Silent Waters Page 9

  Most mornings, she also stopped to talk to their neighbor Nora Smith. A retired school teacher, the ninety-two-year-old was an early riser, but Mina knew that the older woman timed her own walk to get the newspaper to have a chance to visit with Mina. They exchanged news of everything from their children and grandchildren to politics to flowers to tourists to gas prices to whatever Nora had seen on CNN that morning. Unlike Harry and Mina, who never turned on the TV unless they were watching a movie or a ball game, Nora’s never went off.

  This morning, Mina saw that Nora’s paper was still lying on her driveway. Looking up at her neighbor’s house, she saw the shades still closed. There was no sign of her elderly friend on the wraparound porch, either.

  Concerned, she started across the small border garden to knock on her door, just to make sure everything was okay. Nora never slept in.

  “Mina...”

  She turned around, surprised to see her husband. Hastily dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, Harry was coming out their front door. They both were creatures of habit. But it wasn’t the fact that he hadn’t showered and shaved before stepping out that worried her—it was the look in his eyes. She always believed Harry’s eyes were a window to his soul. He didn’t have to say a word for her to know something horrible had happened.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Who called? Who’s sick? Was there an accident?” She stumbled as she came back through the strip of garden, and the handful of jasmine flowers she was carrying spilled onto the driveway. She recovered her footing and ran toward him.

  He didn’t say anything but only gathered her in his arms.

  “Please tell me. How bad is it? Who called you?” She couldn’t stop the questions any more than she could prevent the tears welling in her eyes.

  “Nora called. She said we should turn on the TV.”

  Perplexed, Mina looked up into his face and saw pain there. Something made her think of the September 11th attack. It had happened first thing in the morning. She thought of the afternoon of the Challenger explosion. She still remembered where she was and what she’d been doing.

  “What’s on TV, Harry? Who’s destroying our world, this time?”

  “I don’t know the details yet.” He took a deep breath. “There’s something going on with Darius’s submarine.”

  The world tilted. Her vision blurred. Darius was the only one in their family who’d wanted to join the military. She’d been furious with him when he told them. She’d used so many arguments against it. Her parentage. The possible questioning of his loyalty. The rejection of the belief she and Harry had tried to instill in all of their children about the peaceful resolution of problems. They’d tried to raise peace-loving, responsible adults. Not soldiers.

  All her tears had been for nothing, and Darius had done what he felt he was meant to do. In the end he’d managed to succeed in his career, and he had made his parent proud of him. They were proud of him and everything he’d accomplished.

  Now, she could only think the worst. Hartford had sunk. There had been a nuclear accident. Where was her son? It was his birthday today. Forty years old. It felt only like yesterday that he was just an infant. A little boy...

  “What are they saying?” she asked, feeling her body go numb joint by joint. But not her grieving heart.

  He shook his head. “They suspect hijacking. But nothing is for certain. We’ve had no calls from the navy. We don’t even know if he was on board. They were docked at Electric Boat for some reason. This could all be nothing. I want to think it’s all nothing.”

  “Did you try to call him?”

  “I called his house. No answer.”

  “Then we have to call someone else,” she said passionately. “His superior. That Admiral…what was his name…the one we met at that dinner in D.C. last year. I’ll call the secretary of the navy. I’ll call the President directly. I’ll demand to know what he’s done to my son.”

  Mina’s emotions swung from one end of the spectrum to the other. Grief turned to anger. Numbness was replaced by uproar.

  “We’re his parents,” she cried. “We have the right to know what’s happening to him.”

  “We’ll do all that, my love,” Harry told her, placing a kiss on her forehead. “But for now, let’s not think the worst. We just have to assume that Darius is fine. We have to.”

  Harry took her by the hand and led her back onto the porch. But before they could go in, they heard the sound of the cars. Two state police cars, escorting a black SUV with tinted glass, pulled in front of the house.

  Mina leaned against her husband. Suddenly, her legs weren’t strong enough to carry her weight.

  Two state troopers got out of the vehicles. Two navy officers stepped out of the SUV, looking at the McCanns intently as they crossed the lawn.

  The men were all strangers. It couldn’t have come to this, she told herself. These strangers couldn’t be bringing news of their son’s death. She bit her lip as a knot formed in her chest, stopping her from breathing. Her head was pounding. She brought her hands to her mouth. Everything around her started to blur, as if the lens on a camera had become loose.

  “Mr. and Mrs. McCann?” one of the navy officers asked, stepping onto the porch.

  As Mina’s world went dark, she was vaguely aware of the fragrance of jasmine on her fingers.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 15

  USS Hartford

  8:15 a.m.

  Mako glanced at his watch. Everything was moving according to schedule. Perfect. He mounted the conn and looked at the displays, the status board, and the plotting of the course. He reached up and pressed a button.

  “Radar? Conn.” His voice rang on the communication system. “Anything happening with the sub hunters overhead?”

