The Heisenberg Legacy

by Christopher Cartwright

  Tom said, “Madam Secretary?”

  “What happened Tom?”

  “One of your subs just kidnapped Sam!”

  “You sure it was one of our submarines?” she asked, her voice terse.

  “Certain. It was the heavily modified Seawolf Class Nuclear attack submarine, the USS Jimmy Carter.”

  “The Jimmy Carter…” she let the words slowly roll off her tongue. “Are you sure? How the hell could you possibly recognize her?”

  “For starters, it was the last of the Seawolf Class nuclear attack submarines. It had nearly a hundred feet in greater length that allowed for the insertion of an additional section known as the Multi-Mission Platform, which allowed launch and recovery of ROVs and Navy SEAL forces. In this case, that was how they kidnapped Sam.” Tom sighed. “And besides, I read the number on the conning tower – 23 – AKA USS Jimmy Carter SSN-23.”

  “You’ve memorized every submarine by number?” she asked, without shielding her scepticism.

  “No. My dad commanded her two years during her original sea trials.”

  “Okay,” she accepted the fact. “Assuming you’re right and its one of our subs that have kidnapped Sam, why would they do so? He’s on our side.”

  Tom said, “Sure, but are they?”

  “Are you questioning the loyalty of the men and women on board one of our nuclear attack subs?”

  “Not at all, ma’am. Having served myself, I wouldn’t dream of it. My concern is with senior brass and politicians who might be willing to kill to protect whatever secrets were buried inside the Clarion Call.”

  The Secretary of Defense paused, as though considering the possibility. “But who would even know that Sam was planning on diving the Clarion Call today?”

  “Exactly. Sam Reilly informed you that we planned to dive her and retrieve whatever was buried inside old man Mike Reilly’s secret smuggling compartment. Who did you tell?”

  The phone went quiet. Suddenly, she swore. “I informed the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who is currently with the President inside the Presidential Emergency Operations Center.”

  “Who would he have informed?” Tom persisted.

  “Good God!”

  “What?”

  “The President, naturally, but also each of the Military Service Chiefs from the Army, Marine Corps, Navy, and Air Force, and the Chief of the National Guard Bureau.”

  “And now we have an abduction by a nuclear attack submarine, while Sam tried to retrieve secrets from the scuttled Clarion Call.”

  “Did he find what he was looking for?” she asked.

  “Yes, and now they have it.”

  “Then there’s nothing we can do. It’s unlikely they will kill him. The submariners probably have orders to retrieve the evidence, and then they will return him to the nearest dock.”

  “Or they will kill him to stop him from talking.”

  “Either way there’s nothing I can do for you from here. If I challenge the Chief of the Navy, and he’s culpable, he will refute it. And if he’s not involved, but someone down his chain of command is responsible, then it will only increase their need to eliminate the evidence by killing Sam.”

  “So that’s it then?” Tom asked.

  “I’m sorry, Tom. My hands are tied.”

  “Okay, but mine aren’t.”

  Tom ended the call. His eyes fixed on Genevieve and Veyron who’d been listening to the hurried conversation. Their hardened resolve, expressed exactly what he was thinking – the crew of the Maria Helena never left anyone behind.

  Genevieve said, “All right. How do you want to play this thing?”

  “We’re going to have to retrieve Sam ourselves.”

  Matthew stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and astonishment in his sky-blue eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding. How?”

  Tom grinned sardonically. “By boarding their submarine.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  After one of the divers severed Tom’s emergency ballast weights and sent him skyrocketing to the surface, there was nothing Sam could do to overcome the remaining seven attackers. Within minutes, they had disabled him, binding his pincers together so that they could no longer open them and wreak havoc on their soft flesh.

  Unable to do anything to prevent it, he was dragged in through the submarine’s Multi-Mission Platform, which allowed launch and recovery of ROVs and Navy SEAL forces. He’d seen them on other submarines but was surprised to learn that his attackers had been Navy SEALs.

