It took them ten minutes to enter the narrows. Even submerged, they could see the aura of lights on the far shore. With machinery on the oil platforms banging and whining, the waters sounded like a wrecking yard. The industrial clatter masked the sound of their motors, so there was no need for stealth as they started across.

“What’s that noise?” Linc asked as they were gliding along at thirty feet.

“The oil platforms?”

“No. Like a low-frequency gurgling sound. It was really strong when we first entered the bay, and, while it’s gotten quieter, I can still hear it.”

Juan concentrated, and he, too, picked up the strange tones. He chanced turning on one of the weaker floodlights. From the surface, it would look like the moon’s reflection off a wave. In its glow, he saw curtains of tiny bubbles rising up from the seafloor. And as his eyes adjusted further, he and Linc spotted the lattice of pipes laid across the ooze and how they were the source of the bubbles.

He killed the lights, and the two men shared a look.

“Any ideas?” Linc finally asked.

“That’s how they keep the bay free from ice.” He checked one of the computer displays. “Yup. That’s it. The water temperature is near sixty degrees. They must use the vent gas from the oil platform to heat air and force it through the pipes. Pretty ingenious, when you think about it.”

Moments later, they passed within a hundred yards of the big cruiser resting at anchor.

“Any thoughts about what we’re going to do about her?”

Juan could almost sense its dark presence in the inky water, like some great predatory shark. A fight between the Oregon and the cruiser would be short and brutal and would most likely end with both ships on the bottom. “Hopefully, inspiration will strike tonight.”

Twenty yards short of the piers, Cabrillo extended the Discovery’s low-light television periscope. It was no bigger than a pack of cigarettes, and the pictures it took went to an HD display in the sub as well as aboard the Oregon. A dozen sets of eyes studied the docks as Juan panned the camera back and forth for the next few minutes. Other than the workboats tied to the pier, there was nothing to see but concrete pylons. It was simply too cold for men to stand watch for any significant period of time.

Cabrillo also suspected that, for now, the Argentines were feeling good about their accomplishment and didn’t believe they were in any danger yet. Later, perhaps, there would be an armed response, but for the next few days the world would continue to reel from their audacious play.