The Shark Mutiny

‘MAYDAY!’ twice, before the line went dead.”

“So whatever happened happened pretty damned quickly,” replied the Admiral.

“Yessir. I do believe so.”

“Any idea what might have caused the explosion?”

“Not really, Admiral. We do have some kind of an eyewitness report from a Liberian-registered crude-oil tanker about two miles ahead of the Bronco. Just said the for’ard holding dome definitely blew first. Then they saw the one next to it go up as well.”

“I guess that would confirm the possibility of a mine…all ships hit them bow first. A torpedo would have been much more likely to come in amidships.”

“Yessir. But I really don’t think we ran into a minefield. On the other hand, it’s hard for me to think of one reason why the almost-brand-new gas-holding tank, way up for’ard, two hundred yards away from hot machinery, or even people, should suddenly have ruptured and exploded.”

“That’s really my main question, Bob. How could it have ruptured, then blown up?”

“No reason I can think of, sir. ’Cept sabotage. But I can’t imagine anyone wanting to blow up the ship they were in. Suicide sabotage’s pretty rare.”

Arnold Morgan persisted. “What causes natural gas to ignite?”

“Well, it’s gotta be a flame or a spark of some kind. It’s the gas, flashing off from the liquid that burns. Beats the hell out of me, a) how that gas started to leak, and b) what blew it.”

“Well, keep your ear to the ground, willya, Bob? Anything shakes loose, lemme know right away. Just call the number here, and they’ll find me.”

“Glad to, sir. Nice talking to you.” The last words were somewhat lost because the Admiral had already rung off. Bob Heseltine was not yet aware of the National Security Adviser’s habit of never saying “good-bye” to anyone, just banging down the phone. He even did it to the President. These days, especially to the President.

“KATHY!” he yelled. “GET FORT MEADE ON THE LINE.”

Admiral David Borden jumped to it, front and center, as he prepared to take his first call from the Big Man.

“Admiral?”

“Morning, David. Got that job under tight control?”

“Trying to, sir.”

“Good. Start off by telling me all you know about that tanker just went sky-high in Hormuz.”

“Well, sir. I only just received a preliminary report.”

“You did? Well it’s zero-eight-four-five now, and the tanker blew at right after zero-three-three-zero. What are you using for comms, satellites or pigeons?”

Admiral Borden gulped. “Sir, I only just got here.”

“You mean you’re not only operating some kind of Dark Ages communication system, you’re also late for work.”

It had been awhile since anyone had addressed David Borden in quite such a manner, but he knew Arnold Morgan’s fearsome reputation. He also knew that his bite was a lot worse than his bark. And this conversation was headed south, in a significant way.

“Sir, will you give me a half hour to get right on this?”

“Yes. But please remember the following: Anytime there’s an explosion as big as this one right in the middle of the Strait of Hormuz, or indeed anywhere near the Strait of Hormuz, you better get on it real quick. Right here we have a major incident involving a U.S. freighter being destroyed, forty miles from Bandar Abbas. We got goddamned Iranian missile ships circling her. We may have a fucking minefield out there.

“Admiral Borden, I don’t actually give a flying fuck what you’ve been doing. I don’t care if you have to turn up in your office in a goddamned nightshirt and jockstrap at three A.M. But when something goes off bang anywhere near the Ayatollahs, I want Fort Meade on it like a starving wolf chasing a pork chop. Do you hear me, Admiral?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Then get your ass in gear, sailor. And get your best men moving. And don’t bother chasing the ship owner. I dealt with him while you were still eating your fucking cornflakes.” CRASH. Down phone.

Admiral Borden was visibly shaken, as many an occupant of Fort Meade had been before him. He actually debated putting in a written complaint to the President about the “unforgivably disrespectful” manner in which he had been treated by the National Security Adviser.

He went as far as to call his old friend in the White House, Harcourt Travis, the Secretary of State, who laughed and told him, “That would be, I am afraid, a suicide note. Arnold Morgan would probably have both you and the President out of here in an hour. Arnie’s the Big Man on Campus right now. Don’t even think of taking him on.”

Admiral Borden retreated, but in his mind he was planning to play this whole incident right down, which he believed would exact him a quiet, dignified revenge: that of military intellect over a blowhard.

As plans went, that one was dead moderate. If David Borden did but know it, career-threatening moderate.

At that moment there was a knock on the Director’s door. He called to enter, and was not especially pleased to see the frowning face of Lieutenant Ramshawe.

“Morning, sir. I got in here soon as I could when I heard about the tanker, but it didn’t get on the news till 0500 so I guess I was a bit late. Anyhow, my conclusions are that we really do need to examine the possibility of a Chinese-backed Iranian minefield right out there in the strait.”

“But I believe the tanker exploded off the coast of Oman, miles and miles from Iranian waters.”

“I know that, sir. But there’s still got to be a suspicion. We know the Chinese ordered a ton of mines from Moscow, and we know they could easily have brought them to Iran. We also know they were groping about in the strait with four warships, and possibly three submarines, all mine layers, at least one night, and possibly more. We simply cannot dismiss the issue.”

“The Omanis appear to have done so. There’s not a word from them to cast any suspicion on the Iranians whatsoever.”

“That’s because they don’t know their ass from their elbow.”

“Very possibly. Nonetheless in the absence of one shred of proof, one floating mine, one whisper of skul- duggery from any of our people in Beijing or Tehran…Jimmy, I cannot instigate anything without being in possession of at least some evidence.”

“But I have some evidence. First of all, the bloody mines, maybe several hundred, were delivered under top- secret circumstances, and have essentially disappeared. Then we had a fairly large flotilla of ships sail from Chinese bases, direct to Iran. Then we have these night exercises, during which they could easily have laid a minefield out there in the strait.

“Then we have a very strange situation. You know, and I know, you can lay a minefield and not activate it electronically till you’re good and ready. Now, the Chinks bugger off toward the Bay of Bengal, leaving behind two mine layers, the frigates Kangding and Zigong. And what are the first ships to be seen after the bang? Those two frigates, out there in the strait, flying the Iranian flag. In my view they were out there activating just some of the mines.

“But here’s what’s really important…Remember a couple of weeks ago we picked up pictures of the Iranian missiles being established way down the coast, twenty-nine miles south of Kuhestak?…Well, I marked the point hard on my big chart of Hormuz. The Global Bronco went up in a near-dead-straight line from there, about twenty-four miles west sou’west.”

“Jimmy, you can make a dead straight line from any one point to any other. You need three to show evidence of a straight line.”

“Well, sir, at least the proximity of the missiles must be significant.”

“Not necessarily so, Jimmy. I am afraid that all the ‘evidence’ is very circumstantial. By which I mean we know nothing. The mines China ordered may well still be in Zhanjiang. Their trip to Iran may easily have been to sell the two frigates. Global Bronco was carrying eighty thousand tons of the world’s most volatile petrochemical. Anything could have set it off. I would be sympathetic if