Twenty-four Days (Rowe-Delamagente series Book 2)

by Jacqui Murray

  James’s phone rang. “James… Yes, sir, she’s right here. No, sir, not yet… Yes, sir.” He pushed speaker. "This is FBI Director Gen. Inman. He’d like to talk with Kali."

  A deep authoritative voice boomed from the cell phone. "Hello, Dr. Sun, Dr. Rowe, Ms. Delamagente." Everyone greeted him. "Let me start by apologizing, Ms. Delamagente. When I made that deal last year,” promising never again to request she put her family on the firing line, “Who would imagine you'd once more be smack in the middle of a world crisis. I should have said, I promise unless the fate of the world hangs in the balance and you are our only solution. I'm asking you as an American to step into the breach once more for us."

  Kali stammered, "General Inman, sir, how can I be the only one who can help?"

  "As our Muslim friends are so fond of saying, God’s will, Ms. Delamagente. Bobby?"

  “Yes, sir.”

  “SA Haster is on his way over. He’ll explain more,” and Inman hung up.

  “Something happened.” He turned to Kali. “Everything you hear is classified, ears only for Task Force members.”

  “I didn’t agree to be on your Task Force.”

  “Then leave,” James retorted. “There’s no middle ground, Kali. You’re with us or not.”

  Kali stayed, exactly where she must be until Sean was out of danger.

  Chapter Twenty

  Day Seven, Sunday, August 13th, early afternoon

  Columbia Office of Kali Delamagente

  A ping startled everyone. Sun adjusted his glasses and squinted at the screen.

  “Ankour Mohammed is connected to a group at NYU Abu Dhabi directed by a Dr. Nasr Al-alah. The FBI considers it cover for a terrorist cell.”

  Kali’s throat tightened. “The Ankour Mohammed Sean is tracking in San Diego?”

  Sun nodded and continued reading the background material. “What sets them apart from other terrorist cells is the members are all superior problem solvers and excellent at connecting dots. Ankour Mohammed graduated in the top ten of his class with a major in nuclear physics. These kids are definitely smart enough to operate a submarine. To top it off, they’re trained in social skills which means if you met them, you’d like them.”

  Zeke started pacing. “How does Al-alah run a terrorist cell on an American campus?”

  Someone cleared their throat. Kali turned to see a man staring at her, tall and stick-thin from his knobby shoulders to his spindly wrists, with shaggy hair framing a pale effeminate face. He wore a dark worsted suit with a splash of blinding white at the collar and French cuffs.

  James summoned him forward. “May I introduce SA Haster with MI-6?”

  The British agent shook hands with James and Sun, and stopped at Kali.

  "Splendid to meet you, Ms. Delamagente."

  Kali recognized the whistling s. "You’re the man who called me eleven times in three days? Not nice to meet you."

  SA Haster colored.

  Sun tucked his laptop under his arm and stumbled to his feet. "I’ll see what else I can find. Waves," and left. Zeke limped after him.

  “Please don’t leave Mr. Rowe,” SA Haster spluttered, but Zeke disappeared. “Well, let’s wait for Dr. Rowe, shall we?”

  Kali ignored Haster while James typed into his Blackberry and the MI-6 agent rambled through her office appraising her jumbled collection of books. When he started to sit in the chair Zeke had vacated, Kali shook her head, so he leaned against the wall. Zeke returned and whispered to James. His friend paled, but said nothing.

  Haster extended a hand to Zeke. "You must be Dr. Rowe. I'm Special Agent Haster."

  Zeke sat down, ignoring Haster, arm out, a nervous smile withering on his wan face. Zeke always read people right, so Kali determined to pay attention to the Brit’s every move.

  James circled Hurry up with his hand. “Everyone here has clearance so you may speak openly, SA Haster."

  “Alright. Three hours ago, Triumph attacked an Iranian Kilo-class sub.”

  Kali felt a dangerous stillness pass through the room. A baseless attack by a Western warship represented a paradigm shift in world politics. Her phone rang and she silenced it. Probably the Dean about her draft which seemed woefully insignificant in light of Haster’s news.

  Zeke asked, “Where?”

