The Ghost War (35 page)
She didn’t freak out. She giggled.
“I’m not kidding. We’d have to do it now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you want a new life or not?” Sailing around the Caribbean, fishing, hanging out. Maybe buying a cabin somewhere, trying again to have a baby. It would be a long shot, but what wasn’t?
“Yes, but—” She stopped, stood up, looked around the kitchen. “Could we take Lenny? And where would you work? Your job is so important.”
The mole’s visions of beachfront paradise faded. This wouldn’t work, he saw. When she said start over, she meant that they should take a vacation, be sweeter to each other. The things normal people meant. Not dropping everything and moving to Indonesia. Anyway, he didn’t have a fake passport for her, or any way to get one. And what would she think when she saw his face on TV?
The FBI has named Keith Edward Robinson, a veteran CIA employee, as a person of interest
in an ongoing espionage investigation. . . . Keith Robinson, who disappeared two weeks ago, is suspected
of the greatest intelligence breach in more than twenty years. . . .Authorities now say they believe fugitives Keith and Janice Robinson have fled the country. . . .
The FBI has named Keith Edward Robinson, a veteran CIA employee, as a person of interest
in an ongoing espionage investigation. . . . Keith Robinson, who disappeared two weeks ago, is suspected
of the greatest intelligence breach in more than twenty years. . . .Authorities now say they believe fugitives Keith and Janice Robinson have fled the country. . . .
“Got that right, sweetie.” He made himself laugh. “And we can’t leave Lenny. Guess we’ll make do here.”
That night he lay beside her, listening to the suburban night, sprinklers rattling on and off to keep the lawns green. He was afraid, he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t, but excited too. His last night in this bed, this house, this life. He supposed he’d known all along that the path he’d taken would end this way.
He’d had sex that night with Janice, not once but twice, the first time in years. Ironic. But not surprising. Part of her knew he wasn’t joking about leaving. Part of her wouldn’t be surprised when she woke up and found him gone.
He rolled out of bed, quietly, sure not to wake her. He padded out of the bedroom, down the stairs, into the basement. And there he unlocked his safe and filled a canvas bag with everything he needed.
26
EVERY DAY HENRY WILLIAMS THANKED GOD
he’d been given the chance to command the USS
Decatur.
He knew it sounded like a cliché, but it was true. Nothing was better than controlling a five-hundred-foot-long destroyer armed with enough cruise missiles to level a city, or steaming into Bangkok or Sydney beside a carrier loaded with F-18s. The oceans were the world’s last frontier, and the United States Navy ruled them, full stop.
he’d been given the chance to command the USS
Decatur.
He knew it sounded like a cliché, but it was true. Nothing was better than controlling a five-hundred-foot-long destroyer armed with enough cruise missiles to level a city, or steaming into Bangkok or Sydney beside a carrier loaded with F-18s. The oceans were the world’s last frontier, and the United States Navy ruled them, full stop.
Plus Williams found life aboard the
Decatur
satisfying in a way he would never have imagined growing up as a landlubber in Dallas. He didn’t come from a Navy family. He’d chosen Annapolis mainly because the academy’s basketball coach had offered him the chance to start his freshman year. But after twenty-two years in the service, Henry Williams had fallen in love with the ocean—or more precisely, with the ships that plied its waves.
Decatur
satisfying in a way he would never have imagined growing up as a landlubber in Dallas. He didn’t come from a Navy family. He’d chosen Annapolis mainly because the academy’s basketball coach had offered him the chance to start his freshman year. But after twenty-two years in the service, Henry Williams had fallen in love with the ocean—or more precisely, with the ships that plied its waves.
The sea was unpredictable, but the
Decatur’
s rhythm was steady as a heartbeat. Its floors were scrubbed each day. Its bells chimed every half-hour. In the wardroom, the tablecloths were spotless, the silverware polished. Williams could no longer accept the chaos of real life, life on land. So his wife, Esther, had told him three years ago, when she filed for divorce. She still loved him, but she no longer understood him, she said. Williams didn’t try to change her mind. In his heart he knew she was right.
