Pirate (52 page)

2:16
A.M
., EST

HAWKE, STANDING AT THE STERN RAIL ON THE LINER’S
uppermost deck, watched the tugboat operation with mounting dread. If ever he’d had a time-critical mission, this one was it. The tug
Karen Moran,
one of six tugs assigned by the U.S. Coast Guard, had moved into position off the great liner’s stern. The hawser, a thick towing cable, looped down from a bollard on
Leviathan
’s stern out to the tug’s bow. Suddenly, the slack snapped out; the tug began to pull mightily. Against her will,
Leviathan
was about to back out of the berth. It was a painfully slow process.

Every passing minute darkened his thoughts.

Still, New York City slept, ten million dreamers blissfully unaware of the deadly drama unfolding in her harbor. Imagining the lives behind every dark window along the river, Hawke had a sudden, stinging thought. Ambrose Congreve across town in his hospital bed. Perhaps the bedside lamp was lit. And Diana Mars was sitting quietly by his bedside reading Yeats to him.

As for himself? He’d always felt he’d been born with one foot in the grave. He’d lost his wife to a sniper’s bullet. The bullet that found her heart had been meant for him. Living on borrowed time has a numbing effect; any thoughts of death Hawke had now were centered on others. Ambrose and Diana, at this late date, had finally found love. Mariucci was a true New York hero. That Coast Guard kid, Tynan, who’d won a gold medal for America in Athens. None of these people deserved this. To vanish like—

He looked at the radio in his hand.

He had an open line to the president. But calling him again so quickly with such sketchy information would serve no good purpose. There were a lot of anxious people holding their breath in the Sit Room, dealing simultaneously with two potential catastrophes. The U.S. Pacific Fleet and the Chinese fleet were now eyeball to eyeball in the Straits. Here, the clock was ticking relentlessly. Over the next few minutes, Hawke would have to parse out unfolding information carefully. Avoid false hopes or unrealistic expectations.

To be honest, he dreaded telling them what he was thinking at this very moment.

Another tug, the
Diane Moran,
was positioned amidships on the starboard side. The swiftly running tidal current complicated her mission. The tug skipper’s job was to keep the ship backing straight out. Once the liner’s stern had cleared the berth, the pier itself would be used as a pivot. A tug pushing against the side would shove the stern upriver. That would swing the bow out into open water so that she was headed south toward the Statue of Liberty and the Ambrose Channel.

At that point, according to Hawke’s hastily thrown together plan, there would be six of the bright red tugs pushing and pulling
Leviathan
out to sea. Two up front with hawsers, towing. Two angled on either side, steering. And two at the stern, pushing. A book Hawke had read as a child popped into his brain.
Little Toot.
It was about a little tugboat with a big heart. He hoped like hell he had six little
Toot
s on his side right now.

Karen Moran
had dropped off two pilots. Bob Stuart, the Moran harbor pilot, was assigned to steer
Leviathan
out to the 20-Alpha buoy. At that point, he’d relinquish the helm to a New York state pilot, the “hooker,” he was called. The Sandy Hook pilot was responsible for the ship’s safe passage through the Ambrose Channel. Once they’d safely left the Ambrose Light astern,
Leviathan
would be in open ocean. There, they might have a chance. A slim one, maybe, but a chance all the same.

They were just now passing the Statue of Liberty to starboard. Hawke checked his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. He estimated they were doing six knots if they were lucky. Maybe five. He was suddenly aware of Mariucci standing by his side at the rail.

“I don’t like this,” Mariucci said. “At all.”

“It’s not going to work,” Hawke replied, admitting the truth for the first time. “We’ve got to go to evacuation. Give me the radio.”

“Fuck’s sake. You can’t evacuate fifteen million people, Alex! You got any idea how many people would die in that kind of panic? Don’t even think about it.”

Hawke’s eyes flashed with anger. “Where the hell is von Draxis?”

