The Midnight Caller (Jack Widow Book 6) Page 21

  No one bothered him as he walked the deck.

  He waited until he was out of sight of anyone around. He looked starboard and back to port. No one was watching him. Casually, he leaned against the railing and held out the sat phone. He dropped it.

  It tumbled off the side and was sucked under the water. It vanished just as quickly as it broke through the waves.

  The Listener glanced once toward the US coastline in the distance, and then at the placement of Navy ships, which were there under the pretext of war games, but really they were hunting the missing sub.

  Then he looked at the causeway between the farthest ship and the carrier. By this time, Farmer had already squeezed past them. The new Russian sub technology had absorbent outer skin that actually surpassed their own. But that wasn’t what made the boat so deadly; it was escaping detection. This new sub was not the world’s only stealth sub that could escape detection, but it was probably the most advanced, for the moment. And the moment was all that mattered to him.

  He could not help himself. He looked one last time at the precise location of where the Russian sub was supposed to be at the marked time. He glanced at his watch.

  Forty-two minutes to go.

  CHAPTER 55

  WIDOW WAS A LITTLE STUNNED because they were not going to JFK. They went right back to where he had started not long ago. The driver took him to the United Nations building. The street was already shut down and closed off by NYPD, because of the dead bodies in the lawyer’s building, Widow was sure. But the driver showed his badge, which made him NCIS and not Navy. The officer controlling the flow of traffic let them pass.

  “Where are we going?” Widow asked.

  “Helicopter.”

  And that was all the NCIS agent had said. Widow made no remark to give away that he had once had the same badge. He simply sat back and watched.

  They pulled up onto a drive and up to a guard station ofUnited States Department of State Diplomatic Security Serviceassigned to guard the UN. The agent reshowed his badge and they drove past the guards and onto the compound.

  After a few moments of driving and sweeping around the walls and posted security vehicles, they came to a clearing of concrete, where there was normally parking. The driver pulled to a stop.

  “Let’s go,” he said and parked the car, left the keys in it, but turned off the ignition.

  Widow followed him out and shut the door.

  The driver walked around the hood and waited. He just stood there.

  Widow asked, “Aren’t we going in?”

  He figured they were headed up to the roof where there was a helicopter pad.

  “No time,” the driver called out. He had called it out loudly like he was preparing for it to be loud.

  Then Widow looked up and saw a twin-engine Seahawk helicopter flying overhead, maybe four hundred feet above them. He recognized it as probably an MH60 or similar. It was gray and unremarkable as far as appearance, making it more unnoticeable to civilians, Widow guessed.

  The chopper came down steady, but not slow.

  Widow looked around the ground and saw guards and diplomats who happened to be outside, he figured, staring at him like he was some kind of important figure to be getting a helicopter landing right in the parking lot in front of the United Nations.

  And suddenly, he felt a little proud.

  The Seahawk circled in and Widow felt the pressure from the rotor wash growing stronger and more intense.

  He watched as the machine came in and blew his hair up in powerful waves like blades of grass.

  The Seahawk landed on its wheels and bounced once. The flight crew left the engines on and the blades continued to turn above Widow.

  The driver called out, “Come on.”

  Widow followed him onto the back of the helicopter and they both buckled in. A Navy crewman who helped them get on banged on the roof twice. And cleared the pilot to take off.

  They rose up and up. Once they were high enough, Widow felt the engines running harder and harder and the helicopter tilted on the Y-axis and they bolted forward at a much faster speed than the bird was used to traveling.

  They headed out toward the Atlantic. Once Widow saw Manhattan vanish behind them, he called out to the driver, “Just where are we going?”

  “To see Ebert.”

  “Yeah, but where?”

  The driver said, “The USS Washington.”

  Widow sat back. It had been a long time since he had been onboard a Navy aircraft carrier. A long time.