Decatur’
s rhythm was steady as a heartbeat. Its floors were scrubbed each day. Its bells chimed every half-hour. In the wardroom, the tablecloths were spotless, the silverware polished. Williams could no longer accept the chaos of real life, life on land. So his wife, Esther, had told him three years ago, when she filed for divorce. She still loved him, but she no longer understood him, she said. Williams didn’t try to change her mind. In his heart he knew she was right.
Within the
Decatur,
Williams’s word was law. He could call a general-quarters drill at noon or midnight. Demand that the laundry room be scrubbed until it shined—then scrubbed again for good measure. The 330 sailors and officers aboard the
Decatur
obeyed his orders without question. Nowhere in the world was the chain of command followed more closely than aboard ship.
Decatur,
Williams’s word was law. He could call a general-quarters drill at noon or midnight. Demand that the laundry room be scrubbed until it shined—then scrubbed again for good measure. The 330 sailors and officers aboard the
Decatur
obeyed his orders without question. Nowhere in the world was the chain of command followed more closely than aboard ship.
And that discipline was vitally important now, with the
Decatur
in hostile waters, at the forward edge of the
Ronald Reagan
carrier strike group, almost in sight of the Chinese coast. Even the dimmest of the
Decatur’s
crew knew that the United States was close to war with China. The tension aboard the ship was palpable from the engine room to the bridge, and nowhere more than among the sonar operators, who had the job of listening to the ship’s SQR-19 towed array. The biggest threat to the
Decatur
came from the Chinese submarines that lurked in the shallow waters off the coast.
Decatur
in hostile waters, at the forward edge of the
Ronald Reagan
carrier strike group, almost in sight of the Chinese coast. Even the dimmest of the
Decatur’s
crew knew that the United States was close to war with China. The tension aboard the ship was palpable from the engine room to the bridge, and nowhere more than among the sonar operators, who had the job of listening to the ship’s SQR-19 towed array. The biggest threat to the
Decatur
came from the Chinese submarines that lurked in the shallow waters off the coast.
Now Williams sat in his stateroom, poring over the classified report that contained the Navy’s new estimate of the capabilities of China’s subs. The Chinese had made progress, but their fish still couldn’t hope to compete with the Navy’s nuclear attack subs, it seemed.
A knock on his cabin door interrupted him. “Yes?”
“Captain. Lieutenant Frederick requests permission to enter.”
“Come in, Lieutenant.”
Frederick stepped in and saluted Williams crisply. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir. It’s about the reporter.”
“What’s she gotten into now?”
As a rule, the Navy was the most publicity-friendly of the services. With the War on Terror having become the focus of U.S. foreign policy, the admirals in the Pentagon felt constant pressure to demonstrate the Navy’s relevance—and protect its $150 billion annual budget. After all, al Qaeda didn’t exactly present a major naval threat. The clash with China had given the service its chance for a close-up, and the Navy didn’t intend to miss the opportunity. Reporters and camera crews were thick as roaches aboard the
Reagan,
the
Abraham Lincoln,
and the
John C.
Stennis,
the giant nuclear-powered flattops steaming toward the China coast. The
Decatur
had a reporter of its own, Jackie Wheeler. With her long dark hair and deep brown eyes, Wheeler could have been a TV babe, though she actually worked for the
Los Angeles Times.
Reagan,
the
Abraham Lincoln,
and the
John C.
Stennis,
the giant nuclear-powered flattops steaming toward the China coast. The
Decatur
had a reporter of its own, Jackie Wheeler. With her long dark hair and deep brown eyes, Wheeler could have been a TV babe, though she actually worked for the
Los Angeles Times.
