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"Not a sign of them for almost ten hours."
Sparrow glanced at the sonoran chart. The red dot stood at sixty-six degrees, nine minutes, twenty
seconds North Latitude, two degrees, eleven minutes West Longitude. He nodded to Ramsey. "Get us
underway, if you please. Surface speed. Quarter throttle. Keep us under eight knots."
Ramsey moved to obey.
The Ram shuddered to a wave impact, fought up the slope of a sea. They gathered headway, sluggishly.
"She answers the helm, sir," said Ramsey.
Sparrow nodded. "Course thirteen degrees. We've drifted a bit too close to the Norwegian coast line.
The EPs have shore-based listening posts there."
Ramsey brought the subtug around on her new heading.
"We'll stay on the surface as long as we have fog," said Sparrow.
"Our guardian angels are working overtime," said Garcia.
"I wonder if they have a union?" asked Ramsey.
Sparrow looked to the timelog: nine days, four hours even. He caught Garcia's attention, nodded toward
the timelog and then the helm. "Take over, if you please, Joe."
Garcia took the helm from Ramsey.
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"You are relieved," said Sparrow.
Ramsey felt a wave of fatigue sweep through him. He remembered what he had to do, fought down the
tiredness. "We'll be there soon," he said.
Sparrow frowned.
"None too soon for me," said Ramsey. "I feel like we're living on borrowed time. I want our payment in
the bank -- a whole load of that sweet oil."
"That will be enough," said Sparrow.
"You afraid I'm going to give away a nasty old Security secret?" asked Ramsey.
Garcia darted a puzzled glance at him.
"Go to your quarters," said Sparrow.
"Righto," said Ramsey, copying Garcia's accent. He made his tone as insolent as possible without
coming to actual insubordination, turned toward the aft door.
"I'll wish to speak with you before your next watch," said Sparrow. "We're long overdue for an understa
--" He broke off as a red warning light flashed on the reactor system's scram board. The light winked
green, then red, then green. Garcia saw it, too.
Ramsey turned back to the control bulkhead, caught the last flash from red to green. "Something's loose
in the pile room," said Sparrow. "That torpedo shock we took," said Ramsey. "More likely the pounding
we've had from these seas," said Garcia.
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"That's circuit 'T' of the secondary damper controls," said Sparrow. "Right side forward. Get Les up
here on the double." Garcia pushed the alarm buzzer.
"Try the screens," said Sparrow.
Ramsey moved back to the helm, took it. Garcia glanced at him, moved to the screen controls, began
hitting switches.
Bonnett entered. "What's up?"
"Something loose in the pile room," said Sparrow. "It's 'T' circuit."
"Right side forward," said Bonnett. He moved to get a better view of the screens, caught the handrail to
steady himself against the rolling of the deck.
Sparrow said, "I'm going forward." He looked at the scram board. The light winked at him: red, green,
red, green, red, green . . . "Les, come forward with me and help me into a suit. I'll have to crawl the
right-side tunnel, use the manuals and mirrors."
"Just a minute, Skipper," said Garcia. "Look at that." He pointed at a screen.
Sparrow stepped to his side.
"Central damper controls," said Garcia. "See. When we pitch into the trough of a wave it seems to --
There!"
They all saw it. The long hanging arm of the manual damper control swung free like the multi-joined leg
of an insect. It exposed a break at the top elbow hinge. The upper bracing flapped outward to the sway
of the boat.
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"It was wedged against the hinge," said Garcia. "Now it's broken free again." He looked at the scram
board. Red, green, red, green, red . . .
Each time the light flashed red, the swinging arm touched a control circuit cable. A blue arc of electricity
splashed upward.
Garcia pointed to the lower half of the screen which showed the base of the control system. "There's the
real trouble. The whole control base is twisted. See those sheared bolts."
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