  Once inside the lockout chamber ,the outer hatch was sealed and the water vented, leaving them inside a dry chamber. The elite soldiers worked quickly with a set of spanners to remove his atmospheric diving suit.

  As soon as they pulled off his large helmet, they dragged Sam through the opening. He provided little resistance. He was trapped in a confined space with four U.S. Navy SEALs, there wasn’t just little chance that he could escape – there was no chance he could escape. Besides, it was unlikely they wanted him dead. If they had, he’d little doubt he would be dead already.

  Sam shot one of the men a faint grin. “No, no, gentlemen. I’m sure I said pick me up at eight for prom night.”

  One of the shorter SEALs made a thin-lipped smile, clearly unimpressed by Sam’s bravado. “Cute.”

  Sam met his steely gaze. “All right, let’s cut to the chase. Which one of you want to tell me why I’m here?”

  “Mr. Sam Reilly, my name is A.J.” the shorter SEAL replied. “And you’re here, because you couldn’t help sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. Some secrets were meant to stay buried, for the good of this country. You of all people should know that.”

  Sam shook his head. “There are systems in place for matters of national security. If that was the case, this situation would never have gotten to where it is now.”

  “Those systems were in place. And those secrets weren’t supposed to ever reach the light of day. You’ve no idea how many lives you put at risk.”

  “I don’t know if you know this, A.J.” Sam’s lips tried to form a reassuring smile, but they were struggling to find anchorage. “I’m acting under orders from the Secretary of Defense, so whoever it is you’re upset about, it’s not me.”

  A.J. remained silent. Sam couldn’t tell whether the man hadn’t heard him correctly or was choosing to ignore him.

  The second hatch opened.

  A.J. smiled. “Welcome aboard the USS Jimmy Carter. This is commander Dylan Brooks.”

  Sam’s eyes drifted down the ladder, landing on a surly man of approximately forty-five years old. He stood with the solid confident authority of one who’d spent plenty of time in command.

  “Sam Reilly?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m commander Brooks.” Brooks ran his eyes across his prisoner. “You’ve no idea how much damage you’ve caused today, have you, son?”

  “No, sir,” Sam replied. He’d been in the marines a long time ago, and met the commander’s type before. There was no logical reason to get into an argument with him.

  “Well. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Sam exhaled a deep breath. “You know there’s a terrorist holding Washington, D.C. to ransom with a World War II German nuclear bomb, don’t you? He’s targeted me, for reasons that I don’t understand, to play a game with him. Diving the Clarion Call was part of that game.”

  The commander shook his head in disgust. “Son, you have no idea what game’s being played here.”

  “So what is being played here?”

  The commander’s eyes narrowed. “Someone has you digging into secrets – dangerous secrets – that were never meant to be revealed.”

  Sam said, “Sometimes the truth is important.”

  “And sometimes it’s dangerous as hell. When it comes to national security, the human race is too important to be trifled with over honesty,” the commander countered.

  Sam kept his mouth shut. He could see this conversation had no chance of going any
where he hoped it might go.

  The commander turned to A.J. “We need to get underway. What’s taking so long?”

  One of the SEALs apologized. “Sorry, sir. I lost three men back there after their air supplies were destroyed. They swam to the surface. I’ve sent the rescue unit out to retrieve them. They won’t be long.”

  “Understood. Let me know as soon as they’re inside. I’ve orders to take Sam Reilly to the Joint Base Anacostia–Bolling. There is someone who needs to speak to him in private, right away.”

  Sam was handcuffed, his wrists in front of him.

  A.J. said, “Sorry, but a nuclear submarine can be a dangerous place to let a man loose.”

  Sam nodded. “I understand. Some might have thought it would have been easier to not bring me in at all?”

  “Nothing personal,” A.J. replied. “We’ve got our orders.”

  Sam said, “Sure. And I have mine.”

