Garrett was willing to bet his career that the pirate Kilo was headed toward Small Dragon Island, on the eastern fringes of the Spratly Island group close by the Palawan Passage.
That was where Virginia would begin her hunt. If the Kilo wasn't at Small Dragon now, she soon would be… and Virginia, and Garrett, would be ready.
A chime sounded. "Captain? Comm," a voice called over the map screen's intercom function.
"Yes?"
"Message in from Yokosuka, sir. VLF band, priority urgent."
Virginia was currently trailing an antenna from her sail that enabled her to pick up VLF signals while submerged. That limited his speed to less than twenty knots but enabled him to stay in touch with the outside world. "Let me see it."
He walked back to his command chair and sat down, pulling up his touchscreen and tapping open a message window. The message, brief and to the point, scrolled across the screen.
TO: USS VIRGINIA, SSN 774
FROM: FLEET ACTIVITIES, YOKOSUKA
RE: RENDEZVOUS
1. YOU ARE HEREBY DIRECTED TO PROCEED AT BEST SPEED TO RENDEZVOUS POINT HOTEL AT NI2°56.51', E115°48.29'. VIRGINIA IS EXPECTED ON-STATION BY 1930 HOURS ZULU, 07 JUNE.
2. ONCE ON STATION AT POINT HOTEL, VIRGINIA IS TO SURFACE AND REMAIN SURFACED IN ORDER TO MAKE CONTACT WITH COMPANY PACKAGE VIA AIRBORNE EXPRESS.
3. COMPANY PACKAGE WILL BRIEF CO VIRGINIA ON RECENT DEVELOPMENTS.
SIGNED
C. MONTGOMERY, ADMIRAL
CO FLEET ACTIVITIES
YOKOSUKA
A company package? That could only mean someone from the Agency — the CIA — and that, Garrett thought angrily, could only mean trouble. The fancier the electronics, the better the communications net, the more damage some REMF back in Washington — or Langley — could do through ass-stubborn micromanagement. Damn!
However, orders were orders, and Virginia had a rendezvous to make. He glanced up at the control room clock, which had been reset at Yokosuka to register local time, now Zulu -8, as opposed to GMT. The time was now 2020 hours local, but that was 1220 Zulu — Greenwich Mean Time. He had a bit over seven hours to get to the rendezvous point which was — thankfully — only about three hours from Virginia's current position.
"Navigation Officer! Set a new course. Come right to two-zero-zero. Comm, reel in the wire and prepare for thirty knots."
They would keep that rendezvous, but the "company package" had damned well better stay out of the way.
"Ch'ien Nine-five is making unusual noise, Captain."
Jian nodded, looking over the shoulder of the sonar officer. The sound trace for the target was faint, almost lost in the background noise of the ocean, but it was there. "What is it? What do you hear?"
"I'm not sure, sir. It might be an electric motor… some kind of winch. There's a kind of intermittent metallic scraping sound. It could be a cable being pulled into the target."
"Let me hear." He accepted a sonar headset and listened for a moment. Yes… there it was… a faint, almost undetectable fluttering sound, a faint whir, and the occasional clunk and scrape of metal on metal.
Jian nodded, then handed the headset back. "He's drawing in his low-frequency antenna. Perhaps he's received new orders."
VLF radio signals — those on the EM spectrum from about 3 to 30 kilohertz — could penetrate the ocean to a depth of about fifteen meters. A submarine could pick up those signals by traveling very close to the surface, or by trailing either a wire antenna or a loop antenna buoy.
It was fortunate that the target was streaming an antenna, for what Jian was attempting to do would not otherwise have been possible.
Stalking the American submarine was itself an exercise in extreme frustration. The Yinbi could manage a top speed of about twenty knots — perhaps a bit more. The American submarine could reach thirty easily, and once had apparently touched almost forty. That made trailing the American more than a little difficult.
Fortunately, the American wasn't running at full speed all the time and, as he entered the waters that embraced the Spratly Islands, he'd begun moving more sedately, streaming the antenna in order to receive radio signals from his headquarters.
The faster a submarine ran, the more noise it made. Even one of the ultraquiet American boats left an acoustic signature when they burst into a sprint. When this one was moving at thirty knots or better, it was difficult — but possible — to track him.
But, of course, at such speeds the American sub would swiftly leave Yinbi behind. Fortunately again, however, when the American streamed his VLF antenna, the cable vibrating as it moved through the water produced a unique sound — not loud, but loud enough and distinctive enough to allow Yinbi to track him. When Yinbi had first picked up the American, he was traveling deep and fast; six hours ago, he'd slowed to less than twenty knots and begun streaming his antenna.
At times, too, the American slowed even further— probably so that his sonar operators could take a careful listen around. At those times, the American appeared to simply vanish off Yinbi's screens, but was then moving so slowly that Jian could close on the target's last-known position.
It was important to stay behind the American—"in his baffles," as the expression put it. The Yinbi was extraordinarily quiet herself, but Yankee sonar technology was capable of picking Jian's vessel up if he made the slightest mistake.
And so, Yinbi pursued the American in a series of alternating sprints and rests. The enemy was averaging a speed of about eighteen knots overall, which meant that Yinbi could stay with him if his own slowdown periods for listening were kept to a minimum. The task was made easier — a little easier, at any rate — by the fact that the American had been maintaining a more or less straight course for the past twenty hours. Each time Yinbi's sonar lost him, it was easy to estimate his position with the assumption that he was still traveling south, but at reduced speed.
It was made more difficult — and deadly — by the fact that each time the American slowed, he became effectively invisible. When that happened, there was a chance that Yinbi, sprinting toward the last-heard position at twenty knots, would run right into the American from behind. Operating solely on passive sonar, there was no way of knowing either the target's exact depth or its range.
"Winch noise has ceased, Captain. He may be preparing to speed up."
If so, Yinbi might well lose him this time. Jian had been able to stay on the target's tail so far only because the American had been trailing that antenna. If he was going to sprint again, he would almost certainly get away.
"Captain!" the sonar operator snapped. "Target changing aspect!"
Jian picked up the microphone for the sub's intercom system. "Maneuvering! Come to dead slow!"
He studied the sonar screen. Sure enough, the long, straight line barely visible against the hash of background noise was now slanting toward the right — an indication that the target had changed course and was now registering on sonar receivers along Yinbi's side, and not solely from dead ahead.
It was possible that the American was clearing his baffles — moving in a large circle to allow his sonar operators a chance to listen for pursuers in his wake. At such times, all the hunter could do was go dead slow and silent.