America

that all the Cowbell beacons be disabled and removed from the submarines they were installed on. To do otherwise was to risk the entire submarine force, all of them, in the event of war. Or, Jake thought, in the event that the submarines are America's primary target now.

What if America was hunting them?

When the brief was over Sonny came back and sat down beside Jake Grafton.

'I have a question for you.' Jake spoke so softly Sonny had to tilt his head to catch the words. 'Can America detect a Cowbell beacon?'

Surprised, Killbuck glanced furtively around to see who was listening, then eyed the admiral. 'Yes, sir,' he acknowledged. 'All our submarines can detect the beacons. It would be a high-pitched noise, very loud.'

'Have you tried to trigger America's beacon?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Why isn't it working?'

'I don't know, sir. It could be a software problem. Or a problem with the transmitter. Or the satellite.'

'Or it could be,' Jake Grafton said, 'that someone somewhere told Kolnikov about the beacon and he disabled it. We'd better find out which it is. The answer to that question might be the key that opens a lot of doors. Has the FBI been briefed about Cowbell?'

Killbuck squirmed in his seat. 'Not to the best of my knowledge.'

'Hadn't we better find out?'

'Sir, you are trespassing on Vice-Admiral Navarre's turf.'

'Like hell!' Jake Grafton snarled. 'That stolen submarine is my turf, shipmate. We've got subs manned by American sailors at sea right now with those beacons on board. And the news may be out! Worry about that, mister!'

Killbuck looked ill. 'You're right, sir. I apologize.'

'When the crowd clears out, let's talk to the heavies. The FBI needs to be told about this, and now.'

Flap Le Beau listened to Jake without comment, without a question. He glanced at Sonny Killbuck, who tried to keep his stomach from flip-flopping. A tip-top secret, and he had spilled it to Jake Grafton in violation of every reg in the book. And General Le Beau didn't even ask Grafton where he got his information! He merely crooked a finger at Stuffy Stalnaker and said, 'We've got a big problem.'

After Stuffy listened to Jake's explanation again, he said, 'I wondered why those clowns at the White House didn't order that thing sunk. I guess Cowbell just slipped my mind.'

When Jake looked mildly surprised, Admiral Stalnaker added, 'The politicians demanded Cowbell years ago and we installed it. And promptly forgot about it. Captain,' he said, addressing Sonny Killbuck, 'if Cowbell isn't working we certainly need to know why.

Let's get the FBI working on this. Then have the system disabled in every sub we have as soon as possible. Draft an Op Immediate message for my signature. The course of human events seems to have handed us an excellent rationale to rid ourselves of this albatross. Let's take advantage of this gift from heaven.'

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Alt, nodded his concurrence. He had tossed out his share of questions this evening, but as he had listened to Jake explain Cowbell earlier, he had seemed in a pensive mood. No doubt, Jake thought, he is as horrified by this mess as everyone else. More so, probably. It happened on his watch, and the ax is probably already falling.

Jake looked around the room at the four-stars there. The chairman, CNO, Navarre — those three at least would get the chop. And soon.

He was under no illusions: If the submarine wasn't found soon, Flap Le Beau was going to soon be playing golf every day. With Jake Grafton.

Vladimir Kolnikov was eating a piece of apple pie and drinking a cup of excellent coffee in the submarine's control room when the faintest nicker of light caught his eye on the big sonar displays. He froze in midbite, staring at the display. . and saw nothing. Kolnikov swallowed the last bite of pie and put down the dish.

As he sipped coffee he glanced from display to display. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. And yet…

There. He saw it again. A momentary flash. He picked it up from the corner of his eye. Yes, he could pick up the flash with his peripheral vision, yet when he looked straight at the screen he saw nothing.

Now he checked the computer display of the tactical situation.

'Eck.'

The German was drinking coffee and munching a roll. He came over to where Kolnikov was sitting, his cup in his hand.

'Out of the corner of your eye, watch the display. No, look at me. Just be aware of the display.'

'A flash,' he said. 'I see it.'

'What is it?'

Eck went to work on the computer, his coffee forgotten.

'It's a sound from within the boat,' he said after a bit.

'Internal?'

'Yes. A knocking, sounds like to me. Listen.' He put the sound that he had distilled from the hydrophones onto the loudspeaker.

Now Kolnikov heard it, an irregular clicking. Something metallic.

'Okay, Eck. Go find out what in the hell that is and let's get it fixed. Start back aft.'

Eck went, striding purposefully.

Kolnikov sipped coffee as he listened to the sound on the sonar speaker. Finally he turned off the speaker, the net effect of which was to magnify the sound for transmission away from the submarine. He wondered how close the nearest SOSUS hydrophone was.

He finished his coffee, forcing himself to sip slowly and leisurely for Turchak's benefit, because he was watching.

'You are a fake, you know,' Turchak said finally. 'You are going to break that cup if you squeeze it any harder.'

'Go aft with Eck, will you, Turchak? Check on him. Tell me about that noise.'

Turchak touched Kolnikov's arm lightly, then nodded and went.

Twenty minutes passed before Turchak returned. He was wiping oil or grease from his hands on a rag, which he disposed of in the trash. 'I think a bearing has gone out in an oil recirculation pump. It's clicking irregularly.'

Vladimir Kolnikov took a deep breath. He waited for Turchak to continue.

'I recommend that we go dead in the water and repair the bearing.'

'The towed array is out,' Kolnikov objected. The array was trailing along twenty-five hundred feet behind the sub. If the sub went dead in the water, the array would slowly sink until it was hanging straight down at the end of its cable. Automatically Kolnikov glanced at the tactical display to check the depth of the water. More than ten thousand feet.

'Reel it in. Then we'll go DIW.'

Kolnikov unconsciously tapped a finger on the tactical display. 'Any idea how long this will take?'

'I looked at the bolts in the housing. Perhaps three or four hours if we have a replacement on board. They're checking that now. But it could be longer.'

'Okay,' Kolnikov said. He shrugged. The good news was that the submarine would generate almost no noise as it lay drifting fif-

teen hundred feet below the surface. Working on the machinery would cause some noise, of course, but not much, and anyway, there was no one close to hear it. They would be safe enough.

Tom Krautkramer of the FBI looked alert but tired when he sat down in Jake's office in Crystal City. The hour was past midnight. Jake had lit his candles from home. They flickered bravely in the small office and reflected their tiny glow in the black windows.

Jake talked for twenty minutes, telling Krautkramer everything he had learned about Cowbell. When Krautkramer ran out of questions, he said, 'We can't find hide nor hair of Leon Rothberg, that missing New London simulator expert. We think he's one of the two extra men on that sub.'

'Okay.'

'He was one of the lead engineers programming America's holographic simulator. He knows how every system in that sub works and how to operate the weapons' systems. He's up to his eyeballs in