TSUNAMI STORM (18 page)

Chinese Submarine, Pacific Ocean, Off the Coast of Oregon

Guang Xi had started taking short naps between mine placements. The whole process would take almost three days and he couldn’t stay awake for the entire time. The torpedo technician woke him fifteen minutes before the next mine was scheduled to be deployed. The mini-nuke mine was already placed in the torpedo tube. Guang Xi struggled again to lie on the deck of the torpedo room and attached the timer display and control unit. He went through the now familiar routine that armed the mine and set the countdown timer.

He signaled the sonar room and the soft pulse gave him the contour of the Cascadia Subduction Zone fault line. He asked the Captain to make a small course correction and counted down the seconds to start the timer. He pressed the button that set the mine into its final countdown sequence. The torpedo tech again closed the torpedo tube door, flooded the tube, opened the outer door and nodded to Guang Xi to let him know everything was ready. Guang Xi glanced again at his map and counted the last few seconds. He pressed the large button that ejected the mine, and the sub accelerated back up to its eight-knot traveling speed. Five minutes later the thud of the mine on the ocean floor gave them the image he waited to see. The mini-nuke mine was again placed exactly on the line formed by the two tectonic plates. Mine number 20 was in place. Fifteen mines and approximately 30 hours remained to complete America’s punishment.

Guang Xi hobbled back to the sonar room and leaned in. “Hear anything out there?”

“Only the normal background sounds of the ocean,” the sonar tech replied. “No pings, no screw sounds, no one anywhere close to us.”

“Good,” Guang Xi said. “Even with America’s vaunted technology, they still don’t know we’re here. The great America isn’t so mighty after all. Soon they will be brought to their knees.” He returned to the torpedo room and settled in for another short nap. He had to keep his mind clear and sharp in order to complete his mission. He dreamed of the horror he would unleash on America, which was long overdue.
Soon
, he thought.
Very soon
.

U.S.S. Massachusetts, Pacific Ocean, Off the Coast of Oregon

Captain Paul Jacobs rushed out of his cabin with the COB close behind him. The alarm was sounding with the call going out over the 1MC loud speakers, “Battle stations, battle stations, this is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill, battle stations.” He passed Lieutenant Grimes as she ran toward the ladder that would take her down to her station in the torpedo room.

“Status?” Jacobs demanded as he entered the control center.

“Still at flank speed,” Silverton answered. “Underwater contact dead ahead, range 40,000 yards and closing. All stations manned and ready, Sir. Captain has the Con,” he announced.

“Reduce speed to sixteen knots, silent running rules in place,” Jacobs ordered. “Sonar, con, what exactly do we have?”

The helm answered first, “Make speed sixteen knots, aye-aye, Sir.”

Stephanos, the sonar officer spoke next, “We have a faint sonar ping, Sir, frequency and strength indicate it’s being used to map the ocean floor.”

“Any screw sounds?” Jacobs asked. Screw was navy slang for propeller.

“No, Sir, nothing yet. At this depth sounds travel in thermal channels, which are also frequency sensitive. We’re going to have to get closer to pick up the screw signature.”

“Any estimate on the depth of the ping,” Jacobs asked.

“Too far away, Sir, but for us to hear it, it must be around our depth.”

“Very well, keep on top of this.”

“Aye-aye, Sir.”

Jacobs examined the tactical layout on the electronic screen, which showed a red dot on the top edge of the screen representing the location of the potential ghost sub. “If all they’re doing is mapping the ocean floor, then this is probably an intel mission rather than operational,” Jacobs said to Silverton.

“That would be good news,” Silverton replied.

“Maybe. It certainly changes our range of responses. We need to get closer to get a more accurate idea of what’s going on.”

“Of course.”

Stephanos, stuck his head into the control center. “A minute, Captain?”

Jacobs walked back into the sonar room. “What’s up?”

“We picked up a very faint sound, Sir, something we’re not sure about.”

“So you’re speculating about this sound?” Jacobs asked.

Stephanos shrugged. “We’ve never heard anything like it before, hence our speculation.”

“Which is?”

Stephanos looked at his men seated at their consoles and then back to Jacobs. “We think it sounds like something hitting the ocean floor, Sir. Something heavy.”

“How long after the ping?”

“Around six minutes, Sir.”

“Let me know if it happens again.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Over the next two hours, the
Massachusetts
gradually closed the distance to the suspected ghost sub, reducing the distance to 24,000 yards. Stephanos again poked his head into the control center and motioned for Jacobs to come to the sonar room.

“We were picking up some very faint screw sounds, not enough to identify, and then the sound disappeared.”

“Are they turning to clear baffles?” Jacobs asked.

“Can’t really tell, Sir.”

Jacobs leaned into the control center, “Helm, all stop.”

“All stop, aye-aye, Sir.”

Jacobs stood in the doorway to the sonar room as the
Massachusetts
drifted slowly and silently forward. It felt like the entire crew was holding its collective breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

“Another single ping, Sir,” a sonar tech said. “Just like before, mapping the ocean floor.”

