U.S.S. Seawolf (20 page)

Six minutes later, a well-groomed young man in a starched white jacket knocked and entered with a large pot of coffee, bone china cups and saucers, a large plate of Pepperidge Farm cookies, and a sizeable plate of chicken sandwiches.…“Thought you might be hungry, sir.”

“You see, Joe, charm and diplomacy are sometimes necessary.”

Admiral Mulligan shook his head at the sheer blinding insincerity of the man. Even Admiral Morgan chuckled,
but quickly added, “But not when you’re dealing with devious Orientals.”

“Okay, Arnie,” said Admiral Mulligan, munching cheerfully. “Lay it on me.”

The NSA walked across the room to his conference table and poured them coffee, firing a couple of rounds of “buckshot” into each cup—he never could remember the name Hermesetas, but he would have had it been that of a submarine. Then he walked over to a huge computer screen on his wall, the hard drive of which contained the up-to-date charts of all the world’s oceans. He switched on the system, punched in C
HINA
, then Y
ELLOW
S
EA
, then pulled up the northernmost point of that cul-de-sac ocean, the Bay of Liaodong.

“Right. Now here is where they built the new Chinese ICBM submarine, at this port up here, Huludao. Now we know how shallow the Yellow Sea is and we know the submarines, even newly built, leave there on the surface, running south down the coast of Korea, toward the deeper water.

“Now we wanna assume two things. One, Judd and his boys are on the case, following the new
Xia III
. Two, the Chinese suspect he might be around somewhere, which I have no doubt pisses them off royally.

“Anyhow, over the next few days there was quite a serious game of cat-and-mouse going on. We get some stuff on the satellite about a big depth charge and ASW mortar exercise off Taiwan. That was no exercise. Trust me. They thought they’d caught Judd, and they might’ve, but he got away.

“Now I’m guessing we have right here an even-more-pissed-off Chinese Navy. Look at the stuff from Fort Meade, look at these pictures from the South China Sea. Suddenly, up to the surface comes the new
Xia
. We photograph it from the satellite, right here on this chart. Three hours later we get a Fort Meade report of another big Chinese exercise, planes, choppers, ships every
where, ten miles from where we saw the
Xia
. Again that was no exercise. Again that was Judd. Again he got away. By Christ, he’s hard to catch.

“Now, let’s assume he’s got what he came for, the photographs and measurements. But the Chinese still can’t find him. But they don’t give up. They actually send out their big new destroyer,
Xiangtan
, from Canton, into the area where Chinese Naval Intelligence is now guessing
Seawolf
might be. The main area search failed, right? So they decide to sniff out the inshore areas where a really cunning American CO like Judd might go. Where he would be least expected.”

Joe Mulligan stared at the chart of the southern coast of China and nodded thoughtfully.

“Then there’s a bit of a fluke,” said Arnold Morgan. “The fuckers trip over each other. And, lo and behold, the Chinese have the devil that’s been haunting them for several days.…Wily little bastards try to put us off the scent with a succession of hurt but helpful messages. Meanwhile they steal
Seawolf
—along with every goddamned thing they’ve already stolen—and now plan to torture our crew into revealing every last high-tech secret of the greatest attack submarine the world has ever known. What the hell else are they gonna do with it? Turn it into a fucking ferry to Kowloon?

“And that, Admiral, IS WHY I HAVE TO BE KEPT INFORMED OF EVERY LAST DUMBASS DEVELOPMENT THAT GOES ON IN YOUR DUMBASS NAVY CONCERNING CHINA…BECAUSE NOBODY ELSE GETS IT…EXCEPT ME.”

Admiral Mulligan took his life in his hands. “Is there even a remote possibility that you may be wrong, Arnie?”

“Fuck off, Joe. And don’t sound retarded even if you are.”

The big CNO almost choked with laughter on his tenth cookie, because the truth was, Morgan was right. “
You think you know something, talk to Arnie, then you’ll
know much, much more
.” And he thanked God for him, and for their long, unbreakable friendship.

“Just think about it, Joe. Here we have one hugely pissed-off Chinese Navy, being given the runaround by the Americans. Finally, they get lucky. They have in their possession the submarine that will save ’em the trouble of this type of espionage for years and years.

