To Hunt a Sub

by Jacqui Murray

  Chapter 29

  Friday afternoon

  Kali savored a purloined butter cookie from Afternoon Tea as she googled ‘Wynton Fairgrove’. Cat and Zeke must be in cahoots. Why else nag her about Wyn’s background? She popped the last half cookie into her mouth and typed ‘Wynton Fairgrove’ into the search engine.

  More than ten thousand hits. She refined the search with exclusionary terms and narrowed the number to nine hundred. At seventeen, Wyn burst upon the scientific world with a paper on DNA hybridization dedicated to a girlfriend who passed away.

  “If he wrote about DNA, why does he never understand what I’m saying?”

  He met his fiancée while working at the Max Planck Institute, though she died a month before he published a second paper.

  “Suspicious already.”

  Kali jumped. “Aren’t you teaching a class?”

  “It ended two hours ago.” Cat smelled of alcohol, after-shave, and sex. In place of the sensible work outfit of this morning, she wore a filmy off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, skintight jeans and open-toed four-inch heels.

  “My boyfriend told me Wyn highjacked the research of at least two grad students and then killed them. Why do you think I dropped him?”

  “That’s ridiculous, Cat. Why kill them?”

  “Shut them up.” Cat rummaged through her desk until she found a stick of gum and popped it into her mouth. “He built his reputation on the labor of these women. They became loose ends.”

  Kali shook her head. “You think I’m his new sacrifice.”

  Cat shrugged. “Gotta go. Gunner and I are taking his Gulfstream to Acapulco.”

  Her new boyfriend had a name.

  Which reminded Kali that Sean hadn’t called. He promised to contact her every few days. She dialed his cell, but got no answer. She opened her online address book and clicked ‘Juilliard’ for the name of his host family.

  “Vitolska.” Before she could dial, Eitan Sun buzzed. “Can you spare five minutes?”

  She blew a calming breath, convincing herself Sean was fine by the time she reached Eitan’s lab. She did a double take.

  “Wow.”

  Sun wore an ivory tuxedo with gold buttons and satin lapels. A ruffled dress shirt spilled through a paisley vest cinched by a crimson cravat. Patent leather wingtips and diamond cuff links finished the outfit. She only recognized him by his signature posture. He always led with his head as though eager to get where he was going.

  “I’m on my way to the Baltimore Society of Computer Generalists awards ceremony.”

  This was an eclectic association of professionals, one of the few groups able to pull Sun from his lab. Once a year, they feted the technical invention with the greatest impact on mankind. Sun’s winning entry was a palm-sized device which detected the co-presence of saltpeter and charcoal, primary ingredients in gun power. Sun considered it essential for those who desired to avoid rather than confront conflict. Law enforcement bought it by the thousands to identify suicide bombers.

  “You asked if Otto can find submarines. Yes,” and he tossed her a dog-eared book with a dozen post-its.

  Sun dumped half a cup of red M&M’s into his mouth and chewed, eyes roving the walls and ceiling of his lab. Kali waited, knowing he’d continue when ready.

  “First, Einstein explains how Otto can theoretically use a magnetic signature to find the sub given sufficient time. He would act like the Navy’s magnetic anomaly detectors, but vastly more sensitive and able to cover a much wider area than anything in existence today.

  “The second part—tracking—is trickier. Earth's magnetic field decreases until midday, increases until late afternoon, and settles to a moderate night-time level. Deviations occur minute by minute, and vary depending upon latitude and longitude, more at the poles and less at the equator. These are predictable and measurable. We could program Otto to compare these expected deviations against real magnetosphere satellite data, and then sort the output for the Trident’s size and mass over time.” Sun swallowed another mouthful of M&Ms. “Again, theoretically possible, but complicated.”

  Sun hunched his shoulders and flexed his fingers, body language for insecurity, a trait Kali never associated with Eitan Sun.

  “Why does this bother you?”

  Sun paced, eyes unfocused as he crossed and recrossed his arms. “No MAD in existence can identify these infinitesimal changes. Only Otto. Statistically, this explains why you are being cyber-stalked.”

