Commander Blake, go and do as he said. Good luck and good hunting.”
“Sir.” Nathan left to oversee the preparations; he knew Lieutenant Commander Sayers would already be getting her ready for patrol.
THE VIEW FROM THE FLIGHT deck was grey and impenetrable, like staring into a fog. Down at fifteen hundred feet, the P8-Poseidon was in the thick of cloud base.
“That’s it, number six,” said Le-Saux. They’d just dropped another line of sonobuoys. These would float and listen for any subsurface acoustic contacts, and relay the information back to the P8-Poseidon anti-submarine warfare aircraft. The P8 is developed from the Boeing 737 short to medium range airliner. Le-Saux sat in the main fuselage of the aircraft, looking into his information display screen to one side of cylindrical space. He spoke to the flight crew via his headset.
“Personally I think we’re too far north to catch her,” said the pilot, Lieutenant Holly. “She’ll be high tailing it out into the central Pacific, running back to the Dear Leader.” He pushed the throttles forward for more revolutions, and the twin CFM-56B’s roared as the P8 gained altitude.
“That’s what he wants us to think, but I can smell him out there,” said Le-Saux.
“Your call, mission leader. I bet you’re all playing Call of Duty back there anyhow.”
Le-Saux laughed. “Yeah, I’m on level three now. The SS is losing the Battle of The Bulge.” Holly turned the aircraft into a lazy orbit over the northernmost line of sonobuoys. For thirty minutes they circled as the mission crew looked into their screens, analysing sounds from the Pacific deeps. Many were biologics, some the far-off sounds of surface ship’s props.
“Hey Curtis,” said Holly. “You gonna take in the Seahawks game on Sunday?”
“Yeah,” said Le-Saux, “never miss. The Cowboys are in town this week. A win should put us second in the standings.”
“Right, we’re away at the Browns I…” He cut himself off, mid-sentence and listened, there it was again.
“Wait one. Contact, contact. Line one, SB 3. Heading North,” said Le-Saux.
“Crystal?”
“Subsurface prop. Maybe one hundred and sixty feet. Slight hint of cavitation, Sir.”
“Keep me in the loop.”
The minutes ticked by.
“Contact is a Sub,” said Crystal.
“Designate contact as Tango one,” said Le-Saux.
“Depth one hundred and sixty or below,” said Crystal, “speed twelve knots. I have good blade count, zero ID. It’s not a NATO boat; Russian library still analysing.”
“What’s your feel, Crystal?” asked Le-Saux.
“I think it’s him.”
Could it be? He was taking a chance by being up here. Most others had taken the more obvious westerly escape routes. But the North Korean skipper would know those would be searched first, and he might just be trying the unexpected. It could be him.
“Russian library reports negative ID.” Le-Saux would call it in.
“Flash, flash, flash. Fisheye two. I have unknown subsurface contact at 46.93 north -126.81 west. Heading north, speed twelve knots.”
Two minutes went by.
“Fisheye two, fish eye two. This is COMASWFORTHIRDFLT actual. You are weapons free, repeat. You are weapons free. Over.”
“Fisheye two. Copy, weapons free. Over.”
Shit, thought Le-Saux. We’re going to do it.
“Selecting Mk 50.” He selected the airdropped torpedo. “Tango one is bearing one five five degrees, range eighteen miles.” The P8 turned to its target.
“Range five miles,” Holly scanned the instruments, checke the weapon selector, “descending to launch altitude. OK, at launch altitude, range three miles.”
“Opening bomb bay doors,” said Le-Saux, “master arm on. Spinning up gyroscope. Setting for top amidships strike.” The torpedo could be set to hit the target from above, below, port or starboard. Fore, amidships or aft. This strike would be from above, amidships.
“Mk 50 arm selected. Fish is now armed and active. Run the bird in for release.”
“Copy, running in,” Holly glanced out of the cockpit windows, all ok.
The Mk 50 would fall into the sea and run in at forty knots. The warhead was one hundred pounds of shaped charge high explosive, it would blow a gaping hole in Tango one.
The submarine had less than four minutes to live.
Chapter 2
“HI HON, LOOKING FOR it? I got lot, for you I got plenty. Sucky sucky, you like.” The Asian hooker pouted.
“Not tonight.”
She persisted. “Come on Hon. You cocky, I docky.”
The President’s National Security Advisor, Stockhaisen, was there to meet a man. A man who was a conduit to a rival power. They held too many cards to be ignored. He’d come to Flushing disguised; it was one of those quiet, under the table meetings.
The whore pushed it further still, beginning to irritate him.
“I suck you, fuck you. You need no more, you come. Me promise. No come, no pay.”
“Look, I said no,” he snapped. “I fucked plenty of slopes in Nam. One more ain’t gonna cut it. Fuck off.”
She smiled back at him and stood straighter. “And I thought you were here to see Charlie Victor one five one.”
He stared at her, his eyes bored into her. His contact used that name. “You know where he is? He hired you?”
The Hooker smiled. “How do you know that Charlie is a man?” She looked him in the eyes, her gaze deadpan. “I’m Charlie. We have things to discuss. Let’s eat.” She led the way to Joe’s Shanghai on 37th Avenue.
They sat in a private booth, the waiter had seen this kind of thing before a man and his piece of ass. He knew to keep it private and discreet; the tips were good if you let them be. They ordered the meal and drinks.
“Are you really Charlie one five one?”
“Would I tell you?” she smiled. She was a looker, about thirty he thought. You could see that she wasn’t rough at the edges like most whores were.
“I may be young, but I do have an office at Xiyuan, Haidain.” He knew that was the Headquarters of the Ministry of State Security in Beijing. China’s CIA.
“Look Charlie, your sick puppy in Pyongyang has gone too far this time. It’s time you pulled on his leash.”
“There are complexities in his leadership, now isn’t the time. Let him play in his sandpit for now. His time will end, but not yet. Your President needs his leash pulling in. It could get out of hand.”
“Out of hand? That fuckwit Kim, is out of hand.”
She sighed, then opened the bag she carried and took out several papers, then laid them on the table. “Copies of contracts from AFD Inc for armoured fighting vehicles to equip Thailand’s army. These are two agreements that Mace Inc holds with Kenya and Tanzania for the shipping of minerals to the People’s Republic of China. A big shareholder wouldn’t like to see these contracts thrown away. Especially a big shareholder running their holdings from offshore via Panama.” She gave him a knowing smile.
He stared at the contracts, horrified.
“And then there’s the lovely Peekaboo.”
“What? What about her?” his mind was spinning, struggling to keep up.
“Why, your estranged daughter, backpacking in Vietnam. She’s having a good time over there. You can’t blame her really. Although she doesn’t speak to him, her Father spent time in Nam. Why shouldn’t she?” She placed three pictures on the table of a fair-haired attractive girl in her twenties, laughing with a Vietnamese girl in a market. Stalls sold grains, tropical fruits and rice. “I’m sure Peekaboo Stockhaisen is safe. It’d be a shame to jeopardise that safety.” Her voice became suddenly firm and forceful. “Stockhaisen, pull back on your boss’s leash, that’s all we ask. I must be off, for now, we’ll speak again.” She kissed him on the lips and left.