There was a long pause at the other end of the phone. “The President has been briefed on this…”
“He has been, but Babitch?”
“…That asshole?”
“Asshole and Director of the CIA, which pretty much go hand in hand as a job requirement. Regardless, Babitch had his nose put out of joint by the head of MI6. Something about stalling on notifying the Brits of the situation. The scuttlebutt is their head man flew over and threatened exposure of the whole thing unless some Brits were assigned to the NEST team mission.
“I’ve met them, they’re serious customers.”
“The word I get from the inside ring is our illustrious head of Christians In Action wanted this to be strictly a joint op between us and the Russians, and he’s been downplaying it to the President in his briefings ever since.”
Abrahams was insistent. “Bring the President up to speed on this, Bill. Cut Babitch off at the knees. We’re heading into a full on shooting war here. Get the joint chiefs to crucify the condescending bastard if you have to, but make the President aware of what’s at stake.”
“I’ll nail Babitch and tell the President, but it could mean the end of any advancement for you.”
“Screw the advancement, Bill. I’m no good behind a desk anyway. You and I both know that. And Bill, thanks for all of your help. It means a great deal to me. You’d better get back to your poker game.”
“You had better get back to yours,” Collingsworth growled back.
“Aye, sir.” Abrahams put down the phone with a heavy hand and said a silent prayer.
On the other end of the line in Okinawa, Vice Admiral William Collingsworth, Commander in Chief of the Pacific Fleet, knew exactly what he had to do next and it was going to end his career as surely as it was going to end Doug Abrahams’s.
Like Abrahams, he had been in Vietnam. He returned the phone to its cradle, got up and walked into the next room. The poker game was still in full swing. One of the Captains sitting behind an impressive pile of chips started to say something, but it froze on his lips when he saw the look on the Admiral’s face.
“I just spoke to Doug Abrahams on the Eisenhower and what I am about to tell you all is well above classified. The situation in North Korea is deteriorating. We have good intelligence that the North Koreans have acquired three advanced SCUD warheads in the fifteen to twenty kiloton range, and that they are on board a DPRK sub of unknown type heading for a home port. I don’t need to elaborate what those warheads will be used for. I need you and your men at your ships and ready to sail as soon as possible. Right now, Task Force 61 is covering only one section of the approach to the Korea Straits. If the Koreans decide to take this to the wall, there is every possibility that they will launch some kind of amphibious attack on the east coast, probably Pusan because of our air base there. The Eisenhower is our only aircraft carrier in this area, so I’m going to have to ride shotgun on one of your cruisers. Don’t worry; I’ll fly out after you all sail. There is something I have to do first. The poker game is over gentlemen. Good luck, good hunting and God speed.”
It felt like Gayle had just closed her eyes when the knock at the door came. Her uniform felt gamy as she pulled it on. God only knew how it smelled. She pulled open the stateroom door and was saluted by a Marine Sergeant.
“Ma’am, the Admiral requests the presence of you and the rest of your team in the ready room. I am your escort.”
Gayle stepped over the raised sill of the door and smiled at the young Marine. “Lead on. God knows this thing is big enough to get lost for days in.”
They started to thread their way through the myriad corridors, stopping only to pick up the other team members. A short time later, Gayle found herself standing in the command ready room being introduced to the command members of the Carrier Task Force by Admiral Abrahams.
“Gentlemen, this is Captain Gayle Ecevit USAF. She holds doctorates in mathematics and quantum mechanics, and she is currently attached to the Department Of Energy and is the leader of a joint US, Russian Nuclear Emergency Search Team. I will let her brief you on why she and her team are here.” Abrahams looked around the room. His voice took on a serious tone. “I will trust that you reserve your comments and your candor until she is finished. Whatever your feelings about what she is about to tell you, understand that I have already taken this matter up with CINCPAC.” He turned to face Gayle and gave her the podium.
Gayle, direct as always, skipped the pleasantries and went right to the point. An hour later, she had finished her brief uninterrupted. She had expected cries of disbelief or at least denial. Not this silence.
Abrahams quickly moved to take the podium. “Thank you, Captain. If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat with your team, I’ll take it from here.”
Gayle left the front of the room and sat down, wondering what to expect next.
“Well, there you have it. Most of you, at my general insistence,” smiles and polite laughter moved around the table, “have studied in some depth the history and traditions of this region. I trust it was informative as well as enjoyable reading.” The Admiral looked down at the podium for a moment. Gayle saw his forearms bulge with the pressure from his hands gripping at its sides. No laughter now.
When he did speak, it was like Moses from the mount. “You are all aware of why we are here and the current recalcitrance of the North Koreans to honor the conditions of the agreed Nuclear Proliferation Treaty. And now we are given the news that there is the good possibility of a submarine heading our way with nuclear weapons on board. Our friend, the Supreme Leader, will have sent his best men and their best sub on this mission.” His fist smashed down on the podium top. Everyone jumped. “Absolute dyed in the wool, die hard workers paradise communists. Committed, well-motivated and well trained. Not,” he held his hand up with one finger extended to make his point, “not some ill-fed, ill-treated, snot-nosed camel jockeys with more ambition than brains.”
He paused to let that one sink in. “If you screw up and let this bastard line you up in his fire computer, you have not just jeopardized yourself, but you have killed your men. I want that sub found and I want it sunk, period. No ifs, no ands and no buts. Is that clear?”
Gayle was deafened by the chorus of “Aye, aye, sir.”
The Admiral’s smile was grim. “Good. God be with you. That is all.”
24°4’22” N LAT., 122°12’13” E LONG.
The thin reed of Great Leader’s search antenna cut a narrow wake through rolling gray waves. A lone antenna sniffing for stray emissions from airborne and surface search enemy radars.
Two hundred miles off the port quarter of the Leader’s stern lay the island of Taiwan. To their starboard side lay the Ryuku Islands archipelago. Underneath the waves, the Leader’s bow-mounted passive sonar array translated distant pings of American ship sonar and sonobouy nets into a cascade display of electronic light on a CRT screen above the sonar station. Underneath, two of the Leader’s sonar officers sat, headphones clamped over their ears. Long, thin fingers made delicate changes to the audio receivers. It was a constant struggle to sort out a picture of what was going on above and below the surface from pure noise.
The proximity of the Leader to the surface did not help matters. A great deal of information was being lost in the wave clutter.
Captain Kil-yon leaned over the illuminated map table, studying a series of RORSAT-generated maps so detailed that they showed every bump and ripple in the ocean floor from Indonesia to the Sea of Japan. Currents, their depths and calculated salinity levels were shown with transparent overlay bands of different colors.