“Nav, you have to stay calm,” he said in a fatherly tone. “Take it easy. Just like you do when you’re surfing one of those waves you love so much. I’m depending on you, so you need to stay in control. Get a cup of coffee and take a deep breath, okay?”

Perez nodded his head. “I’m okay, Skipper. That was just too close back there.”

“On that point, we agree.”

“Captain!” Edwards called out. “Sonar reports picking up auxiliary noises. Bearing zero-six-three. Zillich says they sound like they are pretty close.”

“No screw?”

“No, sir. He says he’s not picking up any main propulsion sounds at all. Whatever it is, it’s sitting still. It didn’t show up until after we made the turn.”

Glass looked down at the chart. The bearing to the mysterious new contact put it close inshore, on the same spit of land he and Toledo were using to hide behind.

He looked over at Edwards. “Zillich have any idea what it is yet?”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

The active intercept receiver started beeping madly. The red LED readout flashed a warning that it was detecting a 3.4-kilohertz active signal on the same bearing as the mystery contact. Signal strength was high, off the scale.

“Shit! That answers that question. Horse Jaw sonar. Russian Udaloy tin can!” Glass said. “Son of a bitch! The bastard was hiding there, like he was lying in wait for us. Like he knew we would be coming.” It was a Russian destroyer and if the son of a bitch didn’t know Toledo was there yet, he soon would. “Chief of the Watch, launch evasion devices from both signal ejectors. Reload and stand by to launch again.”

Sam Wallich stood up and punched two buttons high up on the ballast control panel. Down in the middle level, Doc Halliday was sorting his medical supplies just in case he might need them after the rendezvous with the SEALs. He jumped and bumped his knee hard on the table as both signal ejectors, mounted outboard in his tiny office, cycled loudly, kicking out their noisemakers. The two NAEs tumbled in the submarine’s wake and started to emit a mask of noise geared to blind any sonar operator listening for Toledo. The NAEs might hide the sub’s location, but anyone out there who doubted that there was an American submarine swimming around in the Murmansk Fjord had just had all question removed.

“Now launch the MOSS,” Glass ordered. When he had been Jon Ward’s executive officer, Joe Glass was the one who tended to take the more thoughtful route in a pressure situation, pondering any situation thoroughly before acting. Ward was quick to decide and act. Glass had learned that there were times when further study could be fatal. He, like Ward, knew he would have to rely on his training and instincts in those instances. This was one of them.