Unless…
The realization coalesced in Wilson’s mind a moment too late.
“Torpedo launch transients, bearing two-six-five!”
The Russian captain hadn’t run away. He had turned toward North Carolina, hiding above the thermocline while its towed array drooped beneath it, giving him a clear look at the water below, detecting North Carolina. The two submarines had been closing on each other quickly, and Kazan had dropped below the layer at the last moment to gain North Carolina on its spherical array sonar, so its crew could refine its solution before firing. The Russian captain was savvy, indeed.
Wilson filed that information away as he focused on evading the incoming torpedo.
“Pilot, ahead flank! Hard left rudder, steady course one-six-zero!
“Launch countermeasures!”
As North Carolina changed course, Wilson decided to return fire.
“Quick Reaction Firing, tube One, bearing two-six-five!”
The fire control technician manning the Weapon Control Console entered the ordered bearing and sent it to the torpedo, along with normal submerged search presets. The torpedo communicated back, acknowledging receipt.
“Weapon ready!”
“Shoot tube One!” Wilson ordered.
As Wilson shifted his focus back to the incoming torpedo, he realized something was amiss. Following his order to launch their torpedo, there had been no characteristic whirr of the torpedo ejection pump, impulsing the torpedo from the tube.
“Cold shot!” was called out by Lieutenant Jeff Johnston, the submarine’s Weapons Officer.
The torpedo hadn’t been ejected.
There had been a failure either in the starboard torpedo bank or in the torpedo itself. It was counterintuitive, but the combat control system didn’t fire the tube; the torpedo did. The firing signal was sent to the weapon, which did a final check of its systems, target solution, and search parameters, and if everything was satisfactory, it sent the firing signal to the torpedo tube. The fault could be in the torpedo, the tube, or something affecting both tubes in the starboard bank.
By design, the port and starboard tubes were independent, so that a fault on one side wouldn’t affect the other. Earlier, they had fired a torpedo from tube Two, which indicated the port bank was operational.
“Shift to tube Four!” Wilson ordered.
Lieutenant Johnston sent the target bearing to the torpedo in tube Four, then reported, “Weapon ready!”
“Shoot tube Four!”
This time, Wilson heard the whirr of the torpedo ejection pump as the torpedo was launched from the tube, accelerating from rest to thirty knots in less than a second. On the port side of the Control Room, sonar technicians monitored the status of their outgoing torpedo, referring to the tube it was fired from so there would be no confusion if multiple torpedoes were in the water at the same time.
“Tube Four is in the water, running normally.”
“Fuel crossover achieved.”
“Turning to preset gyro course.”
“Shifting to medium speed.”
North Carolina’s torpedo was headed toward its target.
Wilson focused again on the incoming torpedo, which was drawing aft now that North Carolina had changed course and increased speed. However, Sonar’s next report was troubling.
“Up doppler, incoming torpedo! Torpedo is turning toward!”
Kazan’s crew had inserted a steer, turning their torpedo back toward North Carolina.
Wilson needed to maneuver again.
“Helm, left full rudder, steady course zero-seven-zero. Launch countermeasures.”
North Carolina turned east as the Officer of the Deck launched a second torpedo decoy, followed by another acoustic jammer.
Wilson examined the geographic plot on the navigation table, noting the appearance of white scalloped circles marking the location of North Carolina’s countermeasures. Wilson watched intently as Kazan’s torpedo approached the first one, hoping the countermeasures confused the torpedo long enough for North Carolina to slip away.
The torpedo sped past the decoy, ignoring it. It had either figured out the five-inch-diameter decoy wasn’t a submarine, which wasn’t hard to do if the torpedo was loaded with the proper algorithms, or it had detected the much larger North Carolina speeding away. The torpedo blazed past the acoustic jammer, then adjusted its course toward North Carolina and increased speed.
The telltale signs were reported by Sonar. “Torpedo is homing!”
75
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
Harrison and Kendall leaned against the warehouse, doing their best not to appear suspicious and draw attention, occasionally peering through the window to ensure Mixell was still seated at the table, working on the computer. Thankfully, there was little traffic at this time of night, either vehicular or pedestrian, and no one took interest in the man and woman standing beside the old building.
Harrison was checking his watch again, counting down the time until the HRT unit arrived, when he suddenly realized Mixell was doing the same. He peered through the window just in time to catch Mixell glance at his watch, then return to his computer. He studied Mixell more closely, then realized he wasn’t working on the computer at all. He was just sitting there. Waiting.
Waiting for what?
A phone call? An event?
Harrison searched his memory for clues, then recalled the Swiss account dendrite shown at the NCTC, connecting Mixell to Futtaim and the three men tied to Kazan. Then the obvious answer dawned on him. He was waiting for Plecas to launch.
But then what?
A red border flashed around one of the displays, and Mixell leaned toward it. Harrison wiped the window pane a bit more. On the monitor was a video of the White House South Lawn, with the president and an entourage hurrying toward a green and white helicopter as it settled onto the grass, flanked by three identical helicopters landing nearby. Harrison recognized the Sikorsky Sea Kings, painted in the characteristic two-tone white over green presidential livery. The president was boarding Marine One.
The four helicopters lifted off simultaneously, immediately shifting their positions in an endless shell game, obscuring the location of the president from would-be assassins on the ground.
A second display on the table flashed with a red border, and Mixell turned to observe. On the monitor was a large aircraft hangar, whose doors pulled slowly apart, revealing a Boeing 747 jetliner.
Harrison put the clues together: the president was evacuating Washington on Marine One, heading to Joint Base Andrews where he would board Air Force One, which was being pulled from the hangar. Harrison reached one more conclusion, and a cold shiver ran down his spine.
Kazan had launched.
As Harrison wondered why Mixell was so interested in the president’s evacuation, his eyes went to the CONEX box, and he suddenly realized what was likely inside: a surface-to-air missile launcher.
Mixell was planning to shoot down Air Force One.
He pulled Kendall to the window and explained.
When he finished, he said, “We can’t wait for the HRT. We have to stop him. There must be a way inside.”
His eyes went to the metal front door, then to the window. The window was their only option. Perhaps if they broke through separate windows, one of them might make it through while the other provided cover.
“You want a way in?” Kendall asked. She pointed to the window pane. “Wish granted.”