“Certainly, Mr. President,” the chief of the Navy said, accepting a glass from the president and passing it to Pacino, then accepting one for himself. Catardi wasn’t a big drinker, but when the president drank scotch and toked on a cigar, so would the admiral. “The
“Won’t it be tough to swim against the current, with the Omega moving?”
“No, sir,” Catardi said. “Under the ice, any speed over about three knots is not safe. A sub can slam into a pressure ridge and damage the bow or sail. This isn’t the kind of ice like the stuff that floats in your glass. Polar ice pressure ridges are hard as steel and can rip open a hull and sink a ship. Don’t believe me, ask our good friends on the
“Will doing this make noise? Won’t the Omega hear a clunking sound when the mines are attached?”
“No, Mr. President. They attach first with the suction from a vacuum pump while a powerful electromagnet holds them fast to the hull. A small unit will come out of the body of the mine, cut away any anechoic foam coating on the hull, expose raw steel, and weld itself to the hull. Then the electromagnets and vacuum pump can turn off, conserving battery power.”
“How long will the batteries last?”
“In testing, about three months. The mines are in a power-saver mode until awakened by the sonar signal. So then the divers swim back, re-enter the
“Tell me more about the sonar pulse that wakes up the mines and detonates them,” Carlucci said.
“The sound won’t be anything like a regular sonar pulse. One sonar trigger sound that performed well in testing is the opening bars of Beethoven’s
Carlucci nodded and refilled his glass, then relit his cigar, which had gone out. “What if we decide to abort the mission? It wouldn’t do to have a couple of our mines attached to the Omega’s hull when it eventually pulls into port.”
“Another sonar signal commands the mines to detach. They torch off the welded lug from the hull and sink to the bottom and self-destruct.”
“Good,” Carlucci said. “I like it. So, gentlemen, execute this plan. Place the mines on the Omega hull. Give the order immediately, Admiral.”
“Right away, Mr. President. By your leave, sir,” Catardi said, standing.
“Thanks for coming, Rob,” Carlucci said, flashing his politician’s smile at the Navy chief.
“You need me anymore, Mr. President?” Shingles asked.
“No, but thank you for coming so late, Jeremy,” Carlucci said. He liked informality when the business was over.
Pacino stood and was about to put out his cigar when Carlucci waved him back to his seat. “Stay a moment, will you, Admiral Pacino?”
Interesting, Pacino thought, that there was no informality now, so the business with him must still be ongoing. Pacino sat.
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“Admiral, your swearing in will be at two pm in the Rose Garden. Figure out who you want to hold the Bible or the Koran or the Code of Federal Regulations for you. Supreme Court Chief Justice McDaniel will swear you in.”
Pacino stared at Carlucci, momentarily confused. Carlucci just smiled and said, “Welcome to your new role, Mr. Vice President.” He stood and offered his hand.
For a moment Pacino was speechless. As he stood, he took a breath to argue with Carlucci that he didn’t want the office, but Carlucci seemed to read his mind.
“Don’t worry, Patch. You’ll retain your national security advisor role and functions, and staff. But now I’ll have a VP I can trust. And you get a bigger West Wing office.”
Pacino shook the president’s hand. What could he say, Pacino wondered. “Thank you, Mr. President. It’s an honor.”
When he opened the door to the hallway, four Secret Service agents were waiting for him. One of them spoke to his wrist, saying, “Devilfish is on the move.”
Hell of a Secret Service code name they’d christened him with, Pacino thought. The name of two submarines under his command that sank.
Lieutenant Commander Ebenezer Fishman knocked gently on Executive Officer Quinnivan’s stateroom door, then opened it and stood back in the passageway.