  A.J. ignored him, disappearing down a separate gangway, while a SEAL lead Sam down the gangway and into the junior officer’s quarters. Two guards stood at the doorway. Sam stretched out on one of the small beds. It might be a long wait, may as well get some rest.

  He closed his eyes. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since this thing had begun, and he hadn’t stopped. He was so dead tired, nothing could keep him awake much longer.

  Outside his makeshift prison, someone made the comment, “They’re inside the flooded lockout chamber now.”

  “Good,” came the curt reply. “I’ll order us underway, while they blow the water. No reason to delay our meeting at Joint Base Anacostia–Bolling.”

  Sam was nearly asleep – his heavily burdened mind, giving way to fatigue. In the back of his mind, he heard footsteps move quickly down the lockout chamber’s ladder. Those same footsteps moved quickly toward his make-shift prison.

  A commanding voice that sounded vaguely familiar, asked, “Where are you holding Sam Reilly?”

  “Who are you?” came the startled reply.

  “No one you wanna mess with,” Tom answered. “Now where are you keeping Sam Reilly?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Gunshots followed.

  Several shots in rapid succession. Most likely fired by an MP5 submachinegun. Followed by the sound of boots on the metal grate that formed the platform, echoed down the narrow confines of the gangway.

  That was enough to make Sam sit up. “I’m here!”

  Tom hunched his large frame under a solid bulkhead. “Ah, there you are. We’ve been waiting for ages for you to finish up down here and make your way to the surface.”

  Sam shot out of his borrowed bed. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “No problem. Normally you’re pretty reliable,” Tom observed.

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  Reaching the door, his eyes swept the gangway, where Veyron and Genevieve were guarding both directions with MP5 submachineguns. The three of them wore the wetsuits used by the Navy SEALs who’d been forced to surface earlier. Each one had the name of the SEAL written into the wetsuit. His eyes set toward amidships, where a large bulkhead door was slammed shut – blocking their passage to the lockout chamber.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Sam raced to the wheel-lock, with Tom.

  The two of them tried in a vain attempt to open the bulkhead door. It had been secured somehow from the opposing side. There was nothing they could do about it. The door was several inches thick and designed to withstand the enormous pressures of external seawater in the event of a hull breach.

  Genevieve sent a couple rounds down the gangway heading toward the stern, preventing anyone from attempt to close the next bulkhead door.

  Veyron politely said, “Genevieve. You know we all love you, but you are on board a nuclear submarine, and I would be most obliged if you at least attempted to refrain from firing bullets!”

  Genevieve gave him a coy smile. “I’ll try my best.”

  Tom said, “That’s all you can do, dear.”

  Someone’s hand reached for the bulkhead door. A single shot fired, putting a hole in the middle of the hand. The person behind the door cursed, his footsteps running further aft.

  Sam looked at Genevieve like a disappointed parent. “What did we just talk about?”

  She shrugged with indifference. “What?”

  Stepping back from the bulkhead door, Sam asked Tom, “What’s your plan B?”

  “We’ve got to get to the stern,” Tom said, gripping his MP5. “There’s an emergency lock-out trunk we can take to the surface. If we can get there.”

  Genevieve grinned. “We’ll get there.”

  Tom said, “The crew of the USS Jimmy Carter won’t have weapons yet. There’s a small arms locker near the command center. They will be quickly arming themselves, but we shouldn’t have too much resistance on our way to the stern.”

  They moved quickly, racing down the narrow passageways.

  Sam cleared the second bulkhead door and closed it behind him. Up ahead, Tom was securing the ante chamber to the lock-out escape trunk.

  He took a step forward and stopped.

  A shotgun blast pelted the submarine’s hull right in front of him. It most likely came from one of the Navy’s Remington 12 pump action, designed to achieve maximum damage within the confined fighting quarters of a submarine. It was a last line of defense, used to repel boarders.

  Sam dropped to the ground. His head snapping round to the right, where the shot was fired. It was coming from the sub’s cook compartment.

  What is it with Navy cooks and die-hard heroes?

