should ever be found: DELAWARE-BASED TERRORISTS BLAMED FOR OSCAR NIGHT LIGHTS-OUT.
For the next five minutes Ravi explained to the Chinese engineers precisely what he and Shakira had done, and why. The leader, a nuclear propulsion expert, spoke excellent English, and understood fully. 'Very good, General. My Admiral not want this ship found… If it is, I'll get blame… But I like Joe Morris get real blame. Ha-ha- ha.'
Five minutes later, the patrol boat returned. General and Lieutenant Commander Rashood, in company with Captain Badr, said good-bye to the Chinese engineers, who were still busy flooding the submarine down. And then they joined their Hamas colleagues for the run across the lake to the northeast shore.
Meanwhile, out in the Atlantic, the Communications Room of the San Juan sent its third satellite signal to Pacific Fleet Headquarters.'… 120046APR08. Panama Canal still closed. No sign of Barracuda exit through Gatun Locks. No ships entered, no ships left. Fourteen freighters and tankers in line close aboard awaiting entry. San Juan.'
In Washington, where the local time was exactly the same as that in Panama, Vice Admiral Morgan was still in his office talking to Kathy and on the line to the Pentagon and Fort Meade. Plainly, the Chinese had ignored his dire warnings, and he had informed both the President and the Secretary of State that the Chinese Ambassador was to be sent back to Beijing first thing in the morning.
Lieutenant Commander Ramshawe had just called with firm photographic evidence the Barracuda had entered the Miraflores Locks shortly before half past three. The satellite picture showed it on its final approach along the narrow divided waterway on the Pacific side of the chambers. It was not under tow, yet, but its outline was the obvious shape of an old Russian Sierra I.
'Any other photographs, Jimmy?' the Admiral asked.
'Only one, sir. And it's a bloody awful print, taken just as it was getting dark, at the southern end of the Gatun Lake. It could very well be Old Razormouth, but there seems to be a much smaller ship right in front. Could be under tow, I suppose. But from this print, I don't think anyone could be sure. Funny thing is, I can't see one other ship anywhere along the entire length of the canal, in either direction. And it averages forty vessels a day.'
'Hmmmmm,' said the Admiral. 'I suppose the submarine couldn't have turned right around and headed back out into the Pacific?'
'If she did, sir, she'd run right into the Roosevelt. And they've told the Chinese Navy to get stuffed… And they moved real close in several hours ago, to guard that entrance.
'The water's much too shallow for the ole 'cuda to cross the Gulf of Panama anywhere except on the surface. And the bloody thing couldn't slide past, within a coupla hundred yards of a U.S. destroyer, without being seen or heard.'
'No. Guess not. Which leaves us to wonder where the hell it is. We got the satellites adjusted to photograph every inch of the canal?'
'Yes, sir. And the fact is, the bloody thing has vanished— just like they scuttled her.'
'Not even the Chinese would dare to do that. Especially in an inland lake. They obviously would not sink her in the channel. And anyway, you can't scuttle nuclear boats, unless you want to become a pariah among the trading nations of the world. The pollution issue's enormous.'
'Yeah. I guess it is, sir. But it sure beats the hell out of me, the bastard's gone missing in the high canal. And I don't know where to start looking… '
'Nor me, Jimmy. Nor me. But it's gotta be in there somewhere. Jesus Christ, this thing is 350 feet long. It's like losing the Washington Monument in the Potomac. But we've got no airpower in the region to mobilize and take a closer look. And we're locked out of the canal and our satellites are blind.'
He replaced the receiver and pondered the time, and whether to go home or stay. He went over the problem again with Kathy, who told him quietly, 'That damn submarine has been missing for as long as I can remember. Wherever it is, it's always missing… And now it's missing in the Panama Canal. Sounds nuts to me.'
'But things are hard to find if they're under the water.'
'I know that. But this has got to be shallow water, right?'
'Don't remind me.'
'Well, let me ask you this. If someone sinks a submarine in fairly shallow water, can it still be seen, detected by the satellites? I mean, if its reactor is still running… you know, infrared and all that.'
'It could if its reactor was still running. But if you want to plunk a damned great submarine on the bottom of a lake, you'd turn the reactor off, shove the rods home, flood it down with cold water, and just let it cool. In a few days the heat will be gone.'
'Then you couldn't see anything on the satellite photographs?'
'Not if a concealment crew had done its work properly. Got it buried good and deep in the mud, and shut down everything, maybe applied some camouflage.. Christ, you'd never find it. And in time it would disappear, keep sinking further, till it was gone.'
Admiral Morgan looked pensive. Then he said thoughtfully, 'I got a bad feeling…. How are we ever gonna find that bastard?'
Even as he spoke, a chartered Boeing 747 bearing the livery of Air China and bound for Damascus and Bandar Abbas was hurtling off the runway at Colon, cleaving its way into the night sky above the Panamanian coastline.
It banked and headed east, toward the shifting sands of the Arabian Desert, and there were just three passengers in the first-class cabin upstairs. Only one refueling stop was scheduled: the Dakar airport, in Senegal, the first Atlantic landfall on the great rounded coastline of northwest Africa.
As the American country singer Arlo Guthrie once poignantly observed: Halfway home, we'll be there by morning…
13
The Chinese Ambassador to the United States of America, in company with his two Deputies, three First Secretaries, and two other officials Admiral Morgan said were plain and obvious spies, flew out of Dulles International Airport at nine o'clock the following morning.
Expelled from the country, they had been escorted to the airport by a detachment of twenty-four Marine Guards. A Boeing aircraft from Air China had flown down from New York to retrieve them in the face of threats by Admiral Morgan to throw 'the whole fucking lot of them in jail' by noon, to await trial in the year 2013 for crimes against the United States involving the completely illegal closure of the Panama Canal.
No member of either the Chinese Diplomatic Corps or the American Government even considered the possibility that the Admiral might not be serious.
There was a somewhat arch communique from Beijing mentioning that the Chinese Government had 'absolutely nothing' to do with the Panama Canal, or any of its operations. These expulsions of the lawfully appointed Chinese diplomats in Washington were a 'clear breach' of the international code of diplomacy. Furthermore, the Beijing Government would be considering similar reprisals against American representatives in the People's Republic.
Nonetheless, the Air China jet had arrived at Dulles Airport posthaste, and Beijing did not even attempt a dialogue with the White House. This was just as well, since Admiral Morgan had read their communique, scrunched it into a ball, and hurled it across the room straight into the bin.
Kathy O'Brien appeared in the doorway, awaiting instructions on some form of reply to Beijing. Usually her appearance would brighten his spirits, but today he was not even smiling.
'Get Tim Scannell and Alan Dickson in here right now,' he said. 'And George Morris, plus his sidekick Ramshawe. Harcourt's upstairs. Tell him thirty minutes, right here. And get a call into Admiral Bergstrom in Coronado.'
'I imagine you consider the time of six in the morning in California to be irrelevant,' replied Kathy, sweetly.
'Correct,' he confirmed.
