Macintyre reached down and keyed the tap nullifier and scrambler on the phone’s security unit, pausing a second to verify that the check lights came on.
“We’re secure, Commander. Go ahead.”
“There has been a problem with Operation Uriah, Admiral.”
The watch officer’s voice now carried the slight stammering buzz of a digitally encrypted telecommunication line.
“The Cunningham has been involved in a live-fire incident off the Chinese mainland.”
Macintyre’s jaw tightened and he felt his heart rate begin to climb. “Specifics?”
“A missile exchange with Red coastal batteries. Also with their light forces. Two, possibly three, FAC engaged and sunk.”
“How about the Duke? Has she taken damage?”
“No damage or casualties reported. Captain Garrett has apparently successfully disengaged and is clearing the area now. She is requesting to talk with you, sir.”
“Right. Inform CINCPAC and Seventh Fleet. I’ll be down in five minutes.”
Macintyre hung up the phone and reached for his uniform cap sitting atop the living-room bookcase.
Out in the kitchen, Judy had overheard Macintyre’s end of the conversation. Swiftly, she stacked half of the bacon between two slices of toast and had the ad hoc sandwich wrapped in a paper towel, ready for her father as he passed through enroute to the garage. He accepted it and gave her a quick hug in return before striding on.
“Sorry, honey. I have to go.”
“I understand.”
She did. She was an admiral’s daughter.
Truth be told, Macintyre wheeled his elderly Porsche Targa into his parking slot behind the administration complex within four minutes of his hanging up. He gritted his teeth at the sentry post, begrudging his own orders that made an active security check mandatory for everyone entering NAVSPECFORCE headquarters, including himself.
A minute more, and he was in the operations center. It was a cramped facility, a double row of workstations shoe horned into a smallish room that had at one time served as an enlisted men’s cafeteria. Its walls were lined with glowing Large Screen Display telepanels, and the interior lighting was kept low.
The watch officer looked up as Macintyre entered. “Good to see you, sir. I think we may have something of a situation developing here.”
Macintyre joined Doyle in front of the graphics display of the Chinese coast. “What’s the latest?” he demanded. “NSA is recording a major spike in the Red Chinese command-and control nets. Their coastal-defense zones have gone on hot alert. Both Task Force 7.1’s duty Hawkeye and the Air Force’s AWACS patrol, out on Empire North station, are recording multiple aircraft launches from air bases in the Shanghai region. Intent unknown.”
“Has Admiral Tallman been made aware of what is happening?”
“Yes, sir. Task Force 7.1 has closed up to general quarters. As yet, there have been no further live-fire events recorded.”
“Okay … Where’s the Cunningham now?”
The watch officer indicated a point on the flatscreen.
“About twenty-five miles off the coast, proceeding east. They’re still clear. The Reds have not reacquired.”
Macintyre allowed himself to feel a degree of relief. His people were out of it for the moment. God knows what might happen next, but they had some time to sort things out.
“Give me a channel to Captain Garrett. And get me a copy of their current ops profile.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
There was a headset waiting for him in the adjacent communications room and a personal-computer pad loaded with the pertinent information.
“Milstar link established, Admiral. Cunningham acknowledging.”
“Put me through,” the Admiral replied distractedly. He speed-read the single-page summary of the tasking outline, refreshing himself on what the Duke had been attempting out there.
“You’re up, sir.”
“Thanks, son.” Macintyre keyed the lip mike. “Captain Garrett? This is Elliot Macintyre. What have you got?”
Amanda Garrett sounded weary beyond the radio channel’s encryption jitter, but she also sounded focused. “A major strategic development, sir.”
“That’s an understatement, Captain. You seem to have kicked somebody’s puppy. We’re seeing a heavy reaction from the Red coastal defenses and we’re reading you in at only twenty-five miles off the mainland. Are you sure you are secure enough to be dropping EMCON?”
“No choice, sir. I have a priority sighting report and I need instructions. My intel’s premise about Shanghai was correct.”
Macintyre glanced at the computer pad again. “You mean about the Reds having a major project there?”
“Yes, sir. We are datalinking our findings now.” Across the communications room, a printer began to spit out hard copy. Macintyre pointed and snapped his fingers, sending a radioman scrambling to retrieve the pages.
“I’m sorry about the mess, sir,” Amanda continued stiffly. “I accept full responsibility for the events in the Shanghai approaches. I’m afraid that I’ve failed your confidence.”
“As far as responsibility goes, Captain, you were operating under my orders. And as far as failing my confidence, that has yet to be seen. Stand by.”
The report was concise. Four pages of terse military phraseology, but the meat of it might have been contained in a single paragraph.
“Captain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Continue to open the range from the coast. As soon as you are clear, cross-deck over to the Enterprise and make a personal report on this to Admiral Tallman. I suspect that the two of you are going to have some things to talk about.”
22
The eastern horizon was giving birth to a molten-gold sunrise.
Amanda watched it from the rear cockpit of Retainer Zero One, her head resting against the seat back. She had made a futile attempt at sleep, but had given it up as a bad job.
They had been an hour in the air with another to go before making rendezvous with the carrier. The Sea Comanche had long-range ferry tanks clipped beneath its snub wings, and Arkady held her down low in the shadows just above the wave tops. Looking forward now, she could see the slight, repetitive movements of his flight helmet as his eyes tracked in a pilot’s pattern: horizon to horizon — instruments — horizon to horizon — instruments … Arkady had insisted on flying her himself, downing a load of caffeine tablets to burn away some of the night’s fatigue.
He hadn’t said much since taking departure from the Cunningham, but then, that was one of the things Amanda had always appreciated about him. He wasn’t afraid of the silent times.
She also suspected that he was partially telepathic, or at least, able to feel the pressure of her gaze on him.
“Penny for your thoughts, babe,” he said quietly over the interphone.
“I don’t know if they’re worth that much.”
“Then, give‘ away for free.”
Amanda let her breath hiss away softly. “Well, I’m thinking that you might be flying a new skipper out to the Duke later this morning.”
There was no response for a moment, then the back of the helmet moved in a minute negative shake. “Nah, I’d bet they’d give her to Mr. Hiro.”
“I presume that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It should. He knows the ship and the crew. And you’ve taught him everything you know about stealth-operations doctrine. The Duke will be a lot better off in his hands than with some black shoe off a conventional can.”
In spite of everything that had occurred within the past twelve hours, and what might happen within the next, Amanda found that she could still laugh. “I think we’re missing connections here, Arkady.”