He sat alone in his office, gazing at a large map of the Northern Oceans, those to the south of the floating Arctic wasteland that flows around the North Pole. He looked again at the unfathomable areas where the surface waves rolled over a twelve-thousand-foot depth. And he checked his calendar for the weeks when the ice would be at its northern summer limits. Then he looked at the availability of the largest nuclear submarines this world has ever seen, which were built, he thought proudly, in the old Soviet Union…their own massive platform for sea-launched, intercontinental, ballistic missiles…no one, not even the USA, would monkey around with one of these. They could operate under the ice if necessary, a thousand feet below the surface, and were capable of smashing through ice ten feet thick.
Admiral Rankov gazed with some satisfaction at the map, thinking about…his twenty-one-thousand-ton colossus of the underwater world, which packs the punch of nearly forty torpedoes and antisubmarine missiles. Powered by two massive nuclear reactors, it can run swiftly beneath the waves at almost thirty knots.
“Just let him try,” growled Admiral Rankov. “Just let him fucking well try.”
10
More than three hundred relatives and friends attended a memorial service for Dr. Kate Goodwin at St. Francis Church, Brewster, yesterday. Dr. Goodwin was one of twenty-nine Americans presumed dead after the Woods Hole research ship Cuttyhunk vanished in the Southern Ocean off the island of Kerguelen eighteen months ago. The principal reading was delivered by Mr. Frederick J. Goodwin, the senior feature writer on this newspaper, and a first cousin of the deceased.
— Cape Cod Times, June 28
The sharply worded message summoning Admiral Zhang Yushu back to Beijing had an unusual urgency about it. The regular helicopter flight from the Navy’s Southern Fleet Headquarters at Zhanjiang up to Canton, and then a commercial flight north, would not be fast enough.
Which was why the Commander in Chief of the People’s Liberation Army-Navy, in company with his South Sea Fleet Commander, Vice Admiral Zu Jicai, had commandeered one of his Navy’s 700 aircraft to use as a taxi, and was presently ensconced in a TU-16 Badger making five hundred knots forty thousand feet over the Changjiang Lowlands. Neither of the two senior officers had any idea why they had been summoned to the capital, but the meeting they were scheduled to attend was set to start at noon, and it was now 0700. They were eight hundred miles due south of Beijing, and the converted bomber was flying directly above the central reaches of the Yangtse, where the great river threads its way through a sprawling network of inland lakes, dams, gorges, and canals. Down below the Yangtse flowed muddily eastward beneath dark gray clouds, its water slashed by a torrential downpour.
“What d’you think, sir? The submarines?” asked Admiral Zu.
The C in C was thoughtful. “No, Jicai. I don’t. When all of this started we had seven Kilos trying to make it back to China. Five of them have been destroyed, and the other two are not yet ready to leave Russia. I can’t think of any possible development as urgent as this obviously is.”
“Well, if that’s the case, it must have something to do with Taiwan. It seems to me, always Taiwan when the politicians get anxious.”
“That is true. But I’m not sure what this is all about…still, we’ll know soon enough.”
“What happened about the submarine money?” asked Admiral Zu. “Are the Russians cooperating.”
“Not much choice for them,” said Admiral Zhang. “They could hardly expect us to forfeit a three-hundred-million-dollar deposit on three Kilos that somehow fell off their own barges right in the middle of Russia.”
“Did we ask for cash back?”
“No, we just agreed to roll the money over for the final two…meaning we pay three hundred million dollars more when they arrive safely in Chinese waters — that completes the deal. Admiral Rankov is working on an escort program that he swears will be impregnable…even by the American bandits.”
“It would be expensive for his government if they fail again, eh?”
“Very. They have agreed to repay the three hundred million dollars in full, if those submarines fail to arrive in a Chinese port for any reason.”
“Were they as reasonable over the loss of the first two in the North Atlantic?”
“Not quite. They held us to the letter of the contract. We’d paid two hundred million dollars down, and two hundred million more at the completion of sea trials, which were deemed to have concluded when the Kilos dived and left Russian waters. The final payment was due, naturally, when they arrived in Xiamen. Unhappily we had the second payment on an automatic transfer through the Hong Kong-Shanghai Bank, direct to Moscow on a specified date. We paid it, and three or four days later the Kilos were lost.”
“An ill wind,” said Admiral Zu.
“Yes. And the Russians were within their rights. They said it was unfortunate but that they were not asking for any favors. The contract was specific. The sea trials were completed successfully, and the money was theirs. They had, after all, built the submarines, and the ‘accident’ was not their fault.”
“So we’re out seven hundred million dollars on the deal so far?”
“Correct. If they manage to deliver the last two safely, we will have paid one billion dollars for two submarines. Very expensive, hah?”
“Yes. But will we receive compensation if the Russians can successfully prove to the United Nations that America was responsible?”
“We will. I personally wrote that clause into the new agreement. Russia will demand repayment in full — one and a half billion dollars for five submarines. We’ll get our four hundred million dollars back. The Americans will also have a huge bill for reparations to the Belomorski Canal, and I imagine the Russian government will demand colossal compensations for the loss of life caused by the deliberate acts of US piracy.”
“Will we claim damages for the hundred men we lost in the first two Kilos?”
“Oh, undoubtedly…if the Russians manage to prove anything.”
“Does their investigation go well, sir?”
“Those villains in the Pentagon are remarkably clever. My view is that nothing will be proved…I just hope that Admiral Rankov is able to get the final two Kilos here without further trouble. Then we will have five…almost sufficient for us to be very dangerous to any cruising American aircraft carrier…that’s what I want. The three Kilos we have are simply not enough. Two of them are in dock for repairs. The third is awaiting overhaul.”
The big Navy aircraft with its two solitary passengers came lumbering into Beijing airport shortly before 0900. A Navy staff car was waiting at the edge of the runway when the plane came to a halt. The Admirals were on the road to the city within six minutes of touchdown. The aircraft refueled and left immediately for Canton.
Admiral Zhang told the driver to go straight to his official residence, where he and Admiral Zu would shower, change into fresh uniforms, and have some breakfast. He would like the car to wait and drive them to the Great Hall of the People at 1130. The Paramount Ruler disliked lateness, and he would make no exception — even for two very senior military figures who had raced 1,300 miles from the southern borders of China that same morning.
Admirals Zhang and Zu arrived at Tiananmen Square at 1150, and were greeted by a Navy escort of four guards, who accompanied them down the long corridors to the committee room. Inside, already seated, was the General Secretary of the Communist Party. He sat next to the Chief of the General Staff, and the two men were speaking to the rarely seen head of the central Chinese Intelligence agency. The new Political Commissar of the Chinese Navy, Vice Admiral Lee Yung, was also in attendance, and was deep in conversation with the East Sea Fleet Commander, Vice Admiral Yibo Yunsheng.