“Not a bad idea,” Captain Bowie said. “We may use that as our fall-back plan, but I hate to let the sub get that close to Siraj. If he slips by us then, we’ve lost him. We need to catch him down at this end of the pond, if we can.”
Commander Vargas nodded. “I agree with you, in theory. But there aren’t any choke points between here and Siraj. If we sweep the western side of the gulf, the sub can run up the eastern side. If we sweep the middle, he can slip past us on either side. We just don’t have enough assets to string a barrier all the way across the gulf.”
“Maybe we don’t have to,” Ensign Cooper said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s not as big a pond as we think it is.”
Captain Bowie looked at him. “What have you got, Pat?”
Ensign Cooper stared at the chart. “I have to wonder where those subs have been refueling.”
“The intel weenies say they topped off in Port Suez,” Chief McPherson said. “Just after they transited the canal.”
“That would get them down the Red Sea and through the Gulf of Aden,” Ensign Cooper said. “But they wouldn’t have made it across the Arabian Sea, and certainly not all the way up to the Straits of Hormuz.”
Captain Bowie nodded. “Good call, Pat. They must have fueled up again some time after they mixed it up with the Kitty Hawk strike group. If we can figure out where, we can make a decent guess at where that last sub is going to run out of gas.”
Ensign Cooper ran a fingertip across the chart and brought it to a stop on an island at the southwest end of the Arabian Sea. “I’m betting it was here, Captain. The island of Socotra.”
The captain scratched his chin. “How did you come up with that?”
“Look at this entire operation, sir. The Germans put a lot of work into planning this. They didn’t leave a lot to chance.”
“I can’t argue with that. But how does it tell us where they stopped for fuel?”
“They had to plan for the possibility that word would be out by now,” the ensign said. “In which case ports that are friendly to the United States would be closed to them.”
“Makes sense to me,” the XO said.
Ensign Cooper nodded. “They would have mapped out their fueling stops ahead of time, and I’ll bet you they stuck to ports that don’t have close ties to the U.S.” He used his finger to trace a rough arc on the chart.
“They would have been running low on fuel somewhere in here.” Only two countries fell within the arc he was tracing on the chart: Oman and Yemen. “That gives us two likely candidates, and Oman — if you’ve been following the news — has been kissing up to our government for months now. They’re trying to wheedle their way into ‘favored nation’ status, so we’ll lift the technical embargo that’s keeping their communications and computer infrastructure in the dark ages. I figure they don’t want to risk screwing that up, so they’ll probably steer clear of anything that even smells like conflict with the U.S. That leaves our buddies down in Yemen, and they have been known to play footsie with enemies of the United States. Remember when the USS Cole was bombed back in 2000? That happened in a port called Aden, and guess what country Aden is in?”
“Yemen,” Chief McPherson said.
Ensign Cooper nodded. “Bingo.”
“Okay,” Commander Vargas said, “admittedly, Yemen is not at the top of our national Christmas card list. But how did you happen to pick this island? Scotroa, was it?”
“Socotra, ma’am. And it’s mostly a hunch. It’s owned by Yemen, but it’s far enough away from their coastline that the Yemeni government can deny involvement if anything goes wrong. Plus, it’s on an almost direct line from the point where the Kitty Hawk encountered the subs, to where the subs entered the Straits of Hormuz.”
Captain Bowie’s eyebrows went up.
Chief McPherson smiled. “That’s pretty heady stuff, sir. Have you been eating your Wheaties?”
Ensign Cooper frowned. “Why, Chief? Did I say something wrong?”
The chief shook her head. “Not as far as I can see, sir. I think you nailed it.”
Commander Vargas tilted her head to one side. “It’s still just a guess, but I have to admit, it looks like a pretty damned good one.”
“Looks good to me,” Lieutenant (jg) Sherman said.
“Okay,” Captain Bowie said. “We go with Pat’s hunch until something better comes along.”
Ensign Cooper’s eyes widened.
Captain Bowie laughed. “Don’t look so shocked, Pat. We’re not so hidebound that we can’t recognize good thinking when we see it, even if it does come from the new kid on the block. Now, reach into your hunch generator and see if you can pull out the next place that sub is going to take on fuel. He’s got to be thirsty by now. Where’s he going to stop for a drink?”
Ensign Cooper studied the chart. After a few seconds, he said, “Qatar.”
Commander Vargas looked at Captain Bowie. “Where did you find this kid? The Psychic Hotline?”
“It’s within the sub’s range, if it fueled up in Socotra,” Ensign Cooper said. “The current regime is not particularly friendly to the United States. It’s even roughly in line with the sub’s last known position and the Siraji port of Zubayr.”
“What about Iran?”Lieutenant (jg) Sherman asked. “They’re not big fans of the U.S., and they’ve got tons of coastline that a sub could slip up to.”
“Iran doesn’t like us much,” Ensign Cooper said, “but they hate Siraj a lot more. Those guys have been sniping across the border at each other for thirty years. I doubt the Iranian government would jump through hoops to break an arms embargo against one of their long-running enemies.”
“I’ll admit,” Commander Vargas said, “that Qatar is copping an attitude toward us. But would they risk international censure to help out Siraj?”
“They might, if the money was right,” Ensign Cooper said. “But, if they’re smart, they won’t let the submarine pull into any of their ports. They’ll keep it at sea, so they can claim ignorance if things go bad.”
Captain Bowie frowned. “Does Qatar have any oilers configured for at-sea replenishment?”
Ensign Cooper shook his head. “Not that I know of, sir. But they don’t need one. All they have to do is pull up to an oil platform.”
“An interesting theory,” Lieutenant (jg) Sherman said, “but subs don’t run on crude oil. They’re going to need diesel, and oil platforms aren’t set up to refine crude oil into fuel.”
“Actually, oil platforms do have diesel tanks,” Ensign Cooper said.
“For their generators and the small boats that work the rigs — that sort of thing.”
Chief McPherson whistled slowly through her teeth. “You have been eating your Wheaties!”
Commander Vargas nodded. “You could be right.”
Captain Bowie nodded also. “Maybe the pond isn’t as big as we thought.”
CHAPTER 43
The president held the receiver to his ear and verified that the green “secure” lamp was lit before speaking. “Okay, Emily. We’re green.”
The voice of British Prime Minister Emily Irons warbled slightly as it came through the encrypted phone. “I appreciate you taking my call at this hour, Frank. I should have checked the time difference before phoning.”
“Don’t give it a second’s thought,” the president said. He did his best to suppress a yawn. Emily Irons wasn’t known for wasting time on pleasantries, and she never called without a compelling reason. It was worth getting up before the roosters to hear anything she had to say.