Silent Waters

Chapter 16

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.