The NRO was an air force agency that until the freedom of information decade of the eighties had been so supersecret that only a select few people in the business even knew it existed. Responsible for all intelligence-gathering satellite operations and reconnaissance aircraft overflights, the agency shared its product with the CIA and the National Security Agency. In the past few years there’d been a fight going on between the two spy agencies for control of the NRO, which, like the NSA, still primarily employed air force officers and technicians for the day-to-day data-gathering and photo interpretation duties.
Louise Horn, who’d graduated third in her class at the Air Force Academy, had originally wanted to fly jets. But at six five, she was too tall, and with an IQ bordering on the brilliant, she was too smart. Here is where she belonged and she knew it. She was a mole in her burrow who never saw the light of day except coming to or from work, but the NRO was an exciting place to be, because it was from here she had the ability to eavesdrop on the entire world. The ultimate voyeur’s playground.
It was one in the afternoon in the Yellow Sea, the cloud cover was only partial, and the first KH-13 satellite was about 45 degrees above the horizon, the conditions perfect, yet even Louise was startled by the clarity of the pictures.
She immediately started the transfer of data upstairs to Major Hubert Wight, the chief night duty photographic interpreter, then telephoned him. They were old friends.
“Hi, Bert. I’m sending something hot up to you.”
“I’m printing it now. Looks like the Tianjin from Qingdao.” The warship was a Russian-built Sovremenny class destroyer that had been delivered along with her sister ship, the Fuzhou, a couple of years ago. At 7,900 tons, the 511-foot warships carried Helix ASW helicopters and were armed with SSM and SAM missiles, eight Gatling guns, torpedoes and a pair of six-barrelled antiship RBU 1000 rocket launchers.
“That’s not all. I’m showing at least six strong IR tracks originating from Qingdao, Lushun and Xiaopingdao, all of them heading southeast.” They were the three major bases in China’s North Sea Fleet.
“Okay, this is what we’ve been expecting. What else can you put in position? We’ve got another cold front coming through, so we’re not going to have much time.”
“You’re seeing Yankee-three, and I have Whiskey Clipper-four coming in range within eighteen minutes.”
“Where are they heading, Louise?”
“My projected track takes them between Cheju and the South Korean mainland. Means they’re in a big hurry.”
“They sure as hell aren’t heading for Taiwan.”
“Could be an exercise.”
Major Wight chuckled. “Sell it to the navy, because I’m not buying it. The Tianjin is on the same track as the two submarines they sent. Does that tell you anything?” Major Wight was Louise Horn’s mentor; she’d hooked her career rise with his, and there were times like this when she was glad she’d done it. He was a no-nonsense straight shooter who didn’t hold it against her that she was smarter than him.
Louise manipulated some controls on her primary console while the image of the second target was being enhanced. “If she goes to best cruising speed of thirty-two knots she’ll catch up with the submarines in about thirty-six hours.”
“Good work.”
“Here comes the second target. Another destroyer?”
“You betcha. That’s the Fuzhou; they definitely mean business. Is that all from Qingdao?”
Louise switched back to the wide view on her primary console on which she’d picked up the heat blooms. The area displayed was the entire northeast coast of China. “That’s it for now. The other four tracks originated from Lushun and Xiaopingdao. We’re going to have to wait for Whiskey Clipper— four.”
“Okay,” Major Wight said. “I want you to keep with it. Soon as you get something solid get it up here. In the meantime I’ll prep these and get them next door.”
“What’s going on out there, Bert?” Louise asked. Her only problem, if it was a problem, was her curiosity. She wanted to know not only what she was looking at, but why it was happening and what effect it was going to have.
Major Wight chuckled. “Ours is not to question why. But I’d suggest if you’re planning on taking your next leave in Tokyo, you cancel it.”
“I hear you.”
“Listen, Louise. This is hot, and you’ve done a damned fine job down there. It won’t go unnoticed.”
“Thanks.”
“Onward and upward,” Major Wight said, and he disconnected, leaving Louise Horn to light another cigarette and stare at the big board. What the hell was going on out there, she wondered.
“How about that?” Hilman Hammarstedt observed emotionlessly.
“What the hell?” Ripley said. He was driving the van back from lunch with his Tiger crew, Hammarstedt was riding shotgun.
“Looks as if they’re pulling a fast one,” Hammarstedt said.
The huge payload transporter vehicle was backed up to the open bay doors of the payload building. A gigantic crane was delicately loading the Hagoromo II satellite under a dust-proof shroud on the flatbed. The move to the clean room on the launch gantry wasn’t supposed to have taken place until tomorrow.
Periphery barriers were set fifty meters around the truck, and Ripley had to park the van on the west side of the building. Someone said something to Kimura, who was watching the loading procedure from an open NASDA Toyota. He looked over, then stepped down and came across the parking lot, ducking under the barrier tapes. Several armed guards were conspicuously present.
Kimura reached them as Ripley and the others got out of the van. “We may be getting some weather overnight, so it was decided to move the satellite now,” he explained, his mood brighter than usual.
“We haven’t finished our tests,” Ripley said.
“Ah, yes, we finished them for you. It’s the weather.” Kimura glanced over his shoulder at the satellite. “I have my orders.”
Maggie stepped forward. “Are you taking us out of the loop, Hiroshi?” she demanded. “Because if you are we’ll have to report that we can’t possibly sign off on this launch.” Before the satellite would be allowed to dock with Freedom, the NASA Tiger team had to certify that the bird was ready to fly in space. It was part of the agreement.
Kimura seemed genuinely surprised. “Heavens, no. As soon as we have everything secured in the white house you’ll be able to continue with your prelaunch sequence. In fact this will give you more time to do your jobs. We don’t want to rush anything. This must not fail.” Kimura looked at them. “In addition to the very large investment in yen, this project represents a great deal to Japan. It is our national honor at stake here.”
“You should have informed us,” Maggie said.
“We would not interrupt your lunch.”
“Okay, we’re here as observers, let’s observe,” Ripley said.
He and the others started toward the barriers when Kimura handed a piece of gold foil a half-inch wide by three inches long to Maggie.
“Your reputations have preceded you, of course. But for this and the locking collar, we would have been correct in sending you all home. But no one here wished to delay the launch while waiting for a new team to be sent from Houston.”
Kimura turned and walked back to the truck, leaving Maggie to stare at the neat initials she had pressed into the foil, and she got a chill up her spine.