  A couple of planes equipped with air-drop torpedoes had joined them a few minutes earlier. Now that they were almost out in open water, Mako wouldn’t put it past the brass at Atlantic Fleet to return his earlier gesture by launching a couple of torpedoes at them.

  “Nothing, sir. The three choppers are holding their position and the two planes continue to circle.”

  Mako stepped up onto the periscope platform and swung around, looking to their stern. Far off in the distance, smoke continued to belch into the air above what was left of the lighthouse. The New London Ledge lighthouse had been a square, stone-and-brick edifice rising right out of the water, but now it was smoke and rubble. Beyond the lighthouse, the Coast Guard cutter they’d clipped with the torpedo was listing to one side and a tug was alongside, assisting her. He swung the periscope around and noted that the two navy launches were now keeping a respectful distance.

  Above them, he could see the three helicopters. One was from a news station; two belonged to the navy. Mako guessed that they were not firing any torpedoes because they were about to drop a dozen navy SEALs out of those helicopters in an attempt to try to land them on the bridge at the top of the sail. A few minutes later, they’d blast open the hatch. That meant he had another ten minutes, tops.

  He wouldn’t need that much time.

  They were vulnerable as long as they stayed on the surface, but he knew these waters like the back of his hand. He knew when and where he should dive. And they were almost there. In another thirty seconds they’d be in water over eighty feet deep. Twenty seconds. Ten.

  “Down periscope.” Ten seconds. “Take her down to sixty feet. Ten degrees down angle. No alarm prior to diving.”

  “Aye, sir.” The orders were repeated.

  Seconds later, the deck angled downward as the helmsman followed the orders. The hull groaned slightly and the sub leveled out moments later. Mako ordered some quick checks for water integrity. Everything moved smoothly. The boat settled. The first leg of the mission was complete.

  There was no point to go any deeper now. He didn’t want to hide. The threat had to lurk right at the edge. He just had to stop them from trying to land on him.

  From the periscope stand, Mako studied his crew.
Every one of the men in the control room was an absolute expert in taking and executing his commands. But something in the navigation area caught his attention. A screen blinked a couple of times and went dark.

  “What the hell is going on there?” He crossed to the panels.

  Paul Cavallaro, noticing the same thing, was there before Mako and sat in the chair in front of the dead screen.

  “They must be cutting the juice to it.” He started running some tests. “Shouldn’t we let them know?”

  “Hardly,” Mako replied. “You know what your orders are.”

  The screen at the next panel started acting up, going blank a couple of seconds later.

  “They keep this up, we’ll lose sonar,” Cav said over his shoulder.

  Mako motioned his man Kilo to the conn. He spoke in a low voice to him.