  Without another word, Sun left. Kali returned to her lab and buried herself in Einstein’s theories as they relate to magnetism, trying to understand how relativity applied to submarines and magnetism.

  Finally, Chantelle.

  “Where have you been?” Fairgrove whined. He had called all day yesterday to schedule an emergency haircut.

  “Hello, my friend. How was your dinner with Ms. Delamagente?” When Fairgrove sputtered, Al-Zahrawi chuckled. “She thought you were trying to get her drunk. Which no doubt is true.”

  Fairgrove didn’t understand Al-Zahrawi’s interest in Kalian, but it was significant enough that Al-Zahrawi had wormed his way into her confidence. She raved about him last night, said she trusted him and felt a loyalty to fulfill her promises to him.

  Trust and loyalty—Fairgrove wished she felt those for him. She could be the most lucrative grad student Fairgrove had ever worked with. How best to respond to Salah? He needed to convince him that his email relationship with the woman was akin to looking at a painting through a straw. Only Fairgrove’s broader lens of scientific connections could fulfill the man’s greater needs.

  Whatever those were.

  Before he could mull that through, Al-Zahrawi continued, “I hope you found out more than her alcohol tolerance.”

  “In fact, I see hopeful signs. Why, only yesterday—”

  “Skip the story, Doctor. I already know Otto theoretically can find and track magnetic signatures.” Al-Zahrawi’s voice quavered with anticipation. “She must make that a reality. Quickly.”

  Why did he want that? It didn’t fit what Fairgrove knew of the man’s plans. He started to ask, but Al-Zahrawi continued. “Is the Dr. Rowe problem solved?”

  “I instructed Kalian to avoid him and informed Porter that Rowe will alienate Columbia’s rich alumni. Administrators always drag their feet, but he’ll see it my way.”

  Fairgrove paused to allow Al-Zahrawi to be impressed with his progress. When that didn’t happen, he continued, “I even entered anonymous complaints.” He saw that in a movie.

  Into the growing silence, Fairgrove asked, “What do you have against him anyway?”

  “He is smart. I dislike smart people.”

  Chapter 30

  Friday

  The woman placed her wedding ring in the car’s cup holder and made sure her blouse was open one button too many. Her badge got her inside. The sexy was for the sailor who would take her to the Ethernet cables.

  It had been a long day, but this was the last submarine. As a patriot, she was pleased America’s Refit Facilities were well-guarded. Her employer had an emergency roll out of a network repair. She had been lucky to get this job and knew it had nothing to do with her engineering capability. She couldn’t even change a lightbulb much less program a computer. All she did was deliver a cream that reminded her of orange Vaseline. When she asked about the goo—in case one of the sailors asked; she liked to be prepared—they told her it was need to know, Top Secret. She respected that, and wanted to do her part to protect America.

  Still, she always took time to talk to the drooling seamen who helped her. She couldn’t tell the difference between Ethernet or electricity so wasn’t kidding when she gushed how much she admired their skill.

  Two days ago, her boss gave her an upgraded goo for the submarines she’d visit today. He was pleased with her work and promised to use her to deliver the next update. She almost hugged him. $10,000 more—on top of the $14,000 she had already been paid. God surely blessed her. Her husband h
ad been out of work for six months and then she’d been downsized right out of her lousy job. If she hadn’t found this on Craig’s List, they’d have lost their house.

  As the sailor approached, she offered a shy smile. “Hi! I’m with General Dynamo, here to patch your network,” and she showed him the Work Order.

  “Oh. I haven’t been told about this,” he kept glancing between her face and her chest, as though the answer was there. That happened a lot.

  She opened her jar and swiped a finger through the substance. “It’s like the stuff you-all put on battery cables, but for networks, to keep them from cracking during long deployments. “

  He scratched his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been out twice. Never a problem.”

  She was surprised. Why would this—what was he, a Petty Officer?—question orders from his superiors?

