Silent Thunder

TWENTY

Christ, they'd done it. They'd done it. They'd done it!

The movement was lumbering and sluggish, but the sub was actually moving, Hannah realized thankfully.

"Get up here, Hannah," Kirov called. "You can't do anything down there now that we've got the engines started."

She was already on her way. A moment later she entered the engine room to see Kirov watching the monitor as the Silent Thunder drew close to the museum fence.

She tensed as the sub drew closer.

Closer.

Then suddenly the Silent Thunder was on top of the fence.

The sub plowed over the fence without the slightest bit of resistance!

"Hallelujah," she murmured.

Too soon. Alarm sirens sounded deep within the submarine.

Kirov turned toward her. "What the hell is that?"

"The museum must have installed an alarm after what happened to Conner. It's probably tied to the same power cells as the cameras and work lights."

Kirov ran to the periscope, flipped down the handles and peered into the eyepiece. "We should clear the harbor with no problem, but our maneuverability is extremely limited. You'd better get what you need from the navigational computer in a hurry."

She turned to the computer. "Are we almost finished booting up?"

"Another minute or so."

Hurry.

Be ready.

She quickly pulled open a drawer in the command center, looked inside, and moved to the next one. Find it.

Please let it be in the next drawer. No luck. It wasn't in the next one or the drawer after that.

Kirov frowned. "What the devil are you doing?"

"I have to find it…"

"What are you looking for?"

Thank heavens. There it was.

She finally pulled a package of Beeman's chewing gum from the drawer. "Conner always kept a supply stashed wherever he was working."

"Funny time to get a craving."

"Can't stand the stuff." She unwrapped several sticks and shoved them into her mouth.

"Well, that clears things up." He turned toward the computer. "Whatever you plan to do, you'd better start doing it."

She picked up a stool and swung it toward a small speaker mounted over the hatch. She struck it repeatedly until the speaker housing splintered and the coil dangled from the bulkhead, gripped the magnet in her hands, and yanked it free. "Keep your radio on. I'm heading up."

Pavski turned the steering wheel and spun into the marina parking lot two miles south of the maritime museum. He glanced at the harbor, where the Silent Thunder's conning tower receded into the distance.

Koppel peered though his binoculars. "They're heading straight out to sea. If they manage to submerge…"

"They won't. They don't have the equipment or manpower to pull that off. It's a miracle they managed to get it out there." He leaped from the van and ran to the gangway, his gaze frantically scanning the marina for the right boat.

Slow-as-molasses sailboats, pleasure craft, and houseboats.

Nothing fast enough, he realized with frustration. He needed power and speed and enough space for him and his men. Not these pussy-

Wait a second.

There, only twenty yards in front of him, a narrow-beam powerboat stood at the ready.

Perfect.

Hannah climbed the narrow conning tower tube, holding the magnets she had torn from three different speakers on the way up.

Diesel fumes. Thick, nauseating.

The alarm sirens pounded her brain.

Keep steady…

She adjusted her headset. "Support team, do you read me?"

Kirov responded. "May I point out that I'm the one standing on the bridge? Now you're the support team."

"I stand corrected. Is the navigational computer receiving magnetic compass readings from the repeaters?"

"Affirmative."

She climbed up the ladder until she found herself facing the sub's magnetic compass module. Surrounded by metal coils to shield it from stray magnetic forces of the hull, this compass was generally only used early in the sub's voyages. The more accurate gyroscopic compass took several hours to calibrate itself after powering up. This was the only game in town.

One of her first recommendations had been to remove the compass and place it in the exhibit building, where it could be more easily seen by museumgoers. Thank goodness the crew hadn't gotten to it yet.

Hooking one foot around the railing for balance, she leaned forward and placed several magnets on its metallic face.

"The readings are fluctuating," Kirov said.

"Good. Longitude or latitude?"

"Both, but mostly longitude."

Hannah shifted a magnet down an inch. "This will be like cracking a safe. I'm going to move the magnets around until we get to forty-one-point-five degrees longitude. Understand?"

"Yes. We're way off right now-about eighty-five degrees north."

Hannah moved the magnets left. "How about now?"

"Better. Seventy-two degrees."

Hannah continued to move the magnet as Kirov called out: "Sixty-three… fifty-eight… fifty-one… forty-seven… forty-three… stop! You've got it."