  “Send two men down there now.” Kilo and his men had been signed to handle situations such as this. He’d done a good job taking care of the security guards. “Make sure they keep McCann alive. We might need him yet. Just stop him from doing any more damage. But that yardbird is a nuisance. We should have finished her hours ago. Have them do it now.”

  ~~~~

  Chapter 16

  USS Hartford

  8:20 a.m.

  McCann didn’t know if they were still in Long Island Sound or in the Atlantic, but from the pitch and length of the dive, he knew they had taken Hartford to periscope depth, which meant they were now capable of using the vertical launch system.

  His time was running short.

  Working his way down to the torpedo room, Darius had found the last few feet the tightest of all. Hung up at one point when his clothing caught on a pipe hanger, he’d finally been able to work his way through, emerging outboard of the torpedo racks. A torn shirt and a few scratches were all he had to show for his trouble.

  The area was the arsenal of the attack submarine. Three sets of double-decker racks held twenty-two smooth, white torpedoes. Four more fish sat ready in the tubes. Two of those were already fired, though, McCann recalled. On less critical missions, a couple of racks were usually left empty for the purpose of maintenance and movement. But that wasn’t the case on this patrol. Their destination in the Persian Gulf mandated that Hartford should be fitted with every ounce of firepower that she could carry.

  He worked his way to the aft end of the rack and around the tail end of the fish to the aisle that separated the side and center racks. With the exception of the soft hum of the ventilation system, it was very quiet. But he knew someone, most likely two people, had to be working the tubes. He had to find out if they were still down here. He had to assume they would be.

  They. The word stuck in his craw. He still didn’t want to believe that any member of his crew could have anything to do with this. McCann had been caught unawares. The same thing could have happened to the rest of them.

  He touched the keys hanging on a chain around his neck under his shirt to make sure they were still there. His first stop had to be the weapon’s locker. This meant that he had to get out unnoticed.

  Crouching low, he moved around the loading and ramming gear across the narrow aisle. That’s when he saw them. He was right. Two men were loading a torpedo into a tube that had fired before. They worked in absolute silence.

  The one closest to him had narrow shoulders and long arms and was wearing coveralls. McCann saw immediately that he wasn’t a member of his crew. The hijacker wore a shoulder holster. When he turned slightly, McCann could see the butt of his firearm. The man stepped aside and the submarine commander had a clear look at the second man. Square upper body with the sleeves of the coveralls rolled up to his elbows. Tattoos down both arms and on the back of his neck into the hairline. This one didn’t have to turn around for McCann to know who he was. Juan Rivera.

  He would have liked nothing better than to wrap his fingers around the man’s thick neck right at this moment. The enlisted crew of Hartford, the officers, the X.O., everyone including McCann, had looked after him and tried to be there for him when Rivera’s mother struggled with cancer a year ago. She’d died, but McCann really thought that the torpedo man had walked away from that loss with a gain of a new family, at least new friends. But he’d guessed wrong. From his hiding place McCann could tell Rivera was armed, as well.

  Suddenly, he wasn’t too sure of anyone’s innocence. Rivera was here, obviously cooperating. And after hearing what Amy had said about the navigation system, McCann figured Cavallaro must have known there was nothing wrong. That spoke of his involvement. Barclay, who’d been topside on watch, could be part of this. There had been only one hatch left open, and anyone wanting to get inside the sub would have had to pass by the young sailor. Of course, Barclay could be dead, but McCann didn’t even trust his own shadow right now.

  He slowly backed up. He had to get to the weapon’s locker and go from there.

  By the stairs, McCann stopped and looked back over the racks just as the hijacker started up the aisle between the racks. Quickly, McCann ducked back into the auxiliary machinery room, which was just aft of the torpedo room. The huge auxiliary diesel engine was located here, as well as quarters for some of the crew. Pressing himself against a bulkhead, he could see the hijacker through the doorway, standing near the tail of the fish. He had his back to McCann, but if he turned around, the intruder would see him.

  McCann edged away until he was out of the hijacker’s possible line of vision. Suddenly, his foot caught on something on the deck and he nearly pitched backward, barely catching himself before he fell. Looking down, he saw Lee Brody’s body partially stuffed under one of the massive engine mounts. His mouth was covered with duct-tape. His hands and feet were bound. The man was totally out.

  McCann crouched over Brody and looked closer at the source of blood that stained the young man’s collar. There was a nasty contusion on the back of his head and a bruise on the side of his face where he must have hit the deck.

  McCann checked for vital signs. Brody was alive. He didn’t know if the sonar man would be any use to him anytime soon, but he used the box cutter to cut through the duct tape on his hands and ankles. He gently pulled the tape from Brody’s mouth. He couldn’t do anything more for him now.

  McCann edged his way to the door and looked in. Rivera and the hijacker were forward, by the tubes. The fish was no longer on the rack. The two men appeared to be just finishing up loading it.

  He had to get to the weapons locker. Darting around the corner, he moved quickly to the stairs but stopped dead at the sound of footsteps directly above him.

  Someone was going down the passageway toward the ship’s office… where he’d left Amy.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 17

  Pentagon

  8:25 a.m.

  If Bruce Dunn had any reservations about working with Sarah Connelly on this investigation, they were gone in the course of the first hour. On the professional side—an area in which he considered himself a good judge—she was smart, efficient, persistent, and obviously a mover and shaker. She knew how to get people do what she wanted. On the unprofessional side—an area in which he considered himself even more of an expert—she was five-ten, had blue eyes, sexy short dark hair, and an athletic build that could have been on the cover of a glossy magazine, not in the strict confines of the navy uniform.

  And this wasn’t the first time he’d admired this specific facet of her personality. He’d attended at least three different navy functions where he could remember Lieutenant Connelly being there. He’d never been able to get within an arm’s length of her because of her other eager admirers. But he’d made sure to ask a few questions about who she was. It never hurt to learn a thing or two about a beautiful woman.

  Bottom line, she had it all. But if the telephone call Bruce had gotten this morning had been any indication, the navy brass wasn’t giving Sarah her due. He’d been told that she’d been chosen for the job because of her personal relationship with McCann. Moreover, to lear
n more about the sub commander, Dunn was to use her however he needed.

  “Eleven of them. They’re all here.” Sarah dropped a stack of folders in the middle of the conference table and took the seat across from him. “A personnel file for everyone that we know is on the boat, including Amy Russell.”

  “Where did you get her file?”

  “EB faxed what they had, and I got the rest from files the FBI keeps on defense contractor employees who have top secret clearance,” she told him. “Anything on the surveillance cameras?”

  “They have clear pictures of McCann in the parking lot, by the security booth, and going in and out of the NAVSEA barge,” Bruce explained. “The cameras in the North Yard Ways were supposedly destroyed by the fire. I have one of my NCIS guys ready to go over the tape from the cameras that were trained on Hartford.”

  “Are there problems with those, too?”

  “We don’t know yet. The bad weather, time of night, they’re all factors. They told me on the phone from Groton that they can see some shadows. There’s a lot more digital enhancement we can do, though.”

  “Have they sent them over?”

  “They’re here, being analyzed.”

  She had shed her jacket, and the sleeves of her white shirt were rolled up to the elbows. His gaze lingered briefly on her forearm. The muscle beneath the smooth skin was firm and toned.