“We’re off the coast of Hawaii,” Busby said. “Not surprising.”
“Not ours. A small diesel, Russian-built by the looks of it.”
“How do you know?”
Simpson briefly sketched in his background, then said, “I know the difference between a U.S. sub and a Russian diesel, Commander. This one started life as a Russian, but someone’s made a lot of modifications to it.”
“Okay, thanks. I’m not saying I believe you, understand. But we’ll be on the lookout for it. In the meantime, if you’ve got any more information for us, call this number.” Busby hesitated for a moment, considering the possibility that the Simpsons weren’t who they claimed to be. But the circumstances were so dire that he had to take the chance. He rattled off a new telephone number, then added, “That’s my direct line.”
“Hold on!” Simpson said, as he heard Adele shout from the aft of the ship. “Just — shit! You want to see a submarine, Commander, you look aft. I’ve got a snorkel mast just coming up out of the water. And from the looks of her periscope, she’s up for only one reason, sir. To take a final bearing on the carrier.”
TWELVE
Communications Specialist Wang slid one long, delicate finger under the foam rubber earpiece and scratched. Cool air crept under the pad, reducing the heat generated by the close-fitting earpiece.
He sat in front of a bank of advanced electronic equipment, most of it cobbled together from different pieces of U.S. gear. Thanks to the Clinton administration, they’d had no problem assembling the highly specialized equipment needed to detect and monitor a vast range of frequencies in the electromagnetic spectrum. The entire system was modeled on the U.S. Echelon program, a systematic way of monitoring every form of electromagnetic transmission for key code words and names.
But while funds had extended to the latest in electronic wizardry, his government was not as concerned about creature comforts as the Americans were. The earpiece he used was of the cheapest foam rubber available, hot and cloying over ears rubbed raw from hours of monitoring voice transmissions.
How did the Americans stand it? he wondered. By all reports, they had neither the dedication nor the patriotism of the crew on board this ship. They’d all been specially chosen, they were told, for this most dangerous and honorable mission. Wang tried to believe that himself, but he couldn’t help noticing, as did a number of his crewmates, that the thrill of danger wore thin after hours of staring numbly at the electronic console.
Still, his job was a vital one. While the gear could detect voice transmissions and sort them out into separate conversations, it could not tell what was important from what was trivial. Even if it had some rudimentary analysis capabilities, those would have been useless under current conditions. In the hours since the first launch, every radio frequency had been filled with the babble of a thousand voices. It took every bit of his concentration just to flip through the channels, continually scanning for anything of interest, simultaneously translating while trying to keep track of a hundred different circuits.
Wait — what was that? His hand froze over the frequency selector button. Something from the aircraft carrier? Yes, that was it. A cell phone communication, something about intercepting a stone. Or was it stony?
Without looking behind him, he raised a hand and motioned to his supervisor. He heard a slight click as the more experienced linguist started monitoring the frequency as well.
“Is it important?” Wang asked softly, careful not to disturb his supervisor’s concentration.
“I do not know. Keep listening.” In the background, Wang could hear his supervisor speaking to the watch officer, careful not to disturb his concentration. How the man could manage it, he had no idea. In the next few seconds, he realized they’d hit a gold mine.
Stony. That was one of the words, along with the variation Tombstone, that Wang had been told to listen for. Was it possible? His breathing quickened slightly.
His supervisor broke in immediately. “You have done well.”
Wang heard him passing the information over the tactical air circuit, vectoring one of the potent MiG-33s in toward the location they’d triangulated on.
The Chinese carrier had a series of electromagnetic receivers mounted along the deck, each one looking like a small chock or deck fitting from a distance. In reality, the system had a sensitivity that rivaled the U.S. Navy’s own passive intercept capabilities. By positioning different receivers at different places on the ship, one vessel could accurately triangulate the location of any transmitter.
Wang listened carefully, but there were no further transmissions over that circuit for
Wang felt a moment of pride, realizing that he was indeed performing as vital a mission as his supervisors had claimed. He felt a fierce thrill of anger through his body, and wondered if the Americans on board the small Coast Guard vessel would ever know that it was he, Wang Su, who had been responsible for their destruction.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, sir,” Jack Simpson said, frustration in his voice. “I don’t give a damn what all your sonars tell you. I saw the periscope right off my starboard bow. Now what are you going to do about it?”
Normally, the reserve officer was a quiet, easygoing man. His subordinates hated playing poker with him, because they could never tell when he held a good hand. And indeed, his ability to remain calm when everyone else was losing their perspective was one of the reasons he’d risen so quickly through naval ranks. In addition, within his own intelligence community, he had never had to deal with people who doubted his technical competency. Not after the first time they’d met him.
“Look, what did you say your name was again?” Simpson asked. “Do I need to get out the lines that the CNO himself can call you and tell you to listen to me?”
“You know we don’t pass names over an unclear circuit,” the intelligence officer on the other end replied coolly. “And I think I’m capable of evaluating your information without the CNO’s oversight.”
“Then you’d damned well better get moving, mister,” Simpson snapped. “I make the distance between that submarine and your aircraft carrier less than eight thousand yards right now. Unless you’ve got two helos airborne right now, enroute his datum, you’d better head to your abandon-ship positions.”
Silence on the other end for a moment, and he could hear muffled voices on the other end, as though a hand were covering the receiver. Watching the carrier as he waited, he saw a helicopter aft of her, which had clearly been in plane guard duties, veer away sharply and head toward
“I see your helo,” Simpson said, his voice now calm and collected. At least they were doing something. It might not be enough, but at least they’d go down fighting. “Tell him to come to his left a bit more — yes, that’s it,” he said as the helicopter corrected its course. “He should be overhead the location in about five seconds. There.”
A thin sliver of metal separated from the undercarriage of the helicopter and fell blunt end down toward the water. The splash it made was quickly lost in the gentle swells.
“All right,
A look of stark horror swept over Adele’s face. Her face was pasty white, her finger trembling as she pointed toward the water behind Jack’s back. “How — how far away from us is it?” she asked, her voice quavering.
Jack felt like a heavyweight champion had just landed a punch to his gut. He felt his own features start to mirror hers as he turned around to look. “Maybe two thousand yards,” he said, already running for the controls.
“And what’s the max range?” Adele asked, close behind him.
“Too much. If it doesn’t find the submarine right off, it’ll start circling for another target. Depending on
