Langford nodded. Clay knew as well as anyone how the events unfolded. He was onboard the Bowditch when it was struck.
“So, that’s it!” exclaimed Clay. “That’s why the warship itself never attacked… because it couldn’t. And that’s why their sub was there. For protection. They were there to make sure the warship and its cargo made it out.”
“So they gutted the thing.”
Clay nodded, as the pieces fell into place. “They’d been bringing those crates out of the jungle for months. But there was no way they could have fit it into just one warship. It’s too small. Unless they gutted the ship. Removing everything inside gave them the storage they needed, which meant it also left the ship defenseless. Their submarine was simply waiting, ready to clear a path for it.”
Langford watched the expression on Clay’s face. The guy never forgot anything. Given enough time, he could figure damn near anything out.
“Well, that was clever,” Caesare said.
Langford frowned. “The Russians were bad enough. But the Chinese are a whole new problem.”
Clay was thinking the same thing. Russia’s relationship with the U.S. had reached new lows over the fiasco in the Ukraine. And Washington’s relationship with the Chinese was also deteriorating, assisted by the Chinese coming out publicly in support of Russia’s position. Until then, China had remained a reluctant geopolitical partner of the U.S., primarily due to many decades of economic trading history. But in recent years China had been taking steps of their own, inching closer and closer to an adversarial position. When news leaked out that they’d actually attacked and sunk a large United States naval ship, things were bound to escalate, and badly.
“What happens now?” asked Clay.
Langford shook his head. “Nothing good. What the Chinese found on that mountain was worth starting a war over. But make no mistake, we would have done the same thing.”
Langford rubbed his eyes. The U.S. State Department had already begun condemning Russia for the destruction of the Bowditch. Now they would have to downplay their previous remarks and redirect their accusations at China. Yet they could not risk the trade relationship with China. If it collapsed, all hell would break loose, and there would be no winner on either side. The best the Administration could manage would be to corral the issue and turn it into a more subtle and very strategic counterattack. Langford knew the U.S. politicians were not going to rest until they had their pound of flesh, no matter what the long term ramifications were. The unfortunate truth was that politicians started wars but relied on men like Langford to fight them.
Langford blinked and found himself staring at the phone. The room remained silent. He straightened in his chair. “For the time being, I want you three to find out what you can about Otero. Alves had his connections and I’m sure this thug does too. And the last thing we need is the Brazilian government finding out and getting involved.”
“Yes, sir,” all three answered almost simultaneously.
Langford promptly ended the call with Caesare. He then watched Clay and Borger open the door, stepping out of the room.
The situation was unraveling quickly.
Langford let out a quick sigh. Soon he would have to tell the men what had happened to the Chinese warship immediately after it escaped Guyana with its precious cargo. Something that made absolutely no sense at all.
2
Clay followed Wil Borger into his darkened office, which was a generous word to describe the space where Wil worked. Located on one of the subfloors of the Pentagon building, the room was in dire need of some windows and sunlight. And a maid. The room was filled with racks of computer and signaling equipment which few people would recognize. A few pieces looked to be as old as Borger himself, who would soon be pushing fifty.
Wil Borger approached his desk, with a screen that was three monitors wide. Clay closed the door behind them.
With a loud squeak from his chair, Borger sat down and reached out to pull another forward for Clay. “Have a seat.”
“I could use the stretch.”
Borger nodded and spun back around to the monitors. “I need to show you something. Something I haven’t told anyone yet.”
Clay watched him open a new window on the screen and begin typing. A moment later a map filled the center screen. He raised his hand and briefly tapped a large hard drive resting below the same monitor.
“This is the hard drive I had on the Bowditch. Fortunately, I had it in my backpack when we were ordered to abandon ship.”
Clay peered at Borger. “The one with the video footage?”
“Correct.” He motioned to the map and reached for his mouse. It was a map of South America, with Guyana centered on the screen. Borger then double-clicked several times, zooming in on the area around Georgetown. “When we got back, I wanted to see what really happened to the Bowditch. So I downloaded the video from the ARGUS satellite before and after the impact.”
Clay was leaning over his shoulder when Borger stopped zooming and let the image crystalize. A moment later, they could both clearly see the U.S.S. Bowditch from an aerial view.
“There she is,” he said, under his breath.
The image was frozen, but the white wake behind the stern was clearly visible and showed the ship traveling full speed toward Georgetown’s small harbor. It was heading directly at the Chinese warship, which was trying to leave.
Borger then zoomed back out slightly, doubling the viewing area. Both ships were now smaller, but a barely identifiable wake could be seen several hundred yards behind the Bowditch.
A torpedo.
Borger hit a button on his keyboard and the overhead images began to play as a video. He moved out of the way, giving Clay a clear view. It was only moments later when the bow of the ship could be seen beginning to move. Clay knew it was the moment Captain Krogstad had given the order to do the unthinkable. To bring the ship around.
“Geez,” Clay muttered.
“It’s hard to watch.”
“It is.”
Over the next few minutes, they watched in silence at the agonizingly slow turn of the ship, finally coming about just moments before the torpedo’s impact.
The Bowditch was a science vessel, which meant it had no real weapons to speak of — certainly nothing with which to fight off a torpedo attack. The only offensive capability lay in the Oceanhawk helicopter housed on the main deck. In the video, they watched the rotors of the chopper gaining speed, desperately trying to lift off in time. But the torpedo struck first. Even in the video, the explosion against the port side of the bow was breathtaking. Most of the forward deck was destroyed instantly. On what deck remained, the Oceanhawk’s desperate attempt to escape came to an end. Clay and Borger watched in eerie silence as the blast caused the helicopter to roll and slice its spinning rotors into the deck’s twisted metal. The fragments burst into dozens of giant pieces of shrapnel just seconds before the Oceanhawk fell over the side, engulfed in an orange ball of flame.
The rest of the video played out exactly as the two men remembered it. They could see everyone, including themselves, huddled on the stern of the ship where Krogstad had ordered them. If he couldn’t outrun the torpedo, his only other option would be to save as many as he could. On the stern, survivors had the best chance of deploying the lifeboats. The rest of the ship was sacrificed to take as much of the blow as possible.
When it was over, Borger stopped the video and leaned back. “That’s only the second time I’ve seen it.”
Clay nodded, his eyes still on the screen. “I can see why.”
With a deep breath, Borger turned back to him. “There’s something else I wanted to show you.”