“Thanks, Eng. Plot him and see if he has any pattern we can use,” Glass told O’Malley. He looked back at Perez. “Nav, report depth.”

“Depth eight-seven-five,” Perez answered. “Water depth nine-two-five feet.”

They were as close to the bottom of the fjord as Glass dared to get. Any noise Toledo made would hopefully be absorbed and scattered by the mud below them.

Sam Wallich read Glass’s thoughts.

“Skipper, all stations rigged for ultraquiet,” he reported. “Even a fish couldn’t find us.”

Nobody breathed, as if even that might give them away. The Helix chopper circled above, his trace now showing up plainly on the narrowband display. Glass expected to hear Zillich cry out a warning any second that there was an incoming torpedo in the water.

The room was quiet, though.

Waiting was the hardest part. The uncertainty and dread built to an unbearable level. Glass stood there in the center of the control room, trying not to let the helplessness overwhelm him. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and soaked through his poopie suit. His mouth felt as if someone had stuffed it with an old sock.

They had done all they could do. They could only wait.

He reached for his cup of coffee, but his hand shook so badly that he thought better of it. He glanced around. No one had seen his hand shaking. They were all lost in their own tasks, dealing with their fears as best they could.

The Toledo inched forward, each turn of the screw bringing them a little closer to freedom. It also brought them a little closer to the warship that was guarding the way out of this mess.

They noticed the change on the display. The circling Helix gradually fell astern. They were leaving it behind.

Maybe they would make it out of here after all. Still, the steep granite walls of the fjord closed in around the sub, giving them even less room to hide from the determined Russians.

O’Malley’s shout shattered the hopeful silence in the control room.

“Skipper, the Grishas are picking up speed. Master Chief reports they are both closing.” Glass started to answer, but the engineer held up one hand. He pressed the earpiece to his head with the other. His voice increased in pitch as he said, “Contact on the Udaloy. Bearing zero-three-one. Heavy screw beat. He’s coming fast!”

The frigates were coming up behind them and they had just picked up the first hint of the destroyer out in front. Looked as if he was charging in for the kill.

As if to punctuate the engineer’s report, the threat receiver screamed an alarm. Glass, startled, jumped, and turned to read the alarm. The red LEDs flashed a received frequency of 4.5 kilohertz and a signal strength of sixty-nine.