“Affirmative. Go in and get ’em.” He looked past the helmsman at the choppy sea, reflecting on how their course reversal would affect the five-mile radius he’d asked the corvette to stay outside. And what if he didn’t respect the request? “Make it fast. I want that boat back aboard, and us to be ready to maneuver.”
The submarine commander more than filled the chair in Dan’s in-port cabin. He looked Hispanic, or perhaps Indian; his name was Youngblood, not noticeably non-Anglo, but not giving any clues to his ancestry. Dan checked the other man’s left hand. No Academy ring. The large bruise beginning to darken the side of his face didn’t seem to dampen Youngblood’s spirits; he was practically bouncing in the chair. “That? Got it during the boat transfer. Slipped on the curve of the hull.”
“Been there, done that,” Dan said, remembering boarding another sub in the Korea Strait. The only time, actually, he’d sailed under a flag of truce. “Glad you weren’t badly hurt, Jack. We could get some ice for that—”
Youngblood grinned and waved the offer away. “Picked up a hard roll, that’s all. Hey, I think we got a friend in common. Andy Mangum? Had San Francisco, out in Westpac, couple years back?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know Andy. What’s he doing now?”
“He had DevRon Five, after San Fran; now he’s the chief of staff at ComSubPac. Ran into him at a technology conference in Bangor. He told me some … sea stories. About you and the North Koreans.” Youngblood winked broadly, then chuckled, as if he knew Dan couldn’t comment. “Course, I didn’t believe a word. Anyway, this is my formal inchop, right? Or do I need a message, too?”
“No message necessary. I’ll just include that you checked in, in my daily report.”
A tap at the door. “Come in,” Dan called.
Ammermann was in khaki slacks, running shoes, and a dark green silk polo. He blinked and gave Dan a tentative half-salute. Dan cleared his throat. “Jack, this is Adam Ammermann. We’re not really sure how long he’ll be staying, but he’s a sort of public affairs staffer out of the West Wing. Adam, Jack Youngblood, USS Pittsburgh. Uh, a nuclear submarine. She’ll be in company with us over the next few days. I thought we’d have lunch, the three of us, and get acquainted.”
The big submariner and Ammermann shook hands, and they moved to the large table, which Longley had set for three. Not with the formal silver service, which was reserved for VIP or diplomatic guests, but regular wardroom china. It was Chinese day, with pork lo mein, somewhat crooked spring rolls, and steamed rice. Dan glanced again at the other CO’s profile, hoping he wouldn’t take the menu as some kind of insult … no, shit, he was getting paranoid again. “So … looks like we’re going to have a war on our hands in the next couple of days.”
“Never good.” Youngblood shook his head. “I think we’re ready. But let’s hope they can find some other way.”
“The president gave them forty-eight hours to leave,” Ammermann said. “Him and his sons.”
Youngblood frowned. “And why exactly are we doing this now?”
Ammermann smiled, laying a finger on the submariner’s arm; Youngblood stiffened. “We have absolute proof they have chemical and biological weapons, maybe even a nuclear device. You don’t wait around to be attacked. That was our mistake on 9/11. They’ve lied and threatened us long enough. We can bring democracy to Iraq, same as we brought it to Germany and Italy and Japan and Russia.”
Dan applied himself to the lo mein while it was still hot and let them argue, but he couldn’t help remembering what Freya Stark had written about Rome wanting only weak states on her periphery. The Romans had followed a policy of crushing any bordering state that seemed likely to become powerful. But when she’d destroyed these prospective buffers, far more dangerous barbarians, pushing through the chaos and debris, had eventually brought down the empire.
When Ammermann ran out of steam Dan put in, “Not to change the subject, but — Jack; that Israeli corvette, to the east. He’s parked five miles out, where we asked him to respect our safety zone. Any idea what’s on his mind?”
Youngblood chewed for a moment. The broad head cocked. “Maybe he’s wondering the same about us.”
“Adam, what do you think? The Israelis must know what we’re doing here. Wouldn’t somebody from the West Wing, or State, have notified them? Officially, or…?”
“I can make a call and find out. If you’ll give me a secure hookup.”
“That’d be awkward. I’ve put my entire crew, and myself, on personal comm restrictions.” That wasn’t why he didn’t want this guy on the horn, but he wasn’t about to say, “I don’t want you reporting back on me.”
“He actually might be here to protect you,” said the submariner.
“Yeah, I wondered about that.” Lahav might be his missing “shotgun” … his escort when Savo Island was so focused on her mission she couldn’t defend herself. It might make sense. The administration was wooing Arab states to join the Coalition of the Willing. Few had, but at least they weren’t joining the other side. In that case, keeping any U.S.-Israeli military cooperation covert would be smart. “But I can’t even talk to their ABM side, to deconflict. That doesn’t sound like cooperation.”
A beep. Dan said, “Excuse me,” and unholstered his Hydra. Turned away from the table. “Captain.”
“Cheryl here, sir. INS Lahav is calling CO-to-CO on uncovered voice.”
He swallowed one more forkful of lo mein and wiped his lips with a napkin. “Gotta take this. It’s from Lahav.” To Staurulakis he said, “Be right there. No — on second thought, I’ll take it on the bridge. But stay on the circuit taking notes. And see if you can get Radio to record it. Just in case.”
The voice was clear, hard, accented but perfectly enunciated. “Good afternoon, Captain. This is Captain Gabi Marom of INS Lahav. I am recording this conversation. Over.”
Dan peered out. The corvette was barely visible, a dark speck on a ragged horizon shrouded in overcast. A plume of white spray leaped up as Savo’s bullnose burrowed into a steely sea. It wavered across the forecastle and forward gun, and clattered down against the window. Damn, blowing harder already, and they were picking up a nasty roll. “Good afternoon. Dan Lenson, CO, USS Savo Island. We’re taping on this end too. What can I do for you this fine day at sea, Captain?”
“This is Lahav. I am respecting your eight-kilometer safety zone. At the same time, you are within the hundred-kilometer exclusion zone my country has declared. I must ask you to declare your intentions and how soon you intend to return to international waters. Over.”
Dan trapped the handset between shoulder and chin as he hunted around on the nav console to zoom out. “Captain, I hold us well outside your country’s twenty-mile Maritime Exclusion Zone. And also outside your twelve-nautical-mile coastal zone. Therefore, we are both in international waters. Suggest you check your navigation. Over.”
“Captain, you are speaking of the standard MEZ. I am referring to the special security zone Israel announced one week ago. Over.”
Okay, great … He made sure his finger was off the Transmit button and keyed the Hydra with his free hand as Savo reeled. He twisted to wedge himself in next to the nav console. This put his thigh against the bridge’s heater element, but it wasn’t quite hot enough, through the fabric of his coveralls, to burn. “Cheryl, any input?”