"Contact," Lieutenant Rykov called. "Sonar contact, bearing one-one-three, single screw noisy, sounds like a damaged submarine "

"You're certain it's not a surface contact?"

"Positive surface traffic is well south of this track because of the storms. The sound is definitely characteristic of a submarine power plant noisy, as though from some damage southerly drift bearing one-one-five now."

Valentin Borissovich turned to shout into the control room: "Estimated distance to target's reported position?"

"Seven thousand meters!"

"Long, long shot southerly drift speed?"

"Difficult to tell less than six knots, certainly there's a blade-rate there, but it's faint, and I can't read it."

"We may not get more than one shot " Dubinin whispered to himself. He went back to control. "Weapons! Set up a torpedo on a course of one-one-five, initial search depth seventy meters, activation point four thousand meters."

"Very well." The lieutenant made the proper adjustment to his board. "Set for tube one weapon is hot, ready! Outer door is closed, Captain."

Dubinin turned to look at the executive officer. Ordinarily a very sober man - he scarcely drank even at ceremonial dinners - the Starpom nodded approval. The captain didn't need it, but was grateful for it even so.

"Open outer door."

"Outer door is open." The weapons officer flipped the plastic cover off the firing switch.

"Fire."

The lieutenant stabbed the button home. "Weapon is free."

"Conn, sonar! Transient, transient, bearing one-seven-five - torpedo in the water bearing one-nine-five!"

"All ahead full!" Ricks shouted to the helm.

"Captain!" Claggett screamed. "Belay that order!"

"What?" The youngster at the helm was all of nineteen, and had never heard a captain's order countermanded. "What do I do, sir?"

"Captain, if you goose the engines like that, we lose the shaft in about fifteen seconds!"

"Shit, you're right." Ricks was pink beneath the red battle lights in the control room. "Tell the engine room, best safe speed, helm, right ten degrees rudder, come north, new course zero-zero-zero."

"Right ten degrees rudder, aye." The boy's voice quavered as he turned the wheel. Fear is as contagious as plague. "Sir, my rudder is right ten degrees, coming to new course zero-zero-zero."

Ricks swallowed and nodded. "Very well."

"Conn, sonar, bearing to torpedo is now bearing one-nine-zero, torpedo going left to right, torpedo is not pinging at this time."

"Thank you," Claggett replied.

"Without our tail, we're going to lose track of it real quick."

"That's true, sir. Captain, how about we let the Orion know what's going on?"

"Good idea, run up the antenna."

"Sea Devil One-Three, this is Maine."

"Maine, this is One-Three, we are still evaluating that torpedo we dropped and -"

"One-Three, we have a torpedo in the water one-eight-zero. You missed the guy. Start another search pattern south of us. I think this bird is engaging our MOSS."

"Roger, on the way." The Tacco informed Kodiak that there was a for-real battle going on now.

"Mr President," Ryan said, "we may have some useful information here, sir." Jack was sitting down in front of the speaker phone, his hands flat on the table and wet enough to leave marks on the Formica top, Goodley saw. For all that, he envied Ryan's ability to control himself.