But Jimmy ignored him, just shook his head, and then exclaimed, 'H-O-L-E-E SHIT!'
Admiral Morgan looked quizzical.
Then James Ramshawe punched the air. 'You just said $300 million apiece, sir? The submarines China has plainly bought. AND THAT'S IT, SIR. THAT'S BLOODY IT! OLD RAZORMOUTH 60 °CONFIRMED… that's the bloody message we picked up off the Chinese satellite. It was telling someone Russia had accepted $600 million for TWO Barracudas. If you don't mind my saying so, sir, you're a bloody genius.'
Arnold Morgan, genuinely smiling for the first time in more than a week, replied, 'And if you don't mind my saying so, Lieutenant, you're not so fucking dusty yourself.'
'And another thing, sir. What about that SOSUS detection last month, off the coast of Ireland — they thought it could have been a Russian nuke creeping down the Atlantic. Does that make sense?'
'If that was the second Barracuda, and it was owned by China,' said Arnold. 'Almost every last piece of this jigsaw fits together. Including the possibility that Beijing is using the first one to cripple our West Coast economy. By the way, the mystery submarine off the coast of Ireland, was on February seventh at 1935. The numbers are engraved on my mind. I think about it every day. Sneaky little bastard.'
'What bothers me, Arnie,' said George Morris, 'is why China should want to be involved in such a lunatic adventure. They must know stuff like this will provoke a colossal response from us.'
'Of course, we don't know that China is responsible for anything,' replied Arnold. 'We only know for sure that Beijing bought one Barracuda Type 945, because the Russians told us. We also have Jimmy's razormouth message suggesting they bought two Barracudas. And we have seen one of them headed into Zhanjiang, and although we don't know which one, it does suggest a decoy. Because that little bastard headed into port in a way that suggested they wanted us to see it.'
'OK, men, what do we do now, bomb the little pricks into oblivion?' Lt. Commander Ramshawe was only half joking.
Vice Admiral Morgan laughed nervously. 'I'm afraid there's more to this than meets the eye, Jimmy. And remember one thing. Russia is NEVER going to admit the second Barracuda was sold. China is NEVER going to admit anything. They may say a Barracuda submarine visited Zhanjiang under the flag of another country. They will also say that has absolutely nothing to do with the United States.
'As for our suspicions that someone is hitting our oil industry with cruise missiles, they will say that any suggestion that China is responsible is utterly preposterous, and would honorable President of United States like to have State visit to Beijing, and very great welcome by Chinese people.'
Admiral Morris added, 'Remember, also, that satellite picture Jimmy's just brought in. That's the only time we've seen either of those boats anywhere near a Chinese port of entry.'
'You're right,' said Arnold. 'And I am being driven to just one view — the only time this mystery gets solved is if we catch and nail whoever and whatever is out there off the coast of California. And I don't know how to do that. Yet.'
Ramshawe's reply sounded more Australian than Saltbox Bill, King of the Overland. 'Well, we'd better be right bloody sharp about it, before the shifty little mongrel bastard strikes again.'
'And one more thing, Jimmy,' said Admiral Morgan. 'I was informed you had two items of interest when you arrived. What's the second one?'
'Sir, I've been scrolling through the SOSUS and radar surveillance reports on our Internet for the past couple of weeks. Naturally, there's not a whole lot happening up in the Bering Sea to interest us. But I found one thing happened on 19 February. The Navy listening station at North Head, Akutan Island, picked up transient contact on radar, about thirty miles offshore, South Bering Sea 54.45' N, 166.28' W. No POSIDENT. But they got three sweeps on the radar. They thought it could be an intruder, but they never heard it again.'
'I guess it could have been anything,' replied Admiral Morgan.
'Well, yes, it could, sir. But those guys are used to tracking ships through the Unimak Pass, and whatever this was, it got their attention. Then it vanished.'
'It's a bit late to worry about it now,' said Arnold. 'But there's only one type of ship that can just vanish, right, George?'
'Only one, Arnie. Only one.'