  CHAPTER 56

  THE SEAHAWK FLEW under good weather conditions, which made the trip faster and smoother. Widow had flown in helicopters many times before, but this may have been the longest trip on one that he could recall. He was not calculating the miles and he did not know the speed they traveled, but they had been flying over open water for thirty minutes or more. He did not know the exact time. He did not have a clock in his head. What an absurd notion that would have been.

  He figured thirty to forty minutes was as good a guess as any.

  They were flying to an aircraft carrier so no need to worry about fuel. There would be plenty onboard.

  The Seahawk came in over the Atlantic and Widow scooted across the rear bench and leaned to see out the side window. He saw the aircraft carrier coming into range and he saw a destroyer not far off, along with a couple of other ships too far to recognize. What he did notice was their pattern. They were spread out in different directions, but staying within sight range. They were hunting.

  The wind picked up as they started to descend. The helicopter yawed and fell and the rotors whooped, which seemed to get louder.

  After another five minutes of approaching they were coming in over the new USS Washington.

  Widow got up off the bench and moved into a position so that he could watch through the cockpit. He saw the ship come into view. He saw it grow bigger and bigger. He watched as the ground crew prepared for the Seahawk to land.

  The bird landed on a clear helicopter-marked landing zone. Widow braced for the wheels to touch down and bounce. Which they did. Not too hard. The pilot was a real pro.

  The driver who had picked up Widow unzipped his windbreaker and for the first time, Widow saw his nameplate. Hardy was his name.

  Hardy said, “Follow me, sir.”

  Widow followed behind him as Hardy swiped open the side door and hopped out onto the deck. Widow did the same and immediately felt the wind blow across his face in slapping gusts. And a far-off, familiar feeling came back to him of life in the Navy.

  Parked on the deck were dozens of fighter jets in different corners. They looked like EA-18G Growlers. Widow was not an expert on planes. Without checking out the call numbers up close, he simply trusted his gut.

  Two of them were in queue to dispatch at a moment’s notice, one after the other.

  Widow figured somewhere under the convoy was at least one American Seawolf attack submarine. Also waiting and hunting.

  Hardy said, “This way, sir.”

  Widow followed him. They were not headed below deck. They were headed up to the tower and probably to the bridge.

  They entered through the bottom, passed officers and crew, and climbed up stairs until Hardy walked through an open hatch and onto the bridge.

  The bridge was laid out bigger than the ones Widow had seen before. Normally, they were smaller than one would think. On a ship, realty space is a luxury. This one was huge in comparison. And high tech. There were new pieces of equipment that Widow had never seen or at least never paid attention to. He washed his eyes over it all with a quick look. Saw everything, took in nothing.

  There were up to ten sailors present, give or take because every few minutes one would leave and another would step on.

  Widow’s eyes went right to a familiar face.

  “Jack Widow,” Nick Ebert said. He was standing, middle of the bridge, facing the portal that Widow came through with his hand held out for a shake. Behind him were two other m
en. All in Navy-blue shipboard uniforms. All three men wore Navy caps. The two behind Ebert looked important. One was tall, lean and older. He probably considered himself middle-aged, but he was more in his sixties. The man standing a little farther back and to the right looked ancient. He was short, thin and had a professor’s face. Like the kind who refused to retire and sometimes forgot where he was, but was also brilliant, in spurts.

  Widow walked straight over to Hardy and took his hand and shook it. He looked at his collar pin. Widow said, “Commander now, huh?”

  Ebert nodded.

  “I wish we were meeting under different circumstances,” he said.

  “Me too. What’s going on?”

  “Cameron told us that you already know.”

  Widow asked, “Any sign of the boat?”

  Ebert turned to introduce the other two men.

  “Widow, this is Captain Towdez,” Ebert said and the tall, younger man reached his hand out to shake. Widow shook it.

  “And this is Admiral Kiley.”

  Widow paused a beat and took Kiley’s hand and shook it.

  “Admiral,” he said. “I’ve heard of you.”

