by Jan Coffey
“We’ll do all that, my love,” Harry told her, placing a kiss on her forehead. “But for now, let’s not think the worst. We just have to assume that Darius is fine. We have to.”
Harry took her by the hand and led her back onto the porch. But before they could go in, they heard the sound of the cars. Two state police cars, escorting a black SUV with tinted glass, pulled in front of the house.
Mina leaned against her husband. Suddenly, her legs weren’t strong enough to carry her weight.
Two state troopers got out of the vehicles. Two navy officers stepped out of the SUV, looking at the McCanns intently as they crossed the lawn.
The men were all strangers. It couldn’t have come to this, she told herself. These strangers couldn’t be bringing news of their son’s death. She bit her lip as a knot formed in her chest, stopping her from breathing. Her head was pounding. She brought her hands to her mouth. Everything around her started to blur, as if the lens on a camera had become loose.
“Mr. and Mrs. McCann?” one of the navy officers asked, stepping onto the porch.
As Mina’s world went dark, she was vaguely aware of the fragrance of jasmine on her fingers.
~~~~
Chapter 15
USS Hartford
8:15 a.m.
Mako glanced at his watch. Everything was moving according to schedule. Perfect. He mounted the conn and looked at the displays, the status board, and the plotting of the course. He reached up and pressed a button.
“Radar? Conn.” His voice rang on the communication system. “Anything happening with the sub hunters overhead?”
A couple of planes equipped with air-drop torpedoes had joined them a few minutes earlier. Now that they were almost out in open water, Mako wouldn’t put it past the brass at Atlantic Fleet to return his earlier gesture by launching a couple of torpedoes at them.
“Nothing, sir. The three choppers are holding their position and the two planes continue to circle.”
Mako stepped up onto the periscope platform and swung around, looking to their stern. Far off in the distance, smoke continued to belch into the air above what was left of the lighthouse. The New London Ledge lighthouse had been a square, stone-and-brick edifice rising right out of the water, but now it was smoke and rubble. Beyond the lighthouse, the Coast Guard cutter they’d clipped with the torpedo was listing to one side and a tug was alongside, assisting her. He swung the periscope around and noted that the two navy launches were now keeping a respectful distance.
Above them, he could see the three helicopters. One was from a news station; two belonged to the navy. Mako guessed that they were not firing any torpedoes because they were about to drop a dozen navy SEALs out of those helicopters in an attempt to try to land them on the bridge at the top of the sail. A few minutes later, they’d blast open the hatch. That meant he had another ten minutes, tops.
He wouldn’t need that much time.
They were vulnerable as long as they stayed on the surface, but he knew these waters like the back of his hand. He knew when and where he should dive. And they were almost there. In another thirty seconds they’d be in water over eighty feet deep. Twenty seconds. Ten.
“Down periscope.” Ten seconds. “Take her down to sixty feet. Ten degrees down angle. No alarm prior to diving.”
“Aye, sir.” The orders were repeated.
Seconds later, the deck angled downward as the helmsman followed the orders. The hull groaned slightly and the sub leveled out moments later. Mako ordered some quick checks for water integrity. Everything moved smoothly. The boat settled. The first leg of the mission was complete.
There was no point to go any deeper now. He didn’t want to hide. The threat had to lurk right at the edge. He just had to stop them from trying to land on him.
From the periscope stand, Mako studied his crew. Every one of the men in the control room was an absolute expert in taking and executing his commands. But something in the navigation area caught his attention. A screen blinked a couple of times and went dark.
“What the hell is going on there?” He crossed to the panels.
Paul Cavallaro, noticing the same thing, was there before Mako and sat in the chair in front of the dead screen.
“They must be cutting the juice to it.” He started running some tests. “Shouldn’t we let them know?”
“Hardly,” Mako replied. “You know what your orders are.”
The screen at the next panel started acting up, going blank a couple of seconds later.
“They keep this up, we’ll lose sonar,” Cav said over his shoulder.
Mako motioned his man Kilo to the conn. He spoke in a low voice to him.
“Send two men down there now.” Kilo and his men had been signed to handle situations such as this. He’d done a good job taking care of the security guards. “Make sure they keep McCann alive. We might need him yet. Just stop him from doing any more damage. But that yardbird is a nuisance. We should have finished her hours ago. Have them do it now.”
~~~~
Chapter 16
USS Hartford
8:20 a.m.
McCann didn’t know if they were still in Long Island Sound or in the Atlantic, but from the pitch and length of the dive, he knew they had taken Hartford to periscope depth, which meant they were now capable of using the vertical launch system.
His time was running short.
Working his way down to the torpedo room, Darius had found the last few feet the tightest of all. Hung up at one point when his clothing caught on a pipe hanger, he’d finally been able to work his way through, emerging outboard of the torpedo racks. A torn shirt and a few scratches were all he had to show for his trouble.
The area was the arsenal of the attack submarine. Three sets of double-decker racks held twenty-two smooth, white torpedoes. Four more fish sat ready in the tubes. Two of those were already fired, though, McCann recalled. On less critical missions, a couple of racks were usually left empty for the purpose of maintenance and movement. But that wasn’t the case on this patrol. Their destination in the Persian Gulf mandated that Hartford should be fitted with every ounce of firepower that she could carry.