  “Off the coast of Spain. Our Gibraltar listening post caught Triumph’s torpedo doors open followed by an explosion and break-up noises, hull-popping, and the Kilo-class blowing air as it tried to surface. The listening post lost Triumph when it dove."

  Zeke pulled a pencil from his pocket and flipped it. “Why attack the Iranians?”

  Haster turned to Zeke, face grave. “Western nations have long held we are the only ones responsible enough to possess such world-ending devices. Now, we seem unable to control them. The UN will table the vote condemning North Korea’s August 30th launch. They consider a rogue nuclear sub a greater threat than the North Korean speculative threat to weaponize space.

  “Nuclear subs, a ballistic missile in space, and the will to kill innocents—the terrorist’s trifecta.”

  Haster nodded once, eyes down. “I wish it ended there. Iran demanded Britain release ten terrorists being held, as retribution. We are considering it.”

  Zeke cracked his pencil in half. “Don’t. It will buy you nothing.”

  “SIGINT,” data from cell phones, satellite phones, email and anything with a signal, “indicates this attack is merely the first step.”

  Zeke asked James, “Does the DNI,” Director of National Intelligence, “agree?”

  James and Haster both nodded. Haster added, “Surprisingly, it seems nabbing a sub with British royalty aboard was dumb luck."

  Kali blinked. British royalty? One look at Zeke and she knew. “Oh my god.”

  Haster’s head bobbed between Zeke and Kali. "Ah. You didn’t know. Sir George Linley believed the sub community’s closeness provided an opportunity to build bridges with Muslim shipmates, and through them, break down Britain's perceived Islamophobia."

  Zeke’s mouth turned down. "How could Britain allow him to serve on a sub?"

  "He insisted, so was placed on the safest sub in the fleet."

  That got Kali’s attention. "Why Triumph?"

  Haster looked away. “I meant the most modern, didn’t I?”

  Otto churbled. It didn’t take a body language module to see Haster was hiding something.

  Haster grinned. “Ah, the infamous Otto. Splendid to meet you.”

  Otto rolled over to position himself directly in front of the British agent. “You’re SA Haster from MI-6, residing at 4 Hightower Place with your mother—”

  “That’s enough, Otto.” From Kali.

  Haster colored. "So I do, yes. Why the name Otto?"

  "My name is a palindrome because the world is often engaged in puzzles and I am brilliant at solving these."

  “Well, Mr. Otto. I have a puzzle that requires your assistance. I believe you are the only one in the world who can find the submarine we have been discussing.” Otto had the unique ability to locate even minor disruptions in the magnetic fluxes circling the globe. Once found, he could match the disruption to a specific submarine if provided with its profile.

  Zeke moved toward Kali and James’s eye twitched. Kali had been prepared to refuse until George’s name came up.

  Otto turned to Kali and she turned to Zeke. "What will you do once I find it?"

  "We’ll try to stop it without further loss of life. Failing that, all options are on the table."

  Kali fidgeted. "I could be responsible for the death of hundreds."

  She wanted to ask if the pain of killing another human ever went away, but it didn’t matter if she had to carry that weight for the rest of her life, if it helped Zeke find his friend’s executioner and protected Sean.

  “Yes, and you’ll never forget those men or your part in their end.” She lost herself in his eyes until the room held nothing but the two of them. “Consider this: We think the terrorist�
�s purpose is to ensure North Korea can launch a space-based nuclear weapon. If the hijackers were willing to destroy a sub-full of innocent boys, without a doubt they will kill anyone who gets in their way.”

  Kali tried to think logically. “The media calls it a communications satellite.”

  “Intel fails to support that conclusion. First, they’re using a different booster than they have in the past for a communications satellite, which means the payload must be different. Second, they’re hiding the launch site, but why? Third, my gut.”

  Kali forced her hands to relax, ignoring the throb of her headache. She felt Zeke’s eyes on her, but refused to hurry. No matter how she looked at this, whether she did or didn’t help, someone died. With a sigh, she asked, "How can I help?"

  "Find Triumph before it launches the next bloody missile.”

  "Otto can only find subs that aren’t degaussed."

  "For a lot of complicated reasons, that won’t be a problem."

