“You don’t have to tell me his bloody name, sweetness. Everyone knows his name.”
“Yeah, but everyone isn’t about to call him on his private line.”
“You have that number?”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“Well, how’re you going to get it?”
“You’re going to get it for me.”
“ME?”
“Right. The thing is this…. I’m going over the heads of all my superiors, including the Acting Director. If anyone finds out, I’m probably dead in the Navy.”
“Wow! What would you do?”
“Well, I was thinking of changing my name to Rickshawe and becoming a Chinese spy.”
Jane laughed, which pleased him. He’d thought it was a good joke earlier, but there was nothing like testing it on a live audience.
“Jimmy, may I ask why you are doing this, and how you expect me to find a number that is probably private to the President of the United States.”
“No it’s not that private. The switchboard here could get it, on behalf of the ambassador. At least they’d get patched through by the main White House operator.”
“You want me to use Dad’s name?”
“No. I’ll talk. But I want to make the call from here, and then verify it, by having them call back on your dad’s private line, which will be on record at the White House. They have a direct line to all major Washington ambassadors. That way I’ll get patched through to the Admiral.”
“Well…I suppose so. Doesn’t seem much harm. And if there is, the only one in trouble is going to be you. You better have something pretty important to say — that bloody Admiral’s supposed to be a tiger.”
“Yeah, I know. My dad knew him a bit when he was in the Navy.”
“Anyway, you picked a good night. Both my parents are going out.”
“I know that, too. You told me. Dinner at the British Embassy, right?”
“Yup. They’ll both be gone by seven o’clock.”
“That’s good. I want to call around eight. Because that way I’ll know he’s settled wherever he’s going to be. Hopefully at home. I don’t want to have to go through this rigmarole twice, or even three times. And that’s what’ll happen if I make the call while he’s in transit somewhere.”
“Can I know what you want him for?”
“Not really. But since I can’t make the call without you, certainly not from my office, I have to tell you. Janie, I think the Chinese and the Iranians, between ’em, have put some kind of a minefield across the Strait of Hormuz. That tanker blew up this morning…no accident. And I think there might bloody easily be more.”
“Jesus. I read about that…but why doesn’t Fort Meade get onto it?”
“Because Admiral Borden, the Acting Director, doesn’t believe it. Doesn’t want to do anything until he has some proof.”
“Well, why do you think Admiral Morgan will be any more interested than Admiral Borden?”
“I don’t have a reason. Just a gut feeling, that’s all.”
“Pretty expensive gut feeling, if you’re wrong and he goes to Borden and tells him he’s got some kind of a nutter on his staff.”
“Yeah. I know. What a ripper. But I don’t think he will….”
“Anyway, let’s go and watch the news in Dad’s study, see if they’ve blown any more ships…then you can get started on blowing your entire career…. Want some more tea?”
The 90 minutes passed quickly, Ambassador John Peacock came in for a brief chat, then went off to meet his wife. At eight o’clock sharp, Lt. Ramshawe went and sat behind the big desk in the study, picked up the blue phone and dialed the main number of the White House.
Jimmy, his Aussie accent undiminished, said, “Good evening. I’m calling from the office of the Australian ambassador, and he would like to speak immediately to Admiral Arnold Morgan…You probably want to verify this call, so get back to me right away would you?”
“Yessir, we’ll check the private number for the Australian ambassador and come right back.”
Thirty seconds later, the phone rang…“Ambassador Peacock’s office?”
“Correct.”
“Sir, I’m afraid the National Security Adviser is not in right now…. If it’s urgent, we can locate him.”
“Please do.”
“Hold a moment….”
Three full minutes went by, mostly taken up by Le Bec Fin’s maître d’, Pierre, asking the White House to wait while he connected a telephone to the private booth occupied by Admiral Morgan and Kathy. He’d done this a few times before, and he placed it right next to the bottle of 1995 Château Beychevelle, which was “breathing,” as yet untouched, in the middle of the table.
Arnold Morgan thanked him, and picked up the phone. “Morgan…Speak.” His telephone manner never varied, but Kathy still giggled.
“Just a moment, sir…connecting you to the Australian ambassador.….”
“Sir, is that Admiral Morgan?”
“In person, Ambassador Peacock. And I guess this is pretty important? I’m just sitting down to dinner.”
“Sir, this is not actually Ambassador Peacock. My name is Lieutenant Jimmy Ramshawe, and I work in surveillance at Fort Meade, and I’m calling you under what you might think are somewhat dishonest circumstances.”
Arnold Morgan’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Fraud phone call from an Aussie, right before a little dish of grilled prawns…Jesus, what’s the place coming to?”
“But, sir, it is important.”
“I guess it must be. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to interrupt my goddamned dinner. What did you say your name was…Jimmy Ramshawe?”
“Yessir. Surveillance.”
“Okay, Jimmy. Shoot. And hurry…Wait a minute…. (aside) Kathy, tell Pierre to put the prawns on hold for five minutes, and lemme have a glass of that Bordeaux…I have a feeling I’m gonna need it…. Go, Jimmy.”
“I don’t know, sir, how well up-to-date you are on the Global Bronco situation?”
“Well, I haven’t spoken to the tanker’s owner for at least four hours.”
“Sorry, sir…Anyway, I was the operator who tracked, or tried to track, all those sea mines China bought from Moscow three months ago.”
Arnold Morgan’s antennae flew up like lightning rods. But he stayed calm…. “Aha.”
“Well, sir, they transported them under terrific secrecy…then we had that little convoy of surface ships, three frigates and a Sovremenny destroyer make a special journey all the way from the South China Sea to Iran. Then I picked up three Chinese Kilo-Class submarines making their way north up the Arabian Sea; they ended up in Chah Behar. All seven of the ships, as you know, have mine-laying capacity.
“Then we had night exercises with the Iranians. We picked up very little, but they were out there all night off the Omani coast. Then we picked up a missile movement, Sunburn S-As on the southeast coast. And suddenly, a couple of weeks later, a damn great tanker explodes, twenty-seven miles in a straight line from those missile launchers. And what’s the first thing we see? Two of those Chinese frigates, now flying the Iranian flag, just five miles from the explosion, forty miles from their jetties in Bandar Abbas.”
Admiral Morgan was listening.
“Sir, I think they may have been out there activating the mines, and it is my opinion that there may be a serious minefield out there, maybe running from the Omani coast, place called Ra’s Qabr al Hindi, right across to Iran. And I think we ought to find out.”
“Jimmy, I assume you have reported all this to Admiral Borden?”
“Of course, sir. But he doesn’t want to know. Keeps asking for evidence. Well, I don’t have any bloody evidence, but I’ve got enough clues to warrant a damned careful look.”