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Mcdonne turned and looked up at Kane as if surprised to see him still standing there.

“No, sir. I’ve got it.”

Kane had just finished briefing Mcdonne as command duty officer five minutes before. By stationing the CDO, Kane could enjoy the one time at sea when the captain relinquished a large chunk of his authority to someone else.

When in trail of a hostile sub the more routine decisions could be delegated to the XO/CDO so that the captain could get some minimum amount of sleep. His responsibility did not end, but the XO would act for him and leave him undisturbed unless there were a genuine emergency. Reluctantly, Kane left control and shut the door of his stateroom, tossing for an hour in his rack before sinking into a shallow sleep.

CNFS HEGIRA

Commodore Sharef went down the ladder slowly, leaning heavily on Tawkidi.

On the messroom table’s center was a rolled-out ship’s plan, an elevation view of the forward part of the ship from frame fifty at the aft portion of the command module to the nose-cone bow caps. Underneath the main ship’s plan were detailed drawings brought in by the ship’s mechanical officer and fourth in command — with al-Kunis dead, now third — Commander Ibn Quzwini. Sharef took his seat at the head of the table. Quzwini stood at the outboard center of the table while Tawkidi sat at Sharef’s right hand where al-Kunis had once sat. There were only five other officers, the rest casualties or in the control room. Lt. At Ishak, the computer-systems officer, stood watch in control with Idrissi, the junior officer on the reactor-control console.

Lieutenant Kutaiba, propulsion officer. Sublieutenant al-Maari, sensor officer, and two junior officers completed the company for the briefing.

Sihoud and Ahmed now arrived. Sihoud still wore his shesh robe with ornate belt and ceremonial dagger. Ahmed had a bandaged head and foam pad around his neck. His submarine uniform, lent him by one of the junior officers, had one of the sleeves cut off where the doctor had sutured a long gash, the bandage ringed with clotted blood.

“Go ahead. Commander Quzwini,” Sharef began.

Quzwini looked at Ahmed, nodded and looked back down at the drawing spread out on the table.

“Since we recovered from the torpedo hit. Colonel Ahmed and I have tried to write a plan to install the Scorpion warheads in the Hiroshima missiles—”

Sharef interrupted. “Take this in sequence. First, are we able to assemble the Scorpions without Dr. Abuiwafa?”

There was a part of Sharef that did not want to consider launching a weapon that would kill over half-a-million people from a week-long attack of radiation poisoning, even if they were from the same nation that had sunk the Sahand.

The American Navy was what he really wanted to attack.

Women and children and old men in Washington, D.C., had nothing to do with the attack on his frigate, and his submarine should have no business killing them. Even if it would win the war, a big if in his view, he had doubts he would want to do it.

Ahmed spoke up. “The Scorpions are already assembled. Dr. Wafa left detailed instructions and the units were modular and required a minimum of tools. The danger was in the charging of chemicals and compressed gases to the prereaction chambers and the insertion of the plutonium and cobalt into the dispersion shell, but the risk is now behind us. We are ready to insert the warheads into the missiles.”

“We can bring the warheads to the middle level at the—”

“Quzwini!” The mechanical officer froze at the anger in Sharef’s voice.

“Colonel Ahmed, why was this dangerous operation done without my permission?” “I gave Colonel Ahmed permission, Commodore,” Sihoud’s deep voice said. The general leaned back in the chair as if that were enough.

“General, the permission was not yours to give. As I told you, I’m in command of this submarine, and until I’m dead, I and I alone will give the orders that compromise ship safety. If you are unable to understand that, sir, I will lock you in your stateroom.”

Silence. Sihoud smiled slightly. “You were unconscious at the time. Commodore. I assumed responsibility. I am sorry if I have trespassed on your … turf.”

Sharef glared at him but let it pass. “Continue, Quzwini.”

“Yes sir. The two warheads weigh about 3000 kilograms. Handling them from the lower level to the upper will be difficult. I plan to cut a hole in the deckplates of this level centerline just aft of the door to the head. We will weld lifting lugs onto the steel deck of the upper level, then use chainfalls to bring the units into the head door, enlarging it if we have to, then remove the cosmetic partition obscuring the access hatch to the forward ballast tank.”

“That access hatch is not hinged, Quzwini, it’s welded shut,” Sharef said.