“Wait a minute!” Jones’ hand went up. “Got another one!” He twiddled some knobs. “This one’s a Charlie class. Damned if he ain’t digging holes, too. More easterly, bearing zero-seven-three, doing turns for about twenty-eight knots. We know this guy, too. Yeah, Charlie II, number eleven.” Jones slipped a phone off one ear and looked at Mancuso. “Skipper, the Russkies have sub races scheduled for today?” “Not that they told me about. Of course, we don’t get the sports page out here.” Mancuso chuckled, swirling the coffee around in his cup and hiding his real thoughts. What the hell was going on?
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