"That is what the Pentagon doesn't know. There are no particularly bad tensions between Beijing and Tokyo right now. In fact, there's a Far Eastern trade conference going on in Singapore right now, and Japan and the PRC are actually working together pretty well, for a change. Beijing is supporting the Japanese Trade Ministry's call for a new East Asian trade consortium, against objections by the United States and the Europeans. So what's the motive?"
"I see you've also got the Sea Breeze marked," Garrett said.
"Right. Same area. It's possible it was a pirate attack, though according to Global Oil, DuPont had security people on board. They should have been enough to deal with garden-variety pirates."
"Yeah. But someone is loosing torpedoes down there. That could mean a surface warship… "
"Or it could mean an attack submarine," Summers said, nodding. "Exactly. And that means not your run-of-the-mill pirate outrage."
Garrett set the photographs on Summers's desk. "So… where does that leave the Virginia, sir?"
"It leaves her continuing to the Spratly Islands as ordered, with a SEAL team on board. Washington will continue to update you and feed you a list of possible targets — both ashore and afloat. We want you to do a lot of covert looking and listening — a sneak-and-peek mission. We need to have hard intel if we're going to make even a half-assed guess at what's really going on. You follow?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Washington is especially interested in this." He handed Garrett a second envelope, this one containing a single photograph. It showed the stern quarter of a sleek, elegant vessel, obviously a pleasure craft. The name on the transom was in Arabic and English. The English letters spelled al qahir.
"What's this?"
"A yacht officially belonging to a Dhahran national named Feisel. But the Agency feels a character named Zaki Abar might just be on board her right now."
"Abar?" The name was familiar… an al Qaeda operative? He tried to remember the lineup of the current most-wanted list.
"Al Qaeda. One of their nastier and brighter masterminds. They think he was behind the bombing of that airliner in Greece in January, and maybe the bomb in the Tokyo nightclub that killed five sailors last year.
"We've been tracking Al Qahir by satellite. Apparently whoever is on board is transmitting low-wattage signals to somebody in the area, and the Agency thinks it's a submarine."
"Whose submarine?"
"Good question. Smart money backs the Chinese…"
"But I can't imagine the Chinese wanting to be seen associated with al Qaeda."
"Exactly. There's also the matter of that Japanese car carrier. What motive would the Chinese have for sinking her?"
Garrett shrugged. "Bringing instability to the area, maybe? Or providing an excuse to send their navy in to 'restore order?' "
"A possibility," Summers agreed. "A definite possibility."
"An attack boat couldn't operate in a vacuum, Captain. They would need a base — a place to take on supplies. I assume we're talking about a diesel boat here. That means they need fuel."
"Correct. We need to know who's deploying that submarine, and why. To that end, your orders are being amended. While you're patrolling the Spratly Islands, you will do all you can to assist the SEAL team embarked with you to investigate Chinese facilities in the region, and to locate and shadow Chinese submarines that may be operating in the area. You will also be expected to shadow the Al Qahir."
"That should be interesting. I take it we're going after this Abar person then?"
"Negative. Langley wants to gather intelligence. I gather they're hoping to get enough rope together to hang the bastard. No, Virginia will be involved in signals intercepts and tracking the Al Qahir's movements. You will not reveal Virginia's presence."
"Yes, sir."
"But you'll also be hunting for that submarine out there, if it exists. We want to know who's torpedoing
Vietnamese bases. If it's a rogue sub, we want to know how it's carrying out operations, who's supporting it. If it's Chinese, we want to know that, too. But when you find out, you will report the fact but not take action, not until and unless CINCPAC or the Joint Chiefs give you the word. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir. Perfectly."
Shit. Virginia would be walking a political tightrope, that much was all too clear. If the Chinese weren't behind the sinkings, Garrett would need to find out who was without stepping on Chinese toes. Whether the mystery sub belonged to China or to somebody else, the Chinese were certain to be watching the Spratly area closely. There would be a Chinese sub in the area, probably more than one. It would be all too easy to sink the wrong boat, and trigger a shooting war between China and the United States.
Hell, a wrong guess on Garrett's part and the Virginia could end up being responsible for starting World War III. Not a career-positive move for anyone, least of all Virginia's skipper.
12
The unending hours were weighing heavily on all of the people from the Sea Breeze. Days had passed, clearly, since their capture and imprisonment in these herring-can quarters, but how many? Their captors had removed wristwatches, belts, and shoes, and in the artificial enclosure of a submarine there is no distinguishing night from day.
Periodically, they were fed — usually bowls of rice with dry beans and a little fish or other meat added, which they ate with their fingers because no implements were provided.
Periodically, plastic pitchers full of tepid water were brought in, and the empties taken away.
Periodically, they were allowed — one or two at a time — to leave the cramped compartment in the company of a pair of guards, and taken a short distance down the passageway outside to a bathroom with four toilet stalls, two metal sinks, and an open shower area. The stalls had no doors, and the lack of privacy was especially rough on Katie and Ginger, who complained that the guards and other sailors watched them relieve themselves with leering grins, commenting to one another in Arabic.
Periodically the two metal buckets left in their quarters for wastes or vomit were taken away and emptied.
The rest of the time, they were left alone.
And, God, how the place stank! Actually, the entire submarine stank, the air a foul miasma of sweat, fear, and unwashed bodies, the sharp ammoniac tang of urine, and the heavier odors of machine oil, diesel fuel, and wet laundry, but those odors were concentrated inside the locked compartment to a degree that made those brief trips to the head a welcome chance to draw a deep breath.
The rankness of that room grew worse day by day. Though they could wash faces and hands in the sinks, none had been allowed to use the showers, and the sweltering heat and humidity of the place had them sweating so much that the deck and bulkheads were slimy-wet to the touch. Most of them had been sick to their stomachs at one point or another in this voyage. When the submarine was running submerged, the motion transmitted through the deck was gentle, but they could always tell when the vessel had surfaced from the way the deck pitched and rolled with the action of the waves outside. The corkscrew motion — much worse at some times than others — was made infinitely worse by the oppressive heat and the stale, dieseltainted air; the third time someone vomited on the deck, their guards had provided the buckets. That meant they no longer had to clean up the mess with rags provided by their captors, but the smell was awful.