Dave unbuckled his helmet. "I'd say about a quarter of a mile."
Floating on his back, Scott continued trying to contact someone on the radios. He left both on so the GPS signal would indicate his exact position. Dalton couldn't believe that Jackie would leave him in the middle of the ocean. As the minutes passed, he finally accepted the fact that something had gone wrong. He hoped that Jackie, Dave, and their aircrewmen were okay. His concern for his situation shifted to concern for Jackie.
All thoughts of her evaporated when Scott saw a ship bearing down on him from the same direction the Chen Ziyang had gone. A few seconds later, a number of high-powered spotlights on the ship illuminated and began searching the water.
Scott started to reach for his 9mm Sig Sauer and then dismissed his idea. Yeah, that's going to do a lot of good against an eighteen-thousandton cargo ship full of guys with automatic weapons.
Frantic now that the ship was about a mile away and slowing, Scott racked his brain for a solution, something that made sense. He drew a blank as the vessel closed to within a half mile. This was going to be like a county-fair shooting gallery, and he was the only target.
The first stages of panic were beginning to set in when the Chen Ziyang exploded in a huge fireball that shot straight up for hundreds of feet. Astonished, Scott was rattled by the powerful shock wave that slammed into him. Holy shit!
Wide eyed, Dalton realized that he was out of immediate danger. He doubted if anyone could have survived an explosion of that magnitude. His greatest fear now was the debris that was raining down on him. Thousands of small pieces slapped the water while bigger sections of the ship hit the ocean with tremendous force.
From what he could tell, the Chen Ziyang had blown in half and was rapidly sinking. Amazed at his good fortune, but wondering what had happened, Scott watched in awe as the cargo ship burned for fifteen minutes. With an explosive rush of trapped air, the ship finally slipped under the surface of the sea.
His concern turned to survivors, desperate ones who might have weapons. He strained to hear a voice or see some movement. The silence was unnerving after the events of the past twenty minutes, but it was very comforting for someone who had come so close to certain death.
Scott slowly backstroked his way out of most of the debris field, and then rested while he floated on his back. He was still trying to come to grips with what he had experienced when the movement of the water around him felt like the first rise of a rogue wave.
"What the hell?" Scott mumbled in a moment of panic. He flipped over and was thrashing his legs when he felt movement directly underneath him. Something huge touched him, lifting him completely out of the water.
Reaching for his assault knife, he was suddenly sliding back toward the ocean. His heart was pounding so hard that he was gasping for air. Then he saw it.
"Thank you, God," he yelled in joy when he recognized the American attack submarine surfacing next to him.
Twenty-five minutes after his rescue, Scott was in the officers' wardroom. He was dry and wearing an unadorned khaki uniform loaned to him by the executive officer of the Los Angeles — class attack submarine. Pasadena had submerged and was under way. Where to, Dalton didn't know. His two cameras were locked in the commanding officer's safe and a navy helicopter would pick them up at first light. He was enjoying a cup of coffee when the CO and XO entered the empty wardroom.
The cordial skipper extended his hand. "Well, what's a jarhead doing out in the middle of the ocean at this time of night?"
Scott firmly shook hands. "Trust me, commander, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"We probably would," the executive officer said.
He and the skipper poured coffee into their mugs.
"Mr. Dalton," the CO said, motioning for the former Marine aviator to have a seat at the table.
"Sir, Scott would make me feel more comfortable."
"Scott it is. I'm Ron Leinwander and this is my XO, Bill Zakaria, whom you've met."
Dalton nodded.
Commander Leinwander stirred his coffee. "I'll give you a situation report, and then we'll answer any questions you may have, and I'm sure you'll have some."
"Yeah, that's true." Scott softly chuckled. "I can't remember the last time I had a submarine surface under me in the middle of the ocean."
The skipper turned serious. "We've been following the Chen Ziyang since it left the coast of California. Our orders called for us to intercept the Chinese ship and follow it until further notice. Well, it didn't make any sense to us, because they can track it with spacecraft and other reconnaissance platforms. But our questions were answered about the time your rescue helicopter ran into trouble."
"How's the flight crew?"
"They're just fine. They had a mechanical problem and had to land on a frigate, but they're safe and sound."
Dalton quietly sighed. Thank you again, God.
"We don't know what you were up to, or how you got aboard the ship, but I can tell you this. We received urgent orders while you were on the Chen Ziyang. Our job was to rescue you at all costs, including sinking the ship if we could confirm that you were in the water and in jeopardy."
The XO took over. "We rose to periscope depth about three hundred yards dead astern of the ship. We were watching Chen Ziyang through our scope when we saw you dive overboard in a hail of gunfire."
"You actually saw me?"
"Like in broad daylight. We were primed for action but figured we'd wait until the ship was gone before we would surface and invite you to join us for breakfast."
The CO took over on cue. "We received confirmation from re-con sources that you'd activated a radio and that your GPS position was about seventy yards from us. The recon folks were under orders not to respond to you, but they could clearly hear your calls."
"I wish I'd known that."
"We heard screws returning and stuck our scope up to check on you. You were off to the side of us when their spotlights came on. After we concurred that it was the Chen Ziyang, I maneuvered for a better angle and fired a Mark-48 torpedo at the ship."
Scott closed his eyes for a second.
The XO could see that Dalton was beginning to deal with how close he had come to dying. "We have something a little stronger, if you'd like?"
"That would be appreciated."
The skipper set his coffee mug down. "Since the Chinese ship has gone to the bottom, and you're safely on board, we have orders to make a port call in Pearl Harbor."
Scott's eyes lighted up.
"You can ride in with us, or you can go on the helo that's going to pick up your film as soon as the sun's up."
"Uh, skipper," the XO interjected, "we just received a message that a Ms. Jackie Sullivan is going to be in Honolulu to meet him in the morning."
Scott smiled. "No offense, Captain, but the helo sounds good."
"None taken — have a good time."
Chapter 20
The morning breeze was gentle and refreshing on this beautiful Hawaiian day, typical of most days in the sun-drenched islands. Jumbo 747s arrived and departed in a continuous stream of activity, while smaller, colorful planes and helicopters flew visitors on sightseeing trips around Oahu and the neighboring islands.
Tired after a stressful, sleepless night, Jackie was waiting at the Air Service Hawaii FBO when Scott's navy SH-60B helicopter landed. The Seahawk helo from the HSL-37 Easy Riders had landed at the Coast Guard air station to turn Dalton's two rolls of film over to special agents from the CIA and two senior navy intelligence officers.
The film would be developed in Hawaii and flown to Washington, along with Scott's sealed after-action report. All of the intelligence information would be made available to President Macklin before he had to leave on his urgent trip to Bangkok.