“How many drones do we have?”
“Four,” Henri said. “We should need only one, at most two. The spares are for contingencies.”
“Good thinking.”
The translator spoke again.
“The Specter will be waiting in a classic delouse trap. Since the Specter will have the advantage of waiting in ambush, it will deploy drones for detecting the British submarine. If the Specter’s drones transmit active, it will be at frequencies similar to that of the system aboard the Argentine submarines, to create a deception.”
Wrestling with a bout of nausea from his hangover, Jake tuned out the briefing and glanced at Renard, who puffed a cigarette in the corner of the room.
His mentor, his friend, his ally, his boss, and — a decade ago when they had first met — his savior. The Frenchman oozed confidence and brilliance, and Jake had once considered him immortal.
But the crow’s feet grew more pronounced every year, the skin sagging, and the handsome features less sharp. If the tempting of fate failed to destroy Renard with each movement of his pieces across his global chessboard, time would stake its claim on him. Jake realized that Renard would someday reach the grave.
The Frenchman approached the screen, and the overhead view expanded to include the shores of South America and Africa. Renard pointed at a red line that formed to connect the continents.
“Based upon the latest intelligence, the British submarine on patrol will be the Ambush,” Renard said. “Ironic, given that it is we who will be ambushing it. After the encounter with the Ambush, the Santa Cruz and San Juan will evade to the north and loiter south of this boundary, highlighted in red.”
Renard exhaled a cloud of smoke, awaited the Spanish translation, and then continued.
“As the Santa Cruz and the San Juan reach the boundary, they will stand in front of the expected incoming British task force, threatening their transit toward the Malvinas Islands. This threat will strengthen your president’s position in negotiating the return of the islands to their proper ownership. Meanwhile, the Specter will remain on station to protect the Dragon, which will be in our possession by that time.”
As the translator opened his mouth to relay Renard’s meaning in Spanish, the commanding officer in front of Jake raised his nose and interrupted him in English.
“And if you fail in taking the Dragon?”
“It is a fair question, Commander Gutierrez,” Renard said. “The taking of the Dragon is a delicate operation. Should the Dragon remain under command of the Royal Navy, then you will receive orders from your admiralty to sink her, as will Commander Martinez of the Santa Cruz. I will also order Mister Slate of the Specter to do the same.”
The news surprised Jake. He hadn’t considered sinking the destroyer and sending another two hundred sailors to their deaths.
“Three submarines is overkill,” Gutierrez said. “I can sink a British destroyer myself.”
“Perhaps,” Renard said, “But the Dragon has far too much firepower to be allowed to work against us. Alone, it can control the air around the Malvinas. If its crew is alerted to an attack, it will employ speed and evasive maneuvers, making chase by a single diesel-powered submarine a low-probability endeavor.”
Revealing no concern in countering Renard’s argument, Gutierrez lifted his arm toward the screen.
“Proceed,” he said.
“Thank you, Commander Gutierrez,” Renard said.
The Frenchman showed poise and respect that impressed Jake, who took a cue from his French friend and stifled his urge to stand up and punch Gutierrez in the mouth.
He remembered the results of his last fit of violence, calmed himself, and listened to Renard explain details about the operation that he had already memorized.
Glaring at the screen, he shut out Renard’s words and saw an Astute-class submarine materialize in his future.
Over one billion British pounds invested into seven thousand, four hundred tons of stealthy killing power.
Two Rolls Royce pressurized water nuclear reactors giving a sustained eight-knot speed advantage over his Specter’s fastest hour-long sprint. Infinite endurance. A torpedo room filled with almost forty weapons. Sound-absorbent equipment mounting that, at slow-speed operations, could make its nuclear reactor as quiet as his battery-driven system. Acoustic detection and data processing on par with his world-class French-designed Scorpène-class submarine’s ability. A commanding officer of world-class ability, trained by arguably the best submarine pipeline on the planet.
As he caught himself talking within his mind, Jake realized that his thoughts formed a good first question to test for the existence of a god.
Okay, God, here comes the test, he thought.If you’re really out there, can you keep me alive long enough to get it right?
CHAPTER 5
Inhaling the sickly sweet stench of atmosphere-cleansing chemicals and the staleness of shined metal, Jake passed through a hatch into the Specter’s operations room. Henri moved to his side.
“You will remember all the French crew from our deployment in Taiwan,” Henri said. “Pierre wanted to keep the French contingent consistent to minimize disruption. All the Taiwanese sailors, however, are new.”
“What happened to the ones who deployed with us?”
“They took take their knowledge back to Taiwan,” Henri said. “Now we train their new blood.”
“Circle of life,” Jake said. “At least there’s a familiar face.”
Six dual-stacked French-designed Subtics system tactical monitors spanned the compartment’s left side. Before one panel sat the toad-like figure of his sonar systems expert, Antoine Remy.
“Am I the best sonar expert you know?” Remy asked.
“Of course you’re the best. Why would you ask?”
“Because we’re facing the best submarine we have ever faced. I need to know that you have confidence in me.”
“Confidence comes from within,” Jake said.
“For you, perhaps,” Remy said. “For the rest of us, it comes partially from within ourselves, but partially from the extra you have to spare.”
Jake chuckled.
“It’s good to see you, my old friend,” Jake said. “I’d bet my life on you at least once again.”
Jake noticed young Taiwanese sailors offering hopeful and uncertain stares. Henri made introductions and assurances of the competence of the trainees. Jake found their English respectable and saw a healthy mix of bravado and fear in their eyes.
Their uniforms, or lack thereof, surprised him. They wore the beige slacks and white dress shirt uniform of Renard’s mercenary crew. He pointed at a random man.
“In case we get captured?”
“Yes,” Henri said. “Plausible deniability on the part of the Taiwanese government.”
“If we get captured, it won’t take a genius to connect this ship and its extra crew to its origins.”
“Nonetheless, the civilian clothing is Renard’s wish, whether we are captured or not.”
“Let’s not find out,” Jake said. “Who else is aboard? Do I have an officer with any tactical training?”