They all waited in anxious silence.

“There’s another very faint sound, Sir.”

“Best guess?” Jacobs asked.

The sonar tech looked over at the Captain, clearly uncertain of what he heard. “It sounded a little like a torpedo being flushed out of the tube, but there’s no screw sounds. Just silence.”

Jacobs felt his inner guts tighten. Could they know the
Massachusetts
was following them? They may have deployed a torpedo left to drift silently in the water, waiting for the
Massachusetts
to get close to it, at which time it would awaken to the sounds of the sub, go active and home in on them. It was the cat and mouse, predator and prey game, if only you knew which one you really were.

“Screw sounds,” the sonar tech announced. “Target is picking up speed.”

“We’re going to stay here for a few more minutes,” Jacobs said. “Let’s see if something hits the bottom of the ocean again.”

“Got an ID on the screw signature, Sir,” the sonar tech said. “It’s our ghost sub, signature confirmed.”

“Well, that answers our first question.” Jacobs said. “Now for the second one.”

The waiting game continued. Finally the sonar tech looked over at the Captain. “Heavy impact on the ocean floor, Sir.”

“Time in between ping and impact?”

“About six minutes, Sir.”

“Okay, so probably not a torpedo waiting for us – so far, so good.” Jacobs walked back into the control center. “We need to update COMSUBPAC and see what they want to do. Helm, maintain heading, make your speed sixteen knots and your depth 500 feet.”

“Heading true north, sixteen knots, 500 feet, aye-aye, Sir,” the helmsman answered.

As they rose above one thousand feet depth the sonar officer called out, “Con, sonar, surface contact directly above us.”

“Helm, hold this depth,” Jacobs quickly ordered.

“Holding depth, Sir,” the helmsman answered.

Jacobs ducked back into the sonar room.

“Screw signature is from a Chinese Frigate, full Anti-Submarine Warfare capable according to our records,” Stephanos said.

“Chinese?” Jacobs asked incredulously. “Have they heard us?”

“Doubtful, Sir. Very heavy weather topside, I’d be surprised if they can hear anything at our depth.”

Jacobs slowly wandered back into the control center of the
Massachusetts
, deep in thought. “Helm, take us back down to 1500 feet and resume pursuit of the ghost sub.”

“Making depth 1500 feet, course 000,” the helmsman replied.

“Lieutenant Kent, you have the con. Notify me if anything changes –
anything
, you understand?”

“Understood, Sir.”

“XO, COB, join me in the wardroom.” As the two men followed Jacobs, he asked Stephanos to join them. They entered the wardroom where officers’ meals and conferences took place, and sat around the long oval table. “Gentlemen, this is our dilemma.”

Falls Church, Virginia

Billingsly met with Cummings and Bentonhouse again after their monthly dinner. Cummings appeared especially distraught. “Ralph, calm down and tell me what’s happening,” Billingsly said.

“Our country is going to die,” Cummings said, “and China is going to kill it.”

“They don’t have the weaponry to do that,” Billingsly replied calmly. “Besides, we have the best anti-missile defense system on the planet. It’s suicide for China to start a war with us. The whole of China would be radioactive for the next 10,000 years. They’re not going to do it.”

“You don’t understand,” Cummings replied. “China has a gun to our head. It’s not nuclear, it’s financial.”

Billingsly frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“China owned $1.2 trillion in U.S. Treasury Notes and Bonds.”

“What do you mean, ‘owned?’ What did they do with them?”

“China dumped all of them on the international market 48 hours ago,” Cummings said.

“So we buy them back,” Billingsly replied. “That’s only, what, 7% of the national debt. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“No, no. The notes and bonds aren’t the problem. The Federal Reserve is running the printing presses day and night to print enough U.S. currency to buy back the notes and bonds. If we don’t, the value of the U.S. dollar crashes. We have to buy them back at market value.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“China hasn’t lost anything by selling the notes and bonds.” Cummings said. “They get paid in U.S. dollars, just like they got paid for everything they used to send to us as imports. With all of the money they have collected, plus the dollars from the notes and bonds, by the end of the week, China will hold over two trillion in U.S. dollars.”

Where the hell is this going?
Billingsly wondered.
None of this is making any sense.
“I don’t understand. Why would two trillion dollars be a gun held to our head?”

Cummings looked as frustrated as Billingsly felt. “The leverage of the debt they held was the gun. By dumping the debt on the market all at once, China forced us to give them the bullets for the gun. We’re printing U.S. dollars to buy back the debt. When China dumps the dollars on the international market in exchange for other currencies, we can’t print other country’s currencies to buy back the dollars. With a glut of U.S. dollars that size, our currency becomes worthless. Our whole economy would crash overnight. You’re looking at $1,000 for a loaf of bread, $5,000 for a gallon of gasoline. Nobody will be able to afford anything!”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Billingsly said. “The international market will absorb the dip in the value of the dollar. It’ll be fine.”

