He sat waiting and listening. Perhaps they had heard his engines, although his own equipment had caught none of their drive-noise. The computer was able to supervise several tasks at once, and he set it to continue sweeping the horizon with the radar, to listen for sonar code and engine purr while he attended to other matters. He readied two torpedoes and raised a rocket into position for launching. He opened the hatch and climbed to stand in the conning tower again, peering grimly around the horizon. Minutes later, a buzzer sounded beneath him. The computer had something now. He glanced at the parabolic radar antenna, rearing its head a dozen feet above him. It had stopped its aimless scanning and was quivering steadily on the southeast horizon. _Southeast?_ He lowered himself quickly into the ship and stared at the luminous screen. Blips--three blips--barely visible. While he watched, a fourth appeared. He clamped on his headsets. There it _was_! The faint engine-noise of ships. His trained senses told him they were subs. Subs out of the southeast? He had expected interception from the west--first aircraft, then light surface vessels. There was but one possible answer: the enemy. He dived for the radio and waited impatiently for the tubes to warm again. He found himself shouting into the mic. "Commsubron Killer, this is Sugar William Niner Zero. Urgent message. Over." He was a long way from the station. He repeated the call three times. At last a faintly audible voice came from the set. "... this is Commsubron Killer. You are ordered to return immediately...." The voice faded again. "Listen!" Mitch bellowed. "Four, no--_five_ enemy submarine--position 31°50´ North, 73°10´ West, proceeding northwest--roughly, toward Washington. Probably carrying an answer to Garson's ultimatum. Get help out here. Over." He heard only a brief mutter this time. "... ordered not to proceed toward Washington. Return immediately to--" "Not me! You fool! Listen! Five--enemy--submarines--" He repeated the message as slowly as he could, repeated it four times. "... reading you S-1," came the fading answer. "Are you in distress? I say again. Are you in distress? Over." Angrily Mitch keyed the carrier wave, screwed the button tightly down, and kicked on the four-hundred cycle modulator. Maybe they could get a directional fix on his signal and home on it.