He hooked his computer to the Sim-Center computer and then accessed the Pacific Fleet's mainframe using his passwords. He quickly found the program he was looking for: SOSUS – the Navy's Sound Surveillance System, which blanketed the entire Pacific Ocean.
Developed at the height of the cold war, SOSUS consisted of groups of hydrophones inside large tanks, each almost as big as a large oil storage tank. They were sunk to the bottom of the ocean and connected by cables, which were buried to prevent the Soviets from trailing cable cutters off their trawlers and severing the lines.
The series of underwater hydrophones were so sensitive that since the cold war, the Navy occasionally let marine biologists have access to the system to track whale migration. The entire system was coordinated using FLTSATCOM – the Fleet Satellite Communication System – which Royce currently was accessed into.
He brought up all submarine activity and their corresponding tags: their identifiers. The Navy had belatedly realized after hooking the SOSUS system together that while it could pinpoint a submarine's location, it wasn't able to tell friendly subs from unfriendly. And since the U.S. Navy didn't know exactly where half its own subs were – the boomers, nuclear missile launchers patrolling wide areas of ocean entirely at their commanders' discretion – they had to come up with a way when SOSUS pinpointed a sub to know whether it was friendly or enemy. Thus, every U.S. and NATO sub had an ID code painted in special laser reflective paint on the upper deck.
SOSUS pinpointed a sub's location, then one of the FLTSATCOM satellites fired off a high intensity blue-green laser. It penetrated the ocean to submarine depth, was reflected by the paint, and the satellite picked it up and read it. If there was no reflection, it was assumed to be an unfriendly sub.
Since the Kursk disaster, the Russian fleet had stopped sending its boomers out to sea, and most of them were rusting away in port. That meant that other than the Chinese, few countries would be sending submarines out to sea. Looking at the display, Royce immediately noted that the time-delayed tracking for the past twenty-four hours had only one unidentified submarine – located between mainland China and Taiwan – and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who owned that one.
Where the hell was the Abu Sayef submarine if it had taken part in the raid on Johnston Atoll? Royce pondered this while staring at the display of the Pacific Ocean. The only thing he could come up with was that the submarine was sitting on the bottom somewhere, waiting.
He shook his head. That didn't sound like Rogelio Abayon.
Royce looked forward to closing out this mission, but beyond that he was uncertain. He'd been moved up a notch in the Organization, but toward what end? The same end that David had just met?
On the other hand, he knew there was no way out. He couldn't just tender a resignation because that was the same as "retirement," and he'd seen how that went. He was bound to the Organization by invisible chains that he had to be careful not to even tug on or else bring unwanted attention.
It would be helpful to know who exactly the "Organization" was, but that was a chain he knew he would have to be very careful about tugging. Or get someone else to tug.
CHAPTER 18
Abayon kissed Fatima's hand. Then he reached up and wiped away the tears on each of her cheeks.
"You will do well."
"I will miss you," she said.
The last of the trucks carrying the treasure rumbled down the narrow jungle trail toward the dock where an old freighter waited for them. They had rehearsed abandoning the Hono Mountain facility many times, and the execution had gone off flawlessly. Abayon was in his chair, between the two large doors that had sealed this cave off so many years ago. A jeep waited for Fatima, the last to leave. When she was gone, he would be alone.
"It is all for the people," Abayon said.
Fatima nodded, at a loss for words.
"Go now," Abayon said, wheeling his chair back. She hesitated, then turned and headed to the jeep. Abayon hit the control that shut the doors. Protesting on rusty hinges, they slowly swung shut with a resounding clang.
Abayon slowly turned his chair and began heading farther into the complex. He could feel the presence of ghosts all around. Japanese and Filipino. And others. This mountain had been the hub of much death and destruction. He knew the recent raid had been the signal he'd been both dreading and looking forward to.
Abayon wound his way through the complex until he reached the stone balcony from which he had watched the raid. He rolled out onto it and looked to the west, where the sun was setting. This night would bring much change. He looked down at the red button on the handle of the wheelchair and sighed.
The Jahre Viking was cruising smoothly less than forty miles southwest of Oahu. It was en route to Long Beach where it would off-load its cargo of oil. The captain of the large tanker was surprised when a United States Navy destroyer appeared off his starboard bow, bearing down at almost maximum speed.
The radio crackled with an order from the captain of the destroyer to prepare to be boarded. Since they were in international waters, the captain of the Jahre Viking did not have to comply with the request. But the tone of the American officer's command left little doubt about the extreme seriousness of the demand.
Having nothing to hide, the Viking's captain acceded, and within minutes a helicopter from the destroyer landed on the huge tanker's helipad. A squad of armed Marines jumped off. The chopper immediately lifted and went back to the destroyer, staying long enough to fill up with troops before returning. And then again and again, until the captain estimated he had half the destroyer's crew on his ship, searching.
One of those who came over was the Navy captain, and he was escorted to the bridge. The American apologized but said the search was over an issue of grave concern to all human beings regarding a recent event at an island in the middle of the Pacific. He also admitted that American satellites had tracked the Jahre Viking ever since leaving Indonesia and knew it had stayed on course, but orders were orders and they were taking no chances.
The search took an hour, and then the Americans left, the destroyer leaving at flank speed to find another ship to search.
Moreno's sonar man had heard the American destroyer approach and then listened to it run alongside for over an hour. Then he heard it move away. Moreno watched both the clock and his chart, waiting until the American would be out of range.
Finally, he could wait no longer.
"One quarter ahead."
For the first time since they'd mated with the tanker, the submarine's engines began to turn the ship's screws. Satisfied he had power, Moreno issued the next order.
"Cut power to the magnets."
The instant the power was cut, Moreno ordered the sub to dive, to get clear of the Jahre Viking's screws. The submarine descended as the tanker passed by overhead. When it hit the wake caused by the massive screws, the submarine vibrated violently for half a minute, then slowly settled.
"Course five-five degrees," Moreno ordered.
"Half ahead. Bring us up to just below the surface."
The nose of the old submarine turned to the northwest, directly toward Oahu and Honolulu.
Vaughn checked out the small redoubt Tai had built for herself next to the open spot on the top of Hono Mountain. She had two logs stacked, facing the clear area, with enough space between them for her to get a clear field of fire. She'd covered the logs with vegetation so that unless someone walked right on top of her location, she wouldn't be spotted.