Four thousand miles away, a similar meeting to that which took place on the USS Obama was taking place in a conference room at the White House. The meeting was being held by the President of the United States and with him in the room was his national security advisor, his Vice-President, and several high ranking key military officers including Commodore Henry Perkins, the navy chief of Pacific operations known as SUBPAC. The President's opening words were nearly a match for those uttered on the Obama by Russell Grant. "So gentlemen, what's happening with our Chinese friends and why have they started hostilities against one of our submarines?"
The Vice President coughed. "Perhaps we provoked them in some way?"
Perkins was shaking his bald head. He was in his early sixties and fast approaching retirement age. "There was no provocation, certainly not from our end."
"So why did they fire on us?" The President persisted. He addressed his next words to his army chief. "Any sign of troop mobilisation on mainland China?"
"No, sir. Nothing. Perhaps it was just a one off?"
"Who's in command of our sub?"
"Captain Russell Grant." Perkins looked suddenly defensive.
"Experienced man?" The President asked.
Perkins nodded. "The best, the very best. Navy career all the way. Totally dedicated. He's had some trouble on his latest patrol though."
"What kind of trouble?" The VP asked for them all. The Vice was older than the President by a good ten years but lacked the sharpness of his younger boss.
"He's commanding one of our latest Virginia attack subs. Somebody murdered a crewman on his boat."
"Murdered?" The President was lost for words. "In heaven's sake why?"
"We're not sure yet, Mister President. We're currently looking into it and we have federal agents aboard investigating the matter."
The President shook his head in disbelief. Good God. What next? The President was a relatively young man with dark, black looks and was into his second term in the house. He was a Democrat, having overcome all of his Republican opponents in the primaries during his race to the White House. He started as he realised his SUBPAC chief was saying something about possible motivation. "They can be mighty antsy about the Spratlys."
"Fill us all in, Henry," the President ordered.
Perkins nodded and opening his attache case he extracted a map and spread it out on the table. He used his stubby fingers to highlight particular points of interest to his audience. "The Spratly Islands," Perkins began, "a strip of atolls, cats and islands located in the South Chinese Sea and a hotly disputed claim between China and the rest of the world on ownership. Some of you might remember the furore over the USS Lassen."
"Remind us, Henry," the President ordered.
Perkins reached into his case again and drew out a photograph, unembellished by Photoshop and clearly defined in black and white. "Exercise Foal Eagle," Perkins pointed out. "The Lassen. Classification DDG-82, an Arleigh Burke Class guided missile destroyer commissioned back in 2001 and named after a medal of Honour recipient, a true American hero. In October of 2015 she was tasked with an assignment and as part of the operation navigated within twelve miles of the Spratly Islands at Subi Reef, one of the artificial islands China has built up and maintaining, in our view anyway, an illegal twelve mile exclusion zone."
"International waters, gentlemen," the President interjected.
"Indeed, Mister President," Perkins agreed, "but hotly contested by our Chinese friends. The shipping channels through the South China Sea carry about 5.3 trillion dollars worth of trade including gas and oil from the Gulf region; so it's a significant area in terms of global trade."
The Vice whistled in surprise. "5.3 trillion dollars?"
Perkins nodded. He paused and watched as a young lady wearing naval whites entered the room and handed him a decoded brief. "It's from the Obama," she explained apologetically.
"Thanks, Sue," Perkins said, taking the paper from her and scanning its contents. He frowned and passed it to the President, who in turn passed it to his national security advisor, a dry, taciturn man who hadn't contributed much to the conversation so far. He added his two dollars worth now. "The Obama thinks we're dealing with the North Koreans and that they're using the Chinese as fallguys."
"How credible is that, Dirk?" The President asked.
The National Security Advisor nodded his bullet shaped skull. "It's highly likely, Mister President. The Obama might just have nailed it?"
"What are you going to do?" the Vice asked.
The President remained silent, thinking. He suddenly reached for the telephone and asked to be put through to the American ambassador for North Korea.
He looked at the others and remarked: "We'll reach out first and try a few questions. If diplomacy fails, then all bets are off."
It spoke of a reckoning.
CHAPTER 8
The investigation by Hobbs was beginning to take shape. Her close cooperation with the captain had ruled out a large number of men. She had set up a meeting with the commander to discuss progress. Agent Frank Waters insisted on sitting in.
"Any clear suspects yet?" Russell was curious.
"Some," she confirmed. "You're not going to like this."
"Shoot."
"The COB?"
"Harry?" Russell asked, incredulous.
"He said he was in his quarters, the goat locker, at the time of the kill, but I can't find anyone to confirm." The goat locker was the quarters of the COB, the Chief Engineer, and the other chiefs aboard the Obama.
"How about the other Chiefs?" Russell asked tightly.
"They were all on watches, Sir."
"Who else?" Russell asked, his voice quiet. He was acutely aware of the agent's sudden interest, and he wanted to scream at him that it wasn't his COB. He knew Harry too well and had been to sea with him more times than he could count.
"I want those names checked with Washington," Waters insisted, "for prior criminal histories."
Jennifer said nothing to that, but looked to Russell who was wearing a new frown. His words to the federal agent were short and perfunctory. "That would all have been done at the time of enlistment, Agent Waters. We have orders in hand to maintain strict radio silence."
"Nevertheless, captain. I'm afraid I must insist. Something could have been overlooked at the time."
Russell exchanged a look with Hobbs and she decided to put her oar in. "Makes sense, sir. Agent Waters is right."
Waters shot her a look of gratitude.
Russell nodded slowly.
CHAPTER 9
The message on the 1MC sounded urgent.
"Hobbs to engineering. Hobbs to engineering."
Hobbs ran through the decks, shouting 'coming through' to ratings who were in her way. Despite the upgrades in the Obama, submarines were still tight, restrictive spaces, and sailors were constantly getting in one another's way. As Hobbs got to the engineering plant in the boat, she spotted Agent Frank Waters standing off to the side, a pained expression on his normally inscrutable face. She was slightly out of breath as the Captain turned towards her. Grant looked terrible.
"Captain?" she queried. "What's up?"
He motioned with his head, and looking beyond she saw Agent Helena Price lying dead on the floor. Waters was standing off to the side, his head down. Hobbs bent and examined the body. She looked up and caught Russell's eyes. "She's been killed the same way. Captain, we have a serial killer on board."