“I’m probably a target anyway. The FBI can only protect us so far. I may as well know what you’re doing.”
“Not unless you want to live on the run.”
“I’m not abandoning my kids.”
“Then you have to keep living in ignorance.”
“I don’t have to like it.”
“I didn’t say you had to. Let’s just try to enjoy dinner. I’ll contact Pierre when we get home.”
At home, Jake flopped into the leather chair and tapped a security code into his computer. A glance through his office door’s window showed Linda reclining on a couch, watching television while trying to ignore him.
The French accent of his friend and mentor, Pierre Renard, filled the soundproofed room.
“How are you, my friend?” Renard asked.
“Not so bad,” Jake said. “Those pills you gave me kicked in with a vengeance tonight. I couldn’t drink. I lost my appetite, so to speak.”
“Wonderful! That’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“I guess. But I feel like you robbed me of an old friend. Alcohol has gotten me through a lot of rough patches. When the world shits on me, I need a place to go to recover.”
“The world shat on you frequently through your young adulthood. But now you are in your mid-thirties and in charge of your destiny. You are no longer the victim of a broken home or the malice of the United States Navy. The sooner you realize that you are ready to exorcise your demons, the better — for all of us.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“I did not say it was. And if you desire to drink again, you can always redevelop the bad habit. At least now you know you can turn it off when needed. You have options.”
“Well said, my friend. Options. I suppose you contacted me to grant me yet another option to save the world.”
“Indeed. Mind if I smoke?”
“I’m looking at your handsome mug on a liquid crystal display. It won’t bother me.”
“Force of habit.”
The Frenchman’s steel blue eyes glistened as he lifted a gold-plated Zippo lighter under the tip of a Marlboro.
“Have you given up trying to quit?”
“It depends on my stress levels. I do rather well during my normal routine, but I can’t risk the distraction of the unsatisfied craving while planning a mission.”
“Good segue. What are you up to?”
“Our first rescue mission.”
“Someone is paying you to be a mercenary coast guard instead of a mercenary navy?”
“That’s a moderately accurate analogy. But I have yet to see a coast guard that operates submarines.”
“But it is a rescue mission, meaning you’re not planning for me to kill anyone, right?”
“Correct. You’ll be commanding the Specter with the usual veterans on your team to establish a protective perimeter. Terry will command the Goliath for the rescue. Of course, our clients want one of their own submarines involved, as a matter of national dignity.”
“Who’s the client?”
Renard exhaled smoke in a drama-building gesture that Jake considered too perfect to be accidental.
“The Republic of Korea Navy needs our services in extracting a stranded Type 214 submarine from hostile waters.”
Memorized images and specifications of vessels on both sides of the Korean Peninsula flickered through Jake’s mind.
The North Koreans had ships, aircraft, and submarines of substandard capability, but they made up for technical shortcomings with quantity and diligence. With more than seven hundred vessels, they could protect their coasts, and with planning and training, they could sink their prey, as they proved against the Cheonan eight years ago.
On the southern side of the conflict, Jake considered South Korea’s German export Type 214 design to be comparable in capability to his Specter, one of Renard’s two Scorpène class submarines. Having commanded the Specter, one of its twins, and similar vessels for a decade, he had resolute confidence in the submarine and in his ability to lead it.
“If the South Koreans need help saving a Type 214, something bizarre happened. They’re a good navy, maybe lacking in creativity and risk-taking, but they’re as disciplined as any. A South Korean Type 214 should be able to hold its own against anything the North Koreans can dish out. It can hold its own against the Chinese, too. What the heck happened?”
“Treason,” Renard said. “They won’t yet share the nature of their operation other than it was an insertion and extraction of frogmen on the east coast of North Korea, but I expect they will once they see my ships committed to their cause. One of the frogmen turned on his comrades and the crew, and he managed to crack the shaft with explosives.”
“Damn. That’s harsh.”
“Indeed. I’m told that a fifth of the crew survived. They remain submerged and undetected to this point, but apparently, whatever their mission, it’s created quite a flurry of activity from the North Korean fleet. Almost two hundred ships are already deployed in a hunt, and more are deploying.”
“When did this all happen?”
“Coming up on thirty-six hours ago.”
Jake performed quick time and distance calculations, using common submarine transit speeds.
“That Type 214 should be home by now, but the North Koreans must know that it isn’t. They must have spies at every South Korean naval base.”
“That’s exactly why they’ve increased their operations tempo instead of decreasing it. They suspect something went wrong for their adversary. They suspect a South Korean submarine was involved in an assault against them, and there’s a submarine still missing from its home port. They smell blood in the water.”
“The Goliath is capable of underwater transport of submarines, right?”
“It is indeed. I have amassed too many enemies to always transport my submarines above water where they are exposed. I needed the Goliath to be completely functional when submerged as well. Of course, it’s slower when submerged, but I think you’ll be quite impressed when you study its capabilities.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“Terry sings praises about it. Sometimes I suspect that he would rather command it more than the Specter or the Wraith.”
Jake recalled having befriended Terrance Cahill when he commanded an Australian submarine. Cahill had lost command of his ship by violating his admiralty’s orders and firing on a Chinese submarine to protect Jake during an operation in the Spratly Islands. When Renard had offered Cahill a job commanding one of his submarines, Jake had welcomed him as his peer.
“If Terry likes it, I’m sure it’s a good ship.”
“It’s one of a kind. But it’s a necessity for me to have the flexibility of high-speed, long-distance transport of my submarines with the ability to submerge and hide. The Specter and the Wraith may have air-independent propulsion, but without nuclear reactors, they can’t cover the distance between theaters of operations fast enough for our clients.”
“Sounds like the Goliath should have been nuclear, at least ideally, if you could have afforded it.”
“The finances of purchasing and maintaining a reactor were unfavorable. However, you can consider it a hybrid of a surface combatant, a submarine, and a cargo vessel.”
“So it has a cannon? Missiles?”
The Frenchman smirked.
“Two railguns — my personal favorite armament. Heavy reliance on electricity, low reliance on ammunition storage space.”