He worked his way to the aft end of the rack and around the tail end of the fish to the aisle that separated the side and center racks. With the exception of the soft hum of the ventilation system, it was very quiet. But he knew someone, most likely two people, had to be working the tubes. He had to find out if they were still down here. He had to assume they would be.
They. The word stuck in his craw. He still didn’t want to believe that any member of his crew could have anything to do with this. McCann had been caught unawares. The same thing could have happened to the rest of them.
He touched the keys hanging on a chain around his neck under his shirt to make sure they were still there. His first stop had to be the weapon’s locker. This meant that he had to get out unnoticed.
Crouching low, he moved around the loading and ramming gear across the narrow aisle. That’s when he saw them. He was right. Two men were loading a torpedo into a tube that had fired before. They worked in absolute silence.
The one closest to him had narrow shoulders and long arms and was wearing coveralls. McCann saw immediately that he wasn’t a member of his crew. The hijacker wore a shoulder holster. When he turned slightly, McCann could see the butt of his firearm. The man stepped aside and the submarine commander had a clear look at the second man. Square upper body with the sleeves of the coveralls rolled up to his elbows. Tattoos down both arms and on the back of his neck into the hairline. This one didn’t have to turn around for McCann to know who he was. Juan Rivera.
He would have liked nothing better than to wrap his fingers around the man’s thick neck right at this moment. The enlisted crew of Hartford, the officers, the X.O., everyone including McCann, had looked after him and tried to be there for him when Rivera’s mother struggled with cancer a year ago. She’d died, but McCann really thought that the torpedo man had walked away
from that loss with a gain of a new family, at least new friends. But he’d guessed wrong. From his hiding place McCann could tell Rivera was armed, as well.
Suddenly, he wasn’t too sure of anyone’s innocence. Rivera was here, obviously cooperating. And after hearing what Amy had said about the navigation system, McCann figured Cavallaro must have known there was nothing wrong. That spoke of his involvement. Barclay, who’d been topside on watch, could be part of this. There had been only one hatch left open, and anyone wanting to get inside the sub would have had to pass by the young sailor. Of course, Barclay could be dead, but McCann didn’t even trust his own shadow right now.
He slowly backed up. He had to get to the weapon’s locker and go from there.
By the stairs, McCann stopped and looked back over the racks just as the hijacker started up the aisle between the racks. Quickly, McCann ducked back into the auxiliary machinery room, which was just aft of the torpedo room. The huge auxiliary diesel engine was located here, as well as quarters for some of the crew. Pressing himself against a bulkhead, he could see the hijacker through the doorway, standing near the tail of the fish. He had his back to McCann, but if he turned around, the intruder would see him.
McCann edged away until he was out of the hijacker’s possible line of vision. Suddenly, his foot caught on something on the deck and he nearly pitched backward, barely catching himself before he fell. Looking down, he saw Lee Brody’s body partially stuffed under one of the massive engine mounts. His mouth was covered with duct-tape. His hands and feet were bound. The man was totally out.
McCann crouched over Brody and looked closer at the source of blood that stained the young man’s collar. There was a nasty contusion on the back of his head and a bruise on the side of his face where he must have hit the deck.
McCann checked for vital signs. Brody was alive. He didn’t know if the sonar man would be any use to him anytime soon, but he used the box cutter to cut through the duct tape on his hands and ankles. He gently pulled the tape from Brody’s mouth. He couldn’t do anything more for him now.
McCann edged his way to the door and looked in. Rivera and the hijacker were forward, by the tubes. The fish was no longer on the rack. The two men appeared to be just finishing up loading it.
He had to get to the weapons locker. Darting around the corner, he moved quickly to the stairs but stopped dead at the sound of footsteps directly above him.
Someone was going down the passageway toward the ship’s office… where he’d left Amy.
~~~~
Chapter 17
Pentagon
8:25 a.m.
If Bruce Dunn had any reservations about working with Sarah Connelly on this investigation, they were gone in the course of the first hour. On the professional side—an area in which he considered himself a good judge—she was smart, efficient, persistent, and obviously a mover and shaker. She knew how to get people do what she wanted. On the unprofessional side—an area in which he considered himself even more of an expert—she was five-ten, had blue eyes, sexy short dark hair, and an athletic build that could have been on the cover of a glossy magazine, not in the strict confines of the navy uniform.
And this wasn’t the first time he’d admired this specific facet of her personality. He’d attended at least three different navy functions where he could remember Lieutenant Connelly being there. He’d never been able to get within an arm’s length of her because of her other eager admirers. But he’d made sure to ask a few questions about who she was. It never hurt to learn a thing or two about a beautiful woman.
Bottom line, she had it all. But if the telephone call Bruce had gotten this morning had been any indication, the navy brass wasn’t giving Sarah her due. He’d been told that she’d been chosen for the job because of her personal relationship with McCann. Moreover, to learn more about the sub commander, Dunn was to use her however he needed.