“Locked him up in his stateroom. We cut off his phone, took away his cell. Don’t worry, he ain’t calling anybody about this. And if he gets a call from his Chinese friends, we’ll make sure he makes all the right noises.”

“Any luck down below?” Alex asked. “The divers?”

“Hell, no. The damn thing is encased in solid lead. No way to get to it. Or even X-ray it! We did insert probes. It’s hot all right. And it’s got live wires. It’s the real deal, Alex. A live nuclear fission bomb.”

“What about my idea of cutting out that whole section of keel and just making an offshore run with that? Hell, we could airlift it out of here with a big Sikorsky. Drop it in the trench and be done with it.”

“The divers and arc welders tried, Alex. Couldn’t cut through. Too thick. Not anywhere near enough time. This is our shot right here, Alex. Tow her out beyond the Continental Shelf where the land drops off and scuttle her. What’s the White House say?”

“Hurry.”

“Yeah. What are we doing, six knots? That French captain is all right. He was never in on this goddamn thing, Alex. He’d like to get his hands on von Draxis right now—and Bonaparte. He’s on the bridge now with the harbor pilots, trying to help. When I left him, Dechevereux was on the radio, coordinating a rendezvous with the sub.”

“Sub?”

“A nuclear attack sub the president ordered up to meet us out at the Shelf. The USS
Seawolf.”

“Where’s
Seawolf
now?”

“She was conducting an ‘emergency blow’ training exercise just off Block Island. She’s steaming toward the ‘Wall’ at flank speed. Hey! Where are you—”

“Alaska.”

“What? What about Alaska?”

“Let’s go see the captain,” Hawke said. “I’ve got an idea.”

2:37
A.M
., EST

Captain Dechevereux and the two harbor pilots were at the helm when Hawke and Mariucci entered the bridge. Hawke went first to the two pilots. “I want to thank both you guys for all your help. And your bravery. I know you volunteered. As soon as we get to the Ambrose Channel, call one of the tugs alongside and hop off. All right? Go home to your families. And put in for hazard duty. You deserve it.”

“Yes, sir,” they said, practically in unison. “Thanks a lot.”

“Captain Dechevereux,” Hawke said. “Just curious. Did your great hero Bonaparte include nuclear terrorism in your job description?”

“He is no longer my hero, monsieur. If that monster knew about this, he should be shot.”

“He bloody well knew about it, I assure you. The question is, did you?”

“I am a professional seaman. I have a seafaring tradition in my family that goes back centuries. I am insulted by your question.”

“My apologies. Captain Mariucci is convinced of your innocence. I had to find out for myself. Tell me again how much damage the Chinese technicians did in your engine room?”

“As I told you, monsieur. They didn’t harm the reactors. No need. They simply short-circuited the computer monitoring systems. The short-circuit presented itself as a ‘malfunction’ warning, which in turn triggered a shutdown of the reactors. A crew of nuclear engineers would need hours to get them up and running again. Hopeless.”

“You can’t just give new computer instructions?”

“The technicians destroyed the computers. Backup as well.”

“Captain, listen to me carefully. I believe you told me you plan to sail in environmentally controlled areas. Alaska, for instance.”

“We do.”

“You must use auxiliary engines—”

“Yes. Gas turbine engines, Mr. Hawke. Basically jet engines converted to marine use.”

“Her speed with those engines?”

“Thirty knots is not inconceivable. But I’ve just come from the engine room. The turbines, too, are disabled. Bastards removed the igniters and smashed the fuel pumps.”

Hawke smiled at Mariucci for the first time in recent memory.

“That big Coast Guard kid you had watching the gangway. Is he still aboard?”

“Yeah. Tynan. He did a sweep of the ship. Found a bunch of Chinese stowaways. Nuclear techs who worked in the reactor rooms. I got him posted amidships, keeping an eye on them for me.”

“I saw a rating on that boy’s shirt. Some kind of machinist, right?”

“Yeah. He only pulled guard duty because of his size.”

