The bad guys could still catch them if they decided to dive below the thermal. Gordon knew better than to try to outdive the other boat. A Los Angeles class submarine had an operational depth of just under 1500 feet… and a maximum depth, the "crush depth," so endearingly named, of 2460 feet. Recent Soviet designs, however, their Alfa interceptor, the Akula, and the Sierra II, were capable of reaching extreme depths… partly because of the aluminum-hull designs pioneered by the Alfas and Akulas, but possibly, too, because they were willing to push the engineering envelope a bit more than were American submariners. Sierras were thought to have operational depths of six hundred meters, nearly two thousand feet… with a maximum depth of a thousand meters, or over thirty-two hundred feet.
There were some voices in the Pentagon who felt that the Sierras, which didn't have the aluminum-hull construction of the Alfas and Akulas, probably had operational depths of no more than 450 meters, about the same as a Los Angeles. Gordon wasn't about to test that theory, though, especially since Sierras almost certainly had towed arrays that could be lowered through deep thermals to detect submarines hiding below them. Whether the Sierra up there went sub-fishing that way, or came down to pay them a personal visit didn't really matter. Now that Gordon had the other guy off his tail, it was a simple matter to choose a depth and remain silent or nearly so, knowing that the other skipper's chances of picking them up again under these circumstances were very slim indeed.
An hour passed… and then two. Eventually, Gordon gave the order to increase revolutions to twenty knots, and the Pittsburgh accelerated, coming onto a new course, headed northwest.
Dubrynin had been forced at last to admit that the American had slipped away. After three hours of careful searching, including dives to five hundred meters to search beneath the thermal layer, he'd turned up nothing more interesting than some migrating gray whales.
The American had dived beneath the thermal, then slipped away at three or four knots, making so little noise the Rogov had not had the ghost of a chance of hearing.
Long experience had taught Dubrynin that American submarine captains were good; this one, he thought with wry admiration, was fucking fantastic.
There would be a rematch. He would find this American captain again, and the next time, he would be ready for the encounter.
"Up planes, ten degrees," he ordered. "Bring us to periscope depth."
Nubriev, the political commissar, looked at him curiously. "What are your plans, Comrade Captain?"
"Plans? What is there to plan? We will go to periscope depth, raise a mast, and report to Petropavlovsk that we have lost the target. We will tell them that the American is on the way, and that we will be there to intercept him in the Sea of Okhotsk, as written in our orders."
"You think, then, that we can still catch this American?"
"We know where he is going, Comrade Nubriev. And we will be there waiting for him when he arrives.
"What more do we need to know?"
The gray shape of the Ivan Rogov slid upward toward the distant light of day.
"Gentlemen," Gordon said. "Thank you for coming."
"Like we had a choice?" Master Chief Warren said, and the others laughed. They were in the Pittsburgh's Wardroom, a compartment almost filled by the dining table, with booth chairs around two of the bulkheads. This was where Pittsburgh's officers took their meals, and where ship's business was conducted when it required the presence of more than three or four people. Gordon's stateroom — a compartment smaller than most American jail cells — usually served as the Captain's Office, but larger gatherings simply demanded space enough to allow breathing.
This time, there were six present besides Gordon — Latham; Carver; Walberg; the Navigation Officer, Lieutenant Sean Garrison; the Engineering Officer, Lieutenant James Ostler; and Master Chief Warren as the representative of the enlisted crew. The final member of the assembly was the civilian spook who'd identified himself only as "Mr. Johnson," almost certainly a pseudonym. Bearded, balding, and pinch-faced, he looked wildly out of place in blue coveralls, a garment worn by boat officers and universally known as a "poopie suit."
With the seven of them around the table, Gordon couldn't help but think that if anyone yelled "Fire!" they were all going to be in very serious trouble.
"First of all," Gordon told them, "I want to thank each of you for a job very well done. Brushing off that Sierra earlier was a bit rough as a shakedown. The men did a superb job. Fred, COB, I'd like you both to pass along my 'well done.' "
"Will do, sir," Fred Latham said.
