“Full quiet on the boat, aye.” Blue bulbs blinked on throughout the 453-foot length of the USS Jimmy Carter.
Almost two hours later, with the Zhou Man battle group now turned and heading north into the Straits of Malacca, the word came: “Ocean Interface sealed.” The two remaining ASIPs were on board. Captain Witkovski asked Captain Hiang to join him for a meal in his cabin while the technicians downloaded the data from the unmanned mini-subs.
Over Philly cheesesteaks and Diet Pepsis, Witkovski almost apologized. “I should have listened to what you were trying to tell me, Tony.”
“I should have been more direct, Tom. Sometimes we ethnic Chinese have a hard time being direct enough for Americans.” Captain Hiang smiled. “But we know the Chinese, because we are descended from them. We speak their language. We know their history. The little Indonesian city that the Zhou Man is sailing by tonight? Malacca? It was founded by the Chinese navy, six hundred years ago. Besides, what could you have done anyway if you had detected the Kilo sitting under the keel of the Zhou Man?”
There was a rap on the door. “Enter,” the captain replied. It was the executive officer with a draft message on a clipboard. “It’s a summary of the data readout and the automated analysis from the two ASIPs, sir. I have coded it FLASH precedence, sir.”
The captain raised his eyebrows and took the clipboard. FLASH was reserved for messages of extreme priority, such as “Someone is firing at my ship.” Witkovski slipped on his half-glasses and read:
To: CinCPAC, Honolulu FLASH
JCS/J-3 FLASH
DIA, DT-1 FLASH
FM: SSN-23
SUBJECT: Probable Nuclear Weapons on Board Zhou Man Battle Group (TS)
Analysis of telemetry from ASIP inspection of PLAN Special Logistics Ship Xiang (C-SA-3) indicates neutron and gamma readings consistent with six warheads in bow bulk container area and six in aft bulk container area. Analysis program indicates all warheads have similar size, estimated between 10 and 30 kilotons. Analysis program suggests tentative typing as CSS-27 intermediate-range ballistic missile payload. No readings detected aboard accompanying destroyer. Surveillance of the carrier Zhou Man was not performed (details sepchan).
EOT
Captain Witkovski initialed the message board and passed it back to his exec. “Well done, Timmy. That ought to spray feces all over their fans back in Washington. This time we’ve found them some WMD. Ain’t no doubt about it.”
MacIntyre drove past the CNN and NBC buildings in the manicured office park that was Media City. His taxi had already passed Internet City and Knowledge City. He wondered if he could persuade them someday to build a Magician City in Dubai. The New York Journal did not have its own building but shared one with several European newspapers.
The Pakistani guest worker guard in the lobby was expecting him. As he entered the third-floor door of the Journal, he saw Kate on the other side of the suite, standing in front of a bank of screens showing news broadcasts in Arabic and English. She had set up a little breakfast buffet on a table below the television panels.
The audio was on for ABC. “…but military sources here at the Pentagon stress that until the wreckage has been examined, there is no way to be sure what happened to the Viking jet that was taking Admiral Adams back to his headquarters in Bahrain from a meeting with Secretary Conrad in Turkey. At the NATO meeting there, the Secretary said that he would take all appropriate steps to respond to any aggression in the oil-rich Gulf region. Martha…” Kate Delmarco hit the mute button and turned to face Rusty MacIntyre.
“I was supposed to meet him in Bahrain tomorrow,” Rusty said, staring up at the screens. “He left me a handwritten note I picked up when I was at the Navy base. Said he would call my cell tonight when he got in to make arrangements. I can’t believe that Islamyah would provoke us by shooting his plane down.”
“Maybe they didn’t. You heard ABC just now. We don’t know yet,” Kate said, holding out a glass. “Bloody Mary?”
“No, thanks, I’ll take a Virgin Mary. Had enough last night. I’m pretty down. I was also supposed to meet our mutual friend Brian Douglas last night and he no-showed.”
“Okay, you want to stay sober. That’s fine,” she said, sitting down at her desk. “So, where is my mysterious Mr. Douglas? He’s got me worried. No, he wouldn’t like that. He’s got me a little concerned.”
“Dunno,” Rusty said, looking into the ice cubes. He did know, or at least he knew where he went, maybe not where he was now. But Brian did not tell Kate and I am not about to, he thought. He had meant to ask Brian when he got back just what his relationship with Kate was.
Trying to change the subject quickly, he said, “You heard what Conrad just said. He will respond. Not the President. Not America. Him.” Rusty took off his coat and sat down at the desk opposite her. “Look, Kate. I’ve been thinking. Conrad is the problem. He’s the one demonizing Islamyah. Scaring them with some big exercise off Egypt. Scaring Washington into thinking the missiles they got from China have nukes on them. He’s gonna get us into a war again out here real soon, and maybe with China, too, by the time he’s done. Unless somebody stops him.”
“Really? Now what’s he doing with China?” Kate said, grabbing her notepad.
MacIntyre placed his hand on top of the pad. “Stop being a reporter for once and work with me here.” Delmarco gave him a foul look. “Okay, Kate, you have to be a reporter? Go get some dirt on Conrad, so he’s not Mr. Clean on a white charger, saving America. It may be the only way we can stop him.”
“You do play dirty, little boy,” Delmarco said, crossing her legs.
“So do they. He’s got FBI agents snooping around about some charge that I told a Senator something he wasn’t cleared for. They may even know about my meeting with Ahmed. Probably charge me with giving classified information to Islamyah.”
“What? Rusty, what are you talking about? How do they know about that, and besides what’s wrong with you meeting with a source in Islamyah? You are an intelligence officer, after all. It’s your job,” Delmarco said in her irate reporter voice.
“No it’s not. I’m head of an analysis unit. I am out here to learn, not to go skulking about, developing agent sources of my own. I am out of my depth, as well as out of my swimming lane.” Rusty sounded tired. “Conrad could intentionally misconstrue it. Sometimes, I think he would do anything to roll over people who disagree with him.”
Kate picked up her notepad again and opened it. “Okay, so what’s the dirt on him?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe al Saud money and his buyout company. Maybe the exiled royals and the Secretary buying support on the Hill. I have a well-placed friend on the Hill who may know more. He wouldn’t tell me everything before, but I think I may know enough now to persuade him to talk to you, persuade him that we need to throw a little sand in the gears.” Rusty got up, walked over to the makeshift bar and added a shot of vodka to his tomato juice. “Maybe throw a little mud.”
“I said I love it when you play dirty,” Delmarco smirked and pointed her pen at him.
“Don’t start,” MacIntyre said emphatically, returning and grabbing the pen away.
“All business. All right,” she replied. “I can leave for Washington late tonight. New York has wanted me back for consultations for a month now. I just hope I don’t miss the action out here while I’m gone.”