Panic Switch полностью

“Why, Admiral Pacino,” she said in her honey-smooth Atlanta Southern accent, smiling brightly at him, “if I didn’t know better I’d swear you were hitting on me.”

Pacino smiled back. “Guilty as charged.”

He and Allende had been dating since the end of the Panther mission. He spent at least three nights a week at her Georgetown townhouse, but they were careful to take separate cars to the West Wing to avoid interoffice gossip. Pacino never said it aloud, but sometimes he thought being with her was like a wartime romance, all the drama and intrigue of their jobs making them comrades as well as paramours, and he hated to think about it, but he knew that eventually he’d retire from Carlucci’s administration and she’d still be in the thick of the intelligence business, and it wouldn’t be the same. But if he ever made any noises like that, Allende became possessive and swore that the only way she’d ever let him leave her would be in a box. She smiled when she said it, probably realizing it sounded psychopathic, but he had to admit he liked how fierce and passionate her feelings were for him. He had to admit, when he thought about it, his affair with Allende was the best relationship of his life.

“Patch,” she said, her expression serious, “how did Anthony do? Is he okay?”

“The inquest acquitted him, or more accurately, found him without fault, but he’s pretty badly rattled. His navigator and buddy, a pretty young thing named Rachel Romanov, got burned and is in a coma. The Vermont’s torpedoman chief got badly burned fighting the fire. Anthony feels tremendous guilt about what happened to them.”

“I saw the video, Patch. He did nothing wrong.”

“I know. But now he has to know.”

Allende looked out the window. “God, life absolutely sucks sometimes.”

The two were quiet for some time as the lush Virginia countryside sped by out the windows.

“What were you doing down in Norfolk, Margo? I didn’t expect you on this ride.”

She gave him a half smile. “I wanted to see you. I made up an excuse that I needed to prepare you for the Situation Room briefing.”

“Okay, so what’s up?”

“There’s a Russian super sub, called the Belgorod. An old and refurbished Omega-II class.”

Pacino puffed out his lips. “I know the Omega class,” he said, barely audible over the roar of the helicopter’s rotors and engines. “You’ll remember, Omega unit one and my Devilfish had it out under the polar icecap. It didn’t end well, for either of us.”

Pacino knew Allende knew the story. He’d shown her the top secret file in her office SCIF conference room. His attack sub, back when he was a Navy commander, had been sent under the icecap to counter the original Omega when the Russian super sub had been tasked with being a command platform for the launch of a tactical nuclear strike on the U.S. east coast. His Devilfish and the Omega had fought it out to a draw, killing most of their crews.

“This Omega, Patch, is modernized far beyond the old Omega’s technology. It carries multiple very large torpedoes called ‘Status-6’ weapons. They’re really more like autonomous mini-subs than torpedoes. The Russians renamed them ‘Poseidon’ torpedoes. They can swim to a programmed area and loiter on station for months — they’re nuclear powered. And they pack a ten megaton punch. We think the Russians are either going to use Belgorod to deploy these Poseidons or their ride-along deep-diving sub will deploy them.”

“That isn’t good, Margo, but it doesn’t sound particularly urgent. After all, they aren’t on the way now, are they?”

Allende shook her head.

“So, why the sudden call to Washington?”

“We think the Belgorod is preparing to leave port with orders to deploy these weapons. Think of this as the launch of a Russian intercontinental ballistic missile — or three or four — but with the missile speed slowed down to ten knots.”

“When will the Belgorod sail?”

“Unknown, but they may be waiting for President Vostov’s visit. He’s got tentative plans to visit the Sevmash Shipyard to tour the Poseidon factory and the Belgorod. And you know from experience how presidential plans constantly change. Scheduling something a month out? It could move ninety days further out. Or it could happen tomorrow.”

“We’ll need the submarine force to get a unit in position to trail Belgorod out,” Pacino said.

“They’ve already deployed two subs. But they’ve been on station about eighty days and are running out of food and spare parts.”

Food, Pacino thought. The seemingly inconsequential thing that almost lost Operation Panther.

The stairs of the helicopter were flanked by uniformed Marines, and both saluted Pacino, who returned the gesture. He and Allende walked quickly to the West Wing entrance, the president’s chief of staff’s aides escorting them. Pacino’s own deputy should have been here, he thought, glancing at his Rolex.