U.S.S. Seawolf

steal it. Or at least frighten someone into selling it to ’em cheap. And remember, they already require nearly six million barrels of oil a day. That’s more than us, for Christ’s sake. In my view they are a very grave danger, and we have to get a grip on the situation.”

“Arnie, I agree. But are you proposing a new offensive of some kind?”

“No. But I’m proposing that we put the old one on a real fast track. Every day I’m getting reports that their Dong Feng-31 missile has been fitted with a nuclear warhead based on the designs stolen from the Los Alamos laboratories in New Mexico. Every report I get says they’ve done it, and that their new warhead is based on our ultra-compact W-88—which you know packs a punch ten times heavier than the goddamned bomb that hit Hiroshima — and the fucker’s only three feet long. If the Chinese really have stolen the technology to manufacture that warhead, they could fit it into a missile in about ten minutes.

“And we both know they could deploy it in a submarine, ’specially a brand-new one, tailor-made for it. My guys think the DF-31 might have a range of five thousand miles, which would not get it across the Pacific, but launched from a submarine they could get it damned near anywhere.”

“Well, we sure as hell can’t measure it, since we don’t know where they keep it, so we’re not gonna find out its fuel capacity in a big hurry.”

“No, Joe. But we could measure the submarine.”

This time Admiral Mulligan stood up. And he walked over to the window and said slowly, “Arnie, we had a similar conversation at the end of last year, and I told you then that there is only one submarine in our fleet I’d risk going into Chinese waters to undertake such a mission. And that’s Seawolf. She’s fast, she’s quiet, and she could make a getaway if she was detected…just as long as the water’s not too shallow. She could, if necessary, also obliterate any enemy, but I know we don’t wanna do that.

“I promised you before Christmas that I’d put this thing into action just as soon as Seawolf came out of overhaul and finished her trials. But since then we have another real problem — you know, it turned out the Chinese got ahold of the new sub detection technology from the Lawrence Livermore lab. That little prick Yung Lee, or whatever his fucking name was, stole it.

“According to the Livermore guys, it was just about the last word in that kind of technology — low-angle polarimetric and interferometric satellite radars to pick up very small pattern changes in the ocean’s surface. The system works straight through clouds and will pick up the subtlest changes caused by a submarine’s propeller. The Livermore guys say it will even identify the type of propeller.”

“Shit. Did we throw that little Hung Ling guy in the slammer?”

“I think so…but anyway, I’m real reluctant to send the best submarine in the U.S. Navy deep inside Chinese territorial waters, because now I know they might find it, and then wipe it out, with all hands. Jesus, any submarine’s nearly powerless if it gets detected in shallow waters with enemy surface warships in the area. And you can believe me, if the goddamned Chinks caught our top submarine prowling around their trial areas deep in the northern part of the Yellow Sea, shit, they’d become enemy real fast.”

“Joe, I know the risks. Where’s Seawolf right now?”

“She’s at Pearl. On forty-eight hours’ notice to head west, for the Yellow Sea…and I sure hate to send ’em.”

“Joe, so do I. But they gotta go.”

1200. Saturday, June 17.

Office of the CNO. The Pentagon.

Admiral Mulligan was on the phone to an old friend, Sam Langer, the recently retired chief nuclear systems engineer at General Dynamics, the corporation that had built Seawolf and carried out her major overhaul at the Electric Boat Yards in Groton, Connecticut.

“Sam, just a small point — you remember we talked about a little device to be fitted onto Seawolf’s emergency coolant system, about a year ago?”

“Sure I do, Joe — small adjustment to the isolating valve on the ‘cold leg’?”

“Yup, that’s the one. I remember we talked about it, just couldn’t remember whether you did it.”

“Well, it was supposed to be, er, nonpublic, wasn’t it?”

“Correct. That’s why it doesn’t figure in the plans and billing. Anyway, did you do it?”

“Yup, sure did.”

“Remind me.”

“It was nothing, really. Just a small adjustment to that valve. In the event of an electrical failure or a reactor scram, that valve will just drift open — and I guess that will deactivate the emergency cooling system. But it will give no indication of having done so.”

“Would it kick in automatically? If, say, we had an unforeseen reactor scram or something?”

“Christ, no, Joe. The captain and his nuclear engineer would have to set it correctly. I believe the whole idea was in case the submarine should fall into enemy hands?”

“Yes, it was, Sam. Yes it was. Did you tell anyone about it?”

“Well, the guys who fitted it knew. Although they didn’t know what it was for. And I took the captain over it very carefully, just a few months ago. When he came down to see the ship. Judd Crocker, right? He and his engineer, tall blond guy, Schulz, I think his name was.”

“So Captain Crocker is thoroughly aware of it?”

“More than aware, sir. He spent about an hour in there looking at the emergency cooling system. By the time he left, he knew more about it than I did.”

“Hey, Sam, thanks a lot. Come on down and have a drink next time I’m in New London.”

Admiral Mulligan picked up his secure line and dialed Kathy O’Brien’s number in Maryland. The admiral himself answered the way he always answered: “MORGAN, SPEAK.”

“Christ, Arnie, it’d be great if I’d been Kathy’s mother or someone. You call your daughter and some gorilla says, ‘MORGAN, SPEAK.’”

“Heh, heh, heh. Hiya, Joe. I’m happy to say that Kathy’s mother, like the President, has come to terms with most of my little ways. What’s hot?”

“Seawolf’s reactor, since you mention it.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“I just wanted to let you know…remember that conversation we had around a year ago, about fitting some device on the big nuclear boats that would cause them to self-destruct? I just wanted to let you know, there’s one on Seawolf.”

“That’s the trip on the isolating valve in the emergency system?”

“That’s it. Captain Crocker knows all about it…and you remember it won’t kill the ship by itself, should it fall into enemy hands. But it would enable us to damage the ship, knowing it would self-destruct completely as soon as the reactor went down.”

“It’s a kinda gloomy subject, Joe. But it’s important to know, and I’m grateful. I just hope to hell we never have to use it. By the way, how many of those goddamned political nuclear committees did you have to go through to get it done?”

“None.”

“Howd’ you fix that?”

“Simple. I never told anyone. But it’s there.”

“Heh, heh, heh. You’re a great man, Joe Mulligan.”

0100. Sunday, June 18.

Submarine Jetty. U.S. Navy Base, Pearl Harbor.

The night was stiflingly hot, windless above a calm sea, and USS Seawolf was ready. She lay moored alongside like a vast, black, captive undersea monster, which was precisely what she was. Except that she was bigger, faster, quieter, more aware, and more deadly than any other creature in all the world’s oceans.

Since the late afternoon, deep in the reactor room, the marine engineering officer, Lt. Commander Rich Thompson, and his team had been pulling the rods, the slow, painstaking procedure of bringing the nuclear power plant up to the required temperature and pressure to provide every ounce of energy Seawolf might need on her long voyage. You could run the whole of Honolulu off Rich Thompson’s nuclear reactor.