"That's the man."

"I wish him luck."

The tactical problem was complex. Dubinin had an antisubmarine aircraft overhead and could not afford to make a single mistake. Somewhere ahead was an American missile submarine that he fully intended to destroy. He had ordered it to protect himself, the Captain reasoned. He had been fired upon with a live weapon. That changed matters greatly. He really should radio fleet command for instructions, or at least to announce his intentions, but with an aircraft overhead that was suicide, and he'd brushed close enough to death for one day. The attack on Admiral Lunin Admiral Lunin could only mean that the Americans were planning an attack on his country. They'd violated their favorite international hobbyhorse-the seas were free for the pa.s.sage of all. They'd attacked him in international waters before he was close enough to commit a hostile act. Someone, therefore, thought there was a state of war. Fine, Dubinin thought. So be it. could only mean that the Americans were planning an attack on his country. They'd violated their favorite international hobbyhorse-the seas were free for the pa.s.sage of all. They'd attacked him in international waters before he was close enough to commit a hostile act. Someone, therefore, thought there was a state of war. Fine, Dubinin thought. So be it.

The submarine's towed-array sonar was drooping well below the level of the boat, and the sonar crewmen were now concentrating as they never had.

"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 adjustments 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 Starpom nodded approval. The Captain didn't need it, but was grateful for it even so. 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 b.u.t.ton 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!"

"s.h.i.t, 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."

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

"What might that be?" Fowler asked harshly.

Ryan's head dropped at the tone of the reply. "Sir, the FBI has just informed us that they have information on two, possibly three, confirmed terrorist suspects in Denver today. Two of them are believed to be on an airliner inbound to Mexico. I have people in the area, and we're going to try and pick them up, sir."

"Wait a minute," Fowler said. "We know know that this wasn't a terrorist act." that this wasn't a terrorist act."

"Ryan, this is General Fremont. How was this information developed?"

"I don't know all the details, but they have information on an automobile-a truck, I think, a van, that was at the site. They've checked the tag number and the owner-the owner turned up dead, and we ran the other two down by their airline tickets and-"

"Hold it!" CINC-SAC cut Ryan off. "How the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l can anyone know that-a survivor from the bomb site? For Christ's sake, man, this was a hundred-kiloton weapon-" can anyone know that-a survivor from the bomb site? For Christ's sake, man, this was a hundred-kiloton weapon-"

"Uh, General, the best number we have now-it came from the FBI-is fifteen-KT, and-"

"The FBI?" Borstein said from NORAD. "What the h.e.l.l do they know about this? Anyway, a fifteen-kiloton weapon wouldn't leave any survivors for over a mile around. Mr. President, that cannot be good information."

"Mr. President, this is the NMCC," Ryan heard on the same line. "We just received a message from Kodiak. That Soviet submarine is attacking USS Maine. Maine. There is a torpedo in the water, There is a torpedo in the water, Maine Maine is attempting to evade." is attempting to evade."

Jack heard something, he wasn't sure what, over the speakerphone.

"Sir," Fremont said at once, "this is a very ominous development."

"I understand that, General," the President said just loudly enough to hear. "General-SNAPCOUNT."

"What the h.e.l.l's that?" Goodley asked quietly.

"Mr. President, that is a mistake. We have a solid piece of information here. You wanted information from us and now we have it!" Ryan barked rapidly, almost losing it again. His hands went from flat to fists. Jack struggled with himself again, and regained control. "Sir, this is a real indicator."

"Ryan, it looks to me like you've been lying and misleading me all day," Fowler said in a voice that hardly sounded human at all. The line went dead for the last time.

The final alert signal was sent out simultaneously over dozens of circuits. The duplication of channels, their known function, the brevity of the message, and the identical encipherment pattern told the Soviets much, even before the receipted signal was input into their computers. When the single word came out, it was reprinted in the Kremlin command center only seconds later. Golovko took the dispatch off the machine.

"SNAPCOUNT," he said simply.

"What is that?" President Narmonov asked.

"A code word." Golovko's mouth went white for a moment. "It's a term from American football, I think. It means the set of numbers used before the-the quarterback takes the ball to begin a play."

"I don't understand," Narmonov said.

"Once the Americans had the code word c.o.c.kEDPISTOL to denote complete strategic readiness. The meaning is unambiguous to anyone, yes?" The KGB's Deputy Chairman went on as though in a dream: "This word, to an American, would mean much the same thing. I can only conclude that-"

"Yes."

42.

ASP AND SWORD.

PRESIDENT NARMONOV:.

I SEND THIS TO YOU, OR YOUR SUCCESSOR, AS A WARNING.

WE HAVE JUST RECEIVED A REPORT THAT A SOVIET SUBMARINE IS EVEN NOW ATTACKING AN AMERICAN MISSILE SUBMARINE. AN ATTACK ON OUR STRATEGIC a.s.sETS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED, AND WILL BE INTERPRETED AS THE PRECURSOR TO AN ATTACK AGAINST THE UNITED STATES.

I MUST FURTHER ADVISE YOU THAT OUR STRATEGIC FORCES ARE AT THEIR MAXIMUM STATE OF READINESS. WE ARE PREPARED TO DEFEND OURSELVES.

IF YOU ARE SERIOUS IN YOUR PROTESTATIONS OF INNOCENCE, I URGE YOU TO CEASE ALL AGGRESSIVE ACTS WHILE THERE IS STILL TIME.

"'Successor'? What the h.e.l.l does that that mean?" Narmonov turned away for a moment, then looked at Golovko. "What is happening here? Is Fowler ill? Is he mad? What goes on here? What's this submarine business?" When he finished talking, his mouth remained open like that of a hooked fish. The Soviet President was gulping his breaths now. mean?" Narmonov turned away for a moment, then looked at Golovko. "What is happening here? Is Fowler ill? Is he mad? What goes on here? What's this submarine business?" When he finished talking, his mouth remained open like that of a hooked fish. The Soviet President was gulping his breaths now.

"We had a report of a disabled American missile submarine in the eastern Pacific, and sent a submarine to investigate, but that submarine has no authorization to attack," the Defense Minister said.

"Are there any circ.u.mstances under which our men might do this?"

"None. Without authorization from Moscow, they may act only in self-defense." The Defense Minister looked away, unable to bear the gaze of his President. He had no wish to speak again, but neither did he have a choice. "I no longer think this is a controllable situation."

"Mr. President." It was an Army warrant officer. He opened his briefcase-"the football"-and removed a ring binder. The first divider was bordered in red. Fowler flipped to it. The page read: .

SIOP MAJOR ATTACK OPTION ** **SKYFALL**

"So, what the h.e.l.l is SNAPCOUNT?" Goodley asked.

"That's as high as alerts go, Ben. That means the pistol is c.o.c.ked and pointed, and you can feel the pressure on the trigger."

"How the h.e.l.l did we-"

"Drop it, Ben! However the f.u.c.k we got here, we are are here." Ryan stood and started walking around. "We better start thinking very fast, people." here." Ryan stood and started walking around. "We better start thinking very fast, people."

The senior duty officer started: "We have to make Fowler understand-"

"He can't understand," Goodley said harshly. "He can't understand if he isn't listening."