America by Stephen Coonts Read Free Book Online

horizon, I want a four-star on the hook with me.”
    He released the button and shouted to the OOD, “That sub is accelerating. Stay with it. Close to parallel at its four-thirty position at a range of a hundred yards. And give me some reports. I want to know when the gun and torpedo tubes are manned and ready. Tell me about the people in the water.”
    â€œThe Coast Guard cutter will pick up the men overboard, Captain.”
    Hijacked!
    Yes, he was sure of it, though Harvey Warfield had to admit to himself that the evidence was sketchy. Although it sounded compelling, the radio show they had listened to could have been produced anywhere. The exploits of Orson Welles came immediately to mind.
    Do this right, Warfield! There won’t be any second chances.
    He trained his binoculars on the white Coast Guard boat, which was now dead in the water. He could see the sailors rigging nets over the side and lowering a small boat.
    Of course the admiral didn’t want to take responsibility for sinking a brand-spanking-new two-billion-dollar submarine and killing a bunch of American sailors. Who would?
    But if he, Harvey Warfield, didn’t ring the fire alarm, the sub was as good as gone.
    Hijacked!
    The thought occurred to Harvey Warfield that there might be other submarines about, submarines that did not belong to the United States. He jabbed a squawk box button: “Combat, bridge, are there any subs on our plot?”
    â€œNo, sir. None.”
    â€œUnidentified aircraft?” Even as he said it, he knew the answer.
    â€œA couple dozen, Captain. Five non-transponder-equipped targets; the rest, I believe, are light civilian planes not under positive radar control. But I have no way to verify that.”
    A feminine voice in his ear: “Captain, one of the lookouts reports that a television news chopper is hovering over our fantail. It appears to have bullet holes in the Plexiglas. We think the pilot wants to land on the fantail, sir.”
    â€œLet him land. See if he has any videotape of that sub. If he does, get it and put it on the ship’s system. I want to see it here on the bridge. And transmit it to Washington. And I want a report on those people in the water. Get that Coast Guard skipper on the horn and get a report.”
    â€œAye aye, sir.”
    â€œThe Pentagon war room is on the line, Captain,” said another voice.
    Harvey Warfield picked up the telephone and identified himself. He tried to succinctly sum up the situation by citing only hard, verifiable facts.
    The war room duty officer was a two-star. “Are any Americans still aboard America? ”
    â€œI don’t know,” Warfield replied bitterly. He could almost hear the other man thinking in the silence that followed.
    â€œWhat is his course and speed?” the admiral in Washington asked.
    â€œUp to ten knots now, sir, still heading one two zero for the open sea.”
    â€œDepth of water?”
    â€œTwo hundred feet at the most.”
    â€œCaptain, you are the officer on the spot. I am not going to grant you permission to do anything. Anything you choose to do is your responsibility.”
    â€œYeah,” said Harvey Warfield, who didn’t join this man’s navy yesterday. He hung up the headset.
    â€œIs the gun manned?” he called to the OOD.
    â€œYes, sir. Manned and ready.”
    â€œHave the gunnery officer fire a warning shot. Have him telephone me before he shoots.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    In seconds the telephone rang. “Captain, gunnery officer.”
    â€œA warning shot across their bow, Mr. Turner. Do not hit the submarine or any of those goddamn little boats running around out there.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œWhenever you are ready, Mr. Turner.”
    â€œAye aye, Captain.”
    Twenty seconds later the gun banged. The shell hit the water a hundred yards ahead of the sub, made a nice splash.
    And the sub kept right on going. It was up to