“No it won’t,” Cummings replied emphatically. “Just over a hundred years ago the U.S. dollar was backed 100% with gold and silver. Our paper currency had ‘Gold Certificate’ or ‘Silver Certificate’ printed right on it, depending on the amount. That’s why the world came to depend on the U.S. dollar as the world’s reserve currency – it was directly redeemable in gold or silver. Anyone could walk into any American bank and exchange the paper currency for gold or silver coins. Franklin D. Roosevelt changed that when he took our currency off the gold standard in 1933. Nixon took our currency off the silver standard in 1971. All of our currency now says Federal Reserve Note on it. A note is a promise to pay, but pay what? It doesn’t say. While we had oil contracts set up around the world to be paid only in U.S. dollars, our currency could always be used to buy oil, so it retained some semblance of value. Now oil contracts can be paid in any currency, so the dollar has to compete with other currencies on the global market.

“Right now the only things of value that back the dollar are the Treasury Notes and U.S. Bonds, and those are debt instruments. They’re worth only what the world
believes
they’re worth.”

“Go on,” Billingsly said, as he sat in near shock at what he was hearing.
Cummings is an expert in finance. If he says it’s bad, it’s probable worse that he thinks.

“Remember the new financial system I told you about? How Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa are forming their own banking system? Those five countries comprise about half of the world’s economy. Once the U.S. dollar falls,
that financial system becomes the new standard.
They’ve already talked about introducing a new currency, a gold-backed currency. China has announced the Yuan is now a gold-backed currency. Russia is doing the same thing, making the Ruble gold-backed. India and Brazil are talking about the same move. When the world moves to the new financial system, a gold-backed currency, U.S. dollars will be relegated to third world, banana republic status. Every country that holds U.S. debt will want a gold-backed currency in exchange for the debt. Yes, we can print more paper dollars, but who’s going to want them? Nobody! That’s when America dies.”

Billingsly sat in total disbelief. “So you’re saying paper money is a more powerful weapon than nuclear bombs?”

“China has been buying gold for decades,” Cummings said. “Once the dollar crashes, China could buy every American business, every piece of property, including government buildings, for a fraction of a penny on the dollar. They wouldn’t have to fire a shot. Instead of beating us, they’d own us, right down to the last toothpick.”

“But we’re the greatest superpower in the world,” Billingsly protested.

“Which will be sold at fire sale prices,” Cummings replied. “Every person in America would be working for a company owned by the Chinese,
paying rent
to the Chinese on what
used to be
their own house.”

“That’s not possible,” Billingsly stated. “We have our own gold supply. We could back our own currency again. It might take all of the gold in Fort Knox to do it, but it could be done.”

Cummings looked at the floor and shook his head. “You don’t understand. We don’t have any gold in Fort Knox. It’s all been sold or paid out to cover trade imbalances through the Bank of International Settlements in Basel, Switzerland.”

“Aw come on!” Billingsly roared. “What about the damned Federal Reserve System? They have gold!”

Cummings shook his head again. “The Federal Reserve Banks are all privately owned, and they have sold off their gold reserves, too.”

“No, no, no,” Billings shouted. “The Federal Reserve is a government agency. We own it.”

Cummings looked Billingsly in the eye. “A common misunderstanding. Only the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve is a government agency. Their role is to help direct or control the economy through fiscal policy and interest rates, and to review financial legislation and place their interpretation of the law into the Code of Federal Regulations. That’s all the Board of Governors does. It doesn’t own anything. All of the Federal Reserve Banks are privately owned.”

“This can’t be happening,” Billingsly fumed.

“Federal Reserve Banks are
supposed to
hold gold for other countries,” Cummings said. “You remember when Venezuela demanded all of its gold back from the Federal Reserve Bank of New York?”

“Yeah,” Billingsly replied. “I watched on TV when the gold arrived back in Venezuela. So what?”

“What you don’t know is that it took the Federal Reserve Bank of New York
seven years
to quietly buy back enough gold to return it to Venezuela. They used the U.S. legal system to delay the process long enough to collect the gold.”

“Bullshit!” Billingsly exclaimed. “All of those gold bars have serial numbers stamped into them. Each one is individually identified.”

“And each bar is simply melted down, recast and a new serial number is stamped into it. That’s what the New York Bank did. They collected gold, melted it down, cast it into new bars and stamped the old serial numbers into the bars. Then they sent the gold bars back to Venezuela.”

“You can’t be serious.” Billingsly bellowed.

“I’m deadly serious,” Cummings replied. “I should make a correction here. There is gold in Fort Knox, it’s just that we don’t actually own any of it. It all belongs to other countries.”

“How could this happen?” Billingsly asked.

“Over that last hundred years, top U.S. politicians and International Bankers have played fast and loose with our gold reserve. Now there’s nothing left.”

Billingsly closed his eyes and breathed out heavily. “
That
I can actually believe.”