The Bin Laden Plot

“As you can imagine, a fully automated mother ship containing a nuclear reactor is a sensitive subject we’d rather not reveal to the public. Safeguards have been put in place, of course, keeping the submarine away from land in case of a severe casualty. But that’s the least of our worries now that the UUV has mated with it.”

“Why is that?” Wilson asked.

“We suspect the UUV has been infected with a virus, corrupting its artificial intelligence. Now that it has mated with the mother ship, it too is likely infected, and it will now transmit the virus to every UUV it mates with. The situation is now far more severe. Instead of sinking a single UUV, your task has become more involved and more urgent. You’ll also need to sink the mother ship before it infects more UUVs.”

“I understand,” Wilson replied. “How long before the mother ship retrieves the next vehicle?”

“Seven days,” Verbeck replied. “Are you still tracking the UUV and mother ship?”

“We aren’t,” Wilson replied. “There’s a sharp thermocline here in the Gulf, and we lost both contacts coming up to periscope depth.”

Wilson went on to explain what a thermocline was — a thin layer of water where the temperature transitioned rapidly between the warm surface heated by the sun and the cold water beneath. Submarines used thermoclines to their advantage because the rapid temperature change bent sound waves as they traveled through the layer, reflecting the sound back toward its source like light reflecting off a window. Depending on the frequency and angle of the sound wave, some tonals didn’t make it through.

“Will it be difficult to regain contact?”

“That depends on if they’ve altered their course or speed while we’re at periscope depth, and whether they’ve separated. Do you know how long it takes before the UUV de-mates from the mother ship?”

Verbeck turned to Hoskins again.

“About an hour. It depends on how depleted the UUV battery is.”

“Then we’ll need to end this videocon soon so I can get Michigan below the thermocline again.”

“I understand,” Verbeck replied. “Do you have any more questions?”

“I do. Is the mother ship weaponized?”

There was a tense moment in the conference room before Hoskins answered.

“Yes.”

“What weapons does it carry?”

“MK 48 ADCAP, MOD 7.”

Wilson appeared to be evaluating the revised scenario. Instead of dealing with a UUV carrying a single lightweight torpedo, he now faced an automated, full-size submarine carrying heavyweight torpedoes, with warheads over six times more powerful than those built into lightweight torpedoes.

“How many torpedoes?”

“A full torpedo room’s worth,” Hoskins replied. “A Seawolf torpedo room.”

Wilson nodded solemnly. A Seawolf torpedo room carried fifty torpedoes, twice that of other U.S. fast-attack submarines and three times what Michigan carried.

“I understand,” he replied. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Not that I can think of,” Verbeck replied. She looked to Hoskins, who shook his head.

“Thank you for your time, Secretary Verbeck. We’ll destroy the UUV and mother ship as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”

The secure videocon terminated, and the display went black.

There was silence in the conference room until Hoskins spoke. “This has gotten out of hand. If he sinks that submarine — ”

Verbeck cut him off. “Wilson will be to blame, not us. He has no official direction to sink that submarine aside from the verbal order I just gave him — he has nothing in writing. He’ll just be an overzealous captain who exceeded his authority. What matters is that the UUV and the information it collected is destroyed.”

Hoskins didn’t reply, but his face was tight. He had agreed to lend his assistance in the matter, but his resolve was wavering.

Verbeck considered the tenuous relationship with her military aide. His demise couldn’t come fast enough. What was taking so long?

22 DICKERSON, MARYLAND

Sitting atop a large boulder beside the mountain trail, Lonnie Mixell aimed his binoculars through an opening in the trees, surveying the parking lot at the foot of Sugarloaf Mountain. Aside from his car, there was one other vehicle, with a woman and young girl inside, the woman with a phone to her ear. Another car pulled into the lot and parked. Navy Captain Andy Hoskins stepped from the vehicle with a water bottle in one hand, which he placed in a fanny pack he clipped around his waist.

Clearly a weekend warrior.

It was warm this morning, already eighty degrees, and Mixell wore only shorts and a T-shirt. His P226 pistol was in his backpack beside him, but he wouldn’t need it today. He put his binoculars away and loosened the laces of his right shoe, then slid down to the ground with his back against the boulder. It’d be about ten minutes before Hoskins made his way up the trail.