable to Suluvana's people. When the attacks begin, he will immediately be blamed."
Mustaf added, "And, of course, since you will be receiving one of the notes, you can aid the investigation."
27 May 2000, 1445LT (28 May, 0145Z)
“The ship will be conducting angles,” the 1MC blared, presaging the anticipated submarine roller coaster ride.
“Officer of the Deck, make your depth eight hundred feet with a twenty down,” Hunter ordered from his vantage point behind the diving officer.
The deck tilted precariously downward as the depth gauge reeled off the change from 150 feet to 800 feet. SAN FRANCISCO slid silently deeper into the depths, without even the sounds of hull creaking or popping.
“At eight hundred feet, sir,” reported the OOD.
“Very well. Make your depth one-five-zero feet using a twenty up.”
Like a large, playful porpoise, the submarine flew upward, toward the light. They repeated the procedure at twenty-five degrees and then at thirty degrees. At a thirty degree down, the precipitous angle of the deck demanded a firm grip on any available handhold to keep from sliding painfully into the forward bulkhead. A loud crash emanated from the galley, just below the control room, where a locker full of crockery fell open, spilling onto the deck.
“XO, looks like you need to work on the rig-for-sea some more. That crash would have been fatal if we were near someone,” Hunter growled. “Have all the spaces stowed again and we'll repeat the angles. We’ll keep doing them until we get the stowage right.”
Hunter stalked off forward to his stateroom as Fagan began directing the re-stowage work. Keeping the boat shipshape and stowed for sea took on an entirely different importance for submarines than for surface ships. While surface ships were concerned with appearance and the hazards of adrift equipment in high seas, the submarine was also concerned about the noise generated by improperly stowed gear crashing down when the sub needed to conduct evasive maneuvers. A locker falling open and spilling its contents or even a coffee cup
