“Yes, sir. Just finished a baffle clear. The only contact is sierra two-four-seven, bearing one-six-nine. He’s slowly drawing aft at point-one-degree-per-minute bearing rate. Sonar classified him as a tanker. I’d guess that he’s heading down to the south from the Norwegian oil fields. The contact is distant.”

Glass nodded and walked over to the sonar repeater to see for himself. He flipped through the displays. Yes, there was sierra two-four-seven on the passive broadband display, just where Durand said he would be. No one else out there. That was one of the few advantages of being in the Norwegian Sea in the winter. Not many people were foolish enough to be out here, cluttering up the open ocean this time of year.

Glass turned to Durand and ordered, “Officer of the Deck, proceed to periscope depth and copy the broadcast. Get a GPS fix and ventilate the boat for twenty minutes while you are up there.”

“Proceed to periscope depth, copy the broadcast, get a GPS fix, and ventilate, aye, sir,” Durand answered smartly. “Seas are from three-four-two. Coming up on course zero-six-zero.

“Rig control for black,” Durand was saying. “Make your depth one-five-zero feet.” The lights blinked out, making the room almost pitch-dark. The only lights were the dim red, green, or yellow ones of the instruments.

“Make my depth one-five-zero feet, aye,” Sam Wallich responded. “Depth two-two-zero feet, coming to one-five-zero.”

He directed the two planesmen sitting on either side of him as they pulled back on their control columns, determining the boat’s angle of ascent. The Toledo slid up to the shallow depth.

“At one-five-zero feet,” Wallich reported.

The sub had begun to roll as it responded to the churning of the sea above them.

Durand reached up and rotated the control ring for the number-two periscope. He shouted, “Number-two scope coming up!”

“Speed seven,” Wallich answered.

The chief of the watch chimed in with “Number-two scope indicates ‘up.’”

Durand stuck his eye to the eyepiece and started to walk a circle as he rotated the scope. He shouted, “Dive, make your depth six-two feet.”

“Depth six-two feet, aye. One-four-zero feet, coming to six-two feet.”

Wallich turned to his team, watching the planesmen as they worked to control their depth. He ordered, “Chief of the Watch, flood forty thousand pounds to depth control.” The extra weight would help keep the boat from being sucked to the surface in the heavy sea.

“Depth one hundred feet, coming to six-two feet.” The rolling increased noticeably now. A coffee cup slid off a shelf and crashed to the deck. No one seemed to take notice.

“Depth eight-five feet.”