Boris had not felt better in months. The tanks were in good shape. His fuel and supplies had been delivered, and his men were ready to fight. They didn’t know their purpose, nor did they care. All had returned to the base and were sleeping soundly in the barracks. Soon they would move. He waited only for the signal that would send him rolling into Moscow.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Acquirement
Bumper heard the old freighter coming from miles away. Running at top speed, she made one of the most earsplitting noises he had ever tracked. For at least thirty hours, he had watched Josh off and on checking the ship’s progress before his computers could pick her up. It was a straight route to the sub. Lincoln had moved the War Eagle into position, and now they were a few thousand yards beyond.
Jim had popped in periodically over the last six hours, and again he showed up. “How’s it coming, Bump?”
“Headed right for us and making good time. I’ve got her about five thousand yards due south of the ship.”
Bumper’s sonar operator butted in. “Ship reducing speed. Now running at one-third.”
Jim had held out hope up until now that something would happen to diffuse the situation. Now it became apparent what was to take place. “Okay. I’ll be in CIC. Keep me informed.”
“Aye, Cap.”
He walked past the RRCC and saw Josh asleep in his chair. He gave him a light nudge. “Open your blinker, Captain. We’ll need it.”
Josh woke quickly and flipped on ODIS to locate the nearest satellite.
Jim continued to the CIC. The room held every officer, waiting to be instructed. They knew that it was time. “Let’s go quietly to general quarters.” They filed off to their posts to prepare. “Ship status?”
“Depth is two hundred and sixty, with forty feet under our bow,” replied Lincoln.
“Not much room to hide in.”
“No, sir,” Lincoln agreed.
The intercom crackled. “Conn sonar. The freighter just dropped an active buoy!”
“Fill the tanks. Put her on the floor. All stop. No one talk!” Jim wasn’t expecting the old freighter to have any sonar buoys. He had positioned his sub close, and the danger of being found had increased tenfold.
The War Eagle responded quickly and quietly nestled herself on the bottom. She rolled to a five-degree angle and came to a rest in a shallow depression covered by solid rock to her port and starboard.
“Status sonar?” requested Jim.
“She’s pinging away, trying to find their vessel. Shouldn’t take them long. She’s just a stone’s throw.”
“Hope they don’t find us instead,” remarked Lincoln.
“We’ll play dead Russian submarine if they do. Just another hunk of shit in the graveyard.”
A sudden ping rang through the ship, and it stopped everyone. It was the confirmation that there was no turning back. Another ping rang past.
Mikhail joined the men in the CIC. “That bastard. Stemovich is going to arm his ship.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Blow it up now. Send a torpedo right into its side. Then sink the freighter. We’ll pick up the survivors and beach them on the coast.” Mikhail was adamant about his suggestion.
Jim only scowled.
“Stop a crisis now, Captain. Before it’s too late,” pressed Mikhail. “There’s more to this than we know. There’s always something more.”
Another ping rang through the ship. Then the pings grew steady and constant.
The box cracked again. “Conn, sonar. They got her.”
Jim didn’t answer Mikhail.
The Barents was showing a peculiar calmness. It was something Andri wasn’t used to, and it made him edgy as he stared over the bow of the freighter. The gray clouds hung above in a stalking sort of way, giving the impression that they were waiting to strike.
The ship had glided to a stop, indicating that sonar had found a vessel where he had marked it on his map. One of the crew hustled his way, shouting that they had registered an object, and he waved back, signaling that he understood. It is at hand. The time he had waited for was going to be realized when he dove on his submarine and raised her to the surface.
Six men were on deck, jumping into dive suits when Andri approached. A tank and a suit were laid out for him. He stripped in the cold and began to fit himself. There was an air of excitement among the others, but they tried to hide it. All this was business, nothing else. No one spoke.
Mohsen and George arrived in good spirits. George especially. He had determined that they were doomed, so he found the nearest bottle of vodka and began to sip. He had told Mohsen he needed to rest and locked himself in his cabin and gotten drunk for half the trip. He woke up with a hangover and began again. This time with a little moderation. Later, he cleaned himself up and grabbed some chow with the crew then returned to his quarters. The $200 million never left his side. He figured now it was the only thing keeping him from becoming fish food. That, and that Stemovich must not be a cold-blooded killer. For thirty-six hours, George knew his fate rested in the hands of Andri. One word from him, and both Mohsen and he could have gone for a swim. It was obvious that there was an objective to what Andri was doing. He also knew that delivering a sub to Kuwait probably wasn’t it. That possibility went out the window when they sailed from port.
He stood behind Mohsen and watched as the men put on the last of their gear. Mohsen was ecstatic. George thought he was going to shit in his pants as the men made their descent over the side. He had come to think little of Mohsen. Whatever happened to him, George figured he deserved it. He was trying to think of a way of saving his own life. He felt it would come to that. He also felt that he would have to threaten burning the money or throwing it over the side to remain alive. Something that drastic in exchange for a small lifeboat. Yet a boat without the company of Mohsen.
Sergei, too, came to see the men off. He bothered George. George knew he was aware of what was locked to his wrist and thought that at any time his crew would have cut his hand off to get it. George also noticed that there were few men aboard who were actually the ship’s crew. In fact, he hardly saw anyone other than the men designated to the sub. He knew there were men in the ship’s engine room and a few on the bridge. Other than that, only a few were available to do the essentials. Maybe twelve in the whole ship’s complement. Enough left over to run the cranes in the cargo holds. Stemovich’s crew had them outnumbered, and that fact kept George safe for the moment. Any way he looked at it, he was going to get fucked very soon.
Sergei slapped Andri on the shoulder as he stepped down. “We’ve got it about one hundred meters to port. Bring her up slowly so we don’t collide.”
Andri nodded and continued his descent over the side.
Sergei turned around right into the smiling Mohsen. George knew what was going through his mind. He could tell from the look on his face that he was waiting for the opportunity to toss Mohsen over. Mohsen still was oblivious to the situation, and George felt like he needed another drink. He leaned over the side and watched as the men disappeared under the dark water.
“Are you excited, Mohammed?” Mohsen asked.
George scowled, wondering how Mohsen ever rose to the rank he occupied. “Very,” he replied.
“Soon we will have all our goals accomplished, and our country will be free to do as it pleases. You and I, friend, will be heroes.”