  Kiley reached out his hand, in a slow upward movement that felt more like a crane was hauling it up rather than human bones and muscles and motor skills.

  “All good things, I hope.”

  “Mostly good.”

  “So, what do you know, Widow?” Kiley asked.

  Widow had never met Kiley before, but Kiley was the type of career sailor whose reputation preceded him by a decade and a thousand miles. To say that he had been around the block was an understatement. He had been around the block, and around again, and then had the block dropped on him.

  The man was more of an institution at this point. He was the last of a dying breed of military man. Widow had figured that the man had retired long ago. Not that he had any prejudices against him. It was just that facts were facts. And the fact was that Kiley was old.

  Widow was more than surprised that an admiral was taking part in this endeavor. Which told him volumes. Then he remembered something about Kiley being the foremost expert on submarines. Which was another reason he was probably there and not on a golf course somewhere.

  “It appears to me, Admiral, that you already know what I know.”

  “How do you mean, son?”

  “Well, you’re here.”

  “Come again?”

  Widow said, “A famous Navy admiral like you doesn’t usually participate onboard an aircraft carrier.”

  “I assure you that Captain Towdez is the commanding officer here. Not me.”

  “And yet, here you are.”

  Kiley smiled. Probably because he did not know what to say.

  Widow moved on and said, “There’s a hijacked Russian sub out there and it has nukes. It’s somewhere in the quadrant and you’re out here searching for it.”

  Captain Towdez and Kiley both nodded.

  Ebert asked, “We knew that already. Of course. What don’t we know?”

  Widow asked, “How did you know about it?”

  “One of our subs picked up unusual sound patterns two days ago in the Arctic,” Kiley said.

  “You knew it was a Russian sub?”

  “No, but we picked it up again last night and again hours ago,” Kiley said.

  Ebert said, “And then one hour ago. Just about.”

  Widow asked, “How did you pick it up and then lose it again? Weren’t we watching it like a hawk?”

  Ebert nodded.

  Towdez said, “We think it’s been surfacing.”

  Widow nodded and said, “To communicate.”

  Kiley said, “Maybe.”

  Ebert said, “That’s what our intel guys think.”

  “Well, intel guys are only guessing. We don’t know for sure, but it seems likely. That’s why you’re here, Widow. We think you might have the missing piece. Who they’ve been talking to. If they’ve been talking.”

  Widow nodded and said, “I do know.”

  Just then one of the sailors on deck stood up from a machine that he had been seated at and walked over to them. He was average height, with a small gut. He looked Middle Eastern. He had a dark complexion like he had literally just stepped out of the desert.

  Upon closer inspection, Widow realized that he was not Navy, not at all. His uniform was all wrong. His demeanor was all wrong. He did not belong there.

  He was an imposter.

  CHAPTER 57

  THE IMPOSTER STOPPED a few feet from Widow and put his hand out, offered it up for a handshake.

  Widow asked, “What’s this?”

  “My name is John Ali, like the boxer Muhammad Ali. Only with John.”

  Widow stayed where he was.

  Ebert said, “Widow, this is a State representative.”

  Which in slang terms meant a spook, or a CIA officer. Often they claimed to be from the State Department. Which was a terrible cover because everyone knew it, but a great cover because it explained why they were wherever they were.

  Widow simply cut to the chase and said, “CIA?”

  Ali nodded, just a slight nod, but an affirmative, clearly.

  Ali said, “I’m here as an observer.”

  Widow said, “No you’re not.”

  Ali said nothing.

  “You’re here because of your boy, Farmer.”

  Ali said, “You know about him?”

  “I know he’s the one who hijacked the submarine.”

  Ali nodded.

  Ebert and Kiley and Towdez all said nothing, which told Widow that they all knew.

  “So what are we doing here, fellas?”

  Kiley said, “We’re here to stop a nuclear missile from being fired onto the US.”

  “But why am I here? You already know about Farmer, apparently. You already know the sub is out there.”