  She pasted a grin across her face. “You’re lucky. The USS Tennessee and the USS Tucson,” two subs she knew were at sea so couldn’t be contacted, “They lost comms for a week because of a degraded cable. That’s why this is such a rush. I’ll show you how simple it is.”

  He led her through a dingy door into a small room with more electronics than space. She slipped by him, making sure her breasts rubbed against his chest, blushed demurely, and bent forward. “These?”

  “Yes, but—” then gasped as she spread the goo across the wires.

  “Done! Now it permeates the exterior and does its magic. Something to do with atoms and molecules. Within ten minutes, you won’t even see anything on the cables.” She purposefully forced a confused frown and swapped it for a grin. “When you’re out there fighting our enemies, you’ll thank me.”

  Before her dazzling smile had time to fade, the sailor slapped cuffs on her wrists. “You are under arrest for traitorous acts against America and aiding the enemy.”

  It was a long night, but James got everything from the young woman. She swore she loved the United States and yes she should have questioned a job too good to be true, but she needed the money. When queried how many cables she painted with the goo, she proudly announced eighteen—in half the time expected.

  Why was she in trouble for helping the Navy? When she showed James the Work Order, he had to admit it was expertly forged with all required signatures.

  They asked her to cooperate by not telling her boss about the arrest.

  Eleven subs remained in danger.

  Chapter 31

  Annie had been a nanny pushing a baby carriage, a student returning from class, and a postal clerk making deliveries. The only strange activity was Mr. Winters checking his mailbox seven times and Zeke Rowe hiding in his car four houses down, like she wouldn’t notice. She called it a night. When Delamagente got home around midnight, Annie pretended to be asleep. Kali got a glass of water, talked to Sandy as she checked windows Annie had already secured, and went to sleep.

  “Wake up, silly, or you’ll miss a yummy breakfast.” Sandy snored in a dog-sized splotch of sun that spilled onto Kali’s bed. “Did Annie wear you out yesterday?”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  Kali inhaled the pungence of Kona coffee. Her mom used to make it, saying there was no reason to treat her like a child anymore. Mornings, before baby Sean awoke and it was just the two of them, were magic. They left the lights off and sat in the dark at the kitchen table. Mom always overfilled her cup and Kali could hear her slurp from the rim as they chatted about their youth, the existence of a God, and whatever else came to mind. Mom told Kali she saw a lot of herself in her daughter, but smarter and sturdier. Kali still missed her.

  “I love roommates!” Kali shuffled out in worn slippers and an old robe, hair snagged loosely into a disheveled ponytail. Annie was dressed, showered, eyes lively, and Sandy’s leash was circled around itself.

  “Guess who got me out for a walk at 5 a.m.” Annie glared kindly at Sandy as she filled two cups. “You know who I mean. The rare North American Homo canine.”

  She plunked a mug in front of Kali. “We already delivered coffee to Mr. Winters. Did you know he got the Navy Cross for saving ten Marines in Korea? Impressive.”

  Kali blinked. She didn’t know that, or anything else about his time as a Marine. They never talked about it.

  She inhaled the caffeine and put her feet up on a stool. “You hiking today?”

  “My Timberland’s? I got used to these in Africa. Now they’re all I wear.”

  “I can’t wait to hear your stories. I need some vicarious adventure.”

  “Tonight. Are we still on?”

  “Unless my hamster wheel breaks.”

  “Or I win a spelling bee and turn into a dictionary.”

  “Or the Universe comes calling.”

  Annie laughed. “I knew a Russian who would say, ‘Until the crayfish on the hill whistles’.”

  She bounced out the door, leaving Kali and Sandy deflated as though the party just left.

  “Well, Pup, we have to entertain ourselves.”

  Kali poured a glass of Tang and toasted an English muffin before taking Sandy on a second walk. Then, she brushed his fur while reading about the Israeli dig at Gesher Benot Ya’aqov that inspired Rowe’s work. Outside, trash cans clanged as they were emptied, police sirens howled, and a boom box played rap music with words she didn’t even want to understand. After lunch, she cleaned the apartment to Francois Rabbath’s string bass rendition of Carmen and then settled in to research while Sandy nestled between her feet.