Williams generally disdained the media, but he didn’t mind Wheeler. Pretty women were good for the crew’s morale, and the
Decatur
was controlled too rigorously for her to get into much trouble. And Williams knew that being chosen to host a reporter from a national paper was something of an honor. He also knew that he hadn’t been picked to host Wheeler solely because of the
Decatur‘s
spotless record. He was one of only a handful of black captains in the service. But he didn’t mind being trotted out this way. Like his commanders, Henry Williams knew the value of good press.
Decatur
was controlled too rigorously for her to get into much trouble. And Williams knew that being chosen to host a reporter from a national paper was something of an honor. He also knew that he hadn’t been picked to host Wheeler solely because of the
Decatur‘s
spotless record. He was one of only a handful of black captains in the service. But he didn’t mind being trotted out this way. Like his commanders, Henry Williams knew the value of good press.
“She’s been asking again about the CIC.” The Combat Information Center was the windowless room deep in the
Decatur’s
hull that functioned as the destroyer’s brain. “Says she can’t write a proper profile without spending a few hours inside.”
Decatur’s
hull that functioned as the destroyer’s brain. “Says she can’t write a proper profile without spending a few hours inside.”
Williams sighed. He’d already given Wheeler a tour of the CIC a few days before, and he didn’t want her in there with the
Decatur
on combat footing. But he supposed he’d have to compromise to get the glowing profile he wanted.
Decatur
on combat footing. But he supposed he’d have to compromise to get the glowing profile he wanted.
“Okay, Lieutenant. Tell her to come over here at 2100.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
AN HOUR LATER,
a knock roused him. “Captain?”
a knock roused him. “Captain?”
2058. Wheeler had learned something about naval etiquette during her week on board. “Ms. Wheeler? Come in.”
She stepped in tentatively. Until now Williams had been polite to Wheeler, but nothing more. He’d been busy. He’d also figured that keeping her at a distance, then slowly opening up, would make for the best profile. Up close she was younger than he had expected, barely thirty. Prettier too. “Sit.” He indicated the couch. “So you want another look at the CIC.”
“I won’t describe anything classified, Captain. I know the rules.”
“You bored with this skimmer?”
She laughed nervously. “Skimmer?”
“Some of us oldsters use that term to refer to any boat that floats.”
“Don’t they all float?”
“Not the submarines.”
“Oh, right.” She smiled, and Williams wished for a half-second that he were twenty years younger and meeting her in a bar instead of this cabin.
“Be honest. Wish you were over on the
Reagan
with the flyboys?”
Reagan
with the flyboys?”
“No, the crew’s treating me great.”
“Not the question I asked, but okay. Has Lieutenant Frederick told you about the man the
Decatur
is named for?” He flicked a thumb at the painting behind his desk, of a dark-haired dandy in a crimson jacket and fringed white shirt.
Decatur
is named for?” He flicked a thumb at the painting behind his desk, of a dark-haired dandy in a crimson jacket and fringed white shirt.
“No.”
Williams smiled with real pleasure. Telling this story reminded him that the Navy was different from the other services, more connected to its past. The men who had crewed the first ships in the fleet would recognize the way the
Decatur
was run—though they might not enjoy having a black man give them orders.
Decatur
was run—though they might not enjoy having a black man give them orders.
“You’re fortunate to be aboard a ship named for a famous American captain.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“I wish I could say yes, but we don’t have enough famous captains to go around. Some destroyers are christened after real second-raters. Or worse, Marines.”
“Tragic,” Wheeler said, playing along.
“Behind me is Commodore Stephen Decatur. During the War of 1812, he destroyed two British vessels. We won’t mention the third battle, the one he lost. After the war, he sailed to North Africa and shook down the Libyans. Along the way, he got famous for a line Machiavelli would have appreciated. ‘In her intercourse with foreign nations, may she always be in the right; but our country, right or wrong!’ Sort of a ‘Better dead than red’ for the nineteenth century.”
“I hope you don’t throw me overboard, but I’d say that kind of thinking has gotten us in a lot of trouble the last few years. We need more questioning of authority, not less.”
