He flipped his boom microphone to his lips to get his executive officer’s thoughts.
“I’m not sure our cannons are powerful enough to stop a vessel that big if it decides to defy us.”
“Agreed, sir. I think we should ask Keelung to send a frigate, just to be certain.”
“Make the request,” Lei said. “Also, see if they have air support available. But in the meantime, there is something we can do.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Clear that submarine of mainland personnel and board it with a small boat detachment. We need to shut its hatches and suffocate the fire.”
“Shall I lead the boarding team?”
“By protocol, you should,” Lei said. “But leave this task to me.”
Thirty minutes later, Lei stood atop an abandoned Romeo-class submarine, its hatches closed. The fishing vessel next to it floated dead in the water as its crew lifted the last of the Romeo’s crew aboard.
His crew outnumbered versus the fishing vessel and its new inhabitants, Lei opted for patience. He instructed the vessel to remain motionless, and with nowhere to run, its captain obeyed his radio request to await boarding from an inbound frigate and a helicopter boarding team.
Pierre Renard’s tail bristled as his vulpine eyes spied his prize. His prey ensnared, the French fox salivated as he savored success as the chauffeured Cadillac XTS descended toward Keelung’s concrete pier. Gazing over Admiral Ye’s shoulder, he saw the stealthy lines of a Kang Ding-class frigate, nylon lines securing it to its berthing below an overhead crane blocking his view of the bow.
On the fantail, armed men with digitized patterns covering their camouflaged uniforms pointed rifles downward as they walked slow ovals around genuflected men.
“That’s the Si Ning,” Ye said. “The detainees are the crew of the captured Romeo submarine. It took the crew aboard with small boats during the night, and what you see below is the crew without its officers. We’ve flown them to the command center and are already questioning them.”
“Separating the crew from its leadership was wise,” Renard said. “I’m sure the stories that will be told will corroborate the facts we already know and add to the gaps about which we’ve only speculated.”
Ye curled his arm across his body and pointed out the side window at the channel.
“There,” he said. “The Hai Ming.”
Renard strained his eyes but saw the surfaced submarine’s conning tower backlit by the early morning sun. He looked forward to a reunion.
Ye’s mobile phone chimed, and the admiral placed it to his ear. He listened, uttered few words, and smiled.
“One officer from the Romeo has already requested asylum,” Ye said. “Others are ready to break. Apparently, they are more afraid to return home than to remain in our custody.”
“Excellent news,” Renard said. “It’s as if they know they’ve been betrayed.”
“We will learn what they know,” Ye said. “It’s only a matter of time and questioning.”
“What of the Romeo itself? Have your men been able to keep it afloat?”
“It stayed afloat as it burned,” Ye said. “The first commander to arrive on the scene was wise enough to board it and close the hatches, and that suffocated the fire. But initial reports indicate that the ship is charred badly.”
“But perhaps useful for your future needs after repairs,” Renard said. “And perhaps containing forensic evidence of its fate.”
“I’ve sent a second Kang Ding frigate to guard it while tugs head out to tow it back to port. We’ll conduct a detailed investigation once it’s beside the pier.”
Renard reflected in silence upon the outcomes his scheming had created. He sensed a dizzying array of new possibilities opening to him, but as the car approached the dock, he thought of friendship.
He stepped from the car and straightened his blazer. Accented by the stench of brackish water, the dawn air smelled crisp. Standing beside Ye at the empty pier, he lifted one foot atop a cleat and folded his arms across his thigh. Craning his neck, he saw the rounded bow of the incoming Hai Ming jut from a jetty, followed by a tug mated to its starboard side.
“The heroes return,” he said.
“We’ve had many of them in this campaign,” Ye said. “I hope that we’ve placed the major hostilities behind us.”
Ye’s mobile chimed again, and Renard studied his companion’s softening features as he digested its message and lowered the phone to his pocket.
“More news from the interrogations?” Renard asked.
“The executive officer apparently is the son of a high-ranking party member,” Ye said.
“This calls into question why the mainland would sacrifice the vessel,” Renard said.
“There was a mutiny in the engineering spaces,” Ye said. “Someone tried to sink the ship. There’s also a rumored suspicion that the commanding officer intercepted and decrypted the orders to the Kilo to sink it.”
“That would be interesting,” Renard said. “Has the commanding officer confirmed this?”
“He’s maintaining his silence. So is the executive officer. There’s no need yet to use more coercive techniques, but I expect that we’ll have enough of the story from the rest of the crew to place before them that they’ll realize they have no secrets to protect.”
As Renard lowered his foot from the metal cleat, a crane swung a steel girder walkway across the sky. He craned his neck and watched the hook lower it towards the Hai Ming as a tug pushed it against the concrete. Rapid line handling and rigging mated the submarine against the pier and gave access to it.
Wearing a white working uniform, Lieutenant Commander Jin appeared on the walkway. The men following him wore starched white shirts and moved with springs in their steps. When they reached Renard and Ye, Jin saluted.
Ye returned the salute, ending the formality.
Renard surprised himself by stepping to Jake and embracing him across his broad, hard shoulders.
“I thought you didn’t like hugging,” Jake said.
“I’ve become soft in my old age,” Renard said. “Either that or I’m overcome with joy in the way you’ve resolved this conflict. Wisdom, patience, and skill.”
Renard released his protégé and greeted his countrymen with a traditional kiss beside their cheeks.
“Congratulations, to all of you,” he said. “I’m buying dinner tonight.”
“I thought you’d be leaving,” Jake said. “Getting home to Marie and the kids.”
“Soon, my friend. But first, tonight, I demand that you all tell me what happened. I wish to know everything.”
Admiral Brody relaxed, enjoying coffee in an austere break area. As he lifted his shoe from the linoleum and crossed it over his leg, he questioned how to craft his legacy.
His phone rang, and he arched his back to wiggle his wrist deep into his pocket. His curiosity rose as he recognized the caller as the young senator who sought to elevate Brody to the Republican presidential ticket while carving himself a spot as the vice presidential candidate.
“What can I do for you, Tom?” he asked.
“Capitalize on this victory, admiral.”
“You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“There’s no time to waste. The media knows something big happened, and it’s hungry for a story. Either the Rickets camp can spin it, or we can.”