  When next she raised her head, the band of light from her window had moved an entire foot.

  “I wonder what Lucy’s typical day was.”

  Animals in Lucy’s habitat rested when not hunting or eating. Only early man whittled tools, collected rocks for future use, planned, or simply thought. After months of watching, Kali decided the never-quiet human brain, using one in every four calories consumed, grew bigger because of constant exercise.

  “Zeke hasn’t told you about Paulette? Just like him.”

  The two women sat in the dim light of another restaurant Kali had never been to. The walk over was glorious as the last remnants of day shed a reddish glow on the skyscrapers silhouetted against the horizon. Kali wore black capris with a sleeveless pastel tunic, and Annie khakis and a green t-shirt. Kali liked Annie’s image: strong, self-sufficient and oblivious to others.

  The waitress poured house wine while Annie studied Kali as though trying to decide. A full ten seconds passed before she continued.

  “He didn’t tell me this. Bobby did, but I want you to understand how fragile he is. He almost got married twice. The first time was to a French woman named Paulette. He was living his dream, teaching at Université de Paris and engaged to the woman he thought would never find him. He was well-liked for his enlightened attitudes. He spent most nights in dusky Parisian coffee houses with his students, discussing the hypocrisy of the establishment.

  “When riots exploded on campus, he rejoiced at the empowerment of the people. He didn’t fear the violence of the crowds or the police’s inability to control them. His armor was compassion, his weapons words.”

  Annie dipped her head and breathed in, then out. “One night, he and Paulette were walking home from class, comparing the marches around them to other historic socialist boycotts. A group of protesters sprang out of nowhere. Two immobilized him while the others threw Paulette to the ground.” Annie spit out the last phrase.

  “One was a student in Zeke’s class, Zeke begged him to consider what he was doing as Paulette screamed and kicked until one of the attackers smashed her head against a rock. He smirked when she collapsed, finished his business, and the group left without looking back. Zeke couldn’t revive her, so scooped her up and sprinted to the nearest hospital.

  “As he cowered in the waiting room, knowing the outcome, Zeke realized how stupid he’d been to forget it wasn’t just man’s brilliance but his violent nature that shaped history. Zeke left the building and vanished into a life where those he loved couldn’t be vi
ctimized.”

  The waitress approached, but Kali couldn’t speak so Annie suggested the house special—rotisserie chicken with a mountain of caramelized onions.

  “His next foray into love was equally doomed. His exploits in Iraq left him so physically damaged, he was told he could never walk again, much less shoot a gun, his fiancée visited once and two months later, married a banker. Trying a third time will take a massive leap of faith.”

  No wonder Zeke acted like two people.

  Annie offered a wan smile. “I met Zeke between those two events, when academia and its memories were shadowy ghouls hiding in dark corners of his past and his next great disappointment was yet to come.” Annie wadded her napkin into a tight spiral. “I lived with a Maasai tribe for six months so I could write an ethnograph on their culture. Such beautiful, straight-forward people. I grew up in foster homes so I know what it feels like to be an outsider. They accepted me as family, called me daughter.”

  She nibbled a pumpernickel roll as she traveled back in time.

  “Our huts backed Ol Doinyo L’engai—”Mountain of the Black God" in Maa—along the Great African Rift. Many days, dense fumes and billowing smoke clouds exploded from its scarred maw and lava and poisonous gas crawled toward the shores of Lake Natron. The stench of sulfur and burned flesh permeated the land, but the Maasai never worried. They believed Enkai, their one god, would never endanger them.

  “When it became clear an eruption was imminent, the American Embassy ordered me to leave, but I couldn’t without the villagers, and they wouldn’t go without their cattle.”

  “Finally, the volcano exploded, sending lava burning down the mountain. Dirty nimbus-like clouds clogged the air and buried the land in a blanket of ash. Acid rain burned everyone within the volcano’s reach. The roof of my hut collapsed and dislocated my left shoulder and broke my arm. I wrapped a sling around it and fled with the Maasai to higher ground where I radioed a Mayday.”