“You reporters have that luxury. Not us. Once the order comes, we follow it.”
“So what happened to Decatur?”
“He died in 1820. A duel.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. Who was on the other side?”
“A retired captain named James Barron. Thing is, Barron couldn’t see all that well—the contemporary accounts say that Decatur could have killed him easily. But the good commodore wanted to be sporting. He limited the duel to eight paces and said he wouldn’t shoot to kill. So Barron blew out Decatur’s stomach, and he died a few hours later. You know the lesson I take from that story?”
“Duels are dumb. And dangerous.”
“War’s no game. Ships like this are deceiving. We’re so big that maybe we seem unsinkable. But put a deep enough hole in the hull and we’ll go down fast. I don’t intend to let that happen to my crew.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
“Of course. And be at the CIC at 1100 tomorrow. You can stay all day.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
Just then Williams’s phone rang. “Yes?”
“Skipper, you might want to get down here.” The
Decatur’
s TAO, tactical action officer, was calling from the Combat Information Center. “We have a situation.”
Decatur’
s TAO, tactical action officer, was calling from the Combat Information Center. “We have a situation.”
“Be there in five.” Williams cradled the receiver.
“What was that?” Jackie said.
“Looks like we may get some action sooner than I thought.”
“Can I—”
Williams shook his head. “Sorry, Ms. Wheeler. No tour tonight.”
IF THE
DECATUR
’S FOUR GIANT TURBINE ENGINES,
capable of 100,000 horsepower at full throttle, were its heart, the Combat Information Center was its brain. The CIC was a well-lit room, fifty feet long, forty wide, in the center of the ship, equally protected from missiles and torpedoes. The windowless space looked like an air traffic control center at rush hour. Dozens of pasty-faced men and women huddled over blinking consoles that pulled in information from the
Decatur’s
radar and sonar systems, as well as the E-2 Hawkeye overhead. Williams sat near the front of the room, facing away from the chaos and toward the big, bright blue flat-panel screens that offered an integrated view of the threats facing the
Decatur
from sea, air, and land.
DECATUR
’S FOUR GIANT TURBINE ENGINES,
capable of 100,000 horsepower at full throttle, were its heart, the Combat Information Center was its brain. The CIC was a well-lit room, fifty feet long, forty wide, in the center of the ship, equally protected from missiles and torpedoes. The windowless space looked like an air traffic control center at rush hour. Dozens of pasty-faced men and women huddled over blinking consoles that pulled in information from the
Decatur’s
radar and sonar systems, as well as the E-2 Hawkeye overhead. Williams sat near the front of the room, facing away from the chaos and toward the big, bright blue flat-panel screens that offered an integrated view of the threats facing the
Decatur
from sea, air, and land.
As an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, the
Decatur
came equipped with an Aegis combat system, which linked the ship’s radar and sonar systems with its missile batteries. The Aegis could simultaneously track scores of planes and ships, labeling each as hostile, friendly, or unknown. In case of open war, the system could be put on full automatic mode, taking control of all the ship’s weapons. Besides its cruise missiles, the
Decatur
carried surface-to-air missiles, antiship missiles, antisubmarine rockets and torpedoes, an artillery launcher, and 20-millimeter cannons for close-in defense, should all else fail. With the Aegis on full automatic, the
Decatur
could probably blockade Shanghai all by itself.
Decatur
came equipped with an Aegis combat system, which linked the ship’s radar and sonar systems with its missile batteries. The Aegis could simultaneously track scores of planes and ships, labeling each as hostile, friendly, or unknown. In case of open war, the system could be put on full automatic mode, taking control of all the ship’s weapons. Besides its cruise missiles, the
Decatur
carried surface-to-air missiles, antiship missiles, antisubmarine rockets and torpedoes, an artillery launcher, and 20-millimeter cannons for close-in defense, should all else fail. With the Aegis on full automatic, the
Decatur
could probably blockade Shanghai all by itself.
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