“Just checking in,” she said.
“I had your back the whole time,” Robert said.
“I know. That feels kind of weird,” she said.
“It’s all background noise to me. How you doing?”
“Tired but okay. My head’s kind of a beehive.”
“You took a bold step tonight. I’m sure it’ll pay off.”
CHAPTER 10
Pierre Renard sat in a Lincoln Town Car beside a smallish dark-skinned man in a white uniform. He had met Pakistani Admiral Sardar Khan a decade earlier while managing the transfer of the Agosta 90B class submarines for France’s national shipbuilding company, Direction des Constructions Navales.
“I appreciate the jet fuel,” Renard said.
“Anything to help you reach Keelung, my old friend,” Khan said.
The car stopped, and a uniformed guard peered inside.
“The next three cars are with me,” Khan said.
The guard waved the car through, and a chain link fence slid open. As the Lincoln descended to the lower base, moonlight illuminated a three-story boxy building Renard remembered as squadron command. The waterfront came into view, and the moon shimmered on the Arabian Sea beyond the conning tower sail of an Agosta class submarine.
“Seeing an Agosta brings back memories,” Renard said.
“That’s the Hurmat. I believe you know it well.”
“Indeed! Known in the French Navy as the Adventurous nearly twenty years ago when I was its executive officer.”
“Beside it is an aging Daphne,” Khan said. “I fear I may need to squeeze a few more years of life out of it.”
“It’s a shame the rest of your units are indisposed.” Renard said. “Searching for the Hamza, I believe.”
“I make do with my limited resources.”
The car pulled up to an officer barracks, and the admiral stepped out. The Frenchman shut the door behind him.
“Yet your president won’t ask other nations for help.”
“It is still too delicate a matter to share,” Khan said. “I’m protecting him from the details.”
“That’s bold of you,” Renard said.
“The true test of my courage will come when I tell him that the Hamza is unaccounted for and I’ve deployed half the fleet to find it.”
“I thought you were going to protect him?”
“I will tell him the Hamza is missing, and when the president presses for information, I will be truthful and tell him I know nothing. If Commander Hayat has malevolent intent with the Hamza, the first true indication will likely be attacks against Indian warships.”
“I sense that you wouldn’t mind if that happened.”
“My father was an officer on the destroyer Khyber in the 1971 War. He was killed when the Indians sank it during their patrol boat raid on Karachi.”
“Few of your adversaries on the subcontinent were even born then. I myself was only a child.”
“I would make a poor leader if I acted upon emotion, and I’ve done my duty in dedicating my assets to prevent the Hamza from launching an unprovoked attack.”
Renard pulled his Armani jacket tight over his shoulder, reached into the Town Car’s trunk, and hoisted a canvas bag over his shoulder.
“I can find you a porter,” Khan said.
“No, thank you,” Renard said. “I am a sailor headed to sea. I will carry my own sea bag.”
Renard’s entourage of French submarine veterans was lifting bags from nearby cars. Henri nodded.
“Get them checked in, Henri,” Renard said. “Then get straight to sleep. We leave for Taiwan at dawn.”
Renard followed Khan into a barracks that resembled a clean but modest hotel. Lamps extending from cherry wood walls provided soft lighting, and the turquoise carpet with salt air stamped into it seemed like a replica of a calm sea. Khan turned a corner into a passageway.
“This building should bring back memories,” Khan said.
“Nightmarish long nights,” Renard said. “I remember hardly sleeping for months.”
“And we thought we were already old back then.”
“If you have nothing of the Hamza’s intention to share with the president, what do you intend to share with me?”
“The president discourages guessing. He wants facts, and that is what I will give him,” Khan said. “However, Agent Zafar Malik of the Directorate for Inter-Services Intelligence has an interesting theory that I will share with you.”
“Why should we trust the ISI?” Renard asked.
“Most ISI officers with ties to fundamentalist organizations have been purged,” Khan said. “Malik is aligned with the President.”
Renard followed Khan into a conference room. A tall man in a conservative suit stood by a pile of folders. He extended a hand but seemed incapable of smiling.
“Agent Zafar Malik,” he said.
“Pierre Renard.”
The trio sat around a polished table. Overhead fixtures provided soft lighting, and a wall clock embedded into a carved wooden anchor indicated that midnight approached. Khan poured tea into pewter cups on a silverware tray.
“Mister Renard,” Malik said, “I understand that you will be an advisor on the Agosta class submarine that we recently sold to Taiwan, now commissioned as the Hai Lang.”
“Officially an advisor,” Renard said, “but I will be in command of one submarine against many, which sounds treacherous. But I believe I can make my presence well enough known to crack the undersea threat from China, at least long enough to allow significant replenishment by sea to the island.”
“How fast can you achieve this?”
“There is no deadline. I have as long as Taiwan can withstand the blockade. Months if needed. Weeks or quicker if I can defeat a Kilo class submarine or two early enough to scare the bulk of their submarine fleet back into port to assess their losses.”
Malik leaned forward, and his face hardened.
“You may wish to impose a deadline. As soon as possible, we desire your assistance with the Hamza.”
Through the fatigue of a transcontinental flight, Renard felt a spike of adrenaline followed by hesitation.
“Ten years ago, I would have jumped at this,” he said. “But today, the work with Taiwan is my final act.”
Malik slid folders and compact disks across the table.
“These are copies of Commander Hamid Hayat’s dossier,” Malik said. “Perhaps they will change your mind when you have a chance to read them. Guard them well.”
“I’ll be busy learning the workings of the Hai Lang,” Renard said. “Could you give me the summary?”
“It wasn’t evident until Admiral Khan informed me of the Hamza’s disappearance, but we fear that he’s been recruited by a fundamentalist extremist group that supports terrorists and undermines the president’s rule.”
“You suspect him to have adopted the agenda of a terrorist organization?” Renard asked.
“I noticed a pattern of dangerous behavior in recent months — increases in the personal finances of his family, travel to locations frequented by fundamentalist leaders, and unusual telephone calls. I will keep questioning those who know him and pressing informants. The answer will come.”
“This is why you assume the Hamza is rogue instead of in distress?” Renard asked.
“The Hamza could be at the bottom of the sea serving as a tomb for thirty-six of my finest sailors,” Khan said. “I dedicated three ships to search its patrol area but found nothing. There is no evidence of the Hamza’s fate, but given Malik’s discoveries, I assume it to be rogue.”