  Ali said, “Frank Farmer went rogue a couple of weeks ago. He was…”

  Widow held out his hand and stopped him. He said, “I don’t care. I don’t need to know his motivations or his terms or whatever. I get that you’re here to represent the agency and to disavow the blame. I don’t care about that. All I care about is stopping a strike and finding someone that Farmer has abducted.”

  “Abducted?” Ebert asked.

  “Yeah, a girl.”

  “Who?” Ali asked.

  Widow looked at them and said, “Karpov’s daughter.”

  Towdez asked, “Who’s Karpov?”

  Which told Widow that things were worse here than he had thought. It appeared that no one was talking to anyone else or the captain assigned to the ship that was hunting the Russian sub was a moron, not to know the name of the captain of said submarine.

  The answer came to Widow just then—the captain was a moron. Because Kiley said, “He’s the submarine captain.”

  “His daughter’s been abducted?” Ebert asked.

  Widow nodded.

  Ebert looked at Kiley and said, “That means?”

  “Farmer has the passcode,” Ali said.

  “The passcode?” Widow asked.

  Ebert said, “The Russians use a two-key system to launch their nukes from their subs, but five years ago, maybe, they installed a passcode failsafe system.”

  Widow said, “The passcode arms the nuke?”

  “Right,” Ebert said.

  Ali’s face turned flush, like he was worried for the first time. He asked, “How do we stop them?”

  Kiley stayed quiet.

  Ebert said, “We don’t. Not unless we find them before it’s too late. Let’s hope they surface again.”

  Just then, one of the sailors called out, “I found them!”

  CHAPTER 58

  THE RUSSIAN-SPEAKING soldier that Farmer had brought with him said, “They can see us now.”

  Sweat beaded on his brow as it did for all of them, including Farmer. Red lights flashed on the bridge. Everyone was washed over with the sudden realization of imminent devastation by
the alert that the missile doors were opening. It was an automatic effect that Farmer did not anticipate, but also did not care about.

  The reason that the soldier who spoke Russian knew the US ships could see their precise location was because Farmer had just ordered him to open the missile bay doors. The action of opening the port and flooding the chamber took some effort and time. Which, when you are about to launch a nuclear missile, can feel like an eternity.

  Finally, after the door was open and the missile prepped and ready, Farmer said, “Prepare to fire!”

  The soldier who spoke Russian looked at Farmer and showed him one of the firing keys. He inserted it into the dash keyhole on one side of the bridge and Farmer stood at the other with Karpov’s key. He inserted his key into the opposite keyhole.

  Farmer and the soldier who spoke Russian stared at each other.

  Farmer said, “Passcode first.”

  The keyhole was near a computer terminal. The soldier who spoke Russian released his key and placed his fingers over the keyboard and typed in “OCTOBER” in all caps, in Russian as he had been instructed to. The computer whirred for a moment and accepted the code.

  Then he called out “Armed.”

  Farmer said, “Ready!”

  The soldier who spoke Russian placed his hand back on the key and looked at Farmer. Their eyes locked and sweat doubled on their foreheads.

  Farmer said, “On three.”

  The soldier who spoke Russian said, “Ready!”

  “One. Two. Three.”

  And both men turned both keys for a second that seemed an eternity. Right then, the submarine shook and flailed and the hull vibrated like train rails singing.

  At the top of the boat, near the control tower, they were close to the surface, but still submerged.

  The РС-28 Сармат or the Russian nuclear ballistic missile designated RS-28 Sarmat in English, was more readily known by its NATO name which was SATAN 2. The missile is a liquid-fueled MIRV-equipped, super-heavy thermonuclear-armed intercontinental missile. Not the most efficient missile on the market, but there was a reason it was called SATAN 2. It did not have to be the most efficient. It was unstoppable enough to get past missile defense systems, usually. And it carried with it a nuclear payload of nothing but fire and death.