Edwards silently cursed. He hated going into a mission not knowing the whole story. Chappell was holding something back for national security reasons and now he would be left in the dark. Some desk-riding son of a bitch back at the National Security Agency in Washington had probably made the decision that the commander in the field should not know. He thought about arguing the point with Chappell, but held back, knowing it would be futile.
“Assuming it doesn’t conflict with the real reason we’re going, Admiral,” Edwards said with forced sarcasm, “why the Providence? Why not a destroyer? Why not any number of ships that didn’t get back from deployment today?”
Chappell appeared annoyed at Edwards’ tone. “We’re sending the Providence because she’s fast and because she’s available, Captain! And because she’s an attack submarine! It can’t be helped, damn it!”
Edwards said nothing, but stood his ground and waited for Chappell to expound on the comment.
“The rebels issued a statement yesterday declaring that no ships or aircraft near the Bunda Atoll would be safe as long as the Indonesian government is in charge there. They’ve hinted that they have some sort of undersea threat, too. Now, it’s quite improbable that the rebels have a submarine. The Indonesian navy doesn’t think they have anything, and we don’t either. But our own National Command Authority thinks it might be helpful for U.S.-Indonesian relations if we send a fast attack sub for this mission, to act as a sort of … presence, if you like, a stabilizing presence. It might help the local merchant traffic to sleep better knowing that one of the good guys is around.”
“I’m liking this less by the minute, Admiral,” Edwards said skeptically.
“Diplomacy is a tricky business, Captain. Indonesia is an important ally in the war on terrorism. On the surface, the NCA doesn’t want to take sides in this conflict in order to protect U.S. citizens in the region. Below the surface, they want to show the Indonesian government that we are dedicated to keeping international waters safe and free, regardless of whether or not the region contains a third of the world’s oil reserves. If we send one of our own submarines to act as a stabilizing presence, the NCA feels that the Indonesian government will view it as a gesture of goodwill. And that’s why Providence is going.”
Edwards nodded. So the Providence would be used as an instrument of diplomacy. He didn’t like the sound of that, either, and wished that he felt as certain as Chappell that the so-called “undersea threat” was nothing more than a sham.
“This should be a simple operation,” Chappell said. “In and out. The Indonesian government has informed the local magistrate that you’re coming. They’ve even promised to provide you with provisions or anything else you might need. Just go in there, get the good doctor, and get the hell out. And remember, stay the hell out of Indonesian internal affairs. Is that clear?”
Edwards did not know what to say. How could things be clear? For some reason, part of the mission was classified and
Chappell wasn’t going to share it with him. He knew the character of Chappell from many past dealings. Any attempts to get more out of him would be fruitless. Chappell was quite used to keeping submarine captains in the dark, never revealing where they fit in the grander scheme. He would never budge an inch.
“Has the doctor been informed that he’s to be evacuated, sir?” Edwards asked.
“He has, and I know what you’re thinking, Dave, but don’t worry. You’ll have some assistance in convincing him to go. I’m sending a Seahawk out to you with a personal dispatch for the doctor. The package contains instructions for his eyes only. Don’t worry, he’ll follow his instructions and go with you quietly.” Chappell paused for a moment, and then added, “He knows what he has to do, Dave, so don’t bother him too much. I don’t think he’ll cause you any problems. Just get him out of there as quick as you can.”
Edwards winced at the thought of entertaining the doctor all the way back to Pearl. Just what he needed, another useless rider to use up air, consume food stores, and fill up tanks. He suddenly winced at the thought of eating every meal with the doctor on the homeward leg of the trip. But there was something else — something in Chappell’s tone that sounded a bit rehearsed.
“Is there anything else, Admiral?” Edwards asked openly.
Chappell’s lips moved but his voice could not be heard. He had turned his head to the side and was obviously talking with someone not in the camera’s field of view. Edwards assumed that it must be the flag lieutenant, or whoever was feeding him the briefing sheets. Chappell paused for a moment and then turned back to face the camera. He cleared his throat several times and said, “There is one more thing, Dave. This is for yours and Warren’s information only, you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Edwards said, sitting up on the edge of his seat. Was the admiral about to give him a bone? Some clue as to the real purpose of their mission?
“This is not confirmed, you understand,” Chappell said, “but the NCA believes that the rebels are being assisted by a small terrorist group called Al Islamiyyah. This group is believed to be supplying arms and equipment in exchange for safe haven on Bunda, much like Al Qaeda’s arrangement with the Taliban in Afghanistan. It’s an Islamic extremist group with connections to other groups that are hostile to the U.S.”
“Islamic terrorists and communists, Admiral?” Edwards asked. “Isn’t that kind of like oil and water?”
“It may just be a marriage of convenience, but we believe the terrorists are there and helping them all the same. Now you can see why the good doctor’s in imminent danger. If there is a shift of power over there … well, I’m sure you know what the Islamic extremists do when they get their hands on a Westerner.”
Who hadn’t seen the news in recent years? Several kidnappings and some of the hostages beheaded. A rather grisly prospect for the doctor.
“I’ll send you all the latest intelligence and some amplifying information on your next top secret download,” Chappell added. “I want you in Ujungpang in six days.”
A quick passage, Edwards thought. That was good. At the normal cruising speed, it would take twice that time. The morale of submarine sailors seemed to be linked to the speed of the ship. If the ship was going fast then they knew they would be home that much sooner.
“Any questions, Dave?” the admiral finally asked.
“No, sir.” Edwards was lying, of course. He had a thousand questions. But where to begin? On the other hand, the mission did seem straightforward enough. Yes, there were uncertainties, but if all went well, Providence would be back home in two weeks.
“We’ll stay in touch via normal message traffic and e-mail, Dave. Keep me informed of all developments on your end.”
“Aye aye, Admiral. Goodbye, sir.”
“Good luck and Godspeed. Chappell, out.” The admiral’s transmission ceased and the screen turned blue as the monitor lost the signal.
Edwards and Bloomfield sat awkwardly silent for a few moments staring at the monitor, the sound of the sea crashing against Providence’s outer hull, drowning out the ticking of the stateroom’s clock mounted on the bulkhead.
“Well, fuck you very much, Admiral,” Bloomfield finally said, taking a long gulp from his cup as he cradled it in both hands.