“I want Tynan in the engine room. It’s our only shot. Let’s go.”

“Alex?” Mariucci said, grabbing Hawke’s arm. “We were supposed to call the president three minutes ago. You have to—”

“You call him,” Hawke said, handing him the radio. “Tell him to cross his bloody fingers.”

2:44
A.M
., EST

The president turned and looked at his colleagues assembled at the long table in the Sit Room. You could calculate the degree of tension by the permanent smiles frozen on the faces of the Filipino staff clearing the table of dishes and pizza boxes. The wood-paneled wall slid back to display a projection map of New York Harbor. The blue icon inching southward toward Sandy Hook with six red satellites was
Leviathan
and her tugs.

“Six knots? This isn’t even going down to the wire,” McAtee said, picking up the laser pointer. “I just heard from
Leviathan.
They’re still nine miles from Sandy Hook. Seven more to the Ambrose Light. And another twelve to the ‘Wall.’ Twenty-eight miles at six knots is not going to make my day.”

Charlie Moore said, “At six knots, it will take them roughly five hours to reach the ‘Wall.’”

“Right,” McAtee said, “And we’ve got less than two.”

“Mr. President,” a senior staffer said, “I’ve got the governors of New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut standing by. All state, local, and federal emergency medical services have ramped up. I think it’s time to cut and run—”

“No, John. Let’s give him ten more minutes. Talk to me about Carter and Taiwan.”

“Yes, sir. In the spirit of pushing every possible Chinese button, former president Carter is arriving for a courtesy visit in Taipei. He was on vacation in Bali and we’re flying him in. We’ve invited all the worldwide media. A symbol of American commitment to Taiwan independence. Ratchet up the pressure on the Mandarins.”

“That will rattle them. Good idea. What else?”

Kevin O’Dea from NSA spoke first. “Mr. President, NSA has redirected our satellite over the emerging battle zone in the Taiwan Strait. We have real-time battle management, sir.”

“But no battle yet, I trust?”

“We’re muzzle to muzzle with the Chinese fleet. Three French destroyers and two of their cruisers are steaming alongside the Chinese. We are just waiting for the tipping point, Mr. President.”

“Gentlemen, and ladies,” McAtee said, “until when and if a Chinese laser decides to interrupt satellite communication, you’ve all got a front seat at the next world war. Charlie? You’re up.”

General Moore stood. “Sit report from the admiral of the bridge, USS
Kennedy,
sir. He reports PLA missile batteries on the Chinese mainland coast are lighting up, sir.”

“Response?”

“We’ve got waves of recon flights going in over the top. Low-level haircuts, Mr. President. Right down on the deck.”

“Shave ’em close. That’ll keep their heads down. Good.”

The door was opened and the Marine guards admitted a very anxious-looking young navy officer from the Pentagon, Captain Tony Guernsey.

“Mr. President,” Guernsey said, “I am receiving word now that Chinese surface-to-surface missiles are locking on to the fleet. We could lose—Christ—we could lose—”

“We’re not going to lose a goddamn thing, Tony,” the president said. “Charlie, step up the fighters going in over the mainland coast. One hundred feet. Let those bastards know we mean business.”

“Yes, sir!”

“What the hell are they thinking right now, John? The boys in Beijing.”

“Five or six in the room, sir. Total panic over Wild Card. But they think they’ve got us by the short ones with that ocean liner.”

“They haven’t got us yet. What about the goddamn tankers? Who’s on that?”

“I am, Mr. President,” an attractive blonde NSC staffer, Pam Howar, said. “The
Happy Dragon
was boarded by a Coast Guard cutter off Fort Jefferson in the Florida Keys en route to Miami. The captain and crew put up fierce resistance. The survivors were off-loaded immediately and she was towed to deep water and scuttled.
Jade Dragon
met a similar fate off Port Arthur, Texas, sir. It took three cutters and two choppers to subdue her. She’s already gone to a watery grave in the Gulf of Mexico.”