Terminal Run

“Sonar, Captain, anything on the two five four hertz Snare tonal?” Pacino flipped through the command console’s sonar display to the narrowband processor.

“Conn, Sonar, we’re getting a slight peak on the towed array, but it’s early to call.”

“That’s him,” Pacino said to Westlake.

“I agree with sonar, Captain, that peak is too broad to call yet.” Westlake said.

“I know that’s what the system says, Nav, but I’m telling you, that’s him.”

“If that’s the case, then the Tigersharks should be homing on him by now, sir, and we have nothing.”

“Wait for two minutes,” Pacino said. “I’m telling you, that’s him. Sonar, Captain, report beam of narrowband detection on the two five four.”

“Captain, Sonar, the two five four is selected to beam seven, which is seeing bearings zero eight five and one six five.”

“To the east, Nav,” Pacino said. “That’s him.”

“Conn, Sonar, we have Tigershark engines bearing east, speeding up.”

Pacino smiled. “Sonar, you have any solid rocket engines yet?”

“Conn, Sonar, no — correction, yes, sir! We have solid rocket ignition. Tigersharks have something, sir!”

“One, bring the ship to missile firing depth,” Victor Krivak ordered. “Fifty meters keel depth. Slow to five knots.”

The deck angle increased as the Snare rose from the deep cold.

“Show the char! again, same scale as last time, with superimposed range circles.”

The ship’s position was flashing right at the intersection point of the Javelin IV missile range circle to Washington and Philadelphia. “Raise the scale. One, until display width is one hundred miles.” The chart grew until he could see that the point in the ocean depicting the ship was slightly east of the range circles, too far by five miles from the target objective. He wanted to slow early and come above the layer, and launch the missiles once he was certain there was no one else in the area, and to make sure the chartered yacht was at the rendezvous point. When the ship came above the thermal layer into the shallows, where the water was much warmer, he commanded the computer to seek diesel engine noises. The chart flashed to the bearing of the twin diesels. The yacht that Amorn and Pedro had hired was exactly where he’d ordered it to be. An excellent sign.

“One, display missile status and targeting.”

The display for the cruise missiles came up on the display, showing missile one targeted to the White House. Krivak considered changing the coordinate from the center of the White House residence to the West Wing, where the President and her staff would likely be, but Admiral Chu wanted the symbol of the presidency destroyed. It seemed a waste. He debated deleting the Philadelphia missile’s target so that he could add the West Wing, but Chu wanted the Independence Hall vaporized. It was a bit odd, but then it was a client request. Krivak left the targets set as he had originally set them, and monitored the display as the missile gyros started up.

“One, make missiles one through twelve ready in all respects, and open outer doors missiles one through twelve.”

The flashing dot of their position crossed the range circles just as the missile doors came open. It was time to launch.

“One, all stop and hover at fifty meters. When the. ship is hovering, fire Javelin cruise missiles one through twelve at preset targets,“7 Krivak ordered. “When launches are complete, change depth to twenty meters and shift control of the escape trunk to local control.”

Krivak pulled off his interface helmet and made his way down the ladder to the middle level to the landing pad of the escape hatch, where Dr. Wang waited. As the first tube launched, shaking the deck, Wang looked at Krivak oddly.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“We’re launching cruise missiles at Washington,” Krivak said as he reached into his duffel bag.

“What!” Wang said, his jaw dropping as a second tube launch made the ship shudder.

“You know, the White House, the Capitol. A few more targets. Then the ship will sail to Chinese waters, assuming it doesn’t get destroyed by the Americans in the next few hours.”

“This was never part of the deal!” Wang screamed. “You can’t use this ship to fire at American land targets!”

The third tube launched. “Actually, I just did,” Krivak said, finding what he was looking for, a silver-plated heavy Colt.45 automatic, with the clip already loaded. Krivak clicked off the safety and pulled the weapon out just as Wang threw himself across the narrow passageway. The.45 spoke with a loud, authoritative voice. Wang took three rounds to the heart, the momentum of the bullets stopping his charge and sending him back against the bulkhead. His eyes were still open with a fading accusatory look as he sank to the deck. Krivak knew it would be wasting a bullet, but he put the barrel to Wang’s open eye and pulled the trigger. The top half of the good doctor’s head burst open like a rotten melon dropped to the floor. His brains and scalp and skull made a nasty pattern against the already gore-strewn laminate of the wall panel.