Danilov snatched the headphones from his sonarman. “I’ll listen,” he growled. “It’s been too damn quiet — until now.” With little neck to speak of, Danilov assumed a froglike appearance with the dark-padded phones enveloping his ears. He cocked his head to one side, eyes staring sightlessly into space, concentrating on the sounds outside the sub. He made a motion with his hand to the sonarman, who began to manipulate his dials very slowly, eyes closed, listening to the same sounds.
The listening device could be concentrated on a very narrow beam to magnify the sound and isolate its source.
Danilov held up his hand for the sonarman to stop the dial. The admiral listened intently, then said, “Sergoff… the recorder. I want this on tape.” To the sonarman, he added, “You fiddle with the dials. When each sound is at perfect peak, Sergoff will record it for me.”
The process went on for half an hour. Danilov would move his index finger in a small circle, indicating they should go on to the next clear signal. When he put up his hand, the dialing would stop and the sonarman would fine-tune his equipment until it was at its peak for recording.
At one point, Danilov queried his sonarman. “When was the last time you had such perfect sound?”
“Rarely, sir.” The man shrugged. “Then again, this water is very cold. Sound travels much farther… and clearer,” he added as he saw Danilov’s hand raise to indicate the next loud, clear signal coming over the sonar, “The water temperature is much the same in our home waters.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you ever before heard anything like this in Soviet waters?”
The man shook his head. “Never, sir.”
“Nor do I think you ever will.” When he was satisfied, he removed the headset for a moment. “Now, what we are going to do”—he addressed no one in particular—“is compare these sounds we have to those recordings you train on in sonar school. Sergoff, you too — you have a good ear.”
The leading sonar technician also donned a set of headphones, and the four men listened intently as Danilov operated the equipment himself. First, he would switch on the training tapes used in sonar school. Then he would play the one they had just recorded to identify similarities.
After each comparison, Sergoff would just shrug. He could differentiate nothing. Occasionally, Danilov would note a difference, each time attracting the leading technician’s attention to it. There was little change in the man’s expression. But Danilov was persistent. He insisted on playing certain comparisons again and again, switching from the actual recording provided by the fleet sonar school to those they had just heard.
“Can’t you hear it?” Danilov exploded in frustration, aware that these men were much better trained than he would ever hope to be. “Isn’t it too perfect?”
The leading technician’s forehead wrinkled with exasperation. The admiral was correct. “Yes, I see what you mean, sir… but it could just be a freak of nature.”
“Can you run a comparison on the computer? You know — decibels, frequencies, clarity — whatever you people understand?”
The technician looked warily at Sergoff, who only nodded that he should concur. “Yes, sir. I will do everything I can.”
While Danilov waited impatiently, pacing from one end of the small control room to the other, the loudspeaker was turned on overhead so that they could continue to listen to exactly what his sonar was picking up. No matter where they turned, a cacophony of sound greeted them. New noises would drown out or replace others on the same bearing. At one point, Sergoff remarked that what they were experiencing must be similar to being in a madhouse.
It is a madhouse, Danilov agreed silently, once again moving over to the quartermaster’s table to consult his chart. But this is a man-made one. I am so sure of that that I would gamble my life. If that computer is as good as we are told by those greedy swine who build them, then it will agree with me. Then he paused, grinning to himself. He despised those scientists in the white smocks who built those computers and constantly told the Kremlin how wonderful they were, Now here he was, almost insisting that their computer agree with him.
“Most unusual. Admiral,” the leading sonar technician interrupted. Without a second thought, he laid his printouts directly over the chart Danilov had been studying. Sergoff’stepped forward, but the admiral, seeing how excited the man had become, waved him off. The sailor continued impetuously, “Look at these, sir. The whale sounds. We know how they may vary along a certain part of the frequency spectrum and we can often record it. But look at that.” He tapped the figures with a forefinger. “The sounds seem to vary to our ear, but the computer records this all on the same frequency.”
The man’s excitement was infectious. Sergoff leaned over to see the figures for himself. Danilov’s expression was more animated than at any time since they’d left Polyarnyy. In most instances on the printouts, the proof was limited at best, yet there was evidence that the recordings they had just made were of man-made sounds… at least, they were emanating from a man-made instrument.
“You see, Sergoff,” the admiral finally announced, “it is not a madhouse out there. It is more like a fanfare. These are the trumpets and the banners to announce the approach of this Imperator. Admiral Reed quite rightly doesn’t want us to record anything of value on our sonar before they are ready to meet us head to head. This is his way of preparing us. And, it is very effective…” His voice softened as he considered how well thought out this ploy really had been.
“What do you wish to do?” Sergoff inquired, already certain there was no answer.
“Nothing… nothing at all. Wouldn’t you say that he would be planning on our moving to another position to try to locate his great sea monster?”
“I would stay right here myself,” Sergoff responded. He knew in an instant he should have added that before Danilov asked him the last question.
“Whenever a man wants you to make the first move, even in chess where you think the gentleman might be very foolish, be cautious,” Danilov said with emphasis. “It is to Admiral Reed’s advantage to find us before we find him. He would like to drive us out of the madhouse, as you called it. But, he created the madhouse.” Danilov was unconcerned that his opponent had made the first move. “So we’ll stay right here for a while.”
Hal Snow stared at the clutter of papers on his desk, trying to remember what he’d just read. None of the sentences he glossed over now seemed familiar. How many times had he read them? It was no use. He’d never been a paperwork man before, and it was doubtful that he would change now. Imperator, or rather Caesar, was sailing his vessel. The commanding officer was the senior passenger. It was something he would never accept.
Snow turned the chair to face his remote terminal, which had just been repaired. Of all the remote terminals on board, his was the only one that required repair since they’d departed the fishbowl. That hadn’t improved his attitude either.
He slipped on the access switch and punched in his code. Caesar responded with a cheery, “HOW MAY I HELP YOU, CAPTAIN SNOW?” across the screen. Snow queried sailing status. The details appeared on the screen without hesitation. There were now 296 feet of water under the keel and their current course was gradually bringing them into deeper water. Checking the time, he knew the watch was preparing for scheduled satellite communications.