  Kali pulled the keyboard into her lap to create the script. Haster handed Kali a paper with Triumph’s magnetic signature—the summation of the delta in the magnetic fluxes created by the movement of matter with the mass and shape of a Trafalgar-class sub. Because every other sub in this class was degaussed, only Triumph would appear when Otto trolled the Earth’s magnetosphere.

  “He also needs a satellite with global magnetic data to affect the comparison.”

  “Use this one,” and Zeke gave her a paper with a series of numbers. Otto and the satellite confirmed each other’s identities allowing the AI to upload Triumph’s magnetic properties. Then, Otto went on a simple search for that profile throughout the satellite's global view.

  “After you find Triumph, would you plug in Virginia’s profile?” James handed a paper to Kali. “We want to be ready if the crew manages to turn off the degaussing coil,” the device that kept the sub invisible in the magnetosphere.

  Kali plugged it into Otto. “He’ll alert us if it shows up.”

  As Otto worked, he chatted with Special Agent Haster about MI-6, Haster’s background and family, and what life in Britain was like. When Haster finished a particularly long diatribe about the joys of British Royal society, Otto requested access to a high-level MI-6 account which he insisted was critical for his quest. Haster dutifully provided it.

  Sixty minutes later, Otto found Triumph. "It is in the Mediterranean."

  James pulled his phone off his belt and dialed. “Send me the coordinates.”

  Otto brought up a global map with a blinking light between Italy and Egypt.

  "SECDEF, please. … This is SA James... Sir, we have it, latitude 35°17'26.21"N, longitude 18°43'12.35"E... Yes, Sir, Otto will see if they move and I’ll let you know… Yes, Sir, I'll stay on the line."

  The Secretary of Defense called the CNO who called the Third Fleet Commander and the Carrier Strike Group One Commander, the man in charge of the Mediterranean region, who admitted to no warships in the area.

  Zeke traced a path with his finger. “Triumph passed right by an American destroyer in the Med. How did they miss it?"

  After a moment of silence, Otto said, "It is trying to jam me. I must re-evaluate the variance in the magnetic field every few seconds."

  “Find out why, Otto.” From Kali.

  Haster popped out of his chair. “I must take this to JTAC,” the Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre, and he left.

  James listened as the footsteps disappeared down the hall. “Maybe he grows on you.”

  “Like mold.”

  James’s mouth tugged upward. “Now he’s gone, let’s you and I figure out how to break into a nuclear submarine before our Brit friends get trigger happy.”

  For seven hours, Kali and Otto tried to determine the cause of the jamming while Rowe and James talked to experts about breaking into a Trafalgar-class sub. They all agreed it must be done through the hatch, from the inside. The only other ingress would be to blow a hole in the side with a torpedo.

  James ordered pizza. Kali asked Mr. Winters to keep an eye on Sandy until she got home. He was thrilled.

  And then Kali got an idea.

  “I think I know what’s jamming Triumph. The maintenance logs show Triumph was painted earlier than its scheduled time. This paint came from a different supplier, one at a significantly higher price because MI-6 wanted a chemical added to the formula. I think that’s what’s jamming us. I’ve seen that formula or close to it,” but she couldn’t put her finger on where.

  James's phone vibrated. "Yes, sir.... yes, the same position. Will do," and hung up.

  “What’s up, Bobby?”

  "The Royal Navy established a perimeter around the sub’s position, but can’t find it on sonar. SAS divers are waiting to infiltrate if they can figure out how. British warships are approved to destroy Triumph if it becomes a threat. Directly above its position is an American Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, USS Bainbridge, in case everything goes to hell. The Brits opened satellite communication with the sub and instructed the hijackers to surface.”

  Otto added, "The hijackers want to trade Triumph for prisoners. They directed they be delivered to the Riyan Airport in Yemen. They’ll drive Triumph through the Suez Canal, down the Red Sea, out the Gulf of Aiden, to the coast of Yemen where they’ll make the swap."

  James turned to Otto. "How do you know?"

  "SA Haster gave me access codes to his phone when we were chatting. I see what he sees."

  Kali fought back a smile. "Haster didn’t do his homework."

  James sighed. "I love cooperation.”

  Otto whirred. "The Brits want to talk to Triumph’s Captain... One of the hijackers—a man named Obeid—says the captain's dead."

