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Tate jumped out of his seat and felt a flush of relief. “Put her on.”
“You’re connected.”
A woman’s voice came over the speakers. It wasn’t Ballard.
“Zachariah Tate?” she asked.
“Who is this?” Tate demanded, his heart racing. “Where is Catherine?”
“I’ll let someone else explain.”
There was a pause, and then a familiar voice spoke.
“It’s your fault that I had to contact you this way, Tate,” Juan Cabrillo said, much to Tate’s shock. “You weren’t answering my calls.”
For a moment, Tate was speechless.
“I bet you’re surprised to hear from me,” Cabrillo went on.
Finally, Tate found his voice. “You can’t be on the Deepwater.”
“I’m not, although it would have been amusing to let you think so. No, I had Linda patch me through using Catherine Ballard’s radio since your girlfriend wasn’t using it. Linda tells me you’ve been pestering her nonstop with attempts to get in touch with Ballard.”
“Where is she?” Tate growled.
“Ballard? She is currently dead. Not what I would have wanted, but she tried to kill my people, so it was justified.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, that’s just wishful thinking on your part. Could I be talking to you through her radio if she were still alive?”
Even though Tate couldn’t see Cabrillo’s self-righteous expression, he could imagine it. The image in his head was enraging.
“I will kill you!”
“You keep saying that, but it hasn’t happened yet. And I don’t think it will. I’m sure you’ll go on trying, though.”
“I’m on my way to the Oregon right now,” Tate said. “The Wuzong radioed your position to me.”
“Is that the name of the Chinese sub that’s now lying in four hundred feet of water with her entire front half blown away?”
“You can keep up your smug little game,” Tate said, “but I’m coming for you, and nothing can stop me from sinking the Oregon.”
“You started this ‘little game,’ as you call it. I’m going to end it. Come and get me, Tate.”
The signal abruptly cut out.
Tate let out a primal scream and kicked his chair until his foot ached.
Farouk cleared his throat. “Commander, you should look at this. It’s a live shot from the fjord where the Oregon is hiding.” He nodded at the main view screen.
It was the webcam video from the penguin rookery. Behind the birds, waddling around amid lounging sea lions, the Oregon drifted into view. She was listing badly and was maneuvering to get her bow gun facing the end of the fjord where the Portland would be appearing. Smoke wafted up from her superstructure until disappearing into the low cloud cover above.
Tate focused his anger on the on-screen image and said to Farouk, “We won’t even have to show ourselves. Can you use this image to guide the torpedoes?”
Farouk nodded. “It shouldn’t be a problem. But I don’t want to try steering them around any tight corners.”
“Keep an eye on the webcam to make sure they don’t move.” Tate checked the map. “Once we get to the far end of the fjord, we’ll launch our torpedoes from behind the cliffs. At that point, Cabrillo won’t even know they’re coming.”
