“I just received word from the White House,” Colonel Lambert announces to me through the implants. The other SEAL can’t hear him. “The president is going to issue the go command in thirty minutes whether or not we find the nuke. People in Taiwan are dying and General Tun’s forces are on the outskirts of Taipei. The president is going to call Tun’s bluff.”
“Won’t China protect their general?” I ask.
“That we don’t know. The vice president is in seclusion with China’s president in Beijing. We’re not privy to what communications are going back and forth between Beijing and Washington. The bottom line is we have thirty minutes.”
“Then get Anna to give me and Carlson something to work with.”
“I’m working on it, Sam,” Grimsdottir cuts in. “I’m tracking two possibilities in your sector and one in Lieutenant Carlson’s sector. Give me five minutes to narrow them down to the best choice.” She sounds calm and collected in a stressful situation that would have anyone else at the breaking point.
The CHARC purrs closer to Santa Monica Pier as I study the sonar screen for anything unusual. Fish set off minor readings every few seconds. There’s a lot of junk down there that causes the metal detector to jump continuously. I’m beginning to understand the various meter levels and what they might mean so I don’t spend too much time looking at something that turns out to be nothing.
“Sam, I have coordinates for you.” Grimsdottir reads them out and says, “Something’s in motion there and it’s bigger than what you’ve seen so far.”
“I’m on my way.”
I guide the CHARC about four hundred yards to the south and watch the screens for any blips. Sure enough, there’s something down there. It’s metal, it’s moving at a slow speed, it’s about six feet long and approximately three feet wide. More promising is the fact that the Geiger counter is going nuts. I snap some sonar pictures of it and transmit them to Third Echelon, all the while staying above the thing. I reckon the speed to be about fifteen knots and at that rate it’ll be very near the shore in less than a half hour.
“Take a dive, Sam,” Lambert says. “Anna thinks that’s it.”
“Roger that.”
I put the CHARC on idle, lower the face mask, and insert the rebreather into my mouth. The backward dive off the vehicle pulls on my abdomen, which delivers a jolt of pain through the sore spots, but I ignore it and allow myself to descend. It’s been a while since I’ve been diving. It’s a lot like riding a bike, though — you never forget how.
The water here is murky and not very clean. L.A. must have one of the most polluted shorelines in the world, yet people swim in it all the time. This far out I would have expected it to be a little clearer but no such luck.
I switch on my lamp and shine the beam across the ocean floor until it finds the object. Sure enough, it’s an MRUUV, just like the one I saw in the submarine pen in China. It’s an odd thing to see down here. The device is shiny silver with several indicator lights burning brightly along the side. My earlier thought that it looks similar to a giant cigar tube is even more apropos down here.
I quickly surface, climb aboard the CHARC, and transmit my message. “You’re right, Anna. I’ve got one. And the Geiger is about to jump out of its skin.”
“Excellent,” Lambert says. “Stay on top of it, Sam. Stand by until we figure out what we want to do about the damned thing.”
“Well, hurry up. I’m not very fond of nuclear enemas.”
A few minutes go by and Anna says, “Sam, can you hear me when you’re underwater?”
“Yes.”
“Then go on back down.”
Another backflip off the CHARC and I’m below the surface. I break open a chem-light and place it in the holder so I can see what’s in front of me.
She continues. “Sam, I want you to swim alongside the MRUUV and look for something. Tap your OPSAT to let me know you’re there.”
I keep up the pace, swimming four feet above and parallel to the device, then push a button on the OPSAT.
“Okay, good. Now, do you see the rectangular panel on the top? It should be directly behind the antenna in the front.” I see it. The lid is roughly two feet by one foot.
AFFIRMATIVE, I type.
“Right. Now get on top of the thing like you’re riding a motorcycle. You’re going to have to unscrew that panel.”
Ride it? Is she kidding? The other one blew up beneath poor Ensign Stanley. How do I know just touching the damned thing isn’t going to set it off? I tap out the question on the OPSAT.
“Sam, it won’t blow up just by touching it. It’s got to be protected against minor bumps and scrapes down there. The thing’s probably collided into a rock or two since being launched from the sub. Not to mention fish or other plant life. Go ahead, you’ll be okay.”
Fine. I swim a little faster so that I’m gliding evenly with the thing, then I reach down and grab the front end. I try not to flinch when I do so and thankfully “the Barracuda” just keeps purring along. I let it pull me through the water for a few seconds and then I lower myself onto its back. I’m now riding it as if it was a dolphin.
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Good. Now get that panel off. It’s the only way to get to the booby trap and, if I’m not mistaken, also to the guidance system controls and the bomb.”
