“Did Carlucci give any indication of how friendly — or hostile — I’m supposed to appear to Vostov? Does he want a confrontation about these Poseidons?”
“He wants you to make friends with Vostov, and don’t mention the Poseidons. Do you think you can do that?”
Pacino laughed. “Margo, I may be a straight shooter, but in the service of my country, I could have dinner with the Devil himself and convince him I’m his friend.”
She smiled. “Imagine — Michael Pacino, a diplomat.”
“I’m a man of many talents,” he remarked, then hoped that didn’t sound to Allende like a double meaning. But she just stood up and walked to the door with Menendez.
“Good luck, Patch,” she said.
On the ride to Andrews, Pacino thought about all the questions he should have asked. Wouldn’t Vostov think this flash drive might be another virus to attack their systems? Or might explode in his face? But then he considered he was being paranoid and anxious. He wondered whether he’d be able to sleep on the plane.
But as Air Force Two climbed out of the lush Maryland countryside, he decided to lie down on the couch in the presidential office. Before the jet had reached cruising altitude, Pacino was asleep.
17
Lieutenant Anthony Pacino poured fresh coffee and passed the carafe down the table. Despite it being in the midwatch an hour after midrats, the wardroom was filled to capacity with all the officers not on watch. Executive Officer Quinnivan had ordered Long Hull Cooper to take the watch as engineering officer of the watch with Supply Officer Ganghadharan on the conn. The air was thick with expectation, since the communications officer would be arriving with the decoded message they’d received on the VLF loop antenna.
Lieutenant Eisenhart hurried into the room and handed the message pad to Captain Seagraves, who wordlessly passed it to Quinnivan, who put on his reading glasses and read the message over twice, then passed it to Navigator Lewinsky.
“Share the message with the room, Nav,” Quinnivan said.
Lewinsky looked up from the message pad and said, “We’re ordered to deploy the two swimmer-delivered mines to the hull of the Omega and place them on either side of their torpedo room with acoustic detonation orders programmed in. That is, they’ll only go off if we ping at them with an active sonar signal that we should program in now.”
“Weps, you’ll need to tag out and lock out the active sonar gear,” Quinnivan said.
“Understood, sir,” Styxx said. “I’ll lay to control now and see to it personally.”
“Good idea.”
Styxx got up and rushed out of the room through the forward door.
“Captain? XO?” Pacino said, looking at the senior officers. “This is going to be a problem. The SEALS are sick as dogs.”
“My thoughts exactly, Mr. Pacino. XO, get the doc in here,” Seagraves said to Quinnivan. The XO grabbed the inter-ship phone and dialed the chiefs’ quarters, speaking quietly into it.
There was a subdued buzz of conversation while they waited. Dankleff leaned over to Pacino. “Patch,” he said quietly, “the Panther team could place these on the BUFF’s hull while the SEALs are puking and shitting their brains out.”
“No way, U-Boat,” Pacino replied. “That’s a mixed-gas tech dive in twenty-eight degree water. Using propulsion equipment we’ve never even seen. We’d have to train for six months to do that.” That, and the fact that the idea was terrifying, Pacino thought. He thought about the panic attack he’d suffered just before they’d locked out of the Vermont hatch to go invade the Panther. Dankleff, who had been officer-in-charge of the boarding party, had almost pulled Pacino off the detail when he saw Pacino freaking out in the airlock.
The aft door cracked open and Senior Chief Grim Thornburg poked his head in. “You called for me, XO?”
“Come on in, Doc,” Seagraves said, and when the senior chief entered and stood at rigid attention, Seagraves said, “Stand easy, Doc. We’ve got a few questions for you.”
Thornburg came to a military parade-rest position. “Yes, Captain.”
“First, doc, how are the three sick SEALs? Any idea of when they can return to full duty?”
“The news is not good, Captain, XO. They’re still in the midst of this. I doubt they’ll be up and walking three days from now.”
“Will they be cleared for duty then?”
“Unfortunately, Captain, there’s no telling. They could be well tomorrow, or day-after-tomorrow, but they might still be sick a week from today or even two weeks.”
“How is Lieutenant Commander Fishman?” Quinnivan asked.
“He seems to be unaffected, XO. I was going to ask you if we can release him from his self-quarantine in the half-sixpack room. He should still sleep there, but he should be fine to eat meals in the wardroom.”
Quinnivan looked at Seagraves, who nodded.
“Release him now, Doc,” Quinnivan said. “And send him here.”
“By your leave, Captain, XO?” Thornburg asked formally.
“Dismissed, Doc,” Quinnivan said.
Thornburg withdrew out the aft door as Quinnivan whispered something to Seagraves.
“Well, people,” Seagraves said, addressing the officers, “it looks like we may have to wait some days before we can execute this order. Unless there’s a contingency plan.”
Dankleff spoke up. “Captain, if Fishman’s okay with the idea, the Panther team can deploy these mines under his supervision. Pacino, Varney, and I could do it.”
Seagraves frowned. “I don’t think there’s any way in hell that would work, Mr. Dankleff, but thank you for volunteering. And for volunteering Mr. Pacino and Mr. Varney without their input.”
Fishman knocked on the aft door and came into the room.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Fishman?” Seagraves asked. “And please, have a seat.”
Fishman sat opposite Pacino and put his water bottle on the table. “I’m fine, Captain,” he said simply, his jaw muscles clenching slightly as if he were trying to look tough.
“Commander Fishman,” Quinnivan said formally, looking into Fishman’s eyes, “we’ve been ordered to deploy the swimmer-delivered mines to the hull of the Omega.”
Fishman, as if to delay his response, took a long pull from his water bottle. “Captain, XO, we’ll have to wait until my team is over this bug.”
“There was a suggestion that you might be able to deputize the Panther boarding party officers and use them to help you deliver this payload,” Seagraves said.
Fishman shook his head. “That’s a terrible idea, Captain. We’ve trained for years on dives like this. It’s a mixed gas dive, sir, to depths down to as low as three hundred feet in freezing water, maneuvering a heavy propulsion unit and carrying the mines. We have to decompress afterwards, and that takes some extreme physical conditioning. No offense to you guys,” he said, looking at Dankleff and Pacino, then at Varney. “If we tried this, we’d likely not only lose the mines but the divers as well.”
“You’re certain of that, Commander?” Seagraves said.
“Absolutely, Captain. This dive is for professionals. I recommend we wait, sir, until my guys are released for duty.”
Seagraves put his chin in his hand and looked down at the table. When he looked up, he said, “I want to see the XO, navigator, and Mr. Fishman in my stateroom.”
The three officers filed out of the wardroom. Pacino turned to Dankleff and Varney. “He’s right, you know.”
“Any idea how urgent this order is?” Dankleff asked Eisenhart.
The communicator shrugged. “Nothing in the message saying how long we have to execute it. I can only imagine the bosses wouldn’t want any delays. But taking the three of you slugs out of the dry-deck shelter to deploy mines? Hell, you should leave behind your last will and testament before you do. And a check made out to the Navy for the cost of the mines.”