The Scorpion's Gate (24 page)
The BlackBerry vibrated again. This time it was the phone function. He clicked to accept the call.
“Did you hear the news?” It was Kate Delmarco.
“No, I’ve been sitting here waiting for Brian and he’s a no-show. What news?” Rusty stood up and looked north toward Delmarco’s office in new Dubai.
“A Navy plane is down. They’re saying maybe Islamyah shot it down.” Delmarco sounded breathless. “Russell, they say it was Admiral Brad Adams. He was flying back to Bahrain from some NATO meeting in Turkey. They don’t think anyone survived. They’re searching off Kuwait.”
MacIntyre swallowed hard. He felt the world closing in on him.
“Rusty, we’ll bomb Islamyah if they did this, you know that. We need to get together.”
He thought of what Ahmed bin Rashid had said in that little store in Manama. If the Shura felt pressured, it would reach out for nuclear weapons. And if it did that...
“I’m too...I need to think clearly,” MacIntyre mumbled. “How about I see you for breakfast tomorrow? Where’s good?”
She paused. “Okay, my office, Media City, eight-thirty.”
“Thanks.” He clicked off the phone function. He pulled a wad of dirham notes out of his wallet and threw them on the table. He moved off the porch over the Creek, inside the restaurant, toward the exit.
The Indian waiter chased after him. “Keep the change,” Rusty yelled over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir, but the whiskey?”
MacIntyre took a card from a jacket pocket and gave it to the waiter. “If anyone comes looking for me, give them this telephone number.” Then he took the glass of Scotch and downed it, thinking about the man who had introduced him to Balvenie in a club in London.
11FEBRUARY 16
Aboard the USS
Jimmy Carter
, SSN-23
Jimmy Carter
, SSN-23
Off Malaysian Coast
South China Sea
“
O
pen the Ocean Interface, aye.” The seaman repeated the order and then moved the lever on his control panel. Outside, behind the conning tower, the submarine’s hull began to move and the ocean water rushed in. The 12,000-ton ship continued to move ahead at 14 knots, 100 meters below the sea.
O
pen the Ocean Interface, aye.” The seaman repeated the order and then moved the lever on his control panel. Outside, behind the conning tower, the submarine’s hull began to move and the ocean water rushed in. The 12,000-ton ship continued to move ahead at 14 knots, 100 meters below the sea.
“Captain Hiang, Tony, this is where it gets interesting. You might want to sit up here so you can see the display on this screen,” Captain Tom Witkovski urged his Singaporean guest.
“So you don’t have to come to full stop to launch the ASIPs?”
Hiang asked, propping himself up on the observer’s chair. “No, we don’t. The advanced submersible intelligence platforms
should be called the ABEAUT, because they are beautiful. Beyond
my wildest dreams just a few years ago. They swim out of our hull
with just their guidance engine running. Then the propulsion kicks in once they are well clear of the
Carter.
”
should be called the ABEAUT, because they are beautiful. Beyond
my wildest dreams just a few years ago. They swim out of our hull
with just their guidance engine running. Then the propulsion kicks in once they are well clear of the
Carter.
”
The lieutenant commander standing next to the control panels looked at his skipper. Captain Witkovski nodded at him to begin. “Prepare to launch ASIP-1,” he said to the seaman.
Five minutes later, he gave the seaman the last order in the sequence. “Launch ASIP-3.”
“Launch ASIP-3, aye,” the seaman repeated. “ASIP-3 away.”
The two captains watched as three green icons moved away from the blue icon for the
Carter
on the screen. They spread out, three abreast, and accelerated.
Carter
on the screen. They spread out, three abreast, and accelerated.
“Because they have a very small acoustic and sonar signature, there is no chance that the Chinese will think that there are torpedoes coming their way,” Witkovski explained. “They’re fully autonomous. Communicate only in an emergency. They know their missions and they just carry them out. When they get to their designated collection points, the ASIPs will switch over to the guidance propulsion to do place-keeping. And they will wait for their targets and then swim up to meet them and swim along their hulls, port, starboard, and right down the keel. Then back to place-keeping until the Chinese move on. Finally, we will swing around from the side and call them to come home. The Chinese will never know they were swept.”
