Phoenix Sub Zero

Ahmed had come up with the answer Sharef had wanted to tell him in the beginning, but he had the impression that if he had proposed it Ahmed would have argued to turn south. Patrolling in the Baffin Bay’s marginal ice zone, for weeks if they needed to, was safe. Secluded and safe. The Americans and Canadians would not find him there, he believed.

“That brings up my second concern. Colonel. The matter of our speed. Not only does it consume distance quickly, it risks our detection. The faster we go, the louder we are, the more likely we are to be detected. The monitors of my Second Captain system show a rupture of the outer hull in the aft ballast tank. That creates a flow-induced resonance—the hole whistles in the water flow.”

“So?”

“So we could be tracked. I am not just concerned with the distance we cover, and I have not been overly worried about the increased noise levels in mid-Atlantic, but as we get closer to the continent of North America I would very much like to reduce speed.”

“We are on a rest period now. We will not go back into the ballast tank for another seven hours. If we hurry that up it will be hazardous for your officers helping me in the tank.

And we can’t flood the tank because we would have to seal the hatch by welding it shut, and welding it would take hours, and cutting it open again would take more hours. We would waste time.”

“The hatch is sealed now with the plastic sealant? We could partially flood the tank up to the base of the hatch. With the tank half full I should be able to take some of the speed off.”

“I have no objection.”

“Commander Tawkidi, do you think you will be able to vent the tank to raise the level up to the hatch and allow us to slow?”

“Yes, Commodore. The Second Captain can do the calculations easily. It will create some noise level as we release the ballast-tank air, but we could slow down to as low as twenty-five clicks.”

“Make it so. Colonel, after your second tank entry I will want another progress report. Anything to say. General Sihoud?”

Sihoud had been quiet, too quiet, for the entire trip.

Tawkidi had reported that he had been in the first-officer stateroom since the recovery from the torpedo. He had not come out for meals and had refused meals in the stateroom. He looked unwell.

“Commodore,” Sihoud said, his voice showing no sign of stress, the depth of it still commanding. But there was some thing in his eyes, Sharef thought. “You and Colonel Ahmed have thoroughly planned the weapon deployment. For this I compliment you both. I urge you two to continue working together to get the Scorpion weapon launched. Once it is air borne we will prevail in our struggle. That is all I have to say.”

Sharef watched Ahmed and Sihoud leave, his thoughts interrupted by Tawkidi.

“I’ll be flooding the tank now, sir, and slowing. You should rest until Ahmed finishes the next tank entry.”

“I will,” Sharef said, accepting Tawkidi’s help into his bed, swallowing the pills from the table with water Tawkidi had brought.

As he stared at the overhead above his bed, Sharef remembered Sihoud’s eyes. They were no longer bright but seemed flat, dead. As though already resigned to his own death. Well, Sharef thought, he didn’t share Sihoud’s fanaticism that justified everything in the name of his beloved Allah. On the other hand, he was, in effect, a captive on his own ship, in spite of what he had told Ahmed and Sihoud.

His frustrations were relieved only when the heavy curtain of drowsiness descended on him, the drugs from the doctor taking over.

USS PHOENIX

Kane looked uneasily at the chart. Their course through the past twenty hours had been straight-edge steady, a bullet heading directly to the south of Greenland’s southernmost point at Cape Farewell. For the past thirteen hours Target One had been going thirty-five knots, twice the speed that Kane would have transited the Atlantic. At the beginning of the thirty-five-knot run the contact had put out a loud transient.

Sanderson said it sounded like he had blown a ballast tank as if he intended to surface but he had continued on submerged. They were now halfway to Greenland, the ETA to the Canadian coast two days from now, maybe less.

The longer he followed the Destiny the more its escape from the Med remained a mystery, and the deeper the mystery had grown. He had taken a large plot showing the North Atlantic and much of the surrounding north hemisphere and with thin orange navigation tape placed their track on it since Gibraltar. He had extended the tape into the Med to Kassab, where the Destiny had begun her mission. With the knowledge that General Sihoud was aboard, the escape from the Med and the beeline for the Canadian coast could be interpreted several ways.