"Sure thing, Skipper," Warren added. Latham, as the boat's XO, was responsible for everything that happened within her bulkheads. As such, he was the official link between captain and crew within the Navy's chain of command.
The Chief of the Boat, however, as the senior enlisted man on board, was the practical, day-to-day link between the men and the officers. Most enlisted men would go to Warren with a problem before they would approach an officer, and a "well-done" from him often meant more than the XO's formal benediction… or even he personal thanks of the captain.
Gordon turned and punched up the combination to the wardroom safe. Inside was a manila envelope, tied shut with string and sealed by a DOD secret sticker.
"Orders, gentlemen. We all know more or less what's happening. They briefed me, and I briefed you. But these will give us the specifics."
The COB handed him a penknife. He broke the seal and opened the envelope. He pulled out the top sheet and began to read aloud.
FROM: COMSUBPAC
TO: CAPTAIN, USS PITTSBURGH, SSN 720
RE: ORDERS
TO BE OPENED ONLY AFTER VESSEL IS AT SEA.
1. USS PITTSBURGH WILL SET SAIL FROM MARE ISLAND NO LATER THAN 1200 HOURS PST MONDAY, 13 JULY, 1987, AND PROCEED NORTHWEST TO WAYPOINT ALFA. EMBARKED ON BOARD WILL BE FOUR SPECIAL PERSONNEL UNDER NURO ORDERS AND AUTHORIZATION, WITH THEIR EQUIPMENT. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE THESE PERSONNEL TO BE QUESTIONED OR HARASSED FOR INFORMATION. THE NATURE OF THEIR MISSION IS TOP SECRET, AND DETAILS OF THAT MISSION, AS WELL AS ANY INFORMATION REGARDING THEIR PRESENCE ON BOARD PITTSBURGH, FALL UNDER THE PURVIEW OF THE OFFICIAL SECRETS ACT.
2. WAYPOINT ALFA IS LOCATED AT 50°50′30″ NORTH LATITUDE, 176°43′10″ WEST LONGITUDE, AT OR ABOUT SIXTY MILES SOUTH OF ADAK, ALASKA.
3. UPON ARRIVAL AT WAYPOINT ALFA, PITTSBURGH WILL COME TO PERISCOPE DEPTH AND SEND A CODED TRANSMISSION, SPECIFICATIONS AS SET FORTH IN APPENDIX 1. SAID TRANSMISSION WILL INDICATE PITTSBURGH'S READINESS TO SURFACE AND TAKE ON NEW PERSONNEL.
4. UPON ARRIVAL AT WAYPOINT ALFA, YOU WILL MAKE RADIO CONTACT WITH A TRANSPORT AIRCRAFT, IDENTIFIED BY A CODED TRANSMISSION AS SET FORTH IN APPENDIX 2. AFTER POSITIVE IDENTIFICATION, PITTSBURGH WILL SURFACE AND TAKE ABOARD PERSONNEL DROPPED IN THE AREA BY HELOCAST. AS IN (1), THESE PERSONNEL, COMPRISING AN OPERATIONAL ELEMENT OF NAVY SEAL TEAM 3, OPERATING UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF BOTH SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND AND NURO, ARE NOT TO BE QUESTIONED AS TO THE NATURE OR DETAILS OF THEIR MISSION.
5. PITTSBURGH WILL THEN SET COURSE FOR THE SEA OF OKHOTSK, ENTERING THE REGION VIA THE CHETVERTYY KURIL'SKIY PROLIV, MAP REFERENTS, APPENDIX 3. YOU WILL OPERATE IN SUPPORT OF NURO AND SEAL TEAM 3 PERSONNEL, RENDERING ALL POSSIBLE COOPERATION CONCOMITANT WITH THE SAFETY OF YOUR VESSEL AND CREW.