All in all, it had been a pretty good night’s work, Coburn decided. But he knew it was more than that — more than the planting of explosive charges that would see the patrol boat destroyed, and more than a prelude to an event that would provide evidence to destroy the FAL. Tonight’s preparations had served a more immediate purpose, he thought, not just helping to bring Shriver to account, but a means of saving the lives of forty-six men and women on board a US warship who otherwise, in a few hours’ time, would have perished without knowing they’d been used as pawns in a deadly game they could have never won.
CHAPTER 21
At dawn the weather changed — an unwanted development that neither Hari nor Coburn had expected.
By late afternoon, in place of a flat sea and the cloudless skies they’d enjoyed for the last nine days, the wind had started whipping up white caps, and the sky had become quite threatening.
On this the last day of the Selina’s journey north to the Demarkation Line, the boat had been handling the conditions well, occasionally wallowing in swell when they weren’t in the lee of one of the many islands off the coast, but for the most part making good headway, and not once losing contact with either the Sandpiper or the patrol boat they were following.
Before dark, the most noticeable consequence of the weather had been the increasing murkiness of the sea — a sure sign of rain, according to Hari, an indication that somewhere on the peninsula or the Chinese mainland, coloured sediment that gave the Yellow Sea its name was being washed out of one of the silt-laden rivers along its shores.
Hari said he didn’t know how long it would take the rain to reach them. Nor was he willing to say whether he believed poor visibility would make things more difficult for Yegorov.
When Coburn had last communicated with the Sandpiper, he’d asked O’Halloran to find out if Ritchie had an opinion about the deteriorating weather. So far there had been no reply — because Ritchie had enough on his plate, Coburn had decided, the reason for his silence, and why once the Sandpiper had reached a position two miles south of the Demarkation Line, he hadn’t bothered to inform O’Halloran of his decision to turn west, nor explain why since then he’d elected to keep travelling into the wind at an uncomfortably slow speed.
Like Hari, what Ritchie had done was track every move of the patrol boat on his radar, following its progress along the S-shaped Demarkation Line and making certain that O’Halloran notified Coburn of any sudden change in its behaviour.
For the moment, the minehunter was a stone’s throw off the western tip of Baengnyeongdo, South Korea’s northernmost island that was supposed to resemble a crested ibis taking flight — another piece of valueless information Hari had gleaned from a brochure he’d obtained from somewhere.
Of more interest were the lights Coburn could see. There were only a few — less than half a dozen coming from what he imagined were fishermen’s houses on one of the island’s western beaches, or maybe from dwellings perched on the cliff top above it.
With the Selina continuing to pitch, and with so much spray being thrown up from the bow, he found it hard to be sure where anything was, including the island itself which was little more than a dark patch against an even darker background.
The Sandpiper wasn’t much easier to pick out. Unlike the patrol boat, which even with the benefit of Hari’s night vision goggles had proved to be invisible, the minehunter at least was running with lights that allowed Coburn to get the odd glimpse of it now and then.
In recent minutes he’d given up looking for it altogether and had been spending his time in the focsle watching radar echoes crawl across Hari’s screen.
‘How far do you reckon Ritchie’s ahead of Yegorov?’ Coburn asked.
‘Perhaps a kilometre — a half of one mile if you prefer.’
‘And how far south of Yegorov are we?’
‘Closer than that.’ Hari measured off the distance. ‘We are within five or six hundred metres of the Osa.’ He grinned at Coburn. ‘If you are concerned about the range of the transmitter you are holding, you should not be. It can send its signal from here to China.’
Coburn was more worried about how effective the mines were going to be. He’d been thinking about it on and off for the last hour, endeavouring to maintain his balance on the heaving deck, in one hand gripping the radio transmitter that would bring them to life, and in the other hand holding the satellite phone he was using to communicate with O’Halloran.
‘Although it is still early I think it best if we get ready,’ Hari said.
‘We are ready.’
‘No, no. I mean with our lights and our ammunition belts.’
‘I’ve told you,’ Coburn said. ‘If there’s going to be a fight, leave it to the Sandpiper. O’Halloran says Ritchie’s already manning both his guns.’
‘Which, if the mines misfire, he will have no opportunity to use.’ Hari lit a cigarette. ‘You have heard whether Ritchie is making certain that at all times his position is known to the authorities?’
‘He’s got coverage from two satellites, the South Korean Navy are tracking his ship and the US have asked China to keep an eye on him as well. O’Halloran’s pretty sure the Chinese would be doing that anyway.’
‘I see. And the commander is also set up to record all radio messages he receives?’
Coburn nodded.
‘Then I shall leave you to make any necessary course corrections and keep watch while I go to organize my crew. I shall be absent for a few minutes only.’
Because the sat phone link had been open while Hari had been talking, O’Halloran had overheard the conversation. ‘If that was your pirate friend, he sounds a pretty switched-on character,’ he said.
‘In his line of business you don’t last long if you’re not.’ Coburn repositioned himself in front of the radar display. ‘Do me a favour, will you?’ he said. ‘Ask Ritchie if he’s going to carry on following the Demarkation Line.’
‘He’s already said he is. What else can he do?’
‘I don’t know.’ Now Coburn was alone, he was more conscious of being on edge. The longer he watched the dots on the screen the drier his mouth was getting, and whenever he relaxed his grip on the transmitter his fingers began to cramp.
When, he wondered? How long before Yegorov decided to make contact with the Sandpiper? And when he did, would Ritchie hold off long enough for the mines to do their job?
His thoughts were interrupted by a crackle on his phone.
‘What was that?’ O’Halloran’s voice sounded forced.
‘Lightning,’ Coburn said. ‘The weather’s getting worse.’
‘What if Osas can’t launch missiles in big seas?’
Coburn had no idea. Instead of answering the question he focused his attention on the screen, doubting his ability to maintain this level of concentration for much more than another half an hour, but telling himself he didn’t have to because it would be the radio message that would sound the alert.
‘Are you still there?’ O’Halloran wasn’t sounding any better.
‘Yeah. I’m here. How far are you off the coast of that island behind you?’
‘Who knows? I can’t see it. Do you want me to ask Ritchie?’
‘No. Just say that the further west he goes, the more we’re getting tipped about here.’ Coburn could see no point in the patrol boat being led out into seas so rough that Yegorov could call things off.