Federov locked the door. Kurnachov smiled, malevolence in his heart. "Comrade Captain First Rank, I believe you deliberately increased the speed of this ship to sabotage Acoustical Reproduction Device Number Seven."
"You can believe whatever you want to believe, or whatever the Party wants for that matter. That's your privilege."
"Your orders were to test the device."
"My orders were to test this ship. The device be damned. I am growing impatient with you, Kurnachov. You seem to forget that we are at sea. My responsibility is to carry out my mission and return my ship and crew safely home. This is a new class of ship, and all these wonderful technological devices are equally new. One of them has been put to the test, and it has failed. So be it. My duty is very clear. The Americans know nothing about the Alpha. At worst they think we are a Viktor. They have never experienced a submarine with a titanium hull. We must disappear before they collect too much information."
"This does not alter the fact that we have been detected."
"The Americans have detected something but they don't know what. Have you forgotten that our orders were to allow ourselves to be detected? That was the whole point of the damned device. Be detected and deceive. Well, we didn't fool them. But they still don't know what we are. If you want to accuse me of sabotage, do it now. If you do, you shall have to relieve me and take command of Potemkin. You have the entire American Sixth Fleet above you and an American submarine on your tail. You have a jittery crew that has been at sea far too long, and half of them know more about the Party line than about operating this ship. First Officer Kurnachov, this would be an excellent moment to demonstrate your seamanship."
The captain unlocked the door and returned to the control room. Kurnachov began formulating his report on the captain's remarks about the Party and Soviet technology. Then he reconsidered. He would act.
On the sonar screen the American fleet could be seen converging on their position. Popov could hear the screws of Kitty Hawk only three miles away. The short burst of speed by both subs had produced a great deal of noise.
The captain plugged in a headphone and listened.
"Where is the American submarine?" he asked Popov.
The terrified operator just shook his head. Barracuda was not on the screen.
Sorensen was astounded at the Russian sub's rate of acceleration. Barracuda was the fastest submarine in the U.S. Navy, but the Russian ship took off like a corvette.
"Contact increasing speed and descending," he said over the intercom. "Range increasing to four zero zero yards, four five zero yards."
The Russian plunged into the depths. "We got us a real Cossack sub driver," Sorensen muttered, then spoke into his mike. "Captain, she's running much faster than anything we've ever seen before. Speed, estimated thirty-five knots."
"Stay on him, sonar. We're going right down with him."
Springfield ordered a steep dive and increased speed. Barracuda angled over and rocketed down.
Thirty seconds into the dive the Russian sub erupted with a sudden burst of noise that caused Sorensen to jump out of his seat. It was, at last, the sub of his dreams — the mystery sub.
Then, abruptly, there was no noise at all. The Russian's prop stopped turning and all machinery noises ceased. Soviet subs were notoriously unreliable. With no duplication of vital machinery, a breakdown of any component of the drive train frequently incapacitated the ship. If that were the case, the Russian captain would have to surface, a development most embarrassing for him.
Sorensen sat back down, ignoring Fogarty's questioning look, and took a deep breath.
Springfield ordered, "All stop." Drifting on momentum, Barracuda descended through a thermal layer and unwittingly passed under Potemkin. At thirteen hundred feet, very close to her test depth, she came to a halt.
The Russian was not on the screens. She was in a blind spot, above Barracuda, obscured by the thermal. Fear of collision swept through the control room.
Since Springfield did not know the Russian's location, he intended to let her know where Barracuda was.
"All ahead, dead slow," Springfield ordered.
"All ahead dead slow, aye."
"Control to sonar. Echo-range."
The broad beam swept all around, but there was no contact.
Sorensen hammered on his console. "C'mon, you son of a bitch, make some noise."
Springfield sent for Davic, the only one aboard who could speak Russian. He was going to try to talk to the Soviet ship on the gertrude.
"Captain First Rank Nikolai Petrovitch Federov, by the authority invested in me, I relieve you of command of Potemkin. Return to your cabin at once."
Face flushed, sweating, black eyes too bright in the control room, Kurnachov held a pistol. Still standing over the sonar console, Federov's first impulse was to laugh. The laughter died in his larynx when Kurnachov cocked the hammer.
"Put the gun away, Kurnachov, before you blow a hole in the ship and kill us all."
"Return to your cabin, at once."
Popov started to stand up. "Captain, no."
Federov pushed him back into his seat. Everyone else in the control room remained at his station. With dignity Federov assumed his military bearing and left the control room without another word.
Still brandishing the pistol, Kurnachov paced around the control room, unsure what to do. After a minute of waffling, he called out, "Stern planes, down twenty degrees. Reverse engines. Slow revolutions."
No one moved. Alexis, the chief engineer, appeared in the control room hatch. "What the hell is going on here?"
Kurnachov moved across the compartment and put the barrel of the pistol in his face. "Chief Engineer, get back to the engineering room."
The engineer stood his ground. "Where is the captain?"
"I am now the captain. Do as you've been ordered."
"Good God. An apparatchik in command of Potemkin."
Shaking his head, the engineer left the control room. Still, nobody moved.
"Planesman, stern planes down twenty degrees or I will charge you with mutiny. I'll also shoot you, you son of a bitch."
The planesman turned his wheel.
"Reverse engines. Slow revolutions."
The hull shuddered once as the turbine started to revolve. The ship began to angle down at the stern and descend backward into the unknown. Kurnachov's heart was beating so fast he thought he might have a seizure. He felt giddy with power. He was in command for the first time in his life. He had, he believed, saved Potemkin.
On Barracuda Davic stood in the control room, holding his asbestos helmet under his arm as he listened to the captain's instructions.
"Tell him to surface. Tell him we will make no attempt to interfere with him or to board his ship."
"Aye aye, sir."
Davic switched on the gertrude. "Pogdorny Sovetski…" he began.
Before he could continue, Sorensen's voice interrupted over the intercom. "Sonar to control, sonar to control. I hear him. Captain, he's right on top of us. He's backing down out of the thermal. Left full rudder."
The helmsman was cranking his joystick before Springfield could give the order. Barely making way. Barracuda slowly turned to the left.
For one terrible moment everyone froze as Potemkin's portside stern plane brushed Barracuda's bow. The impact reverberated through Barracuda's hull like a giant gong.