Quicksilver’s crew sat at the pushed-together tables, going over their patrol for Stoner—and just as importantly, themselves. though exhausted, they’d described the encounters minutely, several times pausing to work out the exact details. Stoner listened impassively; his only comments were aimed at the Kali weapon. Unfortunately, the Megafortress had gathered relatively little data on the missile.
“So why are these guys shooting at each other?” Zen asked him finally.
“They don’t like each other,” said the spook blandly. “Advances their agenda.”
“Yeah.”
Stoner shrugged,
“All right, it’s getting late,” said Bree. “We can all use some sleep.”
“I have to finish uploading the data,” said Collins.
“Yeah, me too,” said Torbin. “The radar hits we got on the way back kind of distracted me.”
“Which hits were those?” Stoner asked.
“Couple of anomalies we read as we tracked back here. Looked like radars coming on real quick and then turning off, but they were real weak. Collins got some radio signals as well. We think they’re spy stations.”
Stoner glared over the map spread across the table.
“No ships out there?” he asked.
“Not that we saw,” said Breanna. “You have a theory?”
“There could be spy posts on these atolls here.” He pointed his finger at some brown dots on the map. “That might be one way the Indians or Chinese are keeping track of what’s coming down the pipe. Or the Russians. Or us.”
“Us?” asked Zen.
“You never know.”
Danny looked over at the islands, which were part of the Spratly chain extending southward. The Spratly Islands—more like a vast series of atolls—were claimed by several different countries, including China, Vietnam, and the Philippines. For the most part uninhabitable mounds of rock, they were valuable because vast gas and petroleum deposits were supposedly located beneath them.
Not that most of the claimants needed such a good reason to disagree.
“We can dogleg off a mission and check it out,” said Zen.
“What if it’s defended?” asked Breanna.
“That’s why we use a Flighthawk.”
“We could get on those islands with the Osprey,” said Danny. “Give them a real look. MV-22’s due here in about an hour.”
“Yeah,” said Stoner. Danny thought it might be the first time he’d said anything nonbelligerent since he’d landed.
“I think we ought to recon it first,” said Zen. “You guys got enough to do here. Besides, we don’t even have a real location for you, do we, Torbin?”
The radar intercept expert looked like a blond bear, shrugging and shaking head. “I can get it down to a few miles. We can pass it on to Major Alou, have them take a look if they get a chance.”
“All right.”
“Sooner’s better than later,” said Stoner.
The others looked at him. Danny saw Breanna rolling her eyes.
Good, he thought to himself. It’s not just me. The spook is a jerk.
Aboard the trawler Gui in the South China Sea
August 24, 1997, 0823
Chen Lo Fann saw the two aircraft appear over the water, his powerful binoculars straining to follow them as they rocketed upward from the carrier.
The limitations of the Russian-made planes had been clear before the accident with the Americans, but Beijing had reacted with shock and dismay, sending a long, rashly worded message filled with outrage.
To his credit, the admiral in charge of the task force had not tried to hide what had happened; he could easily have blamed the Americans for the accident or even claimed they had shot down his plane. Instead, the transmissions back and forth to the mainland made it clear that he was a man of integrity. While his actions cold be questioned—he clearly should not have authorized his attack planes to fire at the Indian submarine from long distance—his honor could not.
Undoubtedly he would be rewarded for his honesty with disgrace.
Reinforcements were on the way.
Opportunity, Fann thought, yet the Americans had complicated the picture.
What if they prevented the inevitable confrontation? What if they forced the navies back?
Until the arrival of the Megafortresses, the American posture seemed clear. The Pacific Fleet, concentrating on protecting vessels bound for Korea and Japan, was too far north to intervene in a clash, nor did its commanders seem of much mind to do so. Diplomatically, there was a lean toward India, and relations with Mainland China were as low as, if not lower than, at any time since Nixon’s trip to Beijing a generation ago.
But the Megafortresses represented unwelcome change.
Chen had promised conflict. His position with the government rested entirely on that promise.
This was not a time for panic. Surely, fortune continued to smile. Within a day, if not hours, there would be two aircraft carriers sailing southward. The Indians must react to their presence.