A fugitive thought stole across his mind, that he should look at the house long and hard because he wouldn’t see it again for a long time. He found himself wondering why that had occurred to him, because the mission was a one or two-week excursion. Three at the most.
When he walked into the house the curtain of warm air was overwhelming after the wet cold outside. He took off his heavy overcoat and went into the central living room to see Donchez and Steinman. And Janice.
“Mikey,” Donchez’s rough voice boomed. “Long day, huh?”
“One of many, sir.”
The three sat down. Janice told Pacino she’d be upstairs, waiting for him.
Donchez pulled out a Havana, shooting an inquiring look at Pacino. Pacino nodded, knowing Janice would be annoyed but also knowing that Donchez couldn’t think without a cigar shoved into his face. Donchez offered one to him and Steinman, and all of them lit up at once.
“Mikey, you’ve heard about Rocket Ron’s Augusta. What have you heard about David Kane’s Phoenix?”
“Nothing. Should I have?”
“Afraid so,” Steinman said.
Pacino frowned as he listened to the story. He read David Kane’s last transmission, his emotions numbed, but his brain flashing through the tactical problems. By the time the cigars were cold stubs smoldering in the ash tray, he had the ugly picture.
“Mikey, your job is to find the Destiny before he finds you, then kill him with maximum possible force. I hate to saddle you with this last, but keep in mind that what has allowed us to come this far in tracking the Destiny are the messages from Daminski and Kane. I want you to try to get through to us what you’re up against.”
“Anyone have any idea what this submarine is up to? He’s got to be doing something other than acting as a bus for Sihoud.” Pacino looked from Steinman’s face to Donchez’s. Whatever they knew, they weren’t telling. “Fine. Let me know whatever intel you get.”
Donchez and Steinman stood. “We’ve bothered you enough tonight, Mikey.” All three walked to the door. A look passed between Donchez and Steinman.
“I’ll be out at the car checking in with the watch officer at sublant,” Steinman said. He shook Pacino’s hand. “Good luck. Patch. Take this SOB down.”
“Watch sublant for me, Roy,” Pacino said, trying to smile. “When I get back I want that outfit standing tall and waiting for me.”
“I’ll be ready to be relieved by the time you get back. Hell, my desk’s already half full of your stuff. But are you sure you want a desk job?”
Pacino glanced at Donchez. Steinman waved and took the stairs to sand level two at a time. His shoes crunched through the seashells on the walk out to the staff car.
Donchez stood in the foyer, the cold wind blowing in the open door. “I asked Roy to give us a few minutes alone,” Donchez said, pulling out another cigar and bringing it to life with his old Piranha lighter.
“The usual pep talk, right, sir?”
“I just didn’t want Roy to know what I’m thinking about the Destiny,” Donchez said, annoyed at his own transparence.
“Which is that Sihoud is up to something, something dirty he’d like to bring home to us here. That sub is invisible and invincible — if you were driving a 688 boat. Seawolf is the only thing that can put this guy on the bottom, and only then if you find him and surprise him. If you can’t sneak up on him I want you to clear datum and try later. You got that, Captain Pacino? I’m not just saying this for you, either. We can’t afford to lose your boat if you get impatient.”
“Come on. Admiral. I’ll make sure I get a clean shot at him.”
“I’ve lost two submarines already, Mikey. Daminski was one of my j.o.‘s in the old days. It hurt bad to lose him. I can’t afford to lose a third. General Barczynski would have a few pounds of my posterior if Seawolf takes a hit.”
“Admiral,” Pacino said, moving Donchez through the door, “don’t sweat it, I’ve got the bubble.”
Donchez stood his ground in the doorway. “I could send your relief on this mission. Joe Cosworth. He could do it and leave you free to relieve Roy at sublant. Janice would like that. Have you considered that?”
“No way, sir. Seawolf is still mine and I’m taking her out one last time.”
Donchez looked over Pacino again, nodded.
“Good luck. Patch. Good hunting. And be god damned careful.”
On the third floor of the house, Pacino looked at Janice’s face, knew what was coming as he grabbed his duffel bag, threw in some fresh uniforms and zipped it shut.
“He’s sending you on a suicide mission, Michael. I heard — they’ve already lost two ships, one with Rocket Ron, for God’s sake. And now you’re next. He said he’d let Cosworth go, let him.”
Pacino waited for a pause. “Honey, you must not have heard Donchez say that Seawolf is the only ship that can knock out the Destiny. We’re driving the best submarine, the best warship, there is. All I have to do is find this guy and it’s over—”
“For him or you?”
Pacino looked at his wife for some moments, taking in her beauty, even in the midst of the anger.
“I’ll be back in three weeks, Jan.” He moved out to the balcony hallway and opened Tony’s door, his eight-year-old son deep in sleep. He kissed the boy’s cheek, then walked quietly down the stairs. Janice followed him out the door to the car.
“I’m sorry …” she said, “you’re right. You don’t need this for a sendoff.”
Pacino kissed her. “I know you’ll worry, but we’ll be okay.”
“I know you will, Michael. I know …”
He backed the car out into the street and spun the wheels in first gear. He didn’t see her crying in the mirror but he knew she was.
Chapter 22
Tuesday, 31 December
Pacino felt better the moment he arrived at the dry dock. The dock was completely flooded, the gangway suspended by cables to one of the railroad-wheeled cranes. The dock roared with the sounds of powerful diesel engines, the loudest coming from Seawolf herself; a plume of diesel exhaust fumes poured out of the aft part of the submarine’s green sail, since the reactor was not yet self-sustaining and the emergency generator had to be run to supply ship’s electrical loads now that she was divorced from shorepower. Aft of the sub a tugboat was pulling backward, several lines attached to the caisson, the gate of the dock; soon the tug was halfway into the channel. Two other tugs idled further into the channel, waiting to pull the ship away from the dock and the shipyard and point her to sea. Pacino hated seeing the tugs, the fact that his submarine was still helpless irritated him. Somehow it was wrong for a warship to need a crutch to get to sea.
But soon the ship would be plowing the channel with her own muscle, and until then at least she was free of the shipyard.
Pacino crossed the gangway, hearing the blast of the sentry’s announcement on the ship’s Circuit One PA system, amplified on the dry dock’s outside loudspeakers: “SEAWOLF, ARRIVING!” Call it vain, but he did love hearing himself announced as he came aboard. He saluted the flag aft and the sentry and stepped onto the green hull. He tossed his bag down the ladder way and lowered himself into the ship, the familiar submarine smell somehow grabbing his attention, the thick vapor of cigarette smoke and cooking grease and diesel exhaust and ozone from the high-voltage equipment reminding him to leave home and Janice and Tony behind and concentrate on the Destiny and the mission ahead. He shouldered his way down the busy passageway to his middle-level stateroom, wondering what the captain of the Destiny was doing at that moment, what he was like, how he fought a submarine. Not that it mattered now, Pacino thought. He’d know from personal experience soon enough.