The image on the screen jumped out to a 50-kilometer radius. Red icons appeared with alphanumeric designators attached to them. “That would be the first carrier battle group. The
Zhou Man
is the carrier there in the middle. She has two eight-thousand-ton air defense cruisers, one on either side. They carry the HHQ-9 supersonic surface-to-air missile. Highly lethal. Then you can see a leadand-trail frigate, an underway replenishment ship, two oilers, and what’s called a logistics support ship, more like a special cargo ship.”
Zhou Man
is the carrier there in the middle. She has two eight-thousand-ton air defense cruisers, one on either side. They carry the HHQ-9 supersonic surface-to-air missile. Highly lethal. Then you can see a leadand-trail frigate, an underway replenishment ship, two oilers, and what’s called a logistics support ship, more like a special cargo ship.”
Captain Hiang stared at the icons and the little green dots that represented the ASIPs moving toward them. “Don’t they have subs with this battle group, Captain?” he asked.
“There’s one with each of the two groups. Their new eightthousand-ton nuclear attack sub, type 93, Keng-class. A copy of the Russian Victor Threes, but noisy as hell. We can hear it a day away. This one’s actually in trail of the carrier. We have a sub, the USS
Greenville,
on her.”
Greenville,
on her.”
The green dots slowed and appeared to stop halfway to the Chinese ships. “Well, now they wait,” Witkovski said, hopping off his chair. “And we loop around to the side to get ready to recover them. You look concerned, Tony.”
The Singaporean captain had been studying the screen and the briefing materials that he had been given. He looked up from them. “Captain, your boat, the
Carter,
is exactly ten times the displacement of each of my four little Swedish boats at Changi. And almost three times as long. So it’s not for me to give you advice, sir.”
Carter,
is exactly ten times the displacement of each of my four little Swedish boats at Changi. And almost three times as long. So it’s not for me to give you advice, sir.”
“Come on, size doesn’t matter, Tony. You know these waters better than us. You were a standout in the strategy-and-tactics program at Newport. I checked. And three of those little boats of yours are waiting to pick the Chinese up for a while for us when they start through the Malacca. So what’s bothering you?” Witkovski sounded sincere.
“Okay. If I were the Chinese admiral, I would have my sub out front sweeping, or under the
Zhou Man,
looking for you guys. Are you sure, Tom, the sub the
Greenville
is following isn’t the lead for the second battle group?” Captain Hiang asked.
Zhou Man,
looking for you guys. Are you sure, Tom, the sub the
Greenville
is following isn’t the lead for the second battle group?” Captain Hiang asked.
“Very sure. Wanna know why?” Witkovski said, sidling up to Hiang’s chair. “ ’Cuz the USS
Tucson
is tailing the Chinese sub that is behind the second battle group. They got two subs and we have one of ours on each one. Makes sense for them to have their subs out back to see if anyone like us is following them. Too bad for them they can’t hear us over their own din.”
Tucson
is tailing the Chinese sub that is behind the second battle group. They got two subs and we have one of ours on each one. Makes sense for them to have their subs out back to see if anyone like us is following them. Too bad for them they can’t hear us over their own din.”
Hiang laughed. “I knew I should have kept quiet.”
Forty minutes later, the
Carter
was running at 5 knots 6 miles east of the
Zhou Man.
On the display screen the three green dots were circling their targets, the
Zhou Man,
the destroyer
Fei Hung,
and the logistics support ship
Xiang.
Carter
was running at 5 knots 6 miles east of the
Zhou Man.
On the display screen the three green dots were circling their targets, the
Zhou Man,
the destroyer
Fei Hung,
and the logistics support ship
Xiang.
“Two questions, Captain.” Tony Hiang broke the silence in the Special Operations Control Room.
“Shoot,” Witkovksi replied.
“One, if the ASIPs aren’t communicating, how do we know where they are and what they’re doing? And as you say, part deux”— Hiang chuckled at this bit of American humor that he had picked up—“why the logistic ship?”
“Okay, one is easy. We don’t know where they are or what they’re doing really. This display simulates what we think they should be doing about now, based on their programming and the data we have about where the Chinese ships are,” Witkovski admitted.
“Part deux is a little more sensitive. Seaman, close your ears. We won’t be surprised if we get radiation readings from the carrier. They may have a few tac nukes on board for the J-11s, their Flankers. We know they have air-to-surface and air-to-ship missiles for the J-11s. The destroyer carries some antiship and possibly some land attack cruise missiles in vertical tubes. I wouldn’t be bowled over if a few of them had nukes. And we just might know what kind of radiation signal we’re looking for on each of those ships, but I never said that. Now the logy, if we get a signal there, that’s what Washington wants to hear about ASAP.”
