“Activation sequence transmitted, sir.”
“Report when the mines respond.”
“I’ve got one response! Now two. And three. All three mines are active, sir.”
Fernandez returned to the control room.
“You’re happy with just three mines, sir?”
“Yes,” Gutierrez said. “One might have sufficed. The others are redundant to assure that something in this channel blows up twenty-four to thirty-six hours from now.”
“Where to now, sir?”
“Six knots, course zero-five-five. I have no destination in mind yet, other than getting as far from here as possible.”
CHAPTER 21
His back against his stateroom’s bulkhead, Jake crouched on his heels. He had read the news a day earlier, but his anger lingered, keeping him ready to swipe his paw at the next target that moved.
A day after receiving the message, Jake had left the printed sheet of encrypted letters untouched beside his portable scanner on his desk. His laptop’s optical character recognition software had read the message’s symbols, and then his decryption software had rendered them in plain English on his laptop screen.
He remembered cursing under his breath as he read the note that Olivia had relayed to him from the British prime minister.
It stated that the Ambush had fooled him and had maneuvered behind him. A world-class submarine that outmatched his Specter in every measurable parameter trailed him, and his sonar team remained oblivious to it. His initial impulse had been to warn his team and formulate a plan to break away from his British hunter.
But reason set in, and he realized that the Ambush was not his hunter but instead his overbearing babysitter — provided he performed his mission and prevented himself from provoking it. He likened the Ambush to an infantry officer holding a pistol to his back as he charged a hostile hill. As long as he continued forward, he’d be okay.
Charging forward meant navigating to a rallying point several miles north of the Falkland Islands at a given time and date and then starting a search pattern — one that the Royal Navy had defined for him in explicit hour-by-hour detail — and then continuing that search pattern with the Ambush trailing him turn by turn.
He had given the search pattern to his crew, and they were making the Specter follow it. But he couldn’t force himself to explain that the Royal Navy had defined the search route and taken over their destiny. Shame forced him to stuff the news inside himself, and for more than a day, he suffered alone knowing that he had allowed his crew to become the bait to draw out the San Juan.
Frustration rose within him, and he thumped the back of his head against the bulkhead.
“You dumb ass,” he said.
He allowed one more fantasy of breaking contact from the Ambush to play out in his head. He would increase the Specter’s speed slowly and open a half mile on the Ambush. Then he would command his submarine to its flank speed, deploy active noisemakers to create a wall of bubbles, and blind the British submarine’s sonar. Finally, he would turn and slip away to freedom.
Every time he played the scenario in his mind, the Ambush launched a spread of six torpedoes. Each time, Jake died.
The message from the prime minister stung as he recited the words from memory in a bad British accent.
“Your limpet torpedoes were a clever addition to this conflict. I understand that you have one such weapon left, and I encourage you to use it against the San Juan as you did against the Santa Cruz. For the Royal Navy lacks such weapons, and my orders to the admiralty give the commanding officer of the Ambush great leeway in determining your fate.”
Knocking his head against the bulkhead again, he mumbled.
“Dumb ass.”
He consoled himself by verifying again in his mind that he had followed all the British orders. He followed the prescribed course and speed. With the MESMA system running, he could maintain the eight-knot search for the five-day duration without snorkeling. The Royal Navy had pegged his ship’s capabilities and pushed him to maximize them.
They had even set up a protocol where the Ambush could order him shallow to raise his radio mast for communications.
Avoiding the crudity of transmitting amplified human speech through the water, which could invite unwanted listeners, a three-ping sequence from the British submarine’s sonar system served as the signal for Jake to ascend for further instructions. The pings would be measured in milliseconds of duration — mere clicks.
While Remy’s otherwise watchful eyes fluttered in deep sleep, Jake had set up an automated alert in the Subtics system to identify the active frequency of the Ambush’s sonar signal. For more than a day, the Ambush had remained silent — and so had Jake about the trailing submarine’s presence.
Now he needed to share.
His inner circle joined him in the wardroom.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I’ve withheld news from you that I received in the download almost a day and a half ago. It’s time for me to explain what’s going on. We’ve been pressed into service by the Royal Navy.”
The wiry Claude LaFontaine protested.
“Pierre would never allow that,” he said. “He’s too proud.”
Before Jake could defend himself, Henri interjected.
“You said we were pressed into service. Did you mean against our will? Against Pierre’s will?”
“The bizarre thing in this mess,” Jake said, “is that the Royal Navy is commanding us to do exactly what we want to do and what Pierre wants us to do. They want us to hunt the San Juan.”
“Well that makes sense,” Henri said. “It’s just a formality then? To give the Royal Navy a sense of control after being caught off guard.”
“Not exactly,” Jake said.
He wiggled in his chair, failing to ease a newfound discomfort. Eyes burned on him as he sought the correct words.
“Go ahead, Jake,” Kang said. “How bad can it be?”
The youngster’s enthusiasm encouraged him.
“Turns out, we didn’t catch the Ambush rushing to intercept the Argentine landing forces. It was rushing to trick us into attempting to communicate with it.”
Blank faces.
“Guys, I need to spell it out for you since it’s so strange. The Ambush pretended to drive away, but it really turned around and has been following us for a day and a half.”
Of all the sullen faces, Remy’s turned the most ashen.
“You let the Ambush trail us for a day and a half already, and you didn’t let me know? How was I supposed to set up a sonar search plan to listen for it? How did you expect me to hear it when I don’t know to seek out its particular noise signature?”
“I didn’t, Antoine. I didn’t expect anyone to do anything different. One reason I didn’t tell you was so that we could all experience this for a while and realize that this changes nothing. The Ambush is really just our babysitter. We are still committed to doing what we agreed to do, together, regardless of any political games back in civilization.”
“What if we decide not to follow British orders?” Henri asked. “What if we attempt to break contact and run?”
“The Ambush would attempt to sink us,” Jake said. “And it would probably succeed.”
“Didn’t you think this was worth telling us?” Henri asked.