  Zeke turned to James. “The hijackers were as silent as the French in Algiers until the Royal Navy surrounded them. Now, they want to negotiate. They think we found them by damn luck. All they want to do is get to open waters and escape."

  James called Haster, put him on speaker and made Zeke repeat what he’d said. Haster’s response was to snort. "Our people are pleased they’re talking."

  "Muslims don’t negotiate, SA Haster. Islam is clear. The truth is one and cannot be divided. If it is not the truth, it must be falsehood—jahiliyyah, or ignorance of divine guidance. The coexistence of truth and jahiliyyah—what results from compromise—is impossible.”

  "There is some truth to the hijacker’s claim Britain holds no jurisdictional right over Muslims. Islam follows Sharia Law,” Otto added.

  "International standards give legal authority to where the infraction occurred, but this is their goal—gain time by tying us up in a philosophic debate. Tell Britain not to do it."

  Haster sighed. “Britain agreed in concept."

  Zeke balled his hands. "Keep it secret we can track them. That’s our ace in the hole.

  James spoke into the phone. “Haster, you hear Zeke?”

  “We shared that detail already to prevent them from doing anything dodgy."

  “You call yourselves negotiators? They now know escape is impossible. What reason is there to NOT attack?” Zeke was disgusted. “Otto. Let me know if the sub ascends. It must be close to the surface to launch missiles.”

  He waited, knowing what was coming.

  Ten minutes later, a voice came over the phone, “This is USS Bainbridge. Our helo picked up ballast bubbles. The sub is ascending. Request permission to drop depth charges.”

  Moments later, a British-accented voice came over the speaker, calm and modulated. "Triumph. We will not allow you to surface."

  A high-pitched, frantic voice shouted, "I am trying, sir! The Navigator and helmsman are both dead. Please help me or they will kill me, too!"

  "What is your name, sir?"

  "Eyad Obeid. I am a nuclear physicist. I have managed to lock the hijackers out of the communications area, but they have the rest of the sub. What can I do? Please help!”

  From the phone, "Calm down, Mr. Obeid. Ask one of the British crew how to stop t
he boat's ascent. We would like to avoid taking action. Do you understand?"

  “I am alone. I do not know how to reach the rest of the crew.”

  Suddenly a new voice yelled, "This is HMS Daring. We have sounds of torpedo doors opening. I repeat, Triumph has opened torpedo doors!"

  Another voice: "General quarters!" “Do we have permission to fire?” “No—hold fire!”

  The British negotiator, his voice a notch higher, asked, "Mr. Obeid. Why are you opening torpedo doors?"

  Another voice: "Triumph launched a Tomahawk TLAM! Permission to fire!”

  “Please sir, do not kill me!”

  HMS Astute: "We have the OK to attack. Fire at will!"

  A flurry of commands filled the airwaves: "Prepare to fire!" "Flooding tubes!" "Outer torpedo tube doors open" "Check firing solution—all OK." "Fire one! Fire two!" Two more British subs repeated the same.

  "Torpedo one a direct hit! Torpedo two a direct hit. I have break-up noises."

  No one cheered the end of the British submarine. There wasn’t time with a Tomahawk still headed for an unknown target.

  A voice came over the phone. “USS Stockdale. This is Commander 6th Fleet Actual. Put your Captain on the line.”

  “This is Stockdale Actual. Roger, over, Sir.”

  “A Tomahawk is on a flight path over your unit. Prepare for orders to shoot it down.”

  “TAO. Captain. All hands on deck. Prepare to fire SM-2.” “OOD. General Quarters.”

  “Captain. TAO. Yes sir, bearing one-nine-five. Tracking it. Current trajectory lands it in Khaled bin Walid Stadium.”

  Kali’s throat tightened. "35,000 people are at a national football match there today.”

  James ran his fingers through his hair. “We need approval from Greece, Cyprus, Lebanon, the Syrians and anyone else that damn missile flies over to shoot it down."

  A din of voices filled the airwaves. Stockdale's captain kept requesting permission, saying he had a fire solution, he could bring it down in ninety seconds, then sixty seconds. His voice got tenser with each request. Rowe sat numb, listening, waiting, until with only forty-two seconds remaining, Admiral Cyrus Xibon, Assistant to the CNO, came on, his voice calm. Only Rowe heard the tension.