Hiang wondered why they were watching the screen so intently if it was only telling them what they had already programmed into it. He stood and stretched.
“Owweee! Fuck me!” the seaman yelled, pulling off his headset. “Sorry, sir, but acoustics just about blew out my eardrums, sir.”
Captain Tom Witkovksi grabbed the headset and held it up near his right ear. “Jesus, what is that?” He dropped the headset and pressed an intercom on the wall. “Exec, what is that on acoustics?”
From the Combat Information Center, the boat’s control room one deck up, the executive officer responded, “We’re processing it through the database, Captain. Here it is... the first sound was ‘Similar to a Kiloclass diving.’ Then the screeching...it just says ‘Presumed Collision.’”
“Shit,” Witkovski swore, driving his fist against the wall. “I’m going up to CIC. Tony, I need you with me.” The American captain was out the bulkhead and climbing the ladder to the Combat Information Center three rungs at a time. “You got towed array out?” he barked at the executive officer as he entered CIC.
“Aye, sir. The hydrophones back there are what picked it up,” the somewhat startled exec replied. The captain flicked a switch and threw the undersea sound on the dashboard speaker. It was an excruciating sound of screeching metal, like steel chalk on a metal blackboard, magnified tenfold.
Witkovski turned down the volume. “What’s the depth there?”
“Two hundred fifty meters, Captain,” a seaman in front of a control panel answered.
“What’s the maximum dive depth of a Kilo-class?” the captain shot back.
“It’s nominally three hundred meters,” Captain Hiang answered from behind Witkovski. “But the Chinese version, the 877EKM, has a classified rating of 375.”
Witkovski spun about. “What else do you know about them? Really, Tony, tell me.”
The short Singaporean officer walked closer to the American captain and almost whispered, “They have a range of six thousand miles. They have a new, special sound-dampening and antisonar coating. They have a low-wave bow sonar that’s hard to detect. And because they can operate on only battery power for a while, they are very, very quiet. Especially against the acoustic background of an aircraft carrier battle group.”
A strange sound came over the speaker.
“Ebup, ebup...”
The executive officer turned up the volume on the dashboard speaker and hit the analyzer button. “Don’t bother analyzing it. I know what it is,” Captain Witkovski said, shaking his head. “Shit!”
“Ebup, ebup...”
The executive officer turned up the volume on the dashboard speaker and hit the analyzer button. “Don’t bother analyzing it. I know what it is,” Captain Witkovski said, shaking his head. “Shit!”
“Sir?” the exec asked.
“It’s the acoustic distress signal from ASIP-2. There’s a Chinese Kilo out there that we missed. It’s on top of the ASIP, driving it to the bottom. The ASIP has a crush depth rating of two hundred meters. It will break up in a few minutes.” Witkovski sighed. Then he turned to look at Captain Hiang. “It seems the
Zhou Man
did have a sub on point and it’s playing dirty.”
Zhou Man
did have a sub on point and it’s playing dirty.”
“Sir, we should butt-fuck that Kilo, sir, come up behind it and ping it,” the exec proposed. “They can’t know the ASIP is unmanned. They could be killing our guys.”
“Not today, Tim. No butt-fucking today. We have two other ASIPs out there to recover and download. That’s our mission. Now, let’s do it. Give me a course to ASIP-3. Full quiet on the boat.”
“Full quiet on the boat, aye.” Blue bulbs blinked on throughout the 453-foot length of the USS
Jimmy Carter.
Jimmy Carter.
Almost two hours later, with the
Zhou Man
battle group now turned and heading north into the Straits of Malacca, the word came: “Ocean Interface sealed.” The two remaining ASIPs were on board. Captain Witkovski asked Captain Hiang to join him for a meal in his cabin while the technicians downloaded the data from the unmanned mini-subs.
Zhou Man
battle group now turned and heading north into the Straits of Malacca, the word came: “Ocean Interface sealed.” The two remaining ASIPs were on board. Captain Witkovski asked Captain Hiang to join him for a meal in his cabin while the technicians downloaded the data from the unmanned mini-subs.
Over Philly cheesesteaks and Diet Pepsis, Witkovski almost apologized. “I should have listened to what you were trying to tell me, Tony.”
