Piranha: Firing Point

“According to the Japanese, the maximum speed of the Mod II Nagasaki torpedo is only 46 knots. A 688 can outrun a torpedo in a tail chase, which I suspect is what happened to the Annapolis. But you can’t run from a torpedo you didn’t detect, so our sonar system is key.

“And the last worry on the list is that this mission falls on its face if Cyclops fails. We’d better hope the computer works and doesn’t crash on us.”

“If it works anything as well as Miss. O’Shaughnessy looks, it’ll do great,” a young voice said from the other side of the room.

“That’s enough,” Pacino said, suddenly furious, biting his lip. “Any questions? Captain, please dismiss your men and come see me in the VIP stateroom.”

Pacino left the wardroom and crossed the hall to the stateroom, his heart still thumping in anger. No doubt about it, he’d feel better when Colleen was off the ship.

Chapter 11 Thursday November 7

PACIFIC OCEAN

270 MILES SOUTHEAST OF NAHA, OKINAWA

USS DEVILFISH, SSNX-1

“Tanker in sight, bearing mark! Range, mark! Three divisions in low power, angle on the bow starboard five.

Offsa’deck, take the scope,” Patton called, releasing the grips and turning away.

“Where’s O’Shaughnessy?”

“She’s not at the escape trunk, sir,” the helm officer said, putting down his phone.

Patton and Pacino exchanged a look. “I’ll go for her,” Pacino said. He walked out of the control room, past the door to sonar, and down the forward centerline passageway all the way to the end at the door to the computer room. He tapped in the combination to the button-type lock, the alphanumerics set to “S-S-N-X,” clicked the latch, and walked in. Colleen O’Shaughnessy sat at her console, typing away, as if there were no personnel transfer waiting for her.

“You’re late,” Pacino said, trying to keep his voice level. “We need to get you going. Wrap up there and get into the suit and tanks.” He pointed at the wet suit on the deck, the scuba bottle lying next to it.

She just kept typing, ignoring him.

“Colleen, let’s go.” He reached for her upper arm, and she shrugged him off, continuing to type.

“What’s the matter with you?” he cried, his anger rising.

“I’ll tell you what’s the matter with me,” she said, her voice low, quiet, and furious. “You’re treating me like a child. Now, cut it out and leave me alone. I’ve got two terabytes of code to fix.”

“Colleen, we’ll manage. Turn it over to Commander Porter. We need to get you off the ship.”

“Why?”

“Because your life is in danger.”

“No, it isn’t, yours is. Especially if you kick me off the ship. Admiral, the code’s corrupt. It has maybe an hour at a time to run before it collapses, and I have to cold-start it.” She kept typing while she spoke.

“Fine, we’ll cold-start it when it shuts down. Now let’s—”

“You don’t understand. Each time it shuts down, I have to process and fix the error message. It’s how the debug-system module works. We might even lose the system fifty times in an hour if there are fifty lines of code incorrect. And your Mr. Porter won’t be able to do that. So it’s not whether my life or your life is in danger, it’s the mission that’s in trouble. This mission goes exactly nowhere without Cyclops. You said it yourself, Admiral, I am the battlecontrol system.” She stopped typing, dropped her hands into her lap, and looked up at him. “I’ll tell you the real reason you want me off the ship. It’s because of your feelings for me.”

Pacino dropped his jaw, looking down at her. The ponytail was gone. She had combed out her hair, and it looked freshly washed, shining in the light of the overheads.

Her skin was as healthy as if she’d been outside in the sun, her eyes shining.

“My feelings for you?”

“Exactly. And it’s okay, Michael. I have feelings for you too. I have since the first time I saw you 137 days ago at the Dynacorp shipyard meeting.”

“I never knew,” Pacino sputtered, his chest so tight he could barely speak. “Why didn’t you say something, or do something? Something to tell me?”

“You weren’t ready. You’re still not. Besides, I did do something. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Pacino struggled to think. “But, Colleen, your life is in danger. We’re headed for a combat zone. You can’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“Navy regulations, for one thing—”

“Screw them. Next?”

“Okay, your father.”

“If I were a guy, that wouldn’t matter, would it?”

Pacino pushed against his mental haze. “You’re right.

Maybe it wouldn’t. But you’re still leaving. I’m not putting you at risk any more than I already have. It was wrong to bring you here.”

“Look at it this way. Admiral. If this were 1912 and I were on the Titanic, would you evacuate me?”

“Yes.”

“Now, if I were on the Titanic because I alone had the information to prevent it from hitting that iceberg, and that were my purpose, then would you evacuate me?”

“Dammit, yes.”

“And have a thousand deaths on your conscience? I doubt it. You’d let me stay to try to save the ship. Because, Admiral, without me this ship is the Titanic.”

Pacino looked her in the eye for a long moment.