Hannah tore off a piece of the chewing gum in her mouth. She affixed it to the magnet and stuck it to the compass housing. "Are we still okay?"

"It's drifting."

"That's because we're moving. I'll make more adjustments after I get the latitude. Ready?"

Kirov was silent for a moment. "Make it fast, Hannah. Pavski and his men have a boat. They're approaching from the stern."

The salt water sprayed Pavski's face as the powerboat neared the Silent Thunder. He pointed to the conning tower. "Watch up there," he shouted over the engines. "If we're going to be fired on, it'll be from the tower."

Koppel turned from the wheel. "Where should we approach?"

"At the stern. There are cleats to tie off there. We'll climb on top, plant the charges, and blow the rear escape hatch. Got it?"

Koppel nodded, staring ahead at the dark leviathan cutting through the water. "It's amazing."

"What?"

"There's still life in that old sub. I didn't know she had it in her."

"It's a relic," Pavski said. "Just like Kirov."

Koppel eased back on the throttle as they pulled alongside the Silent Thunder's massive tail fins. The sub's engine knocked and rattled, and the pungent smoke of burned diesel fuel wafted over them.

"Take the rope and snag one of those cleats."

It took two tries, but one of the sailors managed to do it.

"Good!" Pavski yelled over the engine. "Pull us closer."

A moment later they were bumping against the hull and tying off the rope.

Pavski picked up his two backpacks and tossed them onto the Silent Thunder's topside deck.

"The three of you climb aboard," Koppel said. "I'll keep the boat steady."

Pavski shot him a cold glance. "I need you in there too, Koppel."

"After you're on, I'll cut the engines and climb aboard myself. Go!"

As they left the relatively calm waters of the harbor, Pavski and the others jumped from the boat and used a series of small crevices in the Silent Thunder's rubbery acoustic coating to pull themselves up to the top deck. "Careful. The seas are getting rougher."

Koppel cut the powerboat's ignition and climbed up to join them. "Aren't the hatches stronger than the rest of the sub?" he shouted.

Pavski was already digging into his knapsack for the explosive charges. "Trust me, two of these charges on the devices on the rear hatch will put us face-to-face with Kirov in less than five minutes."

Hannah wiped the sweat from her eyes as she adjusted the magnets again. Dammit, she couldn't manipulate the compass to read the correct longitude and latitude simultaneously.

"Give it up," Kirov said over the radio. "It was always a long shot."

"I can't give it up. Pavski's not going to get that cradle. If I can just move it another few degrees…"

"We're out of time. Pavski and his men will be charging down the corridor at any moment. I have to be ready for them. I can't focus on this any longer."

"Keep your eyes on that monitor. Where's the compass at?"

"The longitude is still three degrees shy. Forget it."

"Please. Just another few seconds."

"We don't have any seconds to spare. You're through."

"What about now?"

"Hannah, stop it. We need to-"

Kirov's voice went silent.

Hannah held the magnets in place, not daring to breathe. "Hello?"

Kirov's voice finally broke the silence. "Good God."

Kirov stared at the navigational computer's amber screen. One moment, Hannah's generated 41.5 degrees longitude/112 degrees latitude had filled the screen, in the next an entirely different set of coordinates popped up: 32.4° E Longitude 44.1° N Latitude.

Hannah, you're a goddamn miracle.

"We've got it!" he said into the microphone. "It looks like it's in the Black Sea. I'll write it down."

"Hurry. It may disappear once we drift off the coordinates."

He scribbled the figures on one of Hannah's discarded chewing gum wrappers. "Got it. Meet me in the forward torpedo room, Hannah."

"Why?"

"Change of plans. And if you get there before I do, get yourself into an MK10."

She was silent, but he could sense the shock that went through her.

"Do it, Hannah. No arguments. You're support, not command right now."

"MK10. Are you sure about this?"

"It's the only way. I'll see you down there."

Kirov turned back to the computer and kicked it repeatedly, smashing the console with his left heel. Sparks flew, and the monitor went dark.

MK10.

Dear God in heaven.

Hannah ran into the forward torpedo room, where the earsplitting alarm was even louder than it had been at the compass module. She opened a supply locker, where eight MK10 submarine escape-and-immersion suits hung. They probably hadn't been touched since a drill years before.

