She scanned the titles as she moved down the list, looking for any obvious “Me First!” messages. Joanna saw Jerry’s e-mail two-thirds of the way down on the third screen. The subject line wasn’t reassuring — “Hostile Intent Demonstrated.” She clicked on the e-mail and began reading; the contents were even less encouraging.
Just received an urgent email from Samant. Someone tried to attack Petrov this evening. The assailant appeared to be a Caucasian, not Indian. Petrov believes he was a Russian. Alex has reported the attempted assault to the Russian embassy, but not the local military police. Samant believes it would attract too much attention. If this wasn’t a random act of violence, then someone is worried that Alex knows something. Is there anything we can do to help?
Joanna scrolled down and read Samant’s brief message. It held little additional detail, but the Indian was convinced the attack confirmed his and Petrov’s suspicions. She sighed and shook her head. Yes. The attack, if indeed it wasn’t just a botched mugging, would be an indication, but still it wasn’t proof. She needed hard evidence if she was to advocate getting the U.S. involved. Joanna typed out a quick reply asking Jerry to relay her request. She was about to tell him to keep her apprised when she saw Jerry’s closing line; he was going to be unavailable for the next few days and e-mail contact would be spotty. That could only mean his boat would be at sea. “Damn it,” she whispered. “Talk about really bad timing.”
Briefly, she considered asking the CNO to keep North Dakota tied up to the pier for a few more days, or perhaps even a week, but rejected the idea. Admiral Hughes had already done her a huge favor in getting Jerry to San Diego on short notice, and while he might be understanding about another request, it would be seen for what it was — micromanaging a navy asset. Certainly Captain Simonis, the squadron commander, would be very annoyed with more “rudder orders from Washington.” And then there was Lowell’s stern counsel after their meeting with Jerry, “Don’t try to drag Jerry onto your staff. He’s a submarine commanding officer, and he has a boat to run.”
Sighing deeply, she told Jerry to pass on her e-mail address to Samant and Petrov. Joanna promised she’d do what she could to help them, but repeated the need for firm evidence. She clicked the send button, then reached over for her secure phone. Time to call SECSTATE Lloyd and Randall Foster to see just what the U.S. could, and could not, do to assist the two men in India.
The sights and sounds of the shipyard were unexpectedly refreshing. As soon as Samant walked onto the graving dock, he looked up at his old submarine. INS Chakra sat majestically in the dock on large wooden blocks; there were sparks flying about her sail that made it look like she even had a crown. Chakra looked absolutely huge from the floor of the dock; it never failed to amaze him how deceptively small even a large submarine looked when most of the hull was concealed under water. A loud beep, followed by someone shouting at him, forced Samant to scurry to get out of the way of a forklift carrying a pallet of replacement parts. There were people everywhere as the workmen toiled to get Chakra ready for sea. Sea trials began in five days.
Up ahead, Samant saw Jain inspecting the main sonar dome with one of the foremen. The composite structure surrounding the submarine’s main hull array, and the coating around it, was still dripping wet. Two men with pressure washers stood at a distance, waiting. Jain saw Samant approaching and waved. After reaching for a clipboard, Jain signed a form and gave the workers a thumbs-up. He then jogged over to Samant, stopped short, snapped to attention, and rendered a smart salute. After Samant had returned the honor, he extended his hand. Jain hesitated, then accepted the offer. He seemed a bit flustered.
“How goes the refit, Maahir?” Samant asked while waving to the surrounding activity.
“I hate being in the shipyard, sir. I can’t wait to get back to sea so I can get some rest,” shouted Jain. He looked uneasy.
Samant nodded sympathetically. “I completely understand, shipyard periods can be very stressful. I always found the noise to be irritating.”
Jain smiled slightly while pointing to his earplugs. “These help, a little. What can I do for you, sir?”
Samant then noticed that Jain was still at attention; his former first officer was behaving as if he were still in the job. The Indian captain sighed. This wasn’t how he wanted their relationship to be now. Finally, he said, “At ease, Maahir.” The younger man visibly relaxed. Moving closer, Samant spoke with an informal, almost fatherly tone. “Listen, Maahir, you are now the commanding officer of a nuclear submarine, that’s a very exclusive club, and we almost have a quorum right here with just the two of us. I’m not your CO anymore, and we’re not even in the same chain of command. Yes, I’m still a senior officer, but we’re now colleagues, and I’d appreciate it if you would see it that way as well.”
Jain looked down, surprised and confused. It took him a moment, but when he lifted his head, he was smiling. “Thank you, sir. I would be honored.” Samant nodded and gave Jain a friendly slap on the shoulder.
“So, Captain, what brings you to this den of chaos?” asked Jain, more upbeat.
Samant chuckled and shook his head. “I had to get away from my office. The work has been most frustrating as of late.”
Jain looked incredulous. “But, you’re on shore duty now. Why are you coming in on a Sunday? The weather is glorious, you should be on the golf course!”
Samant looked rueful and depressed. “It’s very bad, Maahir. The project office is so damn dysfunctional. I’ve been in every weekend since I was assigned, trying to make some sense of what had been done, and what still needs doing. I’m still not entirely sure what my predecessor did during the two years he was in the post. I’ve managed to get things moving again, but it’s been slow going. I’m not sure what my people hope for more: our being successful or me suffering a heart attack!”
Jain roared with laughter. Samant found he liked the sound. “I see that the great Captain Samant hasn’t changed his stripes!”
“True,” Samant said with a grin and a shrug. “But I see you have.” He reached over and brushed some dust off one of Jain’s new epaulettes. “Congratulations, Commander.”
“Thank you, sir. But I owe this promotion to your gentle tutelage.” Jain smiled sheepishly.
“Gentle? As I recall, I flogged your ass on a regular basis!” teased Samant.
“Yes, sir, you did. Fortunately, the trousers hide the calluses.” Both men laughed heartily, and Samant took another friendly swipe at Jain. It felt good to be back with his old boat.
“Would you like to take a quick tour, sir?” inquired Jain. “I know the crew would appreciate seeing you again. You have been missed. Besides, you look a little homesick.” The smart-ass grin on his face utterly failed to hide the delight Jain felt at razzing his former captain.
Samant rolled his eyes. “Maahir, you’d make a lousy poker player. And while your observation may be correct, you are to repeat it to no one. I do have my reputation to consider.”