Cabrillo could hardly believe she could hear a submarine at that distance in these conditions, but Linda Ross knew her job.

Juan forgot all about his bladder. “Do you have a depth and heading?”

She had one hand pressed to her earphones and the other danced over her keyboard. Above her was the electronic green wash of the waterfall display. “Still working on it, but I definitely have prop noises. Okay. Hold on. Got you. She’s at one hundred and twenty feet. Still bearing two seventy-one.”

No change in her bearing meant they were heading straight for the Oregon.

“Helm, full emergency stop, then turn us with the thrusters until we’re at ninety-one degrees,” Cabrillo ordered. That would take them directly away from the sub and minimize the time her flank was exposed. The Chinese wouldn’t know what to make of a contact that could pull off such a maneuver. He wondered if the Argentine aircraft had gotten a good enough look at them to know their target was a merchantman and not a naval vessel.

The magnetohydrodynamics wailed as Stone brought up full power and reversed the variable-pitch impellers in the drive tubes. As the speed bled off, the ocean swells attacked the Oregon as if angered that their power was being challenged. The ship heeled over nearly forty degrees when they were broadside to the waves, and water swept her decks from stem to stern.

Using the bow and stern thrusters, they turned as tightly as a bottle cap, and as soon as they were on the correct heading, Eric changed the impellers again and kept the engines firewalled.

“Range?” Cabrillo called out.

“Four thousand yards.”

The sub had gained almost a mile on them as they were turning. Juan did a quick calculation, and said, “Mr. Stone, just so you’re aware, the Kilo’s coming at us at twenty-three knots.”

In response, Eric dialed in emergency power.

The ride was brutal, like being on a bucking bronco. The ship shuddered so badly that Juan feared his fillings would loosen, while each climb up a wave was a vertiginous journey surpassed only by the gut-wrenching descent. Cabrillo had never called on his ship to give him more.

“Range?”

“Four thousand one hundred.”

A cheer went up. Despite it all, they were pulling away from the submarine. Juan patted his armrest affectionately.

“Contact,” Linda cried. “Sonar. New transient in the water. Speed is seventy knots. They’ve fired! Contact. Sonar. Second torpedo in the water.”

“Let go countermeasures,” Cabrillo ordered.

Mark Murphy worked his magic on the keyboard, and a noise generator was released from a pod under the keel, though it remained attached to the ship on a lengthening cable. The device emitted sounds like those the Oregon was making and was designed to lure the torpedo away from the ship.