“I should have been more direct, Tom. Sometimes we ethnic Chinese have a hard time being direct enough for Americans.” Captain Hiang smiled. “But we know the Chinese, because we are descended from them. We speak their language. We know their history. The little Indonesian city that the
Zhou Man
is sailing by tonight? Malacca? It was founded by the Chinese navy, six hundred years ago. Besides, what could you have done anyway if you had detected the Kilo sitting under the keel of the
Zhou Man
?”
Zhou Man
is sailing by tonight? Malacca? It was founded by the Chinese navy, six hundred years ago. Besides, what could you have done anyway if you had detected the Kilo sitting under the keel of the
Zhou Man
?”
There was a rap on the door. “Enter,” the captain replied. It was the executive officer with a draft message on a clipboard. “It’s a summary of the data readout and the automated analysis from the two ASIPs, sir. I have coded it FLASH precedence, sir.”
The captain raised his eyebrows and took the clipboard. FLASH was reserved for messages of extreme priority, such as “Someone is firing at my ship.” Witkovski slipped on his half-glasses and read:
To: CinCPAC, Honolulu FLASH
JCS/J-3 FLASH
DIA, DT-1 FLASH
FM: SSN-23
SUBJECT: Probable Nuclear Weapons on Board
Zhou Man
Battle Group (TS)
Zhou Man
Battle Group (TS)
Analysis of telemetry from ASIP inspection of PLAN Special Logistics Ship
Xiang
(C-SA-3) indicates neutron and gamma readings consistent with six warheads in bow bulk container area and six in aft bulk container area. Analysis program indicates all warheads have similar size, estimated between 10 and 30 kilotons. Analysis program suggests tentative typing as CSS-27 intermediate-range ballistic missile payload. No readings detected aboard accompanying destroyer. Surveillance of the carrier
Zhou Man
was not performed (details sepchan).
Xiang
(C-SA-3) indicates neutron and gamma readings consistent with six warheads in bow bulk container area and six in aft bulk container area. Analysis program indicates all warheads have similar size, estimated between 10 and 30 kilotons. Analysis program suggests tentative typing as CSS-27 intermediate-range ballistic missile payload. No readings detected aboard accompanying destroyer. Surveillance of the carrier
Zhou Man
was not performed (details sepchan).
EOT
Captain Witkovski initialed the message board and passed it back to his exec. “Well done, Timmy. That ought to spray feces all over their fans back in Washington. This time we’ve found them some WMD. Ain’t no doubt about it.”
New York Journal
Bureau
Bureau
Media City
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
M
acIntyre drove past the CNN and NBC buildings in the manicured office park that was Media City. His taxi had already passed Internet City and Knowledge City. He wondered if he could persuade them someday to build a Magician City in Dubai.
The New York Journal
did not have its own building but shared one with several European newspapers.
acIntyre drove past the CNN and NBC buildings in the manicured office park that was Media City. His taxi had already passed Internet City and Knowledge City. He wondered if he could persuade them someday to build a Magician City in Dubai.
The New York Journal
did not have its own building but shared one with several European newspapers.
The Pakistani guest worker guard in the lobby was expecting him. As he entered the third-floor door of the
Journal,
he saw Kate on the other side of the suite, standing in front of a bank of screens showing news broadcasts in Arabic and English. She had set up a little breakfast buffet on a table below the television panels.
Journal,
he saw Kate on the other side of the suite, standing in front of a bank of screens showing news broadcasts in Arabic and English. She had set up a little breakfast buffet on a table below the television panels.
The audio was on for ABC. “...but military sources here at the Pentagon stress that until the wreckage has been examined, there is no way to be sure what happened to the Viking jet that was taking Admiral Adams back to his headquarters in Bahrain from a meeting with Secretary Conrad in Turkey. At the NATO meeting there, the Secretary said that he would take all appropriate steps to respond to any aggression in the oil-rich Gulf region. Martha . . .” Kate Delmarco hit the mute button and turned to face Rusty MacIntyre.
“I was supposed to meet him in Bahrain tomorrow,” Rusty said, staring up at the screens. “He left me a handwritten note I picked up when I was at the Navy base. Said he would call my cell tonight when he got in to make arrangements. I can’t believe that Islamyah would provoke us by shooting his plane down.”
“Maybe they didn’t. You heard ABC just now. We don’t know yet,” Kate said, holding out a glass. “Bloody Mary?”
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