Glass noticed that the compass rose was swinging around to the right. Durand must have finished gathering information on the first leg and was bringing Toledo around to the new course to get the second leg. There would be no information to process until the array had steadied up on the new course. That took at least ten minutes. It was a good time to sort out what they needed to do.

Durand saw Glass and stepped over to stand beside the skipper. Both men watched as Glass analyzed the information on the computer screen.

“Skipper, coming around to two-nine-zero now. Section tracking party is manned. No other contacts.”

A cup of coffee materialized as if by magic. Glass took a sip.

“Slow and careful. No reason to hurry,” he said, speaking to no one in particular, but to everyone in the room. “Let’s slip up on this guy before he knows we’re here.”

Exactly ten minutes later, the bright little dots began to appear on the sonar repeater.

“Regain of sierra four-four,” Zillich reported. “Best bearing, one-five-eight. Received frequency two-three point nine.”

Glass absorbed the new information as he watched the display. The expected contact would be coming out of the south and heading toward the north, just as this one was doing. Could be the guy. Now they would need to slip around behind him and hide in his baffles as Glass drove Toledo in closer.

Glass was banking on Toledo being quiet enough to slip in close to the contact before they were heard. Against most submarines in the world, other than the modern American ones, that usually worked.

Slowly, carefully, Glass brought Toledo in closer to the contact. They still couldn’t tell if it was their target for sure, but Master Chief Zillich was now certain that it was another sub. That narrowed the possibilities a good bit.

After an eternity of maneuvering, listening, maneuvering again, Edwards called out, “Skipper, I have a good solution on sierra four-four. Course zero-one-three, speed twelve, range four-two hundred yards.”

Just as he finished reporting, the underwater telephone squawked and a happy voice with a pronounced Southern accent rang out in the control room.

“Lima Two Golf, this is Four Tango Juliet. Hold your bearing two-two-five, range four thousand from me. Over.”

They had been detected. “Son of a bitch!” Glass growled. “Well, XO, we know who the target is now. That’s the Tennessee, all right. Looks like he counterdetected before we could get a shooting solution.”

Edwards gazed at the deck. They had lost bragging rights on this one. Next time they ran into the Trident boat’s wardroom, he and Glass would be the ones buying the beer.

Glass reluctantly pulled the UQC microphone down from its clip. He keyed it and spoke slowly, deliberately.

“Four Tango Juliet, this is Lima Two Golf. Roger bearing and range. Almost had you. Ready to start operations.”

The response came back in a few seconds.