She knew that the British-made MK10s were standard-issue equipment in almost every submarine fleet in the world, but she hadn't been aware the Russians used them until her first visit aboard Silent Thunder. They had never been extensively used in crisis situations. The bulky, padded outfits were created for one purpose: for emergency deep sea escapes, commonly through a hatch. In extreme situations the wearer could climb into a firing tube and be shot out like a torpedo. It had always seemed to be an absurd notion to Hannah, since extreme depths would kill its wearer anyway, and in shallower waters there were far safer alternatives to evacuating a submarine.

Except maybe this time, this place.

She slid into the salt-encrusted suit and fastened the buckles at her waist, wrist, and ankles. If only Conner could see her now. He'd love this.

Kirov jumped through the hatch. "Hurry, Hannah. Put on the helmet and climb into the tube headfirst."

"What about Pavski?"

"Pavski will be taken care of."

She looked down to see that Kirov was holding his canvas bag, the one in which he'd carried Niler's explosives.

It was now empty.

She stared at Kirov as realization dawned. "You booby-trapped the sub."

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Where it will do the most damage."

"The aft fuel tanks?"

He nodded. "Being a museum piece wouldn't suit Silent Thunder. She'll like going down in a blaze of glory."

"How soon?"

"She only has a few more minutes to live."

"Like anyone who's still in here when those charges detonate."

Kirov motioned toward the open torpedo chamber. "Quickly. Pavski may already be inside the sub."

"We haven't tested the torpedo tubes. They may not even fire anymore. They might just fill with water and drown us."

"That's why you have to go first."

"Are you joking?"

"If there's a malfunction, I need to be here to pull you out." He took the helmet and opened the latches. "It looks like I'm only your support team once again."

"It's too risky. These things were finicky even in the best of circumstances."

"You'll be fine." He smiled. "Remember what I told you about the Silent Thunder having a soul?"

"You mean that bit about her coming through whenever you needed her most," she said unevenly.

"Yes. She's not about to let us down now."

"You'll be right behind me?"

"There's a trigger switch inside the tube. Once you're away, I'll go myself."

She stiffened as a sudden memory of the nightmares he had told her about came back to her. "You're lying."

"Hurry, Hannah."

"No." She stepped back. "You're planning to go down with your ship, you crazy Russian."

"There isn't time for this."

"This is insane. However you feel about the Silent Thunder's socalled soul…"

"I didn't say I was-"

"You've served her well, Kirov," she said desperately. "Now let her go."

"We're out of time."

Kirov slammed her against the bulkhead and dropped the helmet over her head. As she struggled to break free, he fastened the latches.

"Thank you, Hannah." He leaned so close that his breath fogged her faceplate as he spoke. "Thank you for everything." He smiled gently. "Pomni, ya vsegda ryadom."

He picked her up and pushed her into the open hatch of torpedo tube four.

"Kirov, come with me," she called frantically. "The same tube at the same time. Don't do this!"

The hatch slammed shut behind her.

Darkness.

Silence, except for the faint knocking of engines.

Damn him.

She heard, then felt, a trickle of cool salt water pouring into the chamber. Could the old pumps even pull this off?

The trickle became a stream, and the stream became a torrent. Water leaked through the suit's tattered seams. She became buoyant, floating in the center of the chamber.

The water climbed higher. She held her breath, trying to preserve the precious little oxygen her suit still held. The water ran cold against her cheek.

The moment of truth. She crossed her ankles, lowered her head, and folded her arms across her chest. She wished she'd inspected the tube. A piece of twisted metal or a bent plate in her path would tear her to shreds.

The Silent Thunder is always at her best when you need her most.

Hannah suddenly relaxed. Nestled in the Silent Thunder's watery embrace, she somehow felt… protected. Cared for. Treasured.

Was the lack of oxygen making her loopy?

Probably.

Or maybe she was just an atheist in a foxhole.

A roar filled her ears, and thousands of pounds of pressure slammed her from behind.

Pavski, Koppel, Lepin, and Norzalk stood on the bridge, staring at the smoldering remains of the navigational computer.

"Blin!" Pavski swung the butt of his gun toward the console.

"Wait," Koppel said. "This means Kirov and Bryson must have the coordinates. All we have to do is find them, and…"

Koppel fell silent as they felt a distinct vibration and heard the release of enormous pressure from the sub's hold.

"It's the torpedo chamber," Pavski said.

Koppel eyes widened. "The escape suits. They're getting away?"

Pavski ran for the hatch. "Or we were meant to think they are. Kirov is a driven man. He wouldn't give up this chance to take me out."

