Romanov took in the room. On a solid oak conference table, there was a pitcher of water with glasses and coasters and a coffee service set up in the center. Seagraves waved Quinnivan and Romanov to seats on either side of the seat he chose at the center of the table, the XO on his right, the navigator on his left. He passed out coffee mugs and filled Romanov’s cup, then raised an eyebrow at Quinnivan.
“I’ll definitely have coffee, Captain.” He poured cream and dumped sugar into the brew and stirred it up.
Romanov glanced nervously at the door. Several minutes after the appointed hour of 1300, the door of the conference room came open and Vice Admiral Robert Catardi rushed in, dressed in sharp tropical whites, with his aide, a slender worried-looking female lieutenant commander with a nameplate reading STYXX, following behind him.
“Attention on deck,” Seagraves commanded, and the Vermont’s officers bolted to their feet and came to attention, Romanov thinking about Seagraves’ definition of a comearound.
“Stand easy,” Catardi said, frowning as he reached out and shook Seagraves’ hand, then Quinnivan’s and Romanov’s. His grip was strong but momentary, without warmth. The admiral was in a foul mood, Romanov realized. He walked around the table and pulled out a seat opposite Seagraves and tossed his hat on the table. Putting a hat on a table was strictly prohibited by Navy protocol with the one exception — if an officer or sailor had been to the North Pole, it was obligatory to put his hat on the table. Few but submariners could boast of visiting the pole. He waved Styxx to a seat on his right and took his tablet computer when she handed it to him. He paged through a few displays, then looked up at Seagraves.
“Let’s get right to it,” Catardi said grimly. “What the hell did you think you were doing, tossing a warshot Kakivak at a civilian merchant ship?”
Seagraves seemed ready for the harsh question. “The cargo ship buttoned up his hold and then ran up to full speed at a vector directly aimed at the narco-sub, and our own periscopes were in his same line-of-sight. He was either going to position himself to escort the submarine part way or all the way to his destination or he was investigating why another submarine’s periscopes were following his narco-sub. Either way, the cargo’s ship’s unanticipated interference spelled the certainty of mission failure.”
Catardi frowned, leaning back in his seat and looking into Seagraves eyes, then over at Quinnivan and finally at Romanov.
“Yesterday, while you were on your flank run on the way here, I called in the AI decision theory geeks. I had them program two different and competing artificial intelligence systems. One of them was given all the data from your sitrep and patrol report. The other only knew what you did when you began the mission. Then we ran scenarios with various levels of bias of the Vermont programmed into the simulation. For our purposes today, the term ‘bias’ means aggressiveness.”
Romanov stared at Catardi, thinking that if his simulations showed a viable way of mission success, this would not go well for the three of them. She went back to the moment that Pacino recommended the Kakivak launch and wondered what else they could have done.
“Scenario one. Low level of bias programmed. Twenty percent aggressiveness. Artificial Vermont dipped periscopes, drove off the line-of-sight to the cargo ship, steamed east and monitored the position of the cargo ship to see if it were escorting the narco-sub or trying to intercept Vermont. With a probability in the high ninety percent level, the cargo ship fell in alongside the narco-sub to escort it out of the Caribbean Sea. The alternative to go after Vermont was low probability after Vermont dipped her periscopes. After the scope dip, Vermont was undetectable from the cargo ship. From that point, there was a fifty percent probability that Vermont lost contact with the narco-sub and could only trail the cargo ship. Mission failure. Then a fifty percent probability that Vermont tracked the narco-sub but couldn’t stop and board it because of the company of the cargo ship escort. Either way? Mission failure with the worst possible outcome — the narco-sub completed its mission and delivered its cargo.”
Catardi paused to pour himself coffee, dumping in three artificial sweeteners handed him by Styxx. The room was pin-drop silent, waiting for Catardi to continue.
“Scenario two. A higher level of bias of the Vermont, at about forty percent aggression. Cargo ship starts up and heads for the narco-sub. Vermont dips scopes, drives off east, verifies that the cargo ship is headed for the narco-sub and not Vermont herself, then commences trailing the cargo ship and the narco-sub, following them all the way to the Windward Passage, Paso de los Vientos, between Cuba and Haiti’s northwest tip. At the entrance to the Atlantic, the Sargasso Sea, Vermont waited to see whether the cargo ship would turn back to Colombia or continue the escort operation all the way up Cuba’s northeast coastline to Miami.
Catardi downed his coffee and Styxx refilled his cup and put the sweetener in. Romanov studied Styxx’s face, wondering if there were anything going on between the admiral and his aide. Styxx seemed clingy, but the admiral was cold as steel.
“We divided the scenario at that point. Scenario two alpha — the cargo ship continued escort operations northward and all Vermont could do at this level of bias was radio ahead to the U.S. Coast Guard, which boarded the cargo ship but lost the narco-sub. Mission failure again, with failure to interdict the cargo. Or steal the target sub. Scenario two bravo — the cargo ship turned back and Vermont deployed the SEALs. At a high percentage, the commandos captured the narco-sub, broke in, and the sub sank, but in much shallower water. Mission failure, but a situation far worse than your actual reality, with the narco-sub lost in shallow water, which means she could be salvaged by the bad guys and the drugs recovered.”
Catardi finished this coffee and swiveled in his chair to put the cup back on the credenza behind him. Romanov looked for a sign from him. So far, the low level of aggression of the simulated Vermont had resulted in worse situations than the actual mission result. But Catardi’s mood still seemed dark. Maybe one of the simulations triumphed.
“Scenario three. Bias dialed up to eighty percent, the AI’s estimate of the equivalent of its evaluation of your real-life aggression level.”
Seagraves’ face revealed his tell, just the hint of his lips drawing back, as if he were about to smirk, Romanov thought. That the computers evaluated their aggression level at eighty percent seemed to please him. His face returned to his normal attentive poker face.
“Cargo ship follows the narco-sub into the Atlantic, staying close to Cuban shores. Vermont says ‘fuck it’ and deploys the SEALs anyway. Narco-sub surfaces. SEALs board the sub. Sailors on board the cargo ship open fire on the SEALs with automatic weapons. Two of the commandos are killed. The other two took cover behind the conning tower and returned fire. Cargo ship sailors fired two RPGs at the SEALs.”
Rocket-propelled grenades, Romanov thought, which she knew were in the weapons inventory of the cartel.