Poseidon's Arrow (Dirk Pitt 22)

“Sir,” the admiral said, clearing his throat. “What we possess with the Sea Arrow is a complete game changer. As you know, there has been a recent surge in the threat to our naval forces. The Iranians have acquired a host of new subsea technologies from the Russians and are working feverishly to add to their fleet of Kilo class subs. The Russians themselves have dramatically kicked up their shipbuilding efforts, with the help of oil revenues, to replace their aging fleet. And, of course, we have the Chinese. While they continue to claim their military expansion is strictly for defensive purposes, it’s no secret that they’ve been rapidly expanding their blue-water fleet. Sources expect their Type 097 nuclear sub to go operational any day. That all makes for growing threats in the Pacific, the Atlantic, and the Persian Gulf.”

The admiral

looked the President in the eye and gave him a grim smile. “On our side of the ledger, we have a continually shrinking fleet as the cost of each new deployed vessel skyrockets. At a cost of over two billion dollars each, we all know there’s just a limited number of Virginia class subs that can be squeezed out of an ever-tightening budget.”

“The national debt is still out of control,” the President said, “so the Navy will have to take its medicine, just like everybody else.”

“Precisely, sir. Which brings us to the Sea Arrow. Eliminating the lengthy research-to-production cycle and piggybacking on some economies of scale with the Virginia program allowed us to construct her at a fraction of the North Dakota’s cost. As you can see, she has been built in utmost secrecy. We intentionally built her alongside the Dakota to divert attention and allow for delivery of components without suspicion. We hope to secretly launch her for sea trials when the North Dakota is publicly commissioned.”

The President frowned. “You’ve done a splendid job of keeping her under wraps so far.”

“Thank you, sir. As Dr. Eberson mentioned, what we have before you is the most technically advanced submarine ever built. The shaftless propulsion drive, the external torpedo tubes, and the torpedo suppression system are all state-of-the-art technologies. But there’s an additional element to her design that truly sets her apart.”

Eberson had already loaded a disk into a projection player.

On a whiteboard, video footage appeared of the open stern of a small boat bobbing about a mountain lake. Two men lifted a bright yellow torpedo-shaped device from the deck and placed it over the side. The President could see by its winged appendages that it was a mock-up of the Sea Arrow, operated by remote control.

“That is a scale model,” Eberson said. “She was built to the exact configuration and uses the same type of propulsion system.”

As the model was launched, the image switched to an onboard camera view. A row of tracking meters superimposed at the bottom of the screen indicated the model’s speed, depth, pitch, and roll.

The model submerged a short depth into sage green waters and began accelerating. A flurry of lake sediments rushed past the camera as the tiny submersible gained speed. Suddenly, a surge of small bubbles filled the screen, obscuring the image. The video remained a snowy blur as the model continued to accelerate. The President’s mouth dropped as he watched the speed gauge roll into triple digits. Eventually the model slowed and returned to the surface, where it was retrieved before the video clip ended.

Silence filled the room for a moment before the President spoke in a low voice. “Am I to understand that this model attained an underwater speed of one hundred and fifty miles per hour?”

“No, sir,” Eberson replied with a smile. “She attained a speed of one hundred and fifty knots, which would be on the order of one hundred and seventy-two miles per hour.”

“That’s impossible. I’ve been told naval propulsion technologies can’t get past seventy or eighty knots. Even the North Dakota only manages thirty-five.”

“Didn’t the Russians develop some kind of torpedo that can run over a hundred knots?” Cerny asked.

“Yes, they have the Shkval,” Eberson said, “which is a high-speed, rocket-powered torpedo. A similar principle is in play with the Sea Arrow. It’s not the propulsion that allows the high rate of speed but rather supercavitation.”

“Forgive my lack of engineering know-how,” the President said, “but doesn’t supercavitation have to do with disturbances in the water?”

“Yes. In the case here, it involves creating a gas bubble around the object traveling underwater. The bubble frees up the water’s drag, allowing for much higher speeds. The array of tubes on the Sea Arrow’s prow will be part of the supercavitation system we hope to deploy. Combined with the high-power magnetic motors, we fully expect to match those kinds of speeds—without the range limitations the Russians have with their rocket torpedoes.”

“Perhaps,” Cerny said, “but there’s a substantial difference between a torpedo and a two-hundred-foot submarine.”

“The differences mostly come in the way of control at high speeds,” Eberson said. “The Sea Arrow’s Jurassic wings, as the President described them, will aid in providing stability. The supercavitation system itself will more directly affect control by manipulating the size and shape of the gas bubble. It’s an untested theory on a vessel this size, but our supplier of the system is confident in its capability. I will actually be monitoring a final sea trial of their model next week.”

The President sat, rubbing his chin. Finally, he looked at the admiral with a knowing gaze. “Admiral, if she works as advertised, what exactly does it mean?”

“The Sea Arrow will put us twenty years ahead of our nearest adversary. The Chinese, Russian, and Iranian buildup will be effectively neutralized. We’ll have a weapon at our disposal that is nearly invulnerable. And with just a handful of Sea Arrows, we’ll be able to defend every corner of the globe on almost immediate notice. What it really means, sir, is that we won’t have to worry about the safety of the seas for the balance of our lifetimes.”

The President nodded. The heat and humidity seemed to disappear from the room, and, for the first time all day, he smiled.

3

THE CUSTOMARY SOUTHERN CALIFORNIAN EARLY-MORNING gloom hung over the marina, the air damp with a misty drizzle. Joe Eberson hoisted himself from behind the wheel of a rental car and eyed the parking lot, then moved to the trunk, retrieving a tackle box and fishing rod. Both had been purchased the night before, shortly after his flight from the East Coast landed at San Diego’s Lindbergh Field. Flipping on a battered bucket hat, he ambled into the sprawling marina at Shelter Island.

Eberson ignored the buzz of an E-2 Hawkeye surveillance plane taking off from the Coronado Naval Air Station across the harbor as he made his way past dozens of small sailboats and powerboats. The playthings of weekend hobbyists, Eberson rightly suspected, most of these pleasure boats seldom left their slips. Spotting a forty-foot cabin cruiser with a large open rear deck, he stepped alongside. The boat was pushing its fifth decade, but its gleaming white hull and polished brightwork revealed an owner who had long provided it loving care. A gurgle from the stern indicated the engine was already warming at idle.

“Joe, there you are,” said a man who stepped from the cabin. “We were almost ready to leave without you.”

With his slight build, thick glasses, and white hair worn in a flattop, Dr. Carl Heiland looked every bit the electrical engineer. His eyes danced and he grinned easily, exhibiting a near-constant state of high energy even at six in the morning.

Short on sleep and exhausted from his cross-country flight, Eberson oozed the opposite sentiment. He gingerly climbed aboard and shook hands.