“Knowledge is as dangerous as it is powerful.”
“And you have been graced with plenty of it,” Hamdan said. “You have no right to keep it to yourself. Not anymore. Not this close to America.”
Salem felt cornered.
“You are correct, my brother. I have no right. But I have a responsibility, and I will share with you why. Despite what you may have heard, the Americans — at least their best people, the ones who would interrogate us if captured — are cunning in their methods. They ascertain when a man is lying and break him. In the event that we are captured, I am sparing you from torture.”
Ire rose in Hamdan’s eyes.
“Capture? Why dare think of it? If you placed your purpose above your life, it would be far from your mind.”
“War always has unpredictable outcomes,” Salem said. “We must prepare for random contingencies.”
“Are we carrying nuclear weapons?”
“No.”
“There were radiation monitoring devices.”
“The devices mean that the ship is capable of nuclear weapons. This load out is conventional.”
“How can you be certain?”
“The tactical system indicates that the Popeye missiles have a range of only two hundred and ten nautical miles. This short range indicates a conventional warhead, which is heavier than a nuclear warhead. When using a nuclear yield, you would see a longer range.”
“But we can still attack land targets. We have ten missiles loaded. You must tell me why we’re wasting this arsenal and this ship on a single destroyer!”
Salem grew irate, forgetting his fear of the soldier.
“Wasting? No, you fool. I asked you to trust me, but I see you have discounted the courage and skill I have displayed. Well then, let me enlighten you, and let you bear the burden of the knowledge.”
“There is nothing you can share that I am unwilling to bear.”
“Very well. There is another tanker sailing to Halifax which is carrying Shahab III ballistic nuclear missiles on launch rails in one of its emptied oil tanks. We are attacking the Bainbridge to prevent it from defeating the Shahab missiles in flight. The missiles have a destiny with the people of America.”
“Hana, I had no idea… This is—”
“Magnificent. Glorious. Brilliant. You need no more details to grasp the significance. America has become a void of purpose and integrity, and nature abhors a vacuum. A shock is required for America to regain equilibrium with its surroundings, and we are enforcing nature’s laws. Are you now content that our destiny is proper?”
“Yes, Hana,” Hamdan said. “And I will share this with nobody. The younger ones will take renewed faith in my renewed faith.”
“See to it.”
Renard checked the time, slowed the Mercer to ten knots, and ascended to snorkel depth. As the Zafar-Leviathan tandem steamed five miles ahead, Renard had Henri raise the induction mast and charge the batteries with the Mercer’s diesel engines.
“You’re not worried about the Zafar seeing our induction mast?” Jake asked.
“They have given no sign that they are looking behind themselves for such a danger, and we appear miniscule from their perspective. Why would you question it now when we’ve done this many times?”
“Because we’re close to finishing this.”
“Now is time for confidence — not paranoia. What happened to your aura of being charmed?”
“Hell if I know, Pierre. Doesn’t matter anymore, though. It’s time for me to hide. I’m going to the engineering spaces with Claude.”
“You could probably get away with staying here and greeting the SEALs as long as you didn’t speak. Your French is impeccable, but I’m afraid your lack of French accent when speaking English would be a dead giveaway.”
“Probably.”
“And your musculature might create suspicion as well.”
“And knowing my luck, one of my naval academy classmates would be with them and recognize me. I’m heading aft.”
Renard reached for Jake’s arm.
“Not so fast,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re commanding this ship in my absence.”
“I know. I’ve done it before.”
“The men trust you. I trust you. I want you to know this.”
“Why the drama?”
“Remain alert. Keep your wits about you. That’s all I ask.”
“Pierre, this is easy. Running from the U.S. Navy across the world in a Trident is hard. Chasing down a rogue Pakistani Agosta submarine across the Pacific Ocean is hard. This time it’s a team effort, and the good guys have our backs.”
“Regardless. When I’ve departed and you return to this room, you are commanding a warship. Prepare yourself mentally while you have the time to do so.”
Renard watched his protégé walk away. As he turned to the operations room, he saw Henri standing before him.
“He’s a good man, Pierre. A rare find. I remember when you first recruited him. You had no doubt. Why do you doubt him now?”
“Something about the reunion with his brothers. One of them planted a seed of doubt in his mind.”
“He’s stronger than that,” Henri said.
“Perhaps it is more.”
“How so?”
“The reunion may have been a catalyst for a rupture in his mind. I fear that his return to the States hurt him. It dashed his dreams of going back to the life he once had. His attempt to go home proved that he was homeless. I blame myself for allowing it.”
“You had to help him try.”
A young mercenary entered the room and gestured to Renard to follow him.
“Manage operations for me here,” Renard said.
“Of course,” Henri said.
Renard followed the mercenary to the aft hatch and climbed a step ladder. He turned an ear upward to listen. A gentle, high pitched note vibrated from above.
“You are correct, lad,” Renard said. “Our guests have arrived. I would never attempt this unless I knew that experts were piloting a minisub above me. And if I’m wrong, I’ll thank the next submarine designer I see for making hatches open outward. If there’s sea pressure on it, it will prevent me from doing something stupid.”
Renard twisted a ring of metal that unlocked the hatch. When it clicked, he rotated the metal ring further, held his breath, and pushed. He was surprised and relieved when he felt the hatch rise by its own will.
Backlit by fluorescent lighting and the familiar concavity of a submarine’s interior, a stern face appeared above. After scanning the inner environs of the Mercer, the face locked eyes with Renard and transmuted itself into a smile.
“Good morning,” it said.
“Good morning.”
“Lieutenant Commander Tony Gomez,” Gomez said. “United States Navy. SEAL Team Four.”
“Pierre Renard, commanding officer of the Mercer.”
“The what?”
“Excuse me. That’s a nickname we’ve given the ship. This is the pre-commission unit Razak. You’re welcome to come aboard.”
Gomez’ face receded from view, and a knotted rope fell into the ship. Moments later, a figure raced down the rope, swung itself aside the stepladder, and landed on its toes. It held a rifle pointed upwards but scanned the room for targets.
Renard blinked, and a second figure, bulkier than the first, slid behind the first, facing the other way. He noticed thickness at their chests suggesting body armor, and he was surprised to note that their camouflage employed colors of gray, sand, and beige. He had expected black wet suits, but the colors registered in his mind as being appropriate for the inside of the Leviathan.