Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

Rushing to the tactical section of his control room, Tovarich grabbed the sonar operator. “We have an uninvited guest out there,” he said. “American submersible. Find them!”

The sonar operator worked feverishly, pressing the earphones to his head and listening for the tiny, electric-powered submersible. With all the background noise, it proved impossible.

“It’s no good, Captain. Too much interference from the salvage team and the thrusters.”

Tovarich turned to the navigation officer. “Thrusters off. All stop. Shut down the salvage operation.”

The positioning thrusters were turned off and the vibration they produced began to fade. As the Typhoon began to drift, the work outside came to a halt as well. No one dare move.

“Anything?” Tovarich asked.

The sonar operator continued searching. Finally, a signal emerged.

“Small craft,” he said. “Bearing zero-four-five. Depth seven-fifty and rising.”

“I want a positive range-and-firing solution,” Tovarich said.

The tactical officer looked surprised. “Sir?”

“That’s my order. Lock on and fire!”

Out in the dark, racing as fast as they could and heading for the surface, Kurt and Emma listened through the hydrophone as a strange silence grew up in their wake. “They’ve shut down the thrusters,” Kurt said. “It means they’re listening for us.”

He considered shutting down as well and drifting on the current, but if he did that, the Russians would just resort to active sonar and would find them eventually. The only way to be safe was to reach the surface. He doubted the Russians would do anything once they were out in the open.

He angled the nose of the sub higher and watched as the depth went below seven hundred feet. They still had a long way to go when the sound of the Typhoon’s main engines coming back to life reached them.

The heavy pinging of a sonar sweep caught them seconds later, followed by the sound Kurt was dreading: a sudden rush of compressed air as a torpedo was thrust into the water to track them down and destroy them.

18

The NUMA submersible was maneuverable, but not very fast. Certainly not in comparison to the torpedo homing in on it.

“Use this to control the hydrophone,” Kurt said, placing Emma’s hand on a large dial. “Keep it focused on the torpedo. We need to hear it coming if we’re going to have any chance to avoid it.”

“Torpedo?”

“Shouldn’t have told you that,” Kurt said.

A different kind of sonar found them next: rapid clicks with short intervals and a higher-pitched sound.

“It’s locked onto us,” Kurt said.

They’d put about a mile between themselves and the Typhoon by the time they were discovered. At that distance, and considering the comparative speeds, they might have forty seconds before getting obliterated.

“Can you take evasive action?” Emma said.

“We’re making eight knots,” Kurt said. “Nothing we do would be considered evasive. But we’re not out of options.”

He reached past Emma to the cargo controls. “If we can create a diversion, we might survive.”

Kurt had loaded the flight recorder into the right-hand cargo container. But the left-hand container was filled with nothing of real value, just junk from the wrecked bomber. Pressing one button, he unlocked the clasps that held it to the side of the Angler. Turning a pair of valves to full open, he inflated a pair of yellow bags attached to the container. The rush of bubbles drowned out all noise for several seconds and the bags expanded like hot-air balloons. They rose toward the surface and lifted the cargo container free.

At almost the same instant, Kurt blew the air from the ballast tank and pointed the submersible straight down, hoping the wall of bubbles and the ascending cargo container would draw the torpedo off course.

For several seconds, the water was too turbulent to hear anything, but as the disturbance cleared, Emma refocused the hydrophone. The sonar pings from the torpedo had changed pitch, becoming weaker.

“It’s headed for the container,” Kurt said. “It’s lost us.”