Henri nodded and departed. Renard turned to the table and raised his glass.
“To solving two mysteries — that of the object being towed by the Zafar, and that of the missing Leviathan. Let their resolutions be as I expect — one in the same.”
An hour later, Renard buzzed with the energy of tactical gaming.
Technical advances in data processing allowed a team of only four to gather and interpret sonar data. Jake drifted over the shoulders of Renard’s mercenary team, assimilating, filtering, and presenting information gleaned from a world of sonic directions, propagation strengths, and frequencies, while Remy, with his impeccable wisdom, teamed up with two younger men who had joined the crew for a sizable payout after proving themselves competent to contacts Renard retained in the French Navy.
Jake stood over a vacant Subtics station, studying its monitor.
“How far?” Renard asked.
“Two miles,” Jake said. “We hear the Zafar on at least five mechanical frequencies, blade rate, and broadband noise. No sounds of a submarine in tow.”
“Is our depth still optimized for listening?”
“Unless you want to change assumptions about cable length and angle, but there’s no reason to change.”
“Indeed,” Renard said. “I know this. I’m just realizing that listening for a submarine becomes a challenge when it’s not responsible for generating its own propulsion. Keep listening.”
“We need to speed up, or they’ll pass us by.”
“All the more challenging that we haven’t heard anything from the submarine yet.”
Renard braced his palms against the silvery railing surrounding the conning platform.
“Henri,” he said. “All ahead two-thirds, make turns for thirteen knots.”
“Thirteen knots, aye, sir.”
Renard felt a mild shudder as the Scorpène-class submarine accelerated. He checked with Jake that the Zafar remained one mile behind them, and one mile to the side, as the Mercer attained thirteen knots.
“This is ideal,” Renard said. “They will overtake us to the north with a closest point of approach of one nautical mile. It will take them two hours to draw equal to us and then move ahead of us a mile down track. This gives us every opportunity to listen to what they’re towing.”
“Except that our systems are starting to become degraded at thirteen knots,” Jake said, “due to our own flow noise. We may miss some of the quieter sounds.”
“Indeed,” Renard said. “But I assume there is a submarine with men aboard it being towed by that tanker. They are going to make a mistake that puts noise in the water — something as simple as dropping a fork or securing a door to a latch. And when they do, we will hear it.”
An hour later, the Mercer’s operations room held a musky scent of body odor and tobacco. Renard inhaled from a Marlboro to soothe the tension building inside him. The postures of the men before him sagged.
“Anything?” he asked.
Jake shook his head.
Another hour later, Renard sat in a foldout chair behind the periscopes on the elevated conning platform. He lit a fresh Marlboro.
“They’re a mile ahead of us now,” Jake said. “Whatever they’re towing is passing us by now, too. They’re pulling away, Pierre, and we haven’t heard shit.”
“I know,” Renard said as he stood.
“Two and a half hours remaining on the battery at this speed,” Henri said.
“How long until nightfall?”
“Four hours,” Henri said.
Jake appeared in front of him.
“This is going to be tedious,” he said. “We’re going to have to snorkel soon, and we can’t risk being seen.”
“I know,” Renard said. “It is unfortunate that we have yet to hear evidence of a submarine in tow, but it is not unexpected. We will let the Zafar open range to five miles and then snorkel under cover of night.”
“And if they see us? It is possible. What if they are armed with anti-submarine weapons? What if the Leviathan is there, hears us, and the Zafar somehow signals it to send a torpedo at us?”
“Then they will have failed in whatever mission they hope to accomplish,” Renard said. “Because they know we will respond with a salvo of our own. Because they also know that if a submarine is spying on them, there are likely other assets assisting us, as are presently two P-3 Orion aircraft patrolling within range.”
“You know damned well that the Iranians may not care. A one-for-one exchange with a western submarine may be a bigger prize than whatever they’re after.”
“Unlikely, given that the Leviathan has four Popeye land-attack cruise missiles aboard and is likely heading to New York under tow.”
Jake ran his hand through his hair.
“We know the Leviathan’s weapons load out?”
“Yes,” Renard said. “The Israeli ambassador was recently authorized to share all information we requested about the Leviathan, its crew, and its ill-fated patrol.”
“Nuclear tipped?”
Renard blew smoke into the overhead piping.
“No,” he said. “The ambassador assured this. The Popeyes have conventional warheads, and that is comforting.”
“Not comforting for the people of New York,” Jake said. “Why isn’t one of those P-3 Orions pinging the heck out of that tanker with active sonobuoys and pounding whatever it’s towing with air-dropped torpedoes? For that matter, why the heck isn’t somebody just crippling that tanker or at least boarding it?”
“That would happen,” Renard said, “well before that tanker reaches Popeye missile range of the American coast, in the event that we fail. However, a decision has been made to retrieve the Leviathan in one piece.”
“Shit, Pierre. Are you serious?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Several factors. The Israelis lost a submarine named the Dakar decades ago, and they had trouble finding it. It became a sentimental subject. And I don’t need to remind you of the importance of proper disposal of the Israeli crew’s bodies. If there are corpses still aboard, there are family members who want access to them.”
“Emotional factors,” Jake said.
“Not exclusively. Also consider the fallout to the German-subsidized submarine program that supplies Israel with its undersea fleet. Public knowledge of a hijacking and loss of a submarine will put the program in jeopardy.”
“So people are actually going to try to keep this a secret,” Jake said. “Return the Leviathan to home port in one piece and make a cover story for the crew?”
“Indeed. And pressure families of the crew to bite their tongues.”
Jake shook his head and laughed through his nose.
“What’s wrong,” Renard asked. “Is this scenario sounding all too familiar, except that you’re not on the rogue side of it?”
“Maybe,” Jake said. “But what I don’t get are two things. One — is there a submarine being towed behind that tanker. And two — a way to make it turn around and head back home if it’s there.”
“I’m as frustrated as you are about not having heard the Leviathan, but I have faith that it is there and that we will find it before it would have to be destroyed. We have several days yet.”