“Eleven of them. They’re all here.” Sarah dropped a stack of folders in the middle of the conference table and took the seat across from him. “A personnel file for everyone that we know is on the boat, including Amy Russell.”
“Where did you get her file?”
“EB faxed what they had, and I got the rest from files the FBI keeps on defense contractor employees who have top secret clearance,” she told him. “Anything on the surveillance cameras?”
“They have clear pictures of McCann in the parking lot, by the security booth, and going in and out of the NAVSEA barge,” Bruce explained. “The cameras in the North Yard Ways were supposedly destroyed by the fire. I have one of my NCIS guys ready to go over the tape from the cameras that were trained on Hartford.”
“Are there problems with those, too?”
“We don’t know yet. The bad weather, time of night, they’re all factors. They told me on the phone from Groton that they can see some shadows. There’s a lot more digital enhancement we can do, though.”
“Have they sent them over?”
“They’re here, being analyzed.”
She had shed her jacket, and the sleeves of her white shirt were rolled up to the elbows. His gaze lingered briefly on her forearm. The muscle beneath the smooth skin was firm and toned.
Sarah reached for the folders she’d dropped on the conference table. Bruce noticed that she chose Amy Russell’s first. He couldn’t help but wonder if the navy lieutenant still carried a torch for her ex-boyfriend.
Bruce turned his attention back to the laptop screen and the list he was putting together. Submarine skippers and experts, both retired and still in the navy. He didn’t personally believe that an American sub driver had to be the only one capable of engineering this kind of hijacking. His list already included British and Russian commanders.
Unfortunately, what he had before him was a long and impressive collection of names. The difficult part would be to narrow it down to those who might have a bone of contention.
“This is interesting,” Sarah said under her breath.
Bruce realized she was still paging through Amy Russell’s files. “What did you find?”
“This woman. Amy Russell.” Sarah looked up. “She could easily be connected.”
~~~~
Chapter 18
Stonington, CT
8:30 a.m.
Sitting in Amy’s kitchen, Barbara Quayle let out a frustrated breath and hung up the phone. All the circuits were still tied up. She couldn’t call out. Nobody could call in. The last person who’d called them was a parent from the twins’ elementary school phone chain. That had been around seven o’clock. They closed the school right after the attack in New London harbor.
Right now, Barbara didn’t know if she should be taking the kids somewhere. If she should, she didn’t know where. The twin’s grandparents were still away, but she didn’t really know what help they’d be, anyway.
She’d been occasionally sneaking into Amy’s bedroom, keeping an eye on the news on her television. She didn’t want to let Zack and Kaitlyn see what was going on where their mother worked. Not that anyone really seemed to know what was going on. The only things that the news reporters appeared to be certain of, so far, was that a fire had broken out in the shipyard and something unexplainable had happened in the harbor. They kept showing the Coast Guard ship that had been damaged, and the New London Ledge lighthouse that had been demolished. Although witnesses in Groton and New London claimed to have heard and seen explosions, the news people were being very careful with their speculations. Whether the submarine leaving the harbor had done the damage or not, no one would say officially.
Barbara reached inside her pocket and opened the cap to her blood pressure pills. She wasn’t due to take one until tonight, but she didn’t care. Her heart was pounding, and she felt lightheaded. Her blood pressure had to be up. She took one.
There was something terrible going on. She knew it, and she could see it on every station that she turned the channel to. And she was scared—not for herself, but for the twins and for Amy.
>
Where was she?
She’d hoped Zack and Kaitlyn would sleep late today, but both of them were up and looking for their mother as soon as the call had come from the phone-chain parent. Barbara hadn’t said anything about what she’d seen on the news. She even let them watch one of their Disney movies while they ate their breakfast, sitting on the sofa in the living room. That was a huge treat. She knew for a fact that Amy never allowed TV and meals to go together. But even that kind of indulgence hadn’t fooled them.
Kaitlyn barely touched the waffles Barbara had popped in the toaster. She had no interest in the movie, either. She was cuddled on the window-seat, her face pressed against the glass pane, watching the rain outside and the quiet street. She was waiting for her mom to come home.
Zack wasn’t much better. He pretended that he was watching the movie, but Barbara knew the young boy was aware of every move she made in the apartment. His gaze followed Barbara whenever she disappeared into Amy’s bedroom. He watched her pick up the phone a dozen times as she tried to get through to the shipyard, or to Amy’s pager, or to her cell-phone. She wasn’t able to get through on anything.
Barbara grabbed her cup of tea. It was already cold, but she didn’t care. She joined Zack on the sofa. He was just a few bites ahead of his sister when it came to breakfast.
“Not hungry today?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “Did mommy call?”
“No, sweetheart. There’s something wrong with the phone lines this morning. They’ll be fixing them, soon.”
Sirens from the borough and the neighboring towns had been blaring intermittently for the past hour. The twins hardly seemed to notice them. Barbara figured she was mostly responsible for the children’s nervousness; they were too smart not to see and sense her restlessness.
“So, how’s the movie?” Barb asked.
Zack shrugged and his gaze moved to his sister again. Kaitlyn was still in her pajamas, and her short, curly hair framed her innocent face like a halo. She wasn’t paying attention to anything but that road.
