"Sir."
Park withdrew a single sheet of paper from the manila envelope. It contained a radio frequency and a string of computer code.
"There is a possible enemy submarine lying submerged offshore. I want you to transmit this to them."
"Sir, excuse me, but our transmissions will not reach them unless they have raised an aerial."
"Don't worry about that. Send the coding on that frequency. It will reach them, if they are there."
Bak looked at the frequency. "Ah. At once, sir."
He took the paper to an enlisted man sitting at a nearby console.
"Send this immediately."
"Sir."
The radio operator raised his eyebrows when he saw the frequency. He entered it and began transmitting. After a minute he was done.
"Will there be a reply, sir?" the operator asked.
Admiral Park had come up to stand near Bak.
"I don't think so," he said.
In the waters of Wonsan Bay, an underwater drone awoke. Its American codename was Black Dolphin. The North Koreans had renamed it Righteous Anger. Lieutenant Commander Bak's transmission told the drone to seek for a possible submerged submarine.
The drone went into hunting mode and detected the enormous shape of California hiding outside the harbor. It slid quietly through the water and attached itself to the hull with a dull thud that sounded through the ship.
On board the submarine, someone said, "What was that?"
The computer inside the drone released a device to penetrate the stealth material covering the outside of the sub, then began transmitting high-speed bursts of code using the metallic hull of the submarine as an antenna.
The Chief of Watch was monitoring the functions of the ship at his station. Now he turned to the captain, alarmed.
"Sir, someone is accessing our computers."
"What? That's not possible."
Across the compartment, the Chief Petty Officer supervising the combat control consoles called out.
"Sir, I'm starting to lose functions. We're being hacked."
"Block it. Now!"
"Aye, Sir."
The CPO's hands flew over his keyboard as he tried to compensate for the interference.
"Sir, the computer is dumping memory."
There was a hint of panic in his voice. Alarms began sounding throughout the boat. Computer displays in the control room began to go dark, one by one. The emergency lighting flickered on.
"Damn it, man, stop them."
"Sir…"
With sudden, ominous movement, the sub tilted sharply down. Captain Paulson was thrown across the compartment and hard into a bulkhead. He lay where he'd fallen, unconscious. Shouts and cries came from other parts of the boat.
The submarine went into a vertical dive.
Then all the lights went out.
CHAPTER 1
Nick Carter parked outside Project Headquarters under a dark sky spitting flurries of snow. The sun was nowhere to be seen. It was only the first week of December, but the weather was well into another miserable East Coast winter. He stepped out of the warmth of the car and the cold slapped him, making him feel every one of his forty-two years. By the time he reached the entrance of the building and waited for the identity scan, his old wounds were aching.
He took off his coat and hung it on a Victorian style hall rack and mirror in the entry foyer. The face staring back at him from the mirror had dark circles under the eyes. He hadn't had much sleep in the last weeks. Not since he'd returned from Syria. Nick peered at his reflection and rubbed the scarred end of his left ear, where the lobe had been sacrificed to a Chinese bullet.
Touches of gray had begun showing up in his hair. He'd decided to let it grow a little and was still getting used to the new look. He wasn't getting used to the gray.
His boss was in Walter Reed, in a coma after a car accident that had almost killed her. No one was sure when Elizabeth Harker would wake up. Until she returned Nick was in charge of the project with Stephanie Willits, Harker's deputy. He'd come in early to try and get a handle on the day. He went into Harker's office and sat down at her desk.
A huge orange tomcat strolled over and rubbed against Nick's leg, shedding hair over the gray carpet. The cat purred, a loud rumble that reminded Nick of a miniature Mack truck.
"Hey, Burps. Hungry?"
The cat looked up and drooled and purred. Nick stood and went to a cabinet by the coffee machine and took out a can of cat food. He opened it up, dumped the food in a dish and set it on the floor with a bowl of water. He turned on the coffee and went back to the desk while Burps began gulping down breakfast. While he waited for the coffee to brew, Nick leaned back in Elizabeth's chair and closed his eyes, fighting off fatigue.
Ever since he'd returned from Syria, things had been in turmoil. The mission had been difficult enough. The aftermath had been confusing. Something had changed, but he wasn't sure what it was. The closest he could come was that he felt a little less pessimistic about what was happening in the world, a little more hopeful that somehow things would work out.
Running the Project meant endless mental tasks that took time and concentration. A mistake in judgment could cost lives, even contribute to starting a war. Nick thought it was a lot clearer in the field, when people were shooting at you. Then you knew what you had to do. This was different. It would've been overwhelming except for help from Clarence Hood, Director of the CIA.
The Project's relationship with Langley had been contentious for years, until the former director had been exposed as a traitor and Hood had taken over. In recent weeks, Hood and Elizabeth Harker had gotten involved in a relationship that went beyond their professional interaction.
The CIA and the Project were bound together in more ways than one. Stephanie was married to Lucas Monroe, the Director of National Clandestine Services at Langley.
Damn near incestuous, Nick thought.
The smell of coffee filled the office. Nick pulled himself out of the chair, went to the counter and poured a cup. He walked over to the patio doors with the cup in his hand and looked out over the grounds. The flowerbeds had retreated into winter mode, brown and sere, poking through a covering of snow from the last storm.
The flurries had changed to snow. Nick sipped his coffee and looked up at the row of clocks on the wall across from the desk. The rest of the Project team would arrive sometime during the next hour.
The secured phone on the desk signaled a call. Nick looked at the blinking light.
Langley. Here we go, he thought. He picked up.
"This is Carter."
"Good morning, Nick, although it could be better." It was Clarence Hood. "We have a problem."
"What's happened?"
"We've lost one of our cruise missile subs off North Korea. The California went down nineteen hours ago with all her crew."
"Everyone?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"That's what I'm calling about. It wasn't an accident. We think North Korea is responsible."
"The North Koreans sank her? Are they out of their minds?"
"Intelligence suggests Yun is getting ready to invade the South. The California was keeping an eye on the harbor at Wonsan."
"Where they're building up an invasion fleet," Nick said. It wasn't a question.
"Exactly. The DPRK is good at hiding things from our satellites. The Pentagon wanted direct visual sighting to confirm our intelligence and we don't have any assets on the ground to verify. California's mission was to observe and stay out of the way."