Phoenix Sub Zero

“It’s me.” “Michael, Dick Donchez called. He said he wants to meet you here at midnight. And come to think of it, I want to talk to you myself.”

“On the way.”

Pacino called the officer of the deck on the radio and told him he’d be at home for a few hours, found the executive officer on the phone and turned over the drydock flood operation to him, then walked to his car. Walked and wondered what Donchez was doing that required a personal appearance.

SANDBRIDGE BEACH, VIRGINIA

The wind blew spray onto the windshield a half-mile from the beach. By the time Pacino parked the old Corvette under the stilted house the car was covered with the slimy saltwater from the restless Atlantic. In front of the house was a black Lincoln with multiple antennae poking out of the trunk and the roof. The rear license plate had the emblem of COMSUBLANT — Admiral Steinman’s car. The windows were blacked out, but Pacino thought he saw the silhouette of someone moving in the front seat. He looked up at the massive beach house, a monument to Janice’s old money, and saw that every light in the house was blazing.

A fugitive thought stole across his mind, that he should look at the house long and hard because he wouldn’t see it again for a long time. He found himself wondering why that had occurred to him, because the mission was a one or two-week excursion. Three at the most.

When he walked into the house the curtain of warm air was overwhelming after the wet cold outside. He took off his heavy overcoat and went into the central living room to see Donchez and Steinman. And Janice.

“Mikey,” Donchez’s rough voice boomed. “Long day, huh?”

“One of many, sir.”

The three sat down. Janice told Pacino she’d be upstairs, waiting for him.

Donchez pulled out a Havana, shooting an inquiring look at Pacino. Pacino nodded, knowing Janice would be annoyed but also knowing that Donchez couldn’t think without a cigar shoved into his face. Donchez offered one to him and Steinman, and all of them lit up at once.

“Mikey, you’ve heard about Rocket Ron’s Augusta. What have you heard about David Kane’s Phoenixt’ “Nothing. Should I have?”

“Afraid so,” Steinman said.

Pacino frowned as he listened to the story. He read David Kane’s last transmission, his emotions numbed, but his brain flashing through the tactical problems. By the time the cigars were cold stubs smoldering in the ash tray, he had the ugly picture.

“Mikey, your job is to find the Destiny before he finds you, then kill him with maximum possible force. I hate to saddle you with this last, but keep in mind that what has allowed us to come this far in tracking the Destiny are the messages from Daminski and Kane. I want you to try to get through to us what you’re up against.”

“Anyone have any idea what this submarine is up to? He’s got to be doing something other than acting as a bus for Sihoud.” Pacino looked from Steinman’s face to Donchez’s. Whatever they knew, they weren’t telling. “Fine. Let me know whatever intel you get.”

Donchez and Steinman stood. “We’ve bothered you enough tonight, Mikey.” All three walked to the door. A look passed between Donchez and Steinman.

“I’ll be out at the car checking in with the watch officer at sublant,” Steinman said. He shook Pacino’s hand. “Good luck. Patch. Take this SOB down.”

“Watch sublant for me, Roy,” Pacino said, trying to smile. “When I get back I want that outfit standing tall and waiting for me.”

“I’ll be ready to be relieved by the time you get back.

Hell, my desk’s already half full of your stuff. But are you sure you want a desk job?”

Pacino glanced at Donchez. Steinman waved and took the stairs to sand level two at a time. His shoes crunched through the seashells on the walk out to the staff car.

Donchez stood in the foyer, the cold wind blowing in the open door. “I asked Roy to give us a few minutes alone,” Donchez said, pulling out another cigar and bringing it to life with his old Piranha lighter.

“The usual pep talk, right, sir?”

“I just didn’t want Roy to know what I’m thinking about the Destiny,” Donchez said, annoyed at his own transparence.

“Which is that Sihoud is up to something, something dirty he’d like to bring home to us here. That sub is invisible and invincible — if you were driving a 688 boat. Seawolf is the only thing that can put this guy on the bottom, and only then if you find him and surprise him. If you can’t sneak up on him I want you to clear datum and try later. You got that, Captain Pacino? I’m not just saying this for you, either. We can’t afford to lose your boat if you get impatient.”

“Come on. Admiral. I’ll make sure I get a clean shot at him.”

“I’ve lost two submarines already, Mikey. Daminski was one of my j.o.‘s in the old days. It hurt bad to lose him. I can’t afford to lose a third. General Barczynski would have a few pounds of my posterior if Seawolf takes a hit.”

“Admiral,” Pacino said, moving Donchez through the door, “don’t sweat it, I’ve got the bubble.”