America

Another minute passed. Gordin looked as if he were going to pee his pants when Steeckt finally came into the control room, out of breath. 'All hatches secure, Captain.'

'It's all yours,' Kolnikov said to Turchak. 'All ahead one-third.' He took another drag on his smoke.

With his eyes on the reactor display and the steam pressures, Turchak slowly advanced the power lever, careful not to cavitate the prop or stir up the mud on the bottom of the sound. The power lever was merely a computer input device: The computer pulled rods from the reactor and opened valves in the engine room to route steam to the turbines. Here in the control room, Turchak could feel the submarine respond to his power command. The sonar picture began changing as the sub surged forward. The effect was mesmerizing.

Kolnikov leaned over and studied the touch-screen reactor information. The temperatures and cooling flow rates seemed smack in the middle of the normal ranges.

'Magic,' Eck whispered as he stared at the sonar display, unintentionally voicing the thought all of them were thinking. 'Pure magic.'

Kolnikov shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. There was so much to be done. 'Gordin, you and Miiller check the emergency gear. Extinguishers, hoses, nozzles, flashlights, tools, emergency breathing apparatus — all of it. Ensure that every man knows where everything is stowed.' 'Aye aye, Captain.'

'Admiral, it looks like somebody just hijacked your new submarine,' Harvey Warfield boomed into the telephone. The people in the Jones's radio room had the commander of the Submarine Group on the other end of the hookup. Apparently the admiral had been on the pier watching America get under way and had only now arrived in his communications center.

'Are you sure?' the admiral demanded.

Try as he might, Warfield couldn't remember the flag officer's name. 'We received a radio transmission that I interpreted that way, sir. A lot of people from the tugboat boarded the sub, and the sub sent a Mayday, which wasn't repeated. The mike seemed to get stuck open, and it sounded as if the intruders were hijacking the boat. There are people in the water right now, and we're closing on them.'

'Who is in the water?'

'Sir, I don't know.'

'Well, goddamn it, Captain, I think we had better find out just who is in the water and what the hell is going on aboard that submarine before we go off half-cocked.'

'Admiral, in my considered judgment, a bunch of pirates are stealing that submarine.'

'What do you want to do about it?'

'Sir, the decision to disable or sink an American submarine needs to be made way above my pay grade.'

'Jesus fucking Christ! You expect me to authorize that based on some unverified crap you heard over the radio?'

'No, sir. I'm just advising you. People are falling in the ocean off that sub, the tug is sinking, we've been signaling the sub, ordering it to stop. Whoever is running that show is ignoring our signals. They refuse to answer our radio calls. Something is terribly wrong! It looks to me like the goddamn sub has been hijacked.'

The admiral mulled that comment for about two seconds. 'Well, before we stick our dicks in the meat grinder, Captain, we need verification of this tale. I assume you've notified national command authority in Washington. Have you sent a flash message?'

'Yes, sir. I think we're drafting our third now. You should have received copies.'

On that note, the admiral terminated the conversation.

'Asshole,' roared Harvey Warfield as he slammed the telephone receiver down onto its cradle. He jabbed the squawk box. 'Radio, get me the goddamn Pentagon. If I'm gonna sit here like a wart on a dog's ass watching that pigboat sail off over the horizon, I want a four-star on the hook with me.'

He released the button and shouted to the OOD, 'That sub is accelerating. Stay with it. Close to parallel at its four-thirty position at a range of a hundred yards. And give me some reports. I want to know when the gun and torpedo tubes are manned and ready. Tell me about the people in the water.'

'The Coast Guard cutter will pick up the men overboard, Cap-tain.

Hijacked!

Yes, he was sure of it, though Harvey Warfield had to admit to himself that the evidence was sketchy. Although it sounded compelling, the radio show they had listened to could have been produced anywhere. The exploits of Orson Welles came immediately to mind.

Do this right, Warfield! There won't be any second chances.

He trained his binoculars on the white Coast Guard boat, which was now dead in the water. He could see the sailors rigging nets over the side and lowering a small boat.

Of course the admiral didn't want to take responsibility for sinking a brand-spanking-new two-billion-dollar submarine and killing a bunch of American sailors. Who would?

But if he, Harvey Warfield, didn't ring the fire alarm, the sub was as good as gone.

Hijacked!

The thought occurred to Harvey Warfield that there might be other submarines about, submarines that did not belong to the United States. He jabbed a squawk box button: 'Combat, bridge, are there any subs on our plot?'

'No, sir. None.'

'Unidentified aircraft?' Even as he said it, he knew the answer.

'A couple dozen, Captain. Five non-transponder-equipped targets; the rest, I believe, are light civilian planes not under positive radar control. But I have no way to verify that.'

A feminine voice in his ear: 'Captain, one of the lookouts reports that a television news chopper is hovering over our fantail. It appears to have bullet holes in the Plexiglas. We think the pilot wants to land on the fantail, sir.'

'Let him land. See if he has any videotape of that sub. If he does, get it and put it on the ship's system. I want to see it here on the bridge. And transmit it to Washington. And I want a report on those people in the water. Get that Coast Guard skipper on the horn and get a report.'

'Aye aye, sir.'

'The Pentagon war room is on the line, Captain,' said another voice.

Harvey Warfield picked up the telephone and identified himself. He tried to succinctly sum up the situation by citing only hard, verifiable facts.

The war room duty officer was a two-star. 'Are any Americans still aboard America?'

'I don't know,' Warfield replied bitterly. He could almost hear the other man thinking in the silence that followed.

'What is his course and speed?' the admiral in Washington asked.

'Up to ten knots now, sir, still heading one two zero for the open sea.'

'Depth of water?'

'Two hundred feet at the most.'

'Captain, you are the officer on the spot. I am not going to grant you permission to do anything. Anything you choose to do is your responsibility.'

'Yeah,' said Harvey Warfield, who didn't join this man's navy yesterday. He hung up the headset.

'Is the gun manned?' he called to the OOD.

'Yes, sir. Manned and ready.'

'Have the gunnery officer fire a warning shot. Have him telephone me before he shoots.'

'Yes, sir.'

In seconds the telephone rang. 'Captain, gunnery officer.'

'A warning shot across their bow, Mr. Turner. Do not hit the submarine or any of those goddamn little boats running around out there.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Whenever you are ready, Mr. Turner.'

'Aye aye, Captain.'

Twenty seconds later the gun banged. The shell hit the water a hundred yards ahead of the sub, made a nice splash.