Echo Class (45 page)

Orlov agreed.

“Here is where we hit the obstacle. From the sound of the hit, it sounded as if we hit something metallic. It was definitely an uncharted sunken vessel.”

“Or an outcropping. It could also have been the bottom,” Tverdokhleb said.

“It couldn't have been the bottom because when we glanced off, we continued downward. Besides, Lieutenant, you said it was a derelict. Make up your mind on what it was and stick with it.”

“My apologies, sir.”

Bocharkov grunted. “Regardless, we have hit something and that something is higher than the bottom. I think your first instinct, Navigator, was right about it being an old sunken vessel. Which means it is not on the chart. Then, maybe you are right, but instead of it being man-made, maybe it's a mountain or an outcropping. Whatever it is, it is between us and the Americans.” He looked at Orlov. “You said their pulse did not hit us, right?”

“Sonar confirms no indications it detected us.”

“Why?” Bocharkov asked, then continued before Orlov could reply. “Because of what we hit. It is shielding us from their sonar, but once they pass over it, they are going to regain contact with us, if we are not over open ocean.”

A broad smile passed over Orlov's face. “Means we have an opportunity to evade them, sir.”

Bocharkov grunted. “Well said, Lieutenant.” He looked down at Tverdokhleb. “What I want from you, Uri,” Bocharkov continued, tapping the navigator on the shoulder, “is to listen to the contact information Sonar is passing and plot the American destroyers. Lieutenant Orlov, you are to stand here and provide recommendations to me on course changes to keep that underwater whatever between us and the Americans. Lieutenant Tverdokhleb, you are the key to getting us out of this.” He looked at both officers. “Do you know what that second grenade meant?”

They shook their heads.

“It means they are going to drop one more, and if we don't surface, then they will attack us.”

The officers exchanged glances.

“Your orders, sir?” Orlov asked.

Bocharkov looked at Tverdokhleb. “Officer of the Deck, make your depth two hundred fifty meters, make your course two-eight-zero, and make your speed ten knots.”

Orlov turned and started back to his position near the helmsman. As he walked, he repeated in a loud voice, “Making my depth two hundred fifty meters, maintaining course two-six-five, and coming to speed ten knots, aye!”

An echo of his commands came from the helmsman, as the starshina shifted the wheels slightly. At the annunciator, the chief of the watch, Trush, passed along the speed command and reported when the engine room acknowledged the new order.

Uvarova watched, holding his broken arm, as the planesman eased the angle of the planes mounted on the conning tower of the Echo. “Easy, easy,” the chief of the boat said softly.

The K-122 started to pick up speed from the slow drift. Bocharkov looked down at the chart. Tverdokhleb shifted the chart back so it faced it him. With the fine tip of the pencil the navigator drew a slight line from where they were and put a time on it.

Orlov must have told Sonar what Bucharkov wanted, because almost immediately the passive bearings to the two destroyers began to roll aloud through Combat. Tverdokhleb whipped his compass along each bearing and drew a faint line. On the chart the navigator had drawn a circle to identify where the something—possibly an underwater knoll—was they had hit.

“Make your course two-seven-zero,” Bocharkov said.

“Make my course two-seven-zero, aye,” Orlov replied.

The helmsman acknowledged the officer of the deck's order and eased the helm to starboard, bringing the K-122 ten degrees to starboard. The K-122 was heading out of Subic Bay. The open Pacific Ocean beckoned only miles away.

“How will this affect our masking by the underwater object?” Bocharkov asked Tverdokhleb.

The navigator bent over his chart for a few seconds, then straightened. “We have about five minutes of cover before Contact Two will have a straight line to us.”

Bocharkov nodded and then started back toward his position near the periscope. He did not know if this was going to work or not. He had no idea of how wide or high whatever they'd hit was. For all he knew they could find themselves unmasked at any moment, like a virgin at an orgy.

The only way he was going to know was if it worked—or didn't.

The muffled sound of another explosion was heard through the skin of the submarine. It was faint, but sufficient to reach inside the K-122.

“That's the third one,” Ignatova said from his sitting position, a bandage now covering the top of his head. The XO was being helped to his feet. Ignatova shrugged off the hands and stood before the weapons console. “I am ready, Captain.”

“Make aft tubes one and two ready in all respects,” Bocharkov said. He did not want to fire on the Americans, but if he had no other choice to save the K-122, he would.

“Tubes one and two ready, sir,” Ignatova replied.

Bocharkov looked at the clock. It showed zero four fifty.

“Steady on two-seven-zero at two hundred fifty meters, speed ten knots, sir.”

“Very well,” Bocharkov said, with more confidence than he felt.

CAPTAIN
Norton faced the banks of telecommunications equipment before him. One hand held the briar pipe he puffed, while the other traced invisible lines in the air as his eyes traveled along the massive maze of wires that ran from the fronts of the telephone switching system to disappear around the back of each piece.

Growing daylight broke through the small windows of the building. He pulled a handkerchief and wiped the first beads of sweat from his forehead. He folded the khaki hat in his hand and jammed it under his belt. The temperature inside this building would hit over a hundred today, he surmised. He removed the pipe long enough to yawn and scratch the stubble of the morning shadow across his chin.

“Chief, tell San Miguel to send a couple of huge fans in the logistics van. Tell them we will need them this morning.”

Chief Welcher nodded. “Aye, sir. I'm going to check on the main van and see if it has left yet. Plus I want to do another check of the outside. We got some daylight now.” He stepped outside the building.

Norton had forbade any communications over the telephone lines with San Miguel until he figured out what this contraption was and how it came to be installed inside the Subic Bay telephone switching system. He now knew where it came from and was sure he knew how it came to be installed here.

The Marine Corps captain stepped into the small building, drawing Norton's attention.

