Admiral Morris's answering service to call him as soon as possible. Jimmy knew the Admiral would get the message within the next fifteen minutes.
The phone rang angrily. Admiral Morgan, who had been half reading, half watching the Oscars with Kathy, was on the line.
'Sir, our man just destroyed the Lompoc power station. San Francisco and Los Angeles are blacked right out. Two security men saw the missiles come in from the sea — fast and low, smashing straight into the main buildings. The flames right now are several hundred feet high. Place works on oil, as we know.'
'JESUS CHRIST!' yelled Arnold Morgan. 'This is the end of any kind of secrecy. Tomorrow the entire country is going to know we've been hit. It's gonna be like September 11. I'll have to organize a massive Naval search… Where's Admiral Morris?'
'Just left, sir.'
'Tell George to sit tight at his desk. You get to the Pentagon now. Meet me in Admiral Dickson's office in a half hour. Bring everything that's relevant.'
'Yes, sir.'
Jimmy gathered up his charts, maps, and E-mails and headed for the parking lot, flung his packed briefcase onto the passenger seat, and gunned the Jaguar through the empty rows of stationary cars toward the main gate. He flicked on the radio and headed for the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, racing down to the junction with the Beltway, but driving straight on, to the Anacostia Freeway.
From there he picked up 1-395 and charged straight across the bridges to the Pentagon. If he'd been stopped for speeding, he'd have asked for a police escort, and he was confident his NSA pass and Lieutenant Commander's rank would have done the trick. By now the entire world knew, not that the electric-power supplier to Los Angeles and San Francisco had just been flattened by a terrorist, but that Troy Ramford's speech, about to be delivered with his arm around the lovely Edna Casey, had been blacked out.
The radio and late-night news programs were all over the story, already sounding the alarm for possible terrorist attacks.
He drove directly to security, and told them he was going straight to the CNO's elevator in the underground parking lot. And when he arrived, Admiral Morgan was just disembarking from his White House staff car.
Accompanied by a guard, they took the elevator to the fourth floor, emerging in corridor seven, right off E- Ring, the Pentagon's outer-office on all levels. A young Naval Lieutenant met them and mentioned that Admiral Dickson would be here in three minutes. He led them straight into the inner office and told them he'd have some coffee sent in immediately. It was a little after midnight.
Exactly three minutes later, Admiral Dickson arrived, and before saying a word he walked over to the wide computer screen on the wall and switched it on, punching in the numbers that would provide a broad view of the submarine roads into the San Diego Naval Base.
'Hello, sir,' he said, nodding. 'Lieutenant Commander, this is a very bad business. We're under attack, no doubt about it. And our chances of finding the culprit are still pretty remote. But we have made some progress, not, of course, where he is, but where we're pretty darn sure he isn't.'
'That's a kinda breakthrough, if accurate, Alan,' said Admiral Morgan. 'Because there is only one unassailable fact. After this character fired his goddamned missiles, he did not head due east. Because that would have put him on the beach. All other options are open so far as I can tell.'
'I think the Navy will do a little better than that, sir,' replied the CNO.
'Okay, old buddy, shoot… '
'You'll remember I mentioned I had two submarines offshore, on their way in. Well, they're both Los Angeles Class boats, the Santa Fe and the Tucson, and we've had them patrolling four hundred miles off San Diego for the past week, on high alert for any foreign submarine, especially a Russian Sierra I, Barracuda Class.
'They're around two hundred miles apart, which I realize is a pretty good distance. But between them we have a couple of guided-missile frigates, Arleigh Burkes, the Decatur and the Porter. We have all four of them in a kind of crescent facing east. Behind them, maybe three hundred miles, we have a cruiser coming in from Pearl, and it's watching for missiles. We've already checked. Whatever was fired at Lompoc did not sail over the masts of my ships. That means our quarry is very probably inshore… '
'I agree,' said Admiral Morgan. 'It's possible he may have given them the slip, but unlikely. Also, I see from one of Jimmy's notes, right here, the security officers said the missiles came in directly out of the southwest. Which means they must have passed over the masts of your ships. That is, if he was farther offshore than we think.'
'That's precisely what I'm getting at,' said Admiral Dick-son. 'If we mark my crescent right here… and draw a straight line to the southwest from the Lompoc power station, it looks as though the submarine we seek was probably less than three hundred miles offshore. Somewhere here, in this area…'
'Can't argue with that,' said Arnold Morgan. 'Just one thing, though. The missiles did take a kinda circuitous route into Valdez and Grays Harbor, so why do you suppose he fired 'em straight this time?'
'The two Lompoc guys both saw the damned thing incoming from the southwest, that's directly out of the Pacific,' Dickson said.
'OK,' Morgan said, 'that circle you just put on the screen… the little bastard's in there, no doubt.'
'I've just talked to CINCPAC. They're diverting search aircraft, plus a couple of destroyers right in there ASAP. As you know, there's a ton of ASW kit on the frigates.'
'Plenty of torpedoes too, I hope,' rasped Arnold. 'What are their rules of engagement?'
'Shoot to kill. No questions asked.'
'That's my language, Alan. We find 'em. They die.'
'Of course, we still have a big problem, sir. We don't know which way he's headed.'
'No. And I guess our biggest worry is he heads slowly northwest, maybe eight hundred feet below the surface. That way he'd be near certain to get away. Unless he runs over a SOSUS hot spot.'
'I know it, sir. But I don't think he can move to the west. We'd catch him if he did. Even if he was going pretty slowly. His options are really southeast, south, and southwest. In that ninety-degree arc he has his back to the wall, but if he moves slowly, the odds are still in his favor.'
'Hmmmm. That's the trouble with oceans,' said Arnold. 'They're altogether too fucking big.'
'If you had to make an assessment, sir. If you were him, which way would you go?'
'Not westward. Because that's where I'd be expecting trouble. Maybe due south. Because from where he is positioned, that's into very deep open ocean way off Central America. However, I think he hugged the coast coming down from the Grays Harbor area, stayed in noisy water for maybe four days, and then headed farther offshore for his attack.'
'You think he'll pull the same trick now, sir?'
'Dunno. But I would. I'd hug the coast of Mexico for a long time. I'd probably keep going at seven knots for two or three thousand miles, maybe three weeks. Then I'd angle off, come right to 270 degrees and charge for the South Pacific. His chances of being caught in there are around zero. The area's just too big.'
'You mean if we're gonna get him, sir, we'd better get him real quick.'
'That's what I mean, Admiral.'
'If only he had to surface, or refuel, or snorkel, or any damn thing, life would be a lot easier.'
'That's been the trouble right from the start, Alan. In that ship he doesn't have to do any of those things. And that's why we might not find him.'
'What will you advise the President to say?'
'I guess he'll have to say we suspect terrorism. And that the oil installations were attacked by persons unknown. But I think we'll leave it very open-ended for the moment. I'll have him refer to the possibility of land- launched missiles, or even planted bombs.
'But I cannot terrify the populace by admitting there's a foreign nuclear submarine, patrolling our shores, knocking down anything he fucking well pleases. That would cause mass panic: And worse, it would alert the controllers of our terrorists to be even more careful than usual.'
The CNO shook his head. And Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe climbed to his feet and walked closer to the big computer screen. He stared at it for a moment, then he turned back to the two Admirals.
'May I say something, sir?' he said, staring at Arnold Morgan.
'Sure, Jimmy. Go right ahead. Alan and I have exhausted our collective brains.'
'OK. Let us assume our theories are correct. Somehow China agrees to purchase not one, but both Russian
