“The P-3 reports a scope sighting on the ISAR,” Bob Norquest said as he slumped into a seat. He handed Jon Ward a grainy photograph showing a periscope moving through the water, kicking up a large feather behind it. A large freighter filled the background beyond the scope. “Looks like you guessed right again. Your luck is holding.”

The two men sat alone at one of the large tables in the Anzio’s wardroom. Ward had slipped in here for a cup of coffee and a few minutes away from the hustle and bustle of the Combat Information Center. Three of the cruiser’s junior officers watched a satellite relay of an NBA game in the lounge area at the aft end of the wardroom. Their cheering had quieted the moment their captain walked in.

Ward took the picture and looked at it for a moment. “Standard Russian attack scope, all right. Hasn’t changed in twenty years. Looks like he’s trying to sneak through submerged. I’d bet he just got caught in traffic and was trying to keep from getting run down.” He slid the picture back across the table toward Norquest. “You gotta love this improved ISAR technology. That P-3 was probably two hundred miles out when it grabbed the picture. Radar goes right through clouds, rain, or whatever.”

Norquest nodded and answered, “That’s what he reported.”

The 1MC speaker interrupted the conversation. “Flight quarters! Flight quarters! Man flight quarters!”

Ward glanced over at Norquest, his eyebrows arched.

“Just getting a jump on you.” Norquest answered the implied question. “That guy will go deep as soon as he’s out in the Baltic. We’re stationing the SH-60 to set up a sonobuoy field. We’ll trap that Akula and hound him all the way across the Baltic.”

“Bob, you’re starting to think like a sub hunter,” Ward said with a laugh.

Norquest acknowledged the compliment with the slightest of nods.

*   *   *

The BTR-80 troop transporter jolted across the rough terrain, knocking everyone around as if they were riding inside a cement mixer. Tony Martinelli kept the throttle as open as he dared. The farther away from the sub base they got, the safer they would be, the less likely they would be to have to fight their way out of this mess.

Bill Beaman tried to read the map, but it was difficult. There was no way to hold the flashlight and the map and still brace against the jarring ride.

“Tony, near as I can see, it’s another kilometer,” he shouted above the transporter’s howling diesel engine. “There should be a ravine coming up that heads down to the beach. We’ll be within harking distance of the rendezvous spot there.”