“Joe, they are planning to copy that ship down to the last detail. If necessary they will torture key men in the crew to get the know-how, and it’s my guess we’ll never see either the men or
Seawolf
again.

“They’ll either jail ’em, after some trumped-up trial, or they’ll just go missing. It’s such a vast country, so fucking mysterious, we’d never be able to find ’em.”

“Well, if that’s your take on it, I’ll just get up and go, and you can give the President a quick call and announce the impending death of his only son. Good luck.”

Admiral Morgan laughed, nervously for him. “Siddown, Joe. I’m not saying we acquiesce to any of this. I’m just trying to lay down the Chinese mindset. A worst-case scenario, I admit. But if we’re gonna tackle it, we may as well face up to it. Of course, if I am wrong, then it’ll sort itself out and no one will be hurt. But I’ve got a real creepy feeling about the Chinese, and I do not like
anything
I’m hearing over the past few days.

“Anyway, there’s going to be just one outcome today, as far as we’re concerned. The President’s gonna tell us to get Linus back. Somehow. I hope.”

0900. Saturday. July 8
.
Cell Block Mao. Canton Naval Base
.

The commotion outside attracted the attention of all six of the American prisoners. And each man stood at the bars of his cell as the main door was kicked forcibly in, swinging back hard against the stone wall to allow Com
mander Li to make his entry. He was followed by four more American prisoners, apparently transferred in the past hour from the civilian jail out by the mausoleum.

Judd Crocker watched them come in, handcuffed in a line, all very junior members of the crew—Seaman Recruits—led by Kirk Sarloos from the torpedo room. Behind him came young Nathan Dunn from Alabama; followed by the black engineer from Georgia, Carlton Fleming; then one of the cooks, Skip Laxton, 19, from Vermont.

Each man nodded to the officers as they passed and were then roughly shoved into the last four cells at the end of the line. At which point Admiral Zhang Yushu marched through the still-open door, turned to Captain Crocker and said icily, “Tell your men they will cooperate with my technicians in a tour of the ship later this morning…and do it NOW, Captain Crocker. RIGHT NOW!”

“Fuck off, Zhang. You’re wasting your time and mine. I’m not obliged to do anything. And when we finally get out of here, you might find yourself a pariah in the international community for breaches of the Convention.”

“Do not tempt me, Captain Crocker, to ensure that you never get out of here.”

“SCREW YOU—you fat Chinese bastard.”

“GUARD! Remove that man from cell number, nine…now have him kneel on the floor right in front of his most insolent captain…”

They brought Skip Laxton out, and the tiny lieutenant knocked him to the floor with a rifle butt. “NOW KNEEL DOWN WITH YOUR FOREHEAD ON THE FLOOR, HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK!”

The groggy American did as he was told, and once more, the Commander-in-Chief turned to Judd Crocker and told him to command his men to cooperate with the Chinese authorities in a scientific tour of the ship later that morning.

“YOU WILL ORDER IT NOW!!” he roared.

“The hell I will,” replied the CO.

At which point Admiral Zhang Yushu nodded imperceptibly to the guard lieutenant, who aimed his service revolver and shot Skip Laxton dead, clean through the back of the head. In stunned silence the American officers watched the slumped body, the dirt spreading red beneath young Skip’s forehead.

“You cheap-shit barbaric little murderer,” shouted Brad Stockton. “When this gets out, you’ll face a world courtroom as a war criminal. That was MURDER!”

“And it’s not the end, either,” said Admiral Zhang. “I am proposing to kill one of your men every time your captain denies my request. Because of your importance, and some of your other officer colleagues, you will all be spared for the time being. But I do not care if I have fifty of your more junior men killed. I’ll do it…until you see reason. I am, you see, playing for extremely high stakes, the entire future of my country. The death of a few American pirates does not interest me one way or the other.

“Now bring out the next man…the one with the black face…and have him kneel just in front of Captain Crocker…now, sir…will you inform your men that they must cooperate?”

“Very well,” said Judd. “Since I am from a higher civilization than you, I have no choice…Men, you will accompany Admiral Zhang’s technicians back to our ship with me, and you will tell him truthfully what he wants to know. And Li, you little asshole, I hope you enjoy your fucking tree roots for lunch.”

