"So the submarine that picked you up was crewed by Arabs," Stevens was saying. "Is that right?"
"Yes, sir," she replied.
"How did you know they were Arabs?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. The language, and the accent of the ones who spoke English kind of sounded like it, you know? Some wore turbans. Most were dark skinned, with beards or at least mustaches. Eyes like Omar Sharif. They looked Arab."
" 'Arab' takes on a lot of territory, Miss Milford. What kind of Arab? Saudi? Egyptian? Iraqi?"
"I don't know. Iranian, maybe? Or from Afghanistan?"
"Iranians and Afghani aren't Arabs. Damn it, miss, don't you have any clues about who these people are?"
"Take it easy, Stevens," Garrett warned. He understood that Stevens was trying to get information from the woman without leading her, but enough was enough. "Not everybody knows their geography like the crowd at Langley."
Stevens shot Garrett a dark, stay-out-of-my-business look, but changed the direction of his questioning. "What do you remember, Miss Milford? About the submarine. About your captors. Any little detail might help."
"I know Mr. DuPont thought they were Muslims. One of them got mad when he quoted something at him out of the Koran."
"That's Quran," Stevens said absently, correcting her pronunciation. "Did they stop to pray five times a day?"
"Mr. Stevens," Katie said with a tired sag to her shoulders, "you have to understand that we spent just about every minute crammed inside that tiny little room. All I saw was the other people from the Sea
Breeze, and mostly they were too seasick to talk much. Poor Mr. Schiffer was raving Bible verses at the end, and Mr. Kingsfeld was killed. They took us out one or two at a time when we asked to go to the bathroom, and then stood over us the whole time, watching and making jokes about what we were doing with each other. Once, just once, they took us up on deck to wash ourselves and our clothing in the ocean, and to get some fresh air. That was when the yacht arrived, and we were taken off the sub. After that, things were a little better. We had more room, and better food. We still didn't have privacy, though… and when we got to that island, they took the men off and left us there. That's when things started getting really bad…. "
She gave a shudder, and Garrett interrupted. "Stevens, I don't think badgering Ms. Milford further is going to get us anywhere. We know what we need to know… terrorist forces have a submarine in the area, and the Chinese are helping them keep it armed and fueled. Her description sounds to me like a Kilo-class boat. That certainly tallies with your information about a Pakistani boat gone rogue."
"Yes. Yes, it does. But what we still don't know is how committed the Chinese are to this operation. Why are they helping terrorists? What's in it for them?"
"Control of the Spratly Island Group, perhaps," Jorgensen put in. "They don't want an open war with Vietnam, so they get proxies to knock off Vietnamese assets in the region."
"Seems reasonable," Stevens said.
"And it explains the downing of a civilian jetliner," Garrett said. His fists clenched before him on the mess table. He struggled to control his voice. "If the terrorist sub was a Kilo with a surface-to-air missile, they could take on aircraft." He ticked the points off on his fingers. "An American yacht engaged in commercial negotiations with Vietnam. A Nissan car carrier. A Japanese airliner. It looks like they're waging war against Asian nations that are benefiting from Western commercial interests."
"Is that a political statement?" Jorgensen wondered. "Or an economic one?"
"In this day and age, the two are often the same," Stevens pointed out. "Economic power translates as political power."
"Leave it to the CIA to expose the cynical underbelly of terrorism," Halstead said, laughing.
"It's true, though," Garrett said. "When the AQ attacked Manhattan on 9-11, what did they go for? The World Trade Center. The living, breathing image of Western capitalism, and an economy bent on dominating the world. At least, that's the way al Qaeda would see it."
"Are those terrorists al Qaeda, then?" Katie asked. "Like the ones who blew up the Trade Center?"
"Quite possibly… or they're a closely related group," Stevens told her. "We've had reports for several years now about another shadowy terror group— called Maktum. The name means 'silent' or 'hidden.' They were a Pakistani offshoot of al Qaeda during the American operation in Afghanistan, and may have been organized to help some Taliban and AQ leaders escape the country. One of their leaders is a Saudi named Mahmud Salah Zahid. Nowadays he goes by the name Zaki Abar."
Garrett nodded. "Zaki."
"We have him in custody now on the yacht," Stevens added, "shaken up but alive. When that helicopter from the Roosevelt arrives, he'll be going on a little ride. I expect that when they interrogate the bastard back at Langley, we'll learn all sorts of interesting things about al Qaeda and the Maktum."
"All well and good," Garrett said. "But where does that leave us with the terrorist sub?"
"One thing…" Katie said.
"Yes?" Stevens said.
"There was one guy on board that submarine. I think he was an officer. He wasn't Arab. He was Chinese."
"Yes, that confirms that China is helping those bastards," Garrett said.
"Great," Jorgensen added. He made a face. "This could get real nasty, real fast."
Stevens scowled. "Your exec is right, Captain. We need to move on this fast. By now the Chinese on Small Dragon must know something's happened to the Al Qahir. They'll be making contingency plans."
"So… will the Chinese fight to help their AQ allies?" Jorgensen wondered. "Or stand back and watch us mop the deck with them?"
"They'll fight," Garrett said.
Stevens looked at him, questioning. "And how do you figure that, Captain? The best analysts at Langley have been going crazy for the past few weeks trying to determine the answer to that question. As far as they know, it's an even toss of the coin."
"They'll fight because they've already fought us," Garrett said. "That torpedo attack on the Virginia two days ago? I'm betting that that was a Chinese boat."
"What makes you think so?"
"Sun-tzu — a very wise philosopher of things martial — pointed out once that if you know the enemy and know yourself, you will always be victorious. Whoever the guy was that popped four fish at us the other day was good. He picked up a Virginia-class submarine, the quietest sub in the ocean, and managed to get into a firing position without us picking him up. I know how good my crew is, Stevens. I know how good — or how lucky — that guy had to be."
"Fine so far. Why couldn't it have been the terrorist sub?"
"Because no Islamic states have been engaged in a naval war since… well, the last one I know of was Pakistan and India thirty years ago. You need a shooting war to stay in practice."
"But—"
"There's more. Ms. Milford here has made a point of telling us that the crew of the submarine that picked her up was a pretty ragged and undisciplined bunch. Some in uniform, others in dirty civilian stuff, almost rags in some cases. Her description of what happened — the shooting of one of Sea Breeze's crewmen, the way the women were treated — it all speaks of a lack of discipline that you will not find on an efficient, well-run boat with a well-trained crew.
"But the Chinese have been in a shooting naval war recently… with us, a couple of years ago. They're still licking their wounds, I imagine, and some of their officers must be thinking pretty dark thoughts about us. Whoever ambushed the Virginia Thursday was a pro. That means the Chinese, not a damned mob."