“What have you learned, my friend?” he asked.
“Not as much as I would hope,” Ye said. “We’ve taken their radio modules for inspection, and the photographs and videos show what we would expect from a Kilo submarine. The cryptology data lets us read East Sea Fleet message traffic, but there’s at least one more layer of encryption required to learn the location of their ships.”
“But with focused hacking,” Renard said, “and if the mainland doesn’t know the fate of its submarine for days…”
Ye raised his palm.
“I know what you’re thinking, but I’m afraid the Kilo sustained too much damage. We cannot take it for our own use, and we cannot keep it afloat much longer. I’ve ordered it to be scuttled within thirty minutes.”
“Before dawn,” Renard said. “Before the sun burns away cloud cover and exposes the submarine to the mainland’s surveillance by reconnaissance aircraft and military satellite.”
“Yes,” Ye said. “Not to mention civilian spies on our coast. Military police patrol the highest floors of buildings near Suao, and helicopters search the nearby mountains to verify nobody is watching, even now to thwart those who would spy with night vision.”
An officer approached, and Renard stepped away. As the officer departed, he moved back to Ye.
“You seem perplexed,” he said.
“We’ve received a download of their tactical system,” Ye said. “Four of their reload weapons are North Korean.”
“You mean of a design they would export to North Korea?” Renard asked.
“No,” Ye said. “North Korean. They are from North Korea, including North Korean inscriptions and manufacturing data. The infiltration team verified this in the torpedo room.”
“Good God, man,” Renard said. “I could only begin to speculate the implications.”
“Hold on,” Ye said.
He barked in Mandarin, and an officer nodded and scurried to a table where analysts sifted through incoming screens of data from the captured submarine.
“I told him to expedite the review of the contents of the captain’s safe,” Ye said. “They blew it open for a reason. There’s bound to be something insightful inside.”
“I should hope so,” Renard said.
His phone vibrated, surprising him. He withdrew it from his blazer and checked the caller identification.
“Of all people,” he said. “Excuse me, admiral.”
Renard placed the phone to his ear as he walked toward the solitude of his webcam and laptop in the corner of the command center.
“Yes, Jake,” he said. “It’s good to hear from you.”
“You, too, Pierre,” Jake said. “Is now a good time?”
“Why not? We’ve just entered the tactical nuclear age, and my plans are proving bulletproof! I doubt you’ve called to let me boast, but if you’ll allow it…”
“Go ahead,” Jake said. “It would help my guilt.”
“I wish I could,” Renard said. “But on second thought, you’re calling from your unsecure line.”
“Yeah. Right. Well, I didn’t call to say much. I just wanted to apologize.”
“I don’t think you owe me such a gesture.”
“I’ve been selfish,” Jake said.
Renard pondered the years he had known his conflicted protégé.
“I think you had your requisite opportunity for personal growth stolen from you in your early adulthood, and you’re just late to reach a developmental crossroads. Your behavior is normal. But if you feel that you’ve wronged me, I forgive you.”
“I left you when you needed me,” Jake said. “I need to make it up to you.”
“Very well,” Renard said. “I disagree with your harsh self-assessment, but I accept that you feel an obligation. I therefore promise to recruit you for my next opportunity. You know there will be one.”
“Well, sure. Thanks, Pierre.”
“Why don’t you head home and—”
The air moved, and Renard felt a presence. He turned and saw an eager expression on his translator.
“Mister Renard. Alarming news.”
Renard covered the phone.
“Yes?”
“The mainland means to attack an incoming American aircraft carrier with a wolf pack of submarines.”
“You jest. There’s no incoming American carrier.”
“The mainland seems to know more than we do about such a movement.”
“Even if a carrier were coming,” Renard said, “mainland diesel submarines are too slow to give chase. They’d need to know the carrier’s path well in advance.”
The translator lifted his nose and appeared agitated for the first time in Renard’s memory.
“I will complete a written translation of the Kilo captain’s patrol orders for you, but you will have to trust me in the meantime that this is an accurate summary.”
“Very well,” Renard said. “I shall take it on faith while you translate and while Admiral Ye’s staff verifies the accuracy of the documents. They could be a ruse to protect against this sort of captured vessel situation.”
“I doubt it, Mister Renard.”
“Why?”
“The attack will be made to appear as if the North Koreans were responsible.”
“This all sounds preposterous. There must be a better explanation for the Kilo captain’s orders and for the Korean weapons on board.”
“The Kilo’s captain did not survive. Very few sailors did, and no officers. There is nobody worth questioning.”
“Then what more evidence is there?” Renard asked.
“There’s a possible North Korean submarine involved.”
“The Romeo that crossed the hydrophone array from the north?” Renard asked. “The loud one we thought was from the mainland’s North Sea Fleet being sent to the Philippine Sea as a distraction?”
“Yes. Very likely. We’re reviewing the acoustic data, now that there is increased interest.”
“Thank you,” Renard said. “Will you excuse me?”
As the translator nodded and turned, Renard’s scheming mind entered hyper-drive. He placed his phone to his cheek.
“Jake, please find your way to an airport and prepare to make for Tokyo.”
“Seriously? What’s going on?”
“Perhaps nothing. But there’s a chance I may need you much sooner than I could have anticipated.”
His protégé sounded relieved and eager.
“I’m on it,” Jake said.
Renard returned his phone to his pocket and reached for his lighter. He released it and congratulated himself for invoking willpower. Gathering what thoughts he could, he turned the corner and headed for Admiral Ye.
As he rounded the navigation chart, Ye surprised him with an invitation that felt like an order.
“Will you join me in my office?”
Renard judged Ye’s office on the second floor of the center austere by Asian standards, but he appreciated that Ye would dedicate the space to function at the expense of flair.
Small stacks of papers cut sharp lines behind the admiral on a maple bureau. A model of the Hai Lang submarine, the admiral’s last command at sea, stood as the sole attempt to personalize the room. Ye lifted a porcelain teacup from his desk, sipped from it, and lowered it.
“Tea, Mister Renard?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Ye reached for a pot and poured as steam rose. When finished, he slid the silver platter to the Frenchman. Renard sipped warm bitterness.
“We have an issue with Admiral Brody,” Ye said.
“It appears there is conjecture about an incoming American aircraft carrier, a mainland submarine ambush, and a North Korean angle to complicate matters.”
“It’s more than conjecture,” Ye said. “Unless we’re victims of an elaborate hoax, we’ve stumbled upon an intelligence coup. We can’t prove that all of it is true, but we can verify the first major assumption.”