Seawolf End Game (18 page)

She finally shut off the water, pulled the shower curtain back, and began toweling off, unable to shake the unsettling feeling of forgetfulness. The incomprehensible yet palatable sensation that the answer was on the tip of her tongue had plagued her for days, yet she felt no closer to the answer. “Come on,” she whispered as she toweled herself off, “think!”

But no answer presented itself. Instead, the sound of the handle on the bathroom door startled her as she dried her back. She turned in horror, realizing too late that, in her lassitude, she’d failed to lock the door. The door opened and Brodie stepped in. He’d barely made it over the threshold when he saw her.

Kristen was partially covered from his view by the towel across her back reaching down to the top of her thigh. She instinctively pulled the towel tightly about her in a mixture of surprise and dismay. She saw him, briefly frozen in shock, standing inside the threshold of the head. For an agonizingly long moment, they stared at one another, each surprised and embarrassed. A million thoughts ran through her head as she considered what she might possibly say, but her usual quick mind had turned to mush, and all she could do was gasp.

The split second of realization passed. He turned his head away, averting his eyes automatically to save each of them any further embarrassment. “Good heavens,” he gasped softly as he retreated hastily and closed the door behind him.

Kristen stood, her expression of shock seemingly now a permanent fixture as she stared at the door she’d been through a couple of hundred times before and had never forgotten to lock. She closed her eyes, cursing her lack of attention to such a small and insignificant detail. “You idiot,” Kristen whispered and gently banged her head against the wall of the shower.

He’d seen nothing more of her than he might have seen if she’d been wearing her one-piece swimsuit, but the unexpected intimacy of seeing him before her as she stood in the shower with a closely grasped towel between them had caused shivers to course through her body. She’d seen his reaction, the initial expression of extreme fatigue wiped away in an instant as if he’d been slapped across the face.

She stepped softly from the shower stall onto the cotton floor mat providing her some traction on the otherwise slippery tile floor. With the towel still wrapped around her, she carefully, and as silently as possible, turned the locking latch. To her extreme dissatisfaction, it snapped shut with a click that sounded to her like a manhole cover dropping into place. She shook her head, wondering if she could possibly do anything more to embarrass herself and make the situation between the two of them any more awkward. “Idiot,” she whispered again.

She hadn’t seen him more than in passing since that night on the sail as they entered the Sea of Japan nearly two weeks earlier. She didn’t know if he was avoiding her or if the grueling work schedule simply prevented any regular contact. She knew he was spending an inordinate amount of time in the control center running battle drills with the tracking parties. But one look at his drawn face was all she needed to know that the burdens of command were weighing especially heavy now. He hid it well outside the cabin, but once inside his inner sanctum, his defenses weakened and the weariness became evident.

She stared at the door, still cursing herself for her stupidity. The idea that he was on the other side of the door and she had to see him as she exited his cabin was something she preferred not to consider. There was nothing she could say to lessen her embarrassment or alleviate the discomfort between them. But, with nothing more to be done, she finished drying off and dressed. Trying to sound as silent as a ghost, she wiped the water off of the shower walls and the fixtures to leave it as pristine as she always found it upon entering. As she went through this routine ritual, Kristen prayed for the power to teleport just this one time so she might forgo the possibility of running into him in his cabin. But she settled for finding the cabin empty.

Once safely in her own cabin, she began brushing the tangles and knots out of her hair while looking at her reflection in the mirror. She continued to shake her head in disgust as she pulled the brush punishingly through her wet hair, sending water droplets flying through the air and onto the bulkhead and mirror in front of her. She ignored this as she continued to brush, frustrated at her stupidity over forgetting the door lock.

Since Sasebo, the long hours of work, the daily eighteen hour grind on board, and the incessant drills had combined to give her—mercifully—little time to ponder him, or anything that had happened between them. In fact, Kristen was convinced she had again gained control of her wayward emotions.

But the incident in the shower had shattered that naïve certainty.

She cursed her weakness and her undisciplined emotions. They were nothing to her but an impediment. She took several deep cleansing breaths, struggling to force the unwanted thoughts and images back in line. There were real-world problems to deal with. The Russians were up to something, and odds were they weren’t alone. She was certain she had the answer somewhere amidst the trillions of memories locked away in her head. She just had to find it.

K-955 Borei

“N
ew course,” Captain Ahadi ordered his helmsman softly, “two-seven-five.”

“Yes, sir,” the helmsman responded automatically as he began to turn the submarine.

The massive supertanker was hardly a challenging target, but it would have to do. Ahadi waited patiently as the
Borei
settled on her new course. His sonar operators, although still relatively inexperienced with the
Borei’s
advanced acoustical suite, were able to track the slow-moving, heavily-laden tanker with ease. It took them less than fifteen minutes to provide a second bearing.

Ahadi turned his attention to his tracking party. They immediately used the second bearing to estimate a range to target. “Distance, two thousand meters, Captain,” his weapons officer reported dutifully.

“Load tubes one and six with Shkval torpedo,” he ordered. Behind him, watching quietly, was his Russian counterpart, who was still technically in command, although Ahadi was assuming more and more duties as their cruise continued.