  Sam shouted, “We don’t want any trouble.”

  Silence.

  “We just want to get off the sub.”

  More silence.

  He needed to get past the small opening, and keep moving aft, if they were going to escape. Problem was, to do so, would involve passing directly in front of a submariner with a shotgun. His likelihood of surviving was insurmountable.

  Next to him, a large spanner was attached to the wall – an emergency tool to shut off any water or gas pipes in the event of a hull breach.

  He picked up the heavy tool and threw it in front of the opening.

  Another shotgun blast.

  Followed by the sound of the spanner hitting the metal flooring of the gangway.

  Sam felt his heart race. His breathing quick and ragged.

  “Genevieve!” he shouted. “I might need some help here.”

  Her eyes were flat. “We’re working on it, Sam.”

  Genevieve and Tom took cover on the opposite end, securing the aft section of the submarine, while Veyron prepared the lockout-trunk for an emergency escape. Genevieve closed the next bulkhead door, freeing herself up to return to help Sam.

  She leaned in close to the entrance of the kitchen. It was a narrow slit, barely large enough for a big person to get into. The cook – if it even was a cook – had positioned himself all the way at the back, at least ten feet. That meant Genevieve would need to reveal her own position, making herself vulnerable if she hoped to place a shot downrange.

  What made matters worse, no one had any intention of killing the submariner. Like Sam said, they just needed to get by and escape.

  Sam said, “We need a diversion.”

  “We’re working on it,” Tom said.

  Veyron climbed back down from the lockout trunk. His eyes darted around the room with curiosity. A wry smile formed on his lips and his normally impassive face, livened with fascinated interest as though he were trying to resolve a complex engineering puzzle. His eyes darted around the room until he spotted the spanner. He stepped over and picked it up. “Someone say a diversion?”

  Sam grinned. “Yeah, what are you thinking?”

  Veyron stared at a series of pipes that ran along the metal wall of the interior hull. He tapped one of the pipes. It made a dull, hollow sound. He tapped a second one. This one made more of a sharp, higher pitched sound. He glanced at the na
mes of each valve.

  They were clearly labeled so that, in the event of a hull breach, any submariner could identify them easily so that they could be operated.

  Veyron shined his flashlight on one labeled: Kingston Valves – Bow.

  Next to that was another one labeled: Ballast Air Vents – Bow

  He shined his flashlight down farther, until he spotted the same two corresponding valves for the aft tank.

  Sam watched as Veyron used the spanner to set the aft vents into the closed position, while opening the air vent in the bow. During normal operation, the Kingston valve was used to admit seawater into the ballast tank. Once the submarine had dived, the Kingston valve could remain open, while the closed air vent kept any further influx of seawater to the ballast tanks by the pressure of trapped air.

  When Veyron opened the bow air vent, the forward ballast became quickly flooded with water.

  A moment later, he vented gas into the aft ballast.

  The effect on the submarine’s trim was immediate. The bow began to sink, while the stern rose sharply. The bow dipped forward at a twenty-eight-degree dive. The submarine instantly started to creak, as the reinforced steel accommodated the change in hull-pressure.

  Sam gripped the side of the gangway to prevent himself from falling. Inside the kitchen, he heard the resounding crunch of the cook’s body – surrounded by smooth hygienic metal – slip and fall.

  He didn’t wait for another chance. Sam quickly climbed across the opening, catching up with Veyron, Tom, and Genevieve.

  Tom took a deep breath. “Told you we’d sort it out. Try not to lag behind next time, okay?’

  “I’ll do my best.” Sam turned to Veyron. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Veyron smiled. “Distracting them!”

  “By sinking the ship?” Sam asked, a hint of desperation in his tone. “There are nearly three hundred American lives on board!”

  “It’s all right. They have another five hundred feet below their keel. It’s plenty of space for our finest to correct the problem with the trim – but it might just buy us enough time to reach the surface.”

  Tom said, “You’re certain your diversion isn’t going to sink my dad’s first command?”