“Most types. But I don’t have the right tools.”
“We’ve got the only tool we need,” he replied as he pulled his pistol from its holster.
After looking around, verifying there was no one in sight, he used his pistol as a hammer, smashing the bottom of the pistol grip into the padlock hasp. The barn was old, and after a few whacks, the hasp screws tore from the aged wood.
He slid the door aside and Khalila illuminated the interior with her cell phone flashlight in one hand, wielding her pistol in the other. The beam of light swept across the barn, stopping on the crates. Stenciled on the side of two crates, in large black letters, was:
CHARGE DEMOLITION M112
Each crate was big enough, Harrison estimated, to hold twenty-five pounds of C-4.
They had found Mixell’s lair.
An inspection of the crates, however, revealed no explosives. Only the empty packaging from the individual blocks. The crate of wireless detonators was likewise empty.
Harrison turned around, inspecting the tire tracks again. They stopped just inside the barn entrance.
“Mixell loaded a vehicle with the C-4,” Harrison concluded.
Khalila nodded her concurrence.
64
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Lonnie Mixell checked the side mirrors of his van again, searching for any indication that his plot had been discovered and law enforcement was closing in on him. It was an instinctive precaution, which he considered an unnecessary one, confirmed again by his latest observation — he spotted only standard traffic. Everything had gone according to plan so far, culminating with the preparations for this morning’s trip.
The van he was driving was properly marked and loaded with fifty pounds of C-4. He was also wearing a different disguise — one he had specifically chosen for today’s occasion — another prudent precaution. He’d been wearing his previous disguise for the last week traveling in and out of Woodmore, where the odds of his discovery were low. Today, however, he’d be evaluated by professionals up close, and he couldn’t take the chance that his previous disguise had been compromised.
Completing this morning’s charade was the new identification card in his wallet, matching his new face and the van markings. He carried no weapons with him, since he would likely be searched. Rather, he carried no typical weapons. His cell phone was all he needed, plus the app he had loaded that would send the signal to all thirty-six wireless detonators. Only a single task remained.
In the distance, his destination appeared through a break in the District’s buildings.
65
K-571 KRASNOYARSK
Gavriil Novikov stood behind the fire controlman’s shoulder, studying the geographic display on his console. Krasnoyarsk was lurking at three knots, the minimum speed possible for bare steerageway, at a depth of fifty meters. The Russian submarine was stationed just outside the Gulf of Bahrain, ten miles east of a sonobuoy barrier the American P-8As had laid across the entrance to the gulf.
If the American aircraft carrier made it to the other side of the sonobuoy field, it would likely survive. Although Krasnoyarsk could penetrate an open-ocean sonobuoy field, defending itself in the process, there were too many ASW forces concentrated near the entrance to the Gulf of Bahrain. Novikov would not attempt to follow the aircraft carrier into the gulf. That meant that USS Theodore Roosevelt would have to be sunk before it reached the Gulf of Bahrain.
That, of course, was the plan.
This close to the sonobuoy fields, stealth was paramount. Novikov had shifted propulsion to the much quieter electric drive, and Krasnoyarsk was rigged for ultra-quiet, limiting crew activity and movement throughout the submarine. Novikov’s crew would wait until the American aircraft carrier arrived, which should be any time now.
A few minutes later, a report came across the Central Command Post speakers.
“Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Hold three new surface contacts, designated Hydroacoustic seven-two, seven-three, and seven-four, approaching from the north. High blade rate accompanied by low broadband signature indicates all three contacts are warships, approaching at high speed.”
Novikov acknowledged, then ordered his crew to Combat Stations.
As additional watchstanders streamed into the Central Command Post, Novikov took control of the Conn and ordered his crew to prepare to come to periscope depth.
Shortly after Combat Stations were manned, Krasnoyarsk’s periscope broke the water’s surface. After completing a rapid surface and air sweep, Novikov turned the periscope to the north. Three gray warships were approaching, with the middle one much larger than the others.
Novikov decided to dispense with the often laborious process of determining a target solution before shifting to torpedo launch preparations. The courses of the approaching targets were obvious — all three were bow-on, headed directly toward Krasnoyarsk — and on that trajectory, range and speed didn’t matter.
With his eye still pressed to the periscope, monitoring the approaching American warships, Novikov ordered, “Prepare to Fire, six-torpedo horizontal salvo. Tubes One and Two against Hydroacoustic seven-two, tubes Three and Four against Hydroacoustic seven-three, and tubes Five and Six against Hydroacoustic seven-four. Tube One fired first.”
Novikov had decided to fire a tight salvo of six torpedoes, which should result in one or two torpedoes locking onto each target.
“Set courses for all three contacts to one-seven-zero.”
The expected reports soon flowed from his watchstanders.
The submarine’s First Officer called out, “All solutions updated.”
“Torpedoes ready, tubes One through Six,” the Weapons Officer announced.
The Watch Officer reported, “Countermeasures are armed.”
Krasnoyarsk was ready.
Novikov gave the order. “Fire tubes One through Six!”
The torpedoes were impulsed from their tubes, then Novikov turned the scope toward the Gulf of Bahrain and the optics skyward. The Americans would likely detect the sound of the torpedo launches or the thin, light green trails streaking out from Krasnoyarsk and counterattack. However, the threat to Novikov’s crew wouldn’t come from the approaching warships. They would have their hands full, plus Krasnoyarsk was beyond the range of the lightweight torpedoes loaded in their deck-mounted torpedo tubes.
Instead, the threat would come from the air — torpedoes dropped from the P-8A aircraft circling high above, out of sight and beyond range of Krasnoyarsk’s anti-air missiles. From their current altitude, the lightweight torpedoes would be carried to their aimpoints by HAAWC wing kits, with the wing kit releasing the torpedo just prior to water entry.
“Watch Officer, raise the radar mast. Do not radiate.”
Krasnoyarsk’s crew would be ready when the HAAWCs arrived.
In the meantime, it was time to slip away as quietly as possible, in case Krasnoyarsk had somehow avoided detection following the torpedo launch.
“Steersman. Ahead two-thirds. Right full rudder, steady course zero-nine-five.”
Krasnoyarsk turned to the east, and as Novikov searched the sky, he spotted two specks streaking down toward him. The American P-8As had launched two HAAWCs.
“Watch Officer, begin radiating.”
After the radar began its search, quickly detecting the descending targets, Novikov glanced at the radar display. “Set radar contacts zero-one and zero-two as the targets of interest. Prepare to Fire, two missiles.”