I take a screwdriver from my utility belt and begin to work. The panel is lined with twelve screws, so it takes a few minutes to get them all off. I put them in a pouch on the belt in case I need them again later. The panel comes off and I hold it in one hand. In order to work with both hands I have to grip the MRUUV with my thighs.
“You can let go of the panel. You’re not going to need it again.” Okay, so I let it float away. I indicate that it’s off and she says, “Good. Now look carefully inside the compartment. I assume you have a chem-light? You should see plastic explosive attached to the inner surface, probably encased in waterproof material. It’s probably brick shaped and has wires coming out of it.”
I would have found it without her description. Recognizing explosives is part of my job. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can dismantle the thing without her instructions. It’s pretty straightforward. “What you need to do is determine which is the positive lead and which is the negative lead. The wires go to a—”
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Oh, okay, you know what you’re doing. Sorry.”
It’s a simple matter of disconnecting the explosive from the igniter. There’s probably a sensor located somewhere in the device that tells the igniter to do its business but I don’t have to worry about that. With a pair of wire cutters, I snip the appropriate leads and that should do the trick.
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Good. Now you should be able to get to the guidance system controls. Do you see what looks like a closed laptop inside the compartment?”
AFFIRMATIVE.
“See if you can open it.”
I do. It’s exactly like a laptop computer, complete with keyboard and monitor. A screen saver displaying Chinese characters and a GyroTechnics logo flashes on.
“All right, now you need to get into the main menu. Press any key to do so.”
AFFIRMATIVE.
It asks for a password. She tells me the password is “Taiwan000” and I type it in. I’m amazed that she knows that. It appears that Anna Grimsdottir is back in action.
“Sorry to interrupt, folks, but I have some news.” It’s Colonel Lambert. “The thirty-minute time limit has elapsed and the order’s been given.”
Damn, the time flew by.
“Our forces are attacking General Tun’s army at this moment. The navy, the air force, the marines — you name it. They’re unleashing hell on Tun’s little army.”
Shit! What does that mean? Is Tun going to set off the bomb?
“Keep working, Sam,” Grimsdottir says calmly. “Tun will have to get a message to the submarine and give the order to blow the nuke. They’re not going to do it without his say-so.”
I hope you’re right, sister. Okay, let’s keep going. She instructs me how to get into the programmer’s main menu. Everything is in Chinese so it’s a little more difficult for me. Grimsdottir’s Chinese is “fair” and mine is “okay” so together that makes a “pretty good,” right? Accurately translating these commands is essential.
Once I’m inside she relays a series of coded commands. It’s tough typing on the keyboard while riding the MRUUV in cloudy water. The chem-light is sufficient but with the gloves and everything else, it’s easy to make errors. I have to use the backspace key several times during the course of typing. Finally I’ve got it all in and press Enter. The screen changes and there are several options available, all in Chinese.
“You’ll need to select the option that says ‘Course’ or ‘Direction,’ something like that.”
AFFIRMATIVE. I find the one that translates to ‘Heading,’ and select that. This takes me to a screen displaying the current course in common submariner terminology.
Then something odd happens. A red light illuminates within the compartment and starts to flash slowly and repeatedly. I tell Grimsdottir this and she says, “Oh, no. If it’s what I think it means, then they’ve activated the nuke. Sam, do you see any kind of digital readout inside there? Something that looks like a clock counting down?”
I hate clocks that count DOWN! Yes, I see it. It must have started at 10:00, for now it’s at 9:52 and decreasing a second at a time.
“Okay, Sam, you’ve got a little time but you have to work fast. The MRUUV is equipped with an automatic diagnostics program that checks the entire system to make sure the bomb goes off properly. It takes roughly ten minutes to go through all the tests and as soon as it’s done, the bomb will explode. Try to ignore the countdown and go back to the laptop. I want you to type in these new course headings.” She gives them to me and I try to enter the data, but I keep punching the wrong keys. Damned gloves. I finally pull them off so my fingers can be a little more accurate. The water is cold but not unbearable. I’m sure, though, that if I’m in the water for too long my hands will stiffen from the low temperature.
I finally get the new course heading entered but it suddenly changes back to the original!
What the hell?
I tell Grimsdottir this and she says, “Damn, it’s the control on the submarine. They see what you see on their monitor and realize someone’s tampering with the guidance system. I have to figure out a way to cut them out. Stand by.”
Stand by? The fucking nuclear bomb is ticking and the clock now reads 8:43! The Barracuda is on a steady course right for Santa Monica Pier and I’m sitting on the goddamned thing.
