“What is it?”
“Arnold, we took a little side trip down to Kerguelen, just to see the island. Boomer is really interested in that Woods Hole ship that vanished, the Cuttyhunk.”
“Yeah. I’ve talked to him about that. He is interested…I guess everyone from the Cape is interested…You didn’t find it did you?”
They all laughed. “No, we didn’t find it. But something happened on the morning of February ninth, just before midday.”
The Admiral nodded at the precision of Bill’s words, the way he stated only what he knew to be absolutely correct, the dead giveaway of the former Intelligence officer.
“I looked over the starboard bow and I saw the periscope of a submarine. It was a couple of hundred yards away, making about five knots. Boomer saw it as well.”
Admiral Morgan looked up sharply. “Are you certain about that?”
“One hundred percent.”
“But there couldn’t be a submarine down there. There’s nothing to be down there for. Not even aircraft fly over the place. It’s a military desert for thousands of miles in all directions. There’re no shipping lanes even, never mind ships — except for a few dingbat researchers from Woods Hole.”
“It was a submarine, Admiral,” Bill said calmly. “No ifs, ands, or buts. There is no doubt in my mind.”
“Did Boomer see it at the same time, or did you tell him it was there?”
“No. I did not. I just shouted his name, three times. And pointed.”
“What did he say?”
“He actually yelled, ‘JESUS CHRIST!’”
“Then what?”
“Boomer shouted, ‘That’s a goddamned submarine, or am I dreaming?’ I told him I knew it was a submarine. There was not, and is not, one shred of doubt. And you have to believe us. We both saw it, clearly and definitely.”
“Did you see it, Laura?”
“No. I was looking the other way. But I heard Bill shout, and I heard Boomer say it was ‘a goddamned submarine.’ It’s very quiet down there. I should think about three billion penguins heard him as well.”
The Admiral made some notations on a small pad on his desk. Then he picked up the telephone and issued the command he had issued so many times before. “Get me Fort Meade. Director’s office,” he said crisply. “Hurry.”
“Is Admiral Morris there? Morgan, Arnold Morgan. Hey George, how ya been? Yup,…fine…I wonder if you could run a check for me…Yeah,…now. Can you find out if there was any submarine that could possibly have been on patrol around the island of Kerguelen in the Southern Ocean around midday on the morning of February ninth? Yeah, I realize it’s the ass-end of the earth, George, that’s why I wanna know. Run the checks on everyone. Lemme know every submarine unaccounted for on that morning, including all the friendly nets, then gimme a call back. I’m in my office; the switchboard knows how to reach me. Thanks, George.”
He turned back to Bill, and said carefully, “Lieutenant Commander, as well as I know you, and as much as I trust you, if you had come in here alone with no corroboration for this story, I would not, could not, have believed you. And precisely the same thing applies to Commander Dunning, who I happen to think is the best submarine commanding officer in the US Navy. I would not and could not have believed him either.
“I also know you two could not both have it wrong. I am very certain of that. I believe there was a submarine down there, but what in the name of Christ was it doing there? There’s nothing to do down there, except feed the penguins and count the ice floes. But someone’s down there, or at least someone has been down there…and in the next couple of hours I’m hoping Fort Meade will enlighten us. C’mon guys, let’s go find some lunch.”
The small private dining room was elegantly set for three. Before the first course of smoked salmon had been served, the President of the United States stopped by to visit Bill. He walked through the door, smiling. “Don’t get up, Bill, good to see you. Arnold, holding back the enemy, right? And you must be Laura. I am a particular admirer of both your father, and your future husband, both of whom I count as friends. I’m not quite so sure, however, about one of your ex-boyfriends!”
Everyone laughed, and the President sat down next to Laura and poured himself a glass of sparkling water, which everyone was drinking. Bill marveled at the President’s ability to be smooth but not too smooth…Presidential but unfailingly able to say precisely the right thing to put everyone at ease.
Laura reacted to him as everyone who met him socially for the first time did. She and the President were soon talking about the long yacht journey she had just taken, and what fun it had been.
“You know,” he said, “I would love to do something like that. Just set off with a few good friends and vanish from civilization for a month. No phones, no faxes, no staff, no harassment, and no bullshit. Wouldn’t that be great? But it’s not going to happen anytime in the near future. I have to get back to work. Bill, Laura…I wish I could stay longer, but…I’m coming to the wedding, May twentieth, right? Tell your dad…I hope to see him, Laura.”
With that, he gulped his water and was gone. “Wow,” said Laura, shaking her head. “What a man. I adore Americans.”
Thirty minutes later, mid-roast beef, the telephone rang in the corner. “Hey, hey, hey,” said Arnold Morgan. “This could be George.”
He was right. Fort Meade on the line. “Hold it. George, let me just get a pen and a pad.”
The conversation was all of fifteen minutes long. Bill and Laura could only hear snatches. “What about the Soviets?…China?…No, that about wraps up the big players.”
When the call ended Admiral Morgan returned to the table looking serious. “They did a fast thorough job,” he said. “Checked out all of the computerized lists and all the latest overhead pictures, and drew some very sound conclusions. Mainly that every submarine in the United States, Russian, and Chinese Navies are accounted for. So is every one in the Middle East. All the small European fleets are solid, no one’s missing.
“Except for three boats. The Brits are missing a Trafalgar Class nuclear boat, Triumph, but we are nearly certain it’s patrolling off the Falkland Islands. They’re just not telling us for the moment, so it’s probably doing something it should not be doing. We can confirm if we have to, but the Royal Navy often has a submarine down there since the Falklands War, so we’re not surprised or suspicious.
“The French have a twelve-thousand-five-hundred-ton strategic missile submarine missing. She’s called Le Triomphant, number S616, based at Brest. Last detected in the Bay of Biscay, but not seen for ten days prior to February ninth. She’ll still be on the French deterrent patrol in the Bay somewhere. But from there to Kerguelen is around twelve thousand miles — even running at thirty knots, dived all the way from Biscay, there’s no way she could have gotten there in ten days or even twelve, or fourteen. I dismiss both of them.”
“And the third?” asked Bill.
“Almost too bizarre to think about. But we are showing a missing submarine from the Taiwan Navy. A small Hai-Lung Class diesel-electric. She’s called Hai-Hu.”
“As in Silver,” said Bill, deadpan.
Admiral Morgan chuckled. “No. As in Sea Tiger. Hai Lung means Sea Dragon. Anyway, this Dutch-built boat, eighteen years old, has been missing for a month and a half. She’s got a range of ten thousand miles and could conceivably have got down there. Kerguelen’s seven thousand miles from Taiwan. I can’t imagine what she was doing down there, if it was the Hai Lung you and Boomer saw.”