Ahadi waited patiently as his sonar room continued to give updated information on the lumbering giant moving south through the Persian Gulf toward the Strait of Hormuz. The huge tanker was over five hundred thousand dead weight tons, and was completely unaware it was being hunted. It took nearly ten minutes to load the two torpedoes. Hardly satisfactory, but Ahadi knew his men would grow more proficient as they gained experience with the new equipment.

“Torpedo room reports tubes one and six loaded and ready, Captain,” his weapons officer reported.

“Flood tubes one and six. Open outer doors,” Ahadi ordered. He checked the tactical display, verifying there were no other vessels close by.

“Tubes flooded and outer doors opened, Captain,” came the report a few seconds later.

The two torpedoes were the revolutionary rocket torpedoes designed by the Russians, and could cover the two thousand meters in less than a minute. The supertanker would be split in two, and millions of gallons of Saudi Arabian crude oil would spill into the Persian Gulf. There was nothing but restraint to prevent it, but restraint was enough, this time.

“Very good, weapons officer,” Ahadi concluded. “Close outer doors and secure from battle stations.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“A-hem,” the Russian, Captain Zuyev, cleared his throat, getting Ahadi’s attention.

Ahadi turned to speak with the Russian. He didn’t like only being nominally in command, but he knew the Russian had far more experience handling nuclear submarines than anyone in the Iranian Navy. “Yes, Captain?”

“I would save the Shkval torpedo for emergencies,” he explained. “They are too valuable to waste on something as defenseless as an oil tanker.”

He was right, of course. Ahadi filed the knowledge away, knowing he was still acting like a child with a new toy instead of the professional he was. “What else, Captain?” he asked, wanting a full critique.

“You can’t assume you are the only hunter in the area,” Zuyev explained. “The Americans, French, British… there are numerous other navies that might have a submarine in these waters. They could be sitting quietly just a few thousand meters away. If you launch a torpedo, they will hear you, even if the reactor is dormant. That is when you will need a Shkval.”

Ahadi nodded in understanding.

“Your torpedomen also need practice,” the Russian continued his critique as he removed a cigarette from a pack in his pocket. “Ten minutes to load two torpedoes is ridiculous.”

Ahadi didn’t like the fact his crew was still far from ready. They were improving steadily, but not fast enough. The sooner Zuyev and the rest of the Russian infidels were off his boat, the better. But, for the moment, he needed the Russian, and Ahadi was a patient man. He’d been waiting his whole life for a new Persian Empire.

Female Officer Quarters USS Seawolf

K
risten stood in her small, makeshift cabin, the recent encounter with Brodie in his cabin barely thirty minutes old. She’d yet to finish drying her hair or braiding it which she knew would help her push errant thoughts aside. The slow, methodical, intricate French braid took time, and fixing her hair was almost therapeutic to her psyche.

She was overlooking something significant. She couldn’t shake the haunting realization. With effort, she forced thoughts of everything but their mission aside, and focused on the dilemma facing them. She leaned her head against the wall, closed her tired eyes tightly, and gently tapped her head against the metal bulkhead above the mirror. “Think, girl, think,” she told herself. “It’s right in front of you.” She was sure of it. She’d felt it for days, and the certainty was maddening.

She opened her eyes and found herself looking down at the small mirror as droplets of water slowly traced their way down the glass surface. There was nothing at all significant about the drops as they slid inexorably downward toward the deck below, gravity working its magic as it had for billions of years. But, the image shook her memory.

“Water,” she whispered to no one as she stood back up.

Her eyes narrowed in thought as she stared at the water droplets cascading slowly down the mirror and dripping onto the deck. A sudden rush of disjointed images and memories flooded into her thoughts all at once. Literally tens of thousands of pages, chemistry textbooks, classified reports, satellite images… it was like a tsunami of information rushing forth. For a moment it was overwhelming, and she literally had to brace herself against the bulkhead as she struggled to sort through it all. But, the realization came.

She knew.

The knowledge hadn’t been in front of her, but had been in her past, and the memories now rushing forth held the answers.

“Oh, my God!” she gasped, dropped the hairbrush and nearly tore the curtain used as a door to her living space as she rushed out. She pulled the hatch to the passageway open so fast she startled a computer technician who’d been about to come in and check the equipment. “Gangway!” she ordered in a rush and ran down the passageway into the control room where she found the XO seated on the periscope platform doing some paperwork. She didn’t see Brodie anywhere. Kristen desperately needed to see the captain.

No one else would believe her.

Next to Graves was Mike Massanelli, the submarine’s assistant damage control officer, and Kristen assumed the two men were planning the next drill. As she approached, both men looked at her curiously, and she understood why. She looked disheveled. She’d made it a rule never to leave her quarters without looking as professional as she could manage. But now her usually neatly braided hair was hanging in long wet clumps along each side of her head and down her back. Kristen ignored several sideways glances from the control room crew as she walked right up to the XO.

“Lieutenant?” he asked a bit taken aback. “I assume there is a reason for your appearance.”