They moved down the narrow midship stairwell to the engineering level, where the engine noise was almost deafening. He motioned for Lepin and Norzalk to proceed down the starboard service corridor. They nodded and disappeared through the narrow hatch.

Pavski turned and stared down the main passageway. "I know you're here, Captain!"

No reply.

He and Koppel crept down the passageway with their guns at the ready. "You couldn't come this close to me without wanting to finish the job. Not when I'm standing in the gangway of this stinking monstrosity you love so much."

No response.

They were now in the mechanical section. The engine noise and diesel stench were overpowering.

"Here I am, Kirov. Your chance at last. Come and get me."

He heard Koppel whimper behind him. Stupid coward.

"Pavski," Koppel muttered.

Pavski gave him an impatient glance, then stiffened as he saw the terrified expression on Koppel's face. He slowly turned his head, and his gaze followed Koppel's to the fuel tanks.

Pack after pack of plastic explosives, mounted on either side of the fuel tanks.

The triggering mechanism flashed red and emitted a highpitched whine.

Hannah tilted her head back and clawed for the surface, writhing and spinning in the water like a towel in a washing machine. But which way was up? The direction seemed to change every second.

She'd never felt anything like this before; it was like…

Like being shot out of a freaking torpedo tube.

She finally broke the surface. She fumbled for the latches, lifted off her helmet, and tossed it into the water. Air!

There was a deep, metallic rumbling behind her. She turned to look at the sub.

The charges erupted deep within the Silent Thunder, their intensity magnified and spread by the massive fuel reserves. The back third of the submarine buckled, heaved, and tore open from the sheer explosive force.

Kirov!

More explosions, throwing spires of flame high into the sky. Silent Thunder listed hard to starboard as oil in the water caught fire around its superstructure.

She couldn't take her eyes off it.

In the next few minutes, the ruptured hull took on water, pulling the sub down by its stern. Pockets of air exploded to the surface. The burning, twisting metal groaned like a wounded whale. The anguished sounds continued as the Silent Thunder plunged beneath the waves, leaving a massive field of debris and burning oil in its wake.

Hannah trod water, stunned.

Kirov and the Silent Thunder. Gone.

"Goddamn you," she whispered, tears running down her face. "Goddamned men and the sea. There's no sense to you."

A white craft in the distance headed straight for her. Probably a Coast Guard cutter. Hard to steal a 560-foot Russian submarine without somebody taking notice, she thought.

She turned back to the debris field. Kirov had probably thought it was fitting for him to die with the sub he loved so much. And maybe it was.

To hell with that.

It was just one more tragic loss. She'd had enough tragedy. She didn't want Kirov to-

Something was moving, bobbing slightly out of sync with the rest of the floating debris. It almost looked like…

She swam past the pools of burning oil, a task made difficult by the sheer bulk of her suit. As she drew closer, she momentarily lost sight of the object.

Had she just imagined it?

No. There it was, less than ten feet in front of her.

The helmet of an MK10 suit.

"Kirov!"

No response.

She pushed herself forward, grabbed the suit's padding, and spun it around.

It was Kirov.

Unconscious? Dead?

She unlatched his helmet, yanked it off, and splashed water in his face. "Wake up. You come back to me, Kirov. Do you hear me?"

He couldn't die. Not now.

"Kirov!" She slapped his face as hard as she could.

He opened his eyes. "That hurt."

Relief surged through her. "Can you move? Wiggle your toes."

He nodded. "I'm fine. You?"

"Yes."

"Any sign of Pavski?"

"No. He's gone."

He glanced at the debris and burning oil. "And so is the Silent Thunder."

"Yes. I was afraid you were-"

"The thought occurred to me. After all, there is a certain tradition and obligation."

"Bullshit."

He smiled. "That's what I thought. Silent Thunder would want me to survive. She's saved me too many times for me not to realize that."

"You cut it close."

"I had to make sure Pavski was inside the sub. The charge went off just as I ejected."

"Then you're lucky to be alive."

"Lucky." He thought about it. "Do you know, I'm feeling very lucky at this moment. Would you like me to tell you why?"

She felt a warm surge of feeling as she looked at him.

"No." She tore her eyes away from him and glanced at the Coast Guard cutter, which was almost upon them. "Save it. That officer on the bridge looks pretty grim. We may need all the luck we can get in the next few hours."