When Federov brought him a meal he asked, "Where are we?"
Federov told him, "Thirty kilometers east of Gibraltar."
"Are we waiting for Arkangel and the others?"
"Yes."
Federov reached for the door.
"Please," Kurnachov said. "Don't go. Give me a moment. The silence is torture."
Federov set down the tray and turned cold eyes on his prisoner. Listless, Kurnachov sat on his bunk and looked away. Federov took a chair.
"All right, what do you want to know?"
"After the collision, what happened to the American submarine?"
"You failed to sink it, Kurnachov. You only succeeded in making them angry."
"How did we escape? Are the Americans searching for us?"
"We fired a decoy, Acoustical Reproduction Device Number Five, which confused them. At first, they were convinced we sank. However, I don't believe their conviction will remain firm. They're searching for a wreck that isn't there."
There was a lingering silence. Finally Kurnachov said, "Must I remain here alone?"
"Several men were injured during the collision and Zadecki died. If I let you out, the crew will attack you."
"That might be preferable to what's waiting for me…"
After Federov left, Kurnachov prolonged his meal as if it were his last. Lifelong devotion to the party could not help him now. There would be a trial; then he would be shot. No military firing squad, no ceremony. In a cellar under Lubyanka, one bullet would be fired into the back of his head.
Kurnachov understood. He was not navy; he was Party.
On Popov's screen three streaks radiated from the west.
"Captain, I have a contact. They're right on schedule. Murmansk, Odessa and Arkangel."
The trio of Soviet submarines roared past, followed at close quarters by Valiant.
"One more and we're home free," said Alexis, the engineer who was now first officer.
For an hour they waited for the second NATO picket to come through, but the submarine west of the Strait remained on station. When it never arrived, Federov knew the gambit to draw off the subs guarding the Strait had failed.
"Take us up," ordered Federov, "we have to go through. We'll die here. Depth two hundred meters, all ahead slow."
"All ahead slow," Alexis repeated the order. "Depth two hundred meters."
For the first time since the collision, Potemkin's great engines rumbled to life. Without Acoustical Reproduction Device Number Seven, the Alpha became the noisiest submarine in the sea.
The bottom sonars in the Strait immediately recorded her presence. British operators on Gibraltar heard the sub, but all their ASW forces were deployed to the east, chasing the three Russian decoys.
Halfway through the Strait Popov heard the first ping of active sonar. Others followed in rapid succession and seemed to come from all directions at once.
"They've locked onto us, Captain."
"Make revolutions for thirty knots," ordered Federov. "There's no point in being coy."
In the engine room the crewmen put cotton balls into their ears. The steam pumps began to hammer and the turbine wailed like a jet engine.
In the turbulent waters of the Strait, Potemkin pitched and bounced like a surface ship. When she reached thirty knots, Federov shouted above the racket, "Increase speed. Thirty-five knots."
Through the Strait, opposite the Bay of Tangiers, Federov ordered, "Make revolutions for full speed. Fifty knots. Let him chase us all the way to the Azores."
24
To Sorensen four miles away, Potemkin sounded like a tank division smashing through a forest. Alone, it was almost as noisy as the three subs that had passed through in the other direction.
"Listen up, Fogarty. Tell me what you hear."
"An earthquake? World War Two and a half?"
"You're such a clever boy… Is this Arkangel coming back?"
Fogarty took off his headset and turned on the overhead speakers.
"No more games, Sorensen. It's the Alpha."
"Right. Sonar to control, contact bearing zero niner two degrees, range seven five zero zero yards, course two seven zero, speed four four knots."
"Control to sonar, say speed again."
"Speed, four four knots, sir, and increasing. Four seven, four niner, five zero knots. Holding steady at five zero knots."
"Jesus," said Pisaro. "I should have joined the Air Force. We need afterburners to catch that thing."
"Control to sonar. Sorensen, do you have identification?"
"Yes, sir. It's our boy."
Pisaro said, "Well, what are we waiting for?"
"Quartermaster, run sonar through the intercom."
"Aye aye, sir."
A moment later every sailor on Barracuda could hear the roar of Potemkin.
"Attention all hands, this is the captain. Gentlemen, you all hear the sound of a submarine operating in close proximity to us. Listen good. That's the same submarine that collided with us. As you know, our orders are to track her, record every sound she makes and, if possible, surprise her on the surface and take her pretty picture. We're going to be up against subs like this one for the next twenty years, we need to know everything about her. She's fast, but we will have assistance from the SOSUS deep-submergence detection system which we tested during our transit from Norfolk to Gibraltar. That is all."
Springfield saw Hoek, looking like some fat bird of prey, poised over his weapons console, trying without success to track the fast-moving target. "Skipper," he said, "she's moving so fast the only way we could stop her would be to lay down a pattern of nukes in her path—"
"Secure intercom," ordered the captain. "Relax, Lieutenant. We're not going to nuke anyone, especially not in the Strait."
As Potemkin swept across Barracuda's bow, heading due west into the Atlantic, the roar.of her machinery was audible directly through the hull without benefit of hydrophones.
"Control to engineering."
"Engineering, aye."
"Chief, give me one hundred percent. Let her rip. All ahead flank, course two seven zero. Right full rudder."
Barracuda nosed into Potemkin's wake and accelerated after the speeding Russian. By the time Barracuda reached her flank speed of forty-seven knots, the distance between the subs had increased to nine miles.
At flank speed, every system in the ship was strained to the limit. In the engineering spaces the heat from the steam lines caused the temperature to rise to ninety degrees, but the sweating nucs hardly noticed until perspiration dripped onto their instruments. Stripped to the waist, Chief Wong methodically inspected every inch of every pipe, tested every gauge, checked every calculation to coax every ounce of power from the turbines. Potemkin still continued to pull away.
Hour after hour, the Alpha struck farther into the Atlantic, deepening the frustration of her pursuers. Sorensen stood in front of his console, arms folded, nodding as if in a trance. On the screen the Russian remained a solid blip in the west, a sun that refused to set. Finally he said, as much to himself as to Fogarty, "I used to have bad dreams about this sub. I used to wake up with the sound of her engines clanging in my ears. The mystery sub. Well, it ain't a mystery anymore. This nightmare is reality."
"You scared, Ace?"
"You're damned right. This Alpha is fast and goes deep, but maybe worst of all is if the Russians believe in it so much they'll think they can get over on us, and that it's worth anything to keep its secrets from us. That makes them doubly dangerous—"