I type into my OPSAT: IS THERE A WAY TO DEFUSE THE BOMB?
Grimsdottir replies, “Not in this amount of time, Sam. Hush, let me think.”
All right, now I’m considering what kind of damage a nuclear bomb will do if it explodes out here in Santa Monica Bay. I’m just guessing, but I would say half of Los Angeles would be gone in an instant. Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, Venice—poof! Millions dead. The nation’s economy in chaos, which of course dominoes into the world’s economy being in turmoil. World War III with China.
I can’t let this happen.
“Sam! I want you to type in exactly what I tell you to,” Grimsdottir says. “Make sure it’s correct before you press Enter.” It’s long and it’s complicated but I do it. It seems like it takes forever. I indicate that I’m done and she reads it again slowly so I can proof what I’ve typed. I hit Enter and a bunch of code appears on the monitor at a high rate of speed. After ten seconds of this, the screen goes blank.
No! Is it dead? What happened?
I begin to type on the OPSAT and tell her what’s going on but Grimsdottir beats me to it and says, “You should have a blank screen when it’s done processing.”
Fuck, I wish she’d told me that before.
AFFIRMATIVE.
“Good. Now let’s go back to the course settings menu and retype the new coordinates.” I follow her instructions and repeat what I did earlier. This time the new settings stay on the screen. We’ve successfully shut out the Chinese sub’s control.
The MRUUV suddenly begins to turn in a wide arc. I ride along with it as the device makes a U-turn and heads away from shore. But it’s going too damn slow and I tell Grimsdottir this.
“Then we’ll have to increase its speed. Go back to the main menu, can you do that?”
The clock reads 4:35. Now I’m getting nervous. I bungle the first try and end up back at the course settings menu. A second attempt gets me to the main menu and I’m ready. This time I’m way ahead of Grimsdottir. I see the option for “Speed” and begin to raise the scroll bar.
“Find the option for speed. When you do that… oh, I see you’re already there. Good work, Sam.”
The MRUUV accelerates and becomes much more difficult to hold on to. I glance upward and see the dark shapes of my CHARC’s pontoons following along on the surface. The homer beacon is working beautifully.
“See if you can get it up to at least sixty knots. That’s what it’s going to take to get the thing out of range of the city. You can also direct the nose downward at a twenty-degree angle. That way it’ll go deeper, which is what we want.”
I use the touch-pad cursor and manage to steer the Barracuda into a dive but the damned thing is moving too slowly. Something’s hanging up the computer.
The clock reads 3:20.
“You’ve got it to forty knots, Sam. You’re almost there.”
The speed is doing a number on me now. My legs are beginning to ache from holding on so tightly and I have to use one hand to secure myself while the other one works the computer.
“Fifty knots, Sam.”
The clock is at 2:48.
Damn, I’m going fast. I’m not sure I can hold on much longer. And what the hell am I going to do when it’s at sixty knots? Just jump off? Where am I gonna go?
The clock is at 2:29.
“Sixty! Get off, Sam! Surface and get in your CHARC! Go! Go! Go!”
I release the MRUUV and it cuts through the water ahead of me. Floating stationary for a few seconds, I watch it until it disappears into the murky blue-green darkness.
“Go, Sam, go!”
Her words jolt me out of the temporary haze. I immediately turn and start ascending as hard and fast as I can. Shit, how far am I from the goddamned coastline? I want to ask Grimsdottir if she has a fix on me but I can’t afford to stop and type the question. If ever I needed to rely on my Navy SEAL training to save my life, this could be the prize event.
I move closer to the surface where the CHARC’s pontoons are resting. As soon as my head is above water I look to see if the coastline is even visible. It appears to be a couple of miles away. But I know distances are deceiving when you’re in the water. I grab hold of the CHARC’s struts, climb aboard, buckle myself in, and close the canopy. It takes five seconds to turn the thing around and open her up to a high speed. Lambert was right, this baby is fast! Before long it’s going eighty miles an hour.
The shoreline is closer… closer… I grip the controls and concentrate solely on putting as much distance between that damned bomb and me as possible. The CHARC reaches its limit, practically flying along the surface at eighty-five. The Santa Monica Pier’s Ferris wheel looms larger in front of me. I’m almost there…
Then it’s as if the world collapses around me. A deafening sonic boom literally pushes the CHARC forward at what feels like an impossible rate of speed. I’m spinning in total darkness, completely weightless and vulnerable. A painful ringing in my ears won’t let up and I’m not sure where I am… it’s dark… and I can’t stop spinning… and…