Airedales, Jake thought. Arrogant across the world.
Through the cockpit door, the pilot addressed Jake.
“You must be important,” he said in French. “This aircraft was scheduled for paratrooper training today.”
Jake realized the depths of his paranoia as he found himself scanning the cockpit for firearms. A pistol hung from the pilot’s waist holster, but Jake conceded that he would be at the mercy of Algerian military forces until he landed in Karachi.
“Me? Important?” Jake asked. “Maybe, but I’m guessing you were instructed not to ask.”
The pilot smiled, stood, and stepped into the small four-row passenger seating area. He looked ready to offer a retort, but footsteps and clunking drew his attention to the external door. The pilot’s body straightened with as much respect for rank as Jake figured the man could muster.
“Colonel,” he said.
The plane’s new occupant nodded at the pilot. Jake felt an urge to stand but the potbellied lieutenant colonel lowered a suitcase onto his lap before he could react. His thick mustache wiggled across his pock-marked face as he spoke, and his breath stank of unfiltered cigarettes.
“The disks inside this case were just created for you,” the lieutenant colonel said. “My orders were to bring them to you. Personally.”
As the lieutenant colonel dropped a key in Jake’s hand, more men climbed into the aircraft. Trim and muscular, they wore sandy-colored desert combat fatigues. One of them lowered a computer case to the aisle.
“Two laptops and power cords,” he said.
Another man placed a third laptop on the floor.
“In case one of the other’s fail,” the lieutenant colonel said. “It appears that you will both have busy flights.”
“Thanks,” Jake said.
The lieutenant colonel nodded and started off, but the other men — six by Jake’s count — moved to the cargo net seats.
“What about them?” Jake asked.
The lieutenant colonel drew his military cap low over his brow.
“For your security.”
As the Algerian cargo plane leveled at a cruising altitude, Jake examined the contents of his suitcase. Two-dozen compact disks lined the case. Each had a number on it, and the first also had a “Read me first” message typed on it in French.
He closed the case and placed it on the seat beside him. As he rested a computer on his lap and waited for it to boot, he sensed Olivia staring at him.
“What makes you think you’re privy to any of this?”
“They gave me a laptop, too, didn’t they?” she asked.
“Let’s get something straight,” he said. “I appreciate you helping me escape, but remember who you are.”
“I rescued you at my own risk,” she said. “And if you figure out who I am now, let me know.”
As the computer came to life, Jake realized his world had crumbled on the other side of the Mediterranean. He distracted himself from defeatist thoughts by focusing on the screen.
The first disk contained a solitary text file that revealed a directory of the remaining disks — a catalogue of the Hai Lang’s systems. But two disks stood out. They contained information about the captain and certain crew members of the Pakistani submarine, Hamza. Notes in parentheses stated that those disks were for his “new friend”.
The last line in the directory was a personal note.
“Study well, mon ami. Pierre.”
Jake reached into the case for the two disks created for Olivia and tossed them across the aisle into her lap.
“Knock yourself out,” he said and waited for a snide retort, but she spun her computer onto her lap and jammed the first disk into the machine.
One of the security escorts from the back of the craft approached. He carried a coffee pot and plastic cups.
“We all must stay awake,” he said.
Jake thanked the soldier, took a cup, and stashed a few cubes of sugar on his laptop keyboard. Cream did not appear to be an option. He glanced at Olivia, but her laptop consumed her.
“I’ll take both cups,” Jake said.
“Feel free to get all you need,” the soldier said.
Jake expected the soldier to return to his comrades in the back of the craft, but he marched forward. He whistled, and another soldier joined him in the cockpit.
To keep us from trying something stupid like a hijack, Jake thought. I’m not that nuts. Am I?
Sinking into his chair, Jake let the caffeine tickle him back to life. He read, absorbing the technology of the Hai Lang. Expecting a solid machine, Jake learned that the Agosta 90B ranked among the most capable diesel submarines in the world.
The Hai Lang was the second ship to carry the French-designed MESMA — Module-Energy, Sub-Marine, Autonomous ethanol-liquid-oxygen propulsion plant. Jake had heard of various AIP — air independent propulsion — modules being applied to diesel-powered submarines.
By permitting small, inexpensive, and quiet diesel submarines to remain submerged for extended periods, AIP marked a strategic shift in modern submarine warfare. Jake remembered studying tactics designed to defeat diesels by outlasting them and forcing them to come shallow, gulp for air through their snorkel masts, and run their diesel engines to recharge their batteries.
Before AIP, the longest most diesels could hope to run submerged on their batteries was a week — and that at a snail’s pace. After a week, propulsion load, shipboard systems, and atmosphere cleansing drained the battery.
Jake remembered articles about German and Scandinavian shipbuilders implementing various AIP systems, such as the Sterling engine and the fuel cell. The French, however, had developed an underwater bomb made of rocket fuel. As Jake studied the MESMA bomb, he had mixed emotions.
It could extend the underwater submergence of an Agosta to three weeks, but speed would be restricted to four knots — adequate for patrolling coastal waters or for a short-range submerged transit.
In exchange for MESMA, the ship carried thirty extra tons, generated a heat signature that could be detected by infrared if sailing shallow as fuel burned at over a thousand degrees Fahrenheit, and it carried the risk of volatile fluids. It also discharged expended gases that could be detected by the proper waterborne sensor. Jake considered a reactor less dangerous.
Apart from its unique fuels, MESMA ran a simple Rankine cycle heat engine, making steam to turn a turbine and generate electricity. Jake judged it complicated, underpowered, but tactically relevant.
Comfortable with the basics of MESMA, he studied a peculiar modification the Taiwanese had added to the Hai Lang. Skilled with unmanned vehicles, Taiwanese engineers had designed an unmanned probe that fit the dimensions of a torpedo. The unmanned “drone” could be controlled via a torpedo-like guidance wire, and it could search the area around the Hai Lang with active and passive sonar.
Fascinating, Jake thought. Ingenuity at work.
Jake saw no signs of it having been tested yet, and he was disappointed to learn that the drone was disposable because the Taiwanese had yet to solve the problem of recovering one once used. He decided that if he could use a drone, he’d have to use them judiciously, but the theory looked promising.
He let his mind wander and explore the possibilities of an unmanned drone, teased himself with memories of the Olivia he knew twelve hours earlier, and fell asleep.
He awoke and saw Olivia closing a lavatory door. She made eye contact and walked to him.