"This one did."
"It's impossible."
"Goddamn, Fogarty. Can't you shake your mind loose? It used to be impossible, but it isn't anymore."
"It just doesn't make sense—"
"Then tell me why the Russians aren't looking for their missing sub."
"How do you know that?"
"Netts told me," Sorensen said cheerfully. "He came all the way from Washington just to chat with the Ace. You like that?"
"You talked to Admiral Netts?"
"Sure. I'm a big hero, remember?"
"Why would the Russians fake a sinking of their own ship?"
"First, to make enough noise to cover their exit. And if we thought she was sunk, we wouldn't look for her. Come on, Fogarty, think, for chrissake."
"Play the tape one more time."
Sorensen did, and Fogarty felt the first twinges of anger.
"So it was a trick."
"Looks like, kid."
"I grieved for those people—"
"I know you did. An honorable thing to do. Hey, it's not your fault."
"Damn… I'm still not sure I believe it."
"Oh, you believe it, Fogarty. You know it's true."
"How long have you known?"
"Since I played what you just heard. The skipper is going to tell the crew about the Russian sub tonight. And we're going after her, and we'll find her."
"How can you be so sure?"
Sorensen sucked on his beer and looked at Fogarty. "Because of the new system, the deep submergence sonars. The way they work is simple. They laid down cables, like ordinary undersea telephone cables, only as they laid it down, every twenty miles they spliced in a hydrophone. In four thousand miles of cable, there's two hundred sonars, but they're reliable because they send back their signals through the cable. We now have a grid of cables with a total of thirty-six hundred hydrophones in the Atlantic. Some spots, like the Caribbean and the Iceland-Greenland-UK gap, are saturated with phones. Sooner or later the Russians will figure it out. When they do they'll pull their fleet back into the Norwegian Sea and expand their operations in the Pacific and the Mediterranean. For us right now, it means we ought to be able to track this sub, wherever she goes. The game is going to get very interesting. When we go back to sea tonight we have to be ready for anything. What I want to know, Mr. Fogarty, is if you're going to do your job. That's all I ask. Just do your job and cut the crap."
Fogarty picked up the miniature tape recorder and hefted it. He was scared, but he figured that was only natural. He remembered hearing what he thought was the torpedo charging through the water directly at him… but what if—
"I think I will have a beer," he said, opening a bottle. "Look, Ace, explain to me how you wired this into your console."
"Sure, kid."
"And stop calling me 'kid.' "
"The hell you say."
Lopez was standing with the Marine guards at the foot of the submarine pier. "All right, you're the last ones. Let's go."
The pier was crowded with sailors and technicians preparing Barracuda and Vallejo for departure. As they walked along Lopez said, "You ain't gonna bring no reefer on board, are you, Ace?"
"Why, Lopez? You want to get loaded?"
"Just checking."
"What's happening in the real world. Chief? Any traffic out there?" Sorensen waved his arm in the direction of the Atlantic.
"Seems the whole fuckin' ocean is full of Russians. It's gonna be hot. The skipper wants to see you right away. Go change."
Sorensen showered, changed into a jumpsuit and knocked on Springfield's door.
"Come in."
"Chief Lopez said you wanted to see me, sir."
"Sit down, Sorensen."
"Thank you, sir."
"Coffee?"
"Thank you, sir. Black."
Springfield poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Sorensen. "I understand you spoke with Admiral Netts."
"Yes, sir."
"He wants to give you a commission."
Sorensen rattled his coffeecup. "We've been through this before. Captain."
"I know. How many times?"
"Six."
"And you've turned us down each time."
"Yes, sir. I like it fine where I am."
"I told Netts you would say that, but there's a hitch. You can't stay where you are. None of us can. Barracuda is going back to Electric Boat for a major refit. She'll be up there in Groton for two years."
"That's it? They're going to disband the crew?"
"Pretty much. We're sending you to Mare Island and assigning you to Guitarro as chief of the boat."
Sorensen almost dropped his coffee. "Chief of the boat? You're putting me on, Skipper? No sonarman in the navy is chief of the boat."
Springfield smiled. "Some navy traditions are flexible. Netts is willing to make an exception in your case. You'll have to take a couple special rating exams but you'll have plenty of time for that."
"You said Guitarro? I never heard of her."
"She's a new attack sub still on the ways. You'll have the most advanced electronics and sonars. Space on the boat has already been designated as Sorensen's Beach."
Sorensen hadn't expected this, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it… a new ship, a new crew, a new captain and chief of the boat all at once. Too much…
"I don't know what to say, Captain. Thank you. I'll have to think about it."
"That's fine, Sorensen. You think about it as long as you like. Right now we have more immediate concerns. Netts and Pisaro tell me that in your opinion the Russian sub never sank, that it was an acoustic trick of some sort."
"Skipper, what we thought was the torpedo was the sub itself. I think they fired some kind of decoy that sank and imploded."
Springfield tapped a pencil on his desk. "That means that sub went down to at least four thousand feet."
"Yes, sir."
"A Mark thirty-seven won't go that deep. We couldn't shoot her down there, except with a nuke, a Mark forty-five…" He shook his head at the prospect. "But what if you're wrong, Sorensen? What if she did sink?"
"Then I'm wrong. If she's on the bottom, we'll find her."
"Well, I'm betting you're right. It's the safest thing to do. Admiral Netts has had the tape of the sinking analyzed and the sound engineers don't agree. Still, we have to assume that sub is still loose. We don't know where it is or what shape it's in but we do know one thing. That sub got into the Mediterranean undetected, and as far as we know it hasn't come out."
"If it got in, sir, I won't be surprised if it can get out."
"Well… we've increased the number of patrols through the Strait and beefed up the fixed arrays, but this sub isn't our only problem. Four days ago three more Soviet attack subs passed through the Iceland gap and headed south into the Atlantic. We're tracking them through the North Atlantic with SOSUS right now. One of them is riding a picket line about thirty miles out. Clearly the Russians believe they can penetrate the Med, and it seems as though they designed this new class of subs to do just that. You know, until now our missile subs have been able to operate without any trouble in the Ionian Sea. From there they can strike at targets as far away as Moscow. But if the Russians get attack submarines into the Med, they jeopardize our FBMs. This is a whole new ball game for the Soviet Navy. We think they're going after Vallejo, so the first thing we're going to do is help her shake her tail. We're going to have to deal with this picket first. When Vallejo is clear, we're going on station outside the Strait. If we're lucky, we'll catch the mystery boat coming out. Any questions?"
"Yes, sir. Is there a designation for the new sub?"
"Alpha."
"It s one hell of a sub, sir."
"It is. No question about that."