"We appreciate your hospitality, General Han," the tall newcomer said. The intelligence dossier Jian had seen called him Mahmud Salah Zahid, a wealthy Saudi expatriate who now used the nom de guerre of Zaki Abar. He and his associates had arrived at Small Dragon Island only a few hours ago on board a palatial motor yacht, the Al Qahir. The yacht was tied up now alongside the Pakistani submarine in the big sea shelter; the eighteen-man crew had been quartered with the Pakistani sailors from the Shuhadaa Muqaddaseen.
And now Zahid, two disreputable-looking Afghanis, and ul Haq, the Pakistani captain of the Shuhadaa, were gathered in the briefing room as if they were honored foreign dignitaries.
"Not at all, not at all," Han said affably. "How was your voyage?"
"Smooth enough, though the Vietnamese gave us some trouble when we first entered these waters. We were stopped by one of their patrol boats south of Spratly Island. We had to bribe them to be allowed to proceed."
"Ah, yes. The Vietnamese have been a problem for us in this region for some time now. They claim these islands, as do we. Ours is by far the older, and superior, claim."
"Of course, of course. But something needs to be done about these… pirates."
"It will be," Han promised. "Actually, Captain ul Haq, here, will be assisting us in that regard. Part of our mutual assistance pact, you know."
"If that can be done without jeopardizing our primary mission," ul Haq put in, speaking fluent Mandarin.
"Of course."
Jian listened to the verbal sparring with barely concealed impatience. How were these foreign devils going to be of any possible use to the People's Republic? "General Han," he said in Arabic. "Perhaps we should address the issue of inspection? Our people still have not been allowed aboard the Pakistani submarine… as was agreed upon."
Ul Haq locked eyes with Jian. "The agreement was for one of your officers to come on board as an advisor. We wish to limit contact between your people and my crew, however. It is important that they not discuss our mission."
"Our people know the meaning of security, Captain," Jian replied. His crew hasn't been told the nature of their mission, Jian thought. It confirmed the impression he'd already formed in earlier briefings with the Pakistani submarine captain. "Commander Hsing is ready to join the Shuhadaa Muqaddaseen's crew at any time."
Commander Hsing Yng Tak, sitting at Jian's left, inclined his head. That was a man dedicated to a cause, one that Jian understood perfectly. Serving as Jian's weapons officer on board the Yinbi, Hsing lived and worked beneath a shadow of grief-driven need for vengeance. His older brother, another PLAN submarine officer, had been captain of a Kilo-class attack submarine sunk by the Americans three years ago. Hsing had eagerly volunteered to serve as advisor on board ul Haq's vessel, merely on the promise that he would be able to strike back at the hated Yankees.
"Commander Hsing understands that he is to communicate solely with me and my officers?" ul Haq said.
"Perfectly, sir," Hsing said, responding in Arabic. "I will not interfere with your crew."
"Then he may come on board the Shuhadaa Muqaddaseen," ul Haq said. "And he is free to inspect her weapons and facilities, as you wish. We have nothing to conceal from you, our allies. But we must be careful about what the enlisted personnel hear from… outside."
"Perfectly understandable," Han said.
Jian maintained a bland expression. Fighting men should know the truth when they are sent on a suicide mission, he thought. Sending them to their deaths blindly is murder.
He wondered if Hsing fully understood. The Shuhadaa would not be returning from her deployment. Not if she was going to take on the United States Navy.
Jian decided that it was enough that he concern himself with his own submarine, his own crew. They knew why they were here, and they knew what was at stake. That knowledge, he was convinced, made them better sailors. Better warriors.
"It is settled, then," General Han said. "To review, then… Shuhadaa Muqaddaseen will commence operations in the western Spratlys as soon as provisioning is complete. Commander Hsing will serve as naval liaison, and as advisor to her officers. Captain Jian will station Yinbi de Gongji in a position from which he can protect the Shuhadaa Muqaddaseen in the event of foreign naval intervention."
A neat plan… almost too neat, too perfect, and one with layers upon layers. The al Qaeda officers would be using the Pakistani submarine to carry out terrorist operations against western targets in the South China Sea… and, if possible, would include among their targets elements of the Vietnamese forces stationed among the western Spratlys. Inevitably, U.S. naval forces — in all likelihood, one of their supercarrier battle groups — would deploy to the region, hunting for the Shuhadaa.
That was where the Yinbi came into the picture.
In a sense, the Shuhadaa was the bait. While the Americans were hunting the Pakistani sub, the Chinese submarine, silent, unsuspected by the enemy, would stalk and kill the U.S. aircraft carrier. The destruction of one of their billion-dollar supercarriers might well make the cost-conscious Yankees think twice about their policy of maintaining a naval presence within Chinese waters — or of protecting the rebel province of Taiwan.
It would be revenge, too, for the losses inflicted on the PLA Navy three years before… and the best part of all was that, if all went well, the Americans would not even see the Chinese hand behind the attack. They might suspect that Beijing had provided covert assistance — bases and logistical support — but they would be unable to prove it in the court of world opinion. They would have to assume it was al Qaeda that had sunk their precious supercarrier.
The one American threat that most concerned Jian was the American attack submarine force — especially their new Seawolf class. An axiom of naval strategy was that the best way to kill a submarine was with a submarine, and the American attack subs — Los Angeles class, Seawolf class, and a new class that according to Chinese military intelligence had just become operational — were the best sub hunters in the world.
The operational plan had taken that into consideration, he knew. While he was stalking the carrier battle group that would be stalking ul Haq's Shuhadaa, other Chinese submarines would be moving into position to protect Jian's Yinbi, stalking the Yankee submarines that were certain to be operating with their CBG.
Circles within circles, plans within plans. Operation Yangshandian had taken on a vast and complex life of its own.
That last bit of information had come to him by way of his Uncle Jiasuo, an e-mail message relayed by satellite to Jian's office computer. Jiasuo had been careful with his words; government censors were certain to be screening all mail, both paper and electronic, and both men would have been in trouble if they'd typed their messages in plain romanized Common Speech. Jian had asked if there was anything his uncle could tell him about the "hopelessness of the march," an indirect reference to Yinbi's deployment. Jiasuo, guessing what was on Jian's mind, had replied with a rambling story about a man hunting a tiger by using a tethered goat. His offhand reference to other hunters protecting the first from other tigers told Jian that Yinbi would not be alone.
How many other PLAN submarines would be in the area? That he had no way of knowing. Clearly, Beijing considered it unimportant to tell him; their ideas of duty frequently held that a commander need only follow orders, not understand the plan as a whole.