Maden Mike - Tom Clancy Firing Point

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Commander,” Yevgraf shouted.

“Repeat, you are ordered to command the submarine Glazov to surface immediately.”

“You are mistaken, Commander. I am a civilian vessel. I am not—”

“Cut the shit, Ivan! You’ve got three choices in front of you. Two of them sinks your boat. One of them lets you sail back home in one piece.”

“This is an act of war. By what authority—”

“By the authority of the President of the United States.”

“I do not acknowledge your president’s authority to attack my ship.”

“Acknowledged or not, it’s going to happen. Ping Glazov to surface now or I will sink you. Then Glazov will have to surface and then I’ll board him or sink him.”

“Even if I had the authority to comply—”

“Last chance, Captain. You have thirty seconds. I have sonobuoys in the water. I will know if you ping or not. Ping the Glazov up or watch your ship go down. Your choice. Over and out.”

Yevgraf swore violently as he slammed the radio mic back into its cradle. He shot a glance at his XO.

The executive officer knew that look all too well. Yevgraf wanted to fight. The old man had visions of dying gloriously for the Rodina.

The XO didn’t.

“The Luzon will be here before the Glazov can be refueled and restocked, Captain. It’ll have to surface no matter what. They kill us and the Glazov is stranded out here. Glazov ’s only choice then will be to be boarded by the Americans or to scuttle.”

Yevgraf’s eyes burned holes in the XO. He spat on the deck. Coward!

Nervous young crewmen froze at their stations. Everyone knew the old man was crazy.

The XO stood his ground. If he was going to die, he’d do it standing up to this broken-down old bastard. “Our mission is to protect the Glazov .”

Yevgraf flashed a feral grin, then snatched up the intercom mic.

“Sonar room! This is Captain Yevgraf. Prepare to ping Glazov !”

40

WASHINGTON, D.C.

OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE

The President held up the pitcher of water, offering to pour Arnie van Damm a glass.

Arnie sat on the couch, his face souring. “Never touch the stuff.”

“Suit yourself.” Ryan filled a glass for himself and headed back over to the chair next to him.

“Admiral Talbot on line one for you, sir,” came over the intercom.

“Thank you, Betty,” President Ryan said. He stood and crossed over to his desk.

Arnie gestured as he rose from the couch that he’d leave but Ryan waved him back down. He punched the secure line and picked up.

“John, I hope this is good news.”

“The best possible news. We finally found the Ivan.”

Ryan grinned ear to ear. “That’s fantastic.” He threw a thumbs-up at Arnie.

“I won’t bother you with the technical details,” Talbot said, “but suffice it to say he’s turned tail and run, and we’re still on him. We’ll track the Glazov all the way back to Vladivostok. If he tries to do anything stupid, we’ll shove a couple of Mark 48s up his poop chute for the effort.”

“Make sure that everyone involved knows how much I appreciate this and please congratulate them for me on a job well done.”

“I’ll convey the message personally. Do I have permission to return the Roosevelt strike group to its original deployment?”

“As you see fit.”

“I’ll contact Admiral Pike immediately.”

Ryan ended the call.

“That sounds like a win to me,” Arnie said. “Score one for the Navy.”

“Yeah, feels pretty good, I have to admit,” Ryan said. “It was a thousand-to-one shot.” His voice trailed off, his mind working a new problem.

“Jeez, don’t break a leg jumping up and down for joy.”

Ryan glanced up. “Say again? I wasn’t listening.”

“You don’t seem too happy.”

“I’m giddy as a schoolgirl.”

“Yeah, I can tell. What’s the problem?”

“No problem. Not exactly.”

“Let me guess. You’re worried that sub wasn’t the pirate after all.”

“I’ve got no reason to think that.”

Arnie stood. “Then it’s time to celebrate. You probably just want more water,” he said, with a wink.

“Grab yourself a glass,” Ryan said, as he pulled open a desk drawer.

“Seriously, you’re still worried?” Arnie said, crossing over to the service tray.

“We’ve tied a knot in the Glazov ’s tail. We’ll still have to deal with Yermilov on this but that’s a problem for another day. For now, it’s a win.”

Ryan uncorked the bottle of Jameson and poured a couple of fingers for each of them.

“As bad as this was, at least this thing was contained to the South Pacific. Imagine if it had gone global.”

“Amen to that.” Arnie lifted his glass. “I propose a toast.”

Ryan lifted his.

“Arrr,” Arnie growled.

“Arrr.”

They drank.

It was a good day.

41

INDIAN OCEAN

NNW OF PERTH, AUSTRALIA

Aadhavan clutched the empty ice chest with one hand like his life depended upon it, because it did, and had, for the last two days. Its buoyancy sustained him as he drifted helplessly along with the current.

With the other hand he waved at the distant hull of a ship heading his way, or so his fevered mind had told him. Part of him hoped it wasn’t true. If the ship was real and it passed him by, his soul would be poisoned by bitter disappointment on its journey into the next life.

The thirst tore at the inside of his throat like rats’ claws beneath the unrelenting sun, even as the cool night breezes had chilled him to the bone despite the warmth of the water. At dawn, he had prayed to Lord Murugan to take him away from this living nightmare and give him the strength to simply let go and die. But he couldn’t. He had two small children at home to feed and a wife with a crippled leg who couldn’t work. He had to live, because they needed him. The sight of his children’s small, hopeful faces made him want to weep with joy and grief all over again as he had for the last two days, but he had no tears left for them now. The water was all gone out of him.

And that was when his blurred eyes saw the smudge of oily diesel exhaust in the distance.

A ship. Surely it was real.

He tried to shout for help when he first saw it, but his voice was a ragged whisper, and all he could do was splash the water with one free hand and wave.

Thank the merciful gods he had persevered. Had not Murugan himself rewarded his faith by sending this ship to rescue him?

The blood on his scalp had finally dried, which meant he was no longer leaving a trail for the sharks to find him. But if he didn’t get a drink of fresh water in the next twenty-four hours, he would die anyway and the big tiger sharks could have him.

He wondered if any of the killer fish had feasted on the friends he’d lost in the explosion. Probably not. The ship went up in a single, blinding blast that broke the vessel in half and sent them all to the bottom, where he would be now, too, if he hadn’t been on the deck smoking a cigarette.

The explosion had tossed him over the railing headfirst, his scalp splitting open when it slammed into the rolled steel top rail before he hit the water. He swam furiously to escape the suck of the sinking boat that threatened to drag him down. But panic fueled his furious swimming and he escaped, barely.

He had swum back to the frothing swirl where the hull had slipped beneath the surface to search for survivors. There were none. But he found the watertight ice chest and clung to it for dear life as the current carried him away.