Marines patrolled the wharf and the immediate vicinity, their weapons ready. Trident missile movements were serious business, with the Marines assigned to Kings Bay locking down the transit route between the stowage bunkers and the explosive handling wharf. Also on the wharf were several passengers waiting to embark: the Group Ten admiral, the Squadron Twenty commodore, and three civilians: a tall software engineer with a backpack, a female NCIS agent, and a senior engineer from Strategic Systems Programs.
The missile on-load didn’t take long. The wharf crew was proficient and there was only one missile to load, and tube Twenty-one soon had a new occupant. Skogstad watched as the missile muzzle hatch swung slowly shut, sealing the missile inside the tube. As the wharf crew prepared to extract Maryland from the explosive handling building, Skogstad ordered the Officer of the Deck to station the Maneuvering Watch.
Several hours later, after transiting the St. Marys River into the Atlantic Ocean, Maryland surged east through dark green water. The skies were overcast, the clouds blending into a dull gray haze on the horizon. There was only one contact in the vicinity: a surface ship a few miles away, assigned to provide video surveillance of the missile launch, mirroring Maryland’s track.
Steve Kaufmann stood on the Bridge between Maryland’s Commanding Officer and Officer of the Deck. Lieutenant Andrew Wells scanned the horizon with his binoculars, as did the two lookouts standing atop the submarine’s sail inside the Flying Bridge — a fancy name for a few stanchions with a rope tied between them.
A report echoed from the Bridge box — a carry-on-suitcase-sized communication device plugged into the cockpit. “Bridge, Nav. Passing the one-hundred-fathom curve outbound.”
Wells acknowledged the report, then glanced at the Bridge display unit, as did Skogstad, checking Maryland’s progress toward the dive point.
“Shift the watch below decks,” Skogstad ordered. “Prepare to dive.”
A few minutes later, after shifting the watch below decks and securing the Bridge, USS Maryland submerged, settling out at a keel depth of eighty feet.
Skogstad turned to Kaufmann. “It’s your turn now.”
Commander Skogstad escorted Kaufmann and the SSP engineer, along with Lyman, the admiral, and the commodore, into the Missile Compartment. Awaiting them beside tube Twenty-one were the submarine’s Weapons Officer — Lieutenant Tom Martin — and two missile technicians: a chief and a petty officer first class.
Everyone had been briefed and the process was straightforward, but the crowded gathering made Kauffman nervous. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and opened his backpack, extracting a laptop computer, which he turned on, and a connector with a male USB head on one end and two alligator clips on the other.
Kaufmann plugged the USB end into his computer, then pointed to a thick black cable attached to the side of the missile tube. “I need you to disconnect the cable.”
He waited as a Byzantine series of orders and repeat-backs ensued between the Weapons Officer, chief, and petty officer, and the cable was disconnected.
Knowing this procedure would need to be done to hundreds of missiles by personnel without Kaufmann’s background, he’d designed the system to be user-friendly. He had, in fact, built an app for it, which could be loaded onto any personal computer. Additionally, although the connector Kaufmann was using today was crude, they could also design one that plugged into the missile tube connector instead of using alligator clips, simplifying the process even further.
Without a predesigned cap to ensure the computer was connected to the proper missile tube pins, he referred to a schematic that Lieutenant Martin provided. After examining the drawing, Kaufmann connected the alligator clips to two pins, which the SSP engineer verified, giving Kaufmann permission to proceed.
It was about as simple as it got. Energize the navigation card and activate the Russian algorithm, which would then burn the chip out. Kaufmann moved the cursor on his computer over the app, then tapped it.
Data scrolled down his computer screen: the navigation card energized, the Russian algorithm activated, and the chip sent a navigation update to flight control, which the missile disregarded in its current state. The chip should have then burned out, which the app verified by sending an identical command to activate the Russian algorithm. The navigation card ignored it.
Success.
Kaufmann disconnected the alligator clips from the missile tube. “You should be good to go now. The Russians won’t be able to mess with this missile.”
The Weapons Officer ordered the umbilical reattached to the tube and for the chief to run diagnostics on the missile. Commander Skogstad led the group back to Control, where they were joined a short time later by the Weapons Officer, who addressed the submarine’s Captain.
“Sir, we’ve verified the missile in tube Twenty-one is operational.”
“Very well,” Skogstad replied. He signaled another officer in Control, who approached with a message clipboard. As Skogstad reviewed the prewritten message, Kaufmann glanced at the contents, which reported Kaufmann’s procedure had been implemented, the missile verified operational, and USS Maryland was ready to launch.
Skogstad signed the message, then ordered, “Transmit.”
The message was quickly transmitted, then Skogstad ordered the Officer of the Deck, “Increase depth to two hundred feet and deploy a communications buoy.”
Lieutenant Wells acknowledged and the submarine tilted downward. Not long thereafter, with Maryland steady at two hundred feet, one of the two communication buoys in the submarine’s superstructure was released; the doors opened and the tethered buoy floated upward, stopping a few feet below the surface.
A report emanated from the speakers, “Conn, Radio. In sync with the VLF broadcast.”
Activity in Control died down as the submarine crew settled into its routine.
“What now?” Kaufmann asked of Commander Skogstad.
“We wait,” he replied, “for the launch message.”
47
WASHINGTON, D.C.
In the Situation Room beneath the West Wing, the president joined four other men at the table: Kevin Hardison, SecDef Dunnavant, Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Rettman, and Vice Admiral Rhodes. Unlike recent meetings, which had been permeated by a dark, somber mood, there was optimism in the air. They were about to launch a Trident missile again, hoping this time for a successful outcome.
The president directed his first question to Vice Admiral Rhodes. “Are we ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Rhodes replied. “A replacement missile with inert warheads and instrumentation packages was loaded aboard USS Maryland this morning, and we’ve disabled the suspect microprocessor in the missile’s navigation circuit.”
To Dunnavant, the president asked, “Have arrangements been made with General Andropov?”
“Yes, sir. He’s been informed that we’ve inserted a software fix into all of our missiles — although that’s untrue at the moment — and that we’ll launch one this afternoon. The Russians are undoubtedly awaiting the launch. Andropov is also available for a videoconference at Russia’s Ministry of Defense headquarters.”
Dunnavant glanced at the video screen on the far wall, split into halves. One side displayed a dull gray ocean with small whitecaps cresting beneath a brisk wind. The other half of the screen was black.