They all stood silently and watched the Commander-in-Chief and his security chief march out of the cell block. And they heard the door bang shut behind them.

They did not, however, hear Zhang’s icy verdict on the exercise. “I told you, Li,” he said. “The West is ultimately soft, and the words of our great leader Mao Zedong must
always be recalled…‘Real power comes from the barrel of a gun.’

“And you saw it for yourself. One bullet. That was all it took. One small bullet, and they caved in. One insignificant life in return for the greater glory of China, and all of our people. The future belongs to us, Li. And all these years later we must remember the most pure thoughts of the Chairman.”

“And, sir, one question?”

“Certainly, my faithful Li.”

“Would you really have ordered the execution of fifty men, had it been necessary?”

“Yes, Li. I think I might have. There are few moments in a commander’s life when the end undoubtedly justifies the means. And, regrettably for the Americans, this was, and indeed is, one of them.”

0800. Friday. July 7
.
West Wing, the White House
.

The 13-hour time difference between the South China Sea and the East Coast of the United States was a source of annoyance to Admiral Morgan. He constantly felt that he was a day behind, “trying to play catchup ball.” As he usually put it, “Whatever they do in the normal light hours of a working day, it’s nearly always the middle of the previous goddamned night here. That gives ’em an advantage. Chinese pricks.”

And now he walked particularly briskly down the corridor toward the Oval Office, his gleaming black shoes pounding along the carpet, his jaw set forward, arms swinging, eyes straight ahead. The towering figure of Admiral Joe Mulligan, moving on a longer stride than his five-foot-eight-inch colleague, had to increase his pace just to stay level.

The two Marine guards outside the President’s office
scarcely had time to move as the National Security Adviser walked straight between then, rapped twice on the polished wooden door, and went right in, followed by the head of the United States Navy.

The President rose from behind his desk and offered his hand to Admiral Mulligan. “Hello, Joe. Nice to see you again…Arnie and I have given up shaking hands since we see each other about five times a day…but there’s some coffee here…which I’ll pour for you…and I asked ’em to bring in some hot toast…I believe you’ve been here all night?”

“Yessir. We have,” replied Admiral Morgan. “And I’m afraid the news we bring is not good…the Chinese Navy has somehow picked up
Seawolf
after some kind of a collision in the South China Sea. She’s moored alongside in Canton right now. We think the crew has been incarcerated. And it is with the deepest regret that I must tell you, Linus is her executive officer.”

The President sucked in his breath through his front teeth as the monstrous ramifications of the admiral’s words slammed into his mind. He shook his head erratically, as if to say,
No, please, no. Tell me that’s not true
. And then he cast his hands outward, and he had to steel himself to say quietly, “Are they in danger? Will we get them back okay?”

“Sir, I think it may be most helpful if Joe ran through the whole incident very quickly. It’ll give you a quick and accurate surface picture…then we can start to work out how we’re gonna wring their fucking necks. Politically speaking, of course.”

Despite himself, the President managed a meager smile, and then he nodded them to begin. He listened closely as Morgan and Mulligan gave their perspectives on the tragic events.

When they finished, the President turned to Morgan, and asked, “You don’t believe they’ll return the men and the ship?”

“They might return the ship when they’ve finished
with it, sir. But I doubt it. I think they’ll find a way to say it’s somehow nuclear-contaminated, and they are going to confiscate it to ensure the safety of honorable Chinese assholes, sorry, people.”

“And the crew?”

“Sir, I think we have to assume they are going to try to wring them out for every last scrap of knowledge about the systems in the submarine. That may be hugely unpleasant. And then I think they may stage some kind of public military trial and put them all in the slammer for years and years, for endangering the lives of the peace-loving Chinese people with nuclear weapons. They’ll try to turn it into treason against the Republic, and thus justify world opinion in their favor.”

Just then a waiter came in with three plates of hot buttered toast and the President rose and thanked him, but Arnold noticed he did not eat anything.

Neither did he speak; he just sat and listened to his National Security Adviser outlining the gravity of the situation, reminding him of the zeal with which China had been pursuing the creation of a blue-water navy and especially a top-class submarine service, using any and every method to bring their technology up to speed.