The Barracuda was making a racetrack pattern 500 feet below the surface, 270 miles southwest of Lompoc, Valley of Flowers, 340 miles due west of Tijuana, on the Mexican border. Shakira had accepted, in principle, the concept of a straight hit-and-run. The final destination of the missiles was 34.39' N, 120.27' W. It was 120 minutes to launch.
Inside the Kodak Theatre, the entertainment industry's biggest night was well under way. Members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences were seated with dozens of hopefuls, the short-listed nominees for the little golden statues.
They had already made the award for the Best Special Effects to Bob Ferrer, Ray Ricken, and Sydney Limberg for Terminator XII, and all three of them had thanked everyone they had ever met, with the possible exception of the studio cat. Oscars 2008 was already running ten minutes late.
They showed film clips for the Best Cinematography— for which Hiram Rothman was a hot favorite for his spectacular filming of the battle for the Gettysburg Heights in Hope, Not Glory. The Civil War epic was also up for Best Director (Milt Brabazon) and Best Actor (Flint Carbury). And the entire row of Civil Warriors stood up and applauded the victory of Hiram, whose magic lenses had made them all look utterly wonderful.
Make your speed five knots and come to three hundred… Missile Director to the Control Room…
Hiram Rothman, who had won twice before in a long and perfectly brilliant career, was seasoned and dignified, and merely thanked everyone for being so helpful. A quick thank-you to twenty-seven relatives put the ceremony more or less back on track. It was already heading toward a nine o'clock finish, just as Mrs. Rashood had forecast.
Two more minor awards followed, and then, shortly before seven o'clock, one of the highlights of the evening occurred. Edna Casey, the Irish poet, won the award for Best Original Screenplay for Timeshare. The Oscar was not quite so interesting as the decision of the film's star, Troy Ram-ford, to unload his wife of eleven years, plus their three children, last fall in favor of the more exotic charms of the svelte Galway-born redhead, Miss Casey. It had been a world tabloid preoccupation whether Troy and Edna would show up for the Oscars together.
Aided by about 500 megawatts of television power, the world now knew. Troy had the overjoyed Edna Casey in his arms, and Hollywood, ever anxious to accept and welcome a new regime, was on its feet applauding. The gifted Irish writer moved shyly to the podium and told the audience, 'This means more to me than I can ever say. I'm sure Troy and I will both treasure it always.'
That was the confirmation of love the media had been awaiting for five months. The audience erupted as Edna waved her Oscar.
Conn-Captain… Come toPD… Check surface picture visual… Fifty-five minutes to launch…
The ceremony continued in glittering harmony. Best Musical Score was won by the ex-London busker Bobby Beethoven (nee Schwartz) for Ramraid, a tacky but clever British lowlife gangster drama, which was also up for Best Screenplay, written by the new Liverpool-based duo of Fred and Anna Zimmer.
Billy Conn, picking up his fourth Oscar for a Best Adaptation, valiantly strove to be brief while praising the entire cast and crew of the 2007 sleeper Free Agent, a sports spoof that was too close to the truth to spoof anyone. He ignored his immediate family in his thank yous, but became overcome with grief when dedicating his Oscar to his partner, an airline steward who had recently died. Billy, in tears, had to be helped from the podium by heartbroken executives from Provincetown International Airways.
Check all systems… Nineteen minutes to launch… Lt. Comdr. Abbas Shafii to the Control Room…
The battle for Best Supporting Actress was now in full cry, and the clips were running. Hands were being held, clenched and placed over wide-open mouths. Inside the Kodak, the earth stood still. AND THE WINNER IS — Maggee Donald, for Free Agent.
The spotlights searched and landed upon the slim, beautiful former Texas waitress and her unshaven country-and-western singer/husband, Slack Brandiron. The music struck up and the world watched the girl who had played the Free Agent's lover make her way to the floodlit podium all alone. It had been only her second film role. Maggee just plain dissolved into laughter and tears, and kept saying over and over, 'I jest wish mah mommy could