“Captain, we have secured the perimeter, sir.”

“How far down the road have you put forces, Captain Lewis?”

“As you requested, sir. No one will be able to reach this end of Subic today without wading through my marines.”

Norton nodded. “Well done, Captain.”

“Captain,” Norton said, causing the young officer to stop and turn. “My condolences on the marines' losses last night. I know everyone killed and wounded was a comrade of you and your men. They were also our comrades.”

“We're going to get them, sir.”

Norton started to say something, but better the man believed his words than know the truth Norton had reached in the hour he had been here.

“You are right, Captain,” he finally replied. “We're going to get them,” he said, his words trailing off as his eyes returned to the strange contraption he had found. He stuck the pipe back between his lips. Blue smoke curled from the bowl as his teeth lightly trapped the stem.

“Yes, sir, we will. Did you hear about the action in the Middle East?”

“I did. Seems the Israelis have wiped out the Arab air forces, doesn't it?”

“Yes, sir. Kind of dumb of the Arabs to start telling everyone what they were going to do weeks ago and start preparing to do it and not expect the Israelis to do something.”

“It is a strange and dangerous world in which we live, Captain. Back to the security,” Norton said, stirring the conversation away from the newest Middle East war.

For the next five minutes the two officers discussed Norton's orders for the security and where to mount the ingress and egress to the area. The fewer people who knew what he knew the better.

Chief Welcher stepped into the narrow space between the marine officer and the bank of equipment. “Captain,” he said, looking at Norton. “I found where it's connected.”

Welcher glanced at Norton and then Lewis. When it became apparent the marine officer was curious over the chief's words, Norton said, “Captain, that will be all. Thanks again for securing the area and relay my regrets to your men.”

Lewis opened his mouth to say something. Norton knew the man was going to ask why they had secured the area, and he was prepared to lie and tell him it was because it was a crime scene. But the marine officer apparently changed his mind, and he stepped out of the doorway into the rising humid heat of the Philippines, which filtered into the fan-cooled area of the switching room.

“Tell me about it.”

“Fairly simple, sir. A thin wire antenna trails from the telephone line here in the switching room to the top of the telephone pole. They just wrapped it around the heavier telephone cable.”

Norton walked to the rear of the racks of equipment, where the bulk of connecting wires ran from the top of the telephone switching bank to the wall, disappearing through it to the outside. He turned on his flashlight and searched the wiring. “I don't see where it connects here.”

Welcher had followed the navy cryptologic officer. He reached up and traced his hand along the wires, searching for something. “I don't see or feel anything either, sir. Maybe once we have more light we can tell better.”

Norton went back to the contraption. “Looks as if whoever did this did not expect it to stay long before it was discovered.”

“Piss-poor installation.”

Norton grunted. “Works though,” he said, a puff of blue white Carter Hall smoke whiffing from his lips and the bowl of the pipe. “On the second hand, Chief, maybe they wanted us to find it. Think we're right to leave it attached? Maybe safer for us to pull it out and destroy their mission. At least, someone would have a lot of explaining to do if it failed to work. What do you think? Leave it or pull it out?”

“Sir, I'm a chief. I'll do what you tell me to. We already have it. We can rip it out anytime, box it up, and ship it to the Foreign Technology Exploitation office at Office of Naval Intelligence, or we can take it back to San Miguel.”

“We could do all of those. I think we'll leave it in. Kind of a gesture of goodwill between us spooks,” he joked. “Let them think for a few days they were surreptitious enough to fool us.” Norton looked the out-of-place equipment over closely without touching it. “Is there some way we can connect this to only one line or two? Right now, I'm not sure how it is determining which telephone lines to monitor.”

Welcher leaned over, the two heads nearly touching. The beer aroma of Olongapo coming from Welcher and the sweet tobacco smoke of Norton's pipe mixed around the two men.

“Captain, I think we can do it, but we run the risk of destroying the instrument once we start messing with it.”

“The van from San Miguel will be here in two hours, followed by the logistics van.” He fanned his face. “Let's hope they remember to send the fans.”

“Which teams are coming with the group?”

“I asked for the operational deception team.” He looked at Welcher. “Did you find out if it had left yet or not?”

“I wrote the message for transmission and one of the runners has left with it for Subic Operations Center. Not being able to talk with them directly makes this a hard way to exchange information.”

“No choice, Chief, until we know what we are up against. Until then, every conversation made by telephone by anyone on the base, whether it is the Cubi Point airdales or the Subic Bay ship drivers, their conversations are being transmitting into the ether.”

“I don't think it can monitor every conversation, sir.”

Norton shook his head. “I think you are right, Chief. I would offer most likely it sets itself to active lines and stays there.”

“Only one transmission line outside and it's a wire antenna. Can't transmit a lot. Probably one conversation at a time.”

Several more puffs of smoke rose from the bowl as Norton nodded. “You're probably right, Chief. Would do them little good to listen to sex talk between the sailors coming into port and their wives back in the continental United States.” Norton shook his head. “No, they're going to want to monitor the talk between Subic Operations and the ships tied up here.”

“The problem, sir, is I don't know how to find out how or what this thing is monitoring without taking it off. This contraption makes me think it is a receiver. And I don't know any receiver that also transmits.” Welcher shook his head. “Know what I think, Captain?”

“Tell me, Chief.”

“I think it roams the circuits looking for something that is active. Kind of what you were saying. When it finds someone in a conversation, it quits roaming, starts monitoring, and starts transmitting, until there is a click as they hang up, or a certain number of seconds pass with no conversation or something like that. Then it starts searching the telephone lines again for activity.”

“Well, we won't take it apart yet, Chief. We'll try some external exploitation. See if we can find the frequency this thing is transmitting its data on, and from there, we'll extrapolate how it works.”