Kilo Class (21 page)

In the distance, in this light, the mainland of Kerguelen looked spectacular, with its great craggy mountains, desolate shoreline, and high remnants of the winter snows. Bill pointed out a jutting rock due north of Gramont Island. “According to my chart, that’s Cox’s Rock,” he said. “That’s where Goodwin found the life buoy from
Cuttyhunk
.”

While Jo and Laura peered through binoculars, Boomer ordered the sails down and started the engine. “So we can chug around for a bit. I don’t want to leave much sail up — the katabatics round here are supposed to be horrendous, and apparently you don’t see them before they hit you. For Christ’s sake watch the chart and the depth for me, will you, Bill? It would not be perfect if we put this baby on a rock.”

“That’s never been part of my master plan either,” replied the man from the High Plains. “We’re staying in deep water, don’t worry. If I even see a rock within two hundred yards I’m setting a course for Hobart.”

Laura went below to fetch coffee. Jo wanted to drive. Boomer said, “Fine, so long as there’s no speeding, and you listen to Bill, and do exactly what he says.”

“Not sure about that,” said Jo. “Not the way he’s been going on with Mrs. Anderson!”

There was some levity as Jo made a great, lazy circle in the bay and headed slowly north. “There’s kelp beds all the way to starboard,” said Bill. “Stay close to the mainland, where it’s deep and clear.”

Jo slurped her coffee and kept chugging. Laura miraculously produced a plate of hot buttered toast, and the four of them munched contentedly while Roger and Gavin continued to furl the big mainsail and Jeff sorted out the sail wardrobe under the foredeck.

At 1140 Boomer went for’ard to give Jeff a hand and to make sure the storm jib was right on top of the pile should it be required in a hurry.

At 1141 Bill Baldridge saw it. Two hundred yards off their starboard bow, slicing through the water leaving a V-shaped feather on the flat surface was… he could not believe his eyes… no it couldn’t be… a shark’s fin maybe.

“BOOMER!!” Bill yelled at the top of his lungs. The Captain of
Columbia
thought he’d gone over the side.

He swung around to face the cockpit to see his shipmate pointing out in front of him, still bellowing, “BOOMER!! BOOMER!!” Commander Dunning followed the direction of Bill’s right arm, and what he saw almost took his breath away. “JESUS CHRIST!!” he shouted as they both stared at an utterly unmistakable sight cutting across Choiseul Bay at about five knots, heading southwest.

It was the raised periscope of a submarine — about three feet of it, pushing through the water.

About twenty seconds later it vanished beneath the surface as swiftly as it had arrived. Neither Jo nor Laura had seen anything. But then neither of them were submariners.

In the White House office of the National Security Adviser, Admiral Arnold Morgan was beaming with good spirits.

“Well, well,” he was saying. “So you’re the fabled daughter of Admiral MacLean, the lady who captured this rascal’s heart — and also did us a thousand favors a year and a half ago?”

Laura smiled. “That’s me, Admiral. And I believe I have to thank you for the very mixed blessing of throwing Bill and me together.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the Admiral. “This office is actually just a front for my famous dating service.”

Bill could hardly believe his ears. Arnold Morgan making small talk? Chatting to a lady? “Jeez,” thought Bill. “Politics are turning him human. The President better watch that. The Admiral might lose his edge.”

But the former Lion of Fort Meade was warming to his task. “Laura, I’m delighted to meet you at last. I’m a great admirer of your father’s, have been for many years. And between the three of us in this room, your insights during the
Jefferson
crisis were invaluable.

“I often wondered what you might look like. You have captivated
two
thoroughly outstanding Naval officers, after all, and now I know I’d trust their judgment… not just on submarine warfare.”

Laura laughed. “You’re too kind, Admiral. I’m actually very ordinary — at least I was until you sent your inquisitor across the Atlantic. Now I’m just very lucky.”

“So’s he,” chuckled the Admiral, nodding in Bill’s direction. “And I’m very glad you called me. We’re staying here for lunch in one of the private dining rooms. The President and Bob MacPherson both intend to stick their heads round the door to say hello. After that my driver’s going to run you both out to the airport. I can’t wait to hear about your sailing trip with Boomer; it must have been great.”

Bill smiled at him. “I’ll tell you about the journey during lunch. Meanwhile there is something I want to tell you about — it might be significant.”

“What is it?”

“Arnold, we took a little side trip down to Kerguelen, just to see the island. Boomer is really interested in that Woods Hole ship that vanished, the
Cuttyhunk
.”

“Yeah. I’ve talked to him about that. He is interested… I guess everyone from the Cape is interested… You didn’t find it did you?”

They all laughed. “No, we didn’t find it. But something happened on the morning of February ninth, just before midday.”

The Admiral nodded at the precision of Bill’s words, the way he stated only what he knew to be absolutely correct, the dead giveaway of the former Intelligence officer.

“I looked over the starboard bow and I saw the periscope of a submarine. It was a couple of hundred yards away, making about five knots. Boomer saw it as well.”

Admiral Morgan looked up sharply. “Are you certain about that?”

“One hundred percent.”

“But there couldn’t be a submarine down there. There’s nothing to be down there for. Not even aircraft fly over the place. It’s a military desert for thousands of miles in all directions. There’re no shipping lanes even, never mind ships — except for a few dingbat researchers from Woods Hole.”

“It was a submarine, Admiral,” Bill said calmly. “No
ifs, ands
, or
buts
. There is no doubt in my mind.”

“Did Boomer see it at the same time, or did you tell him it was there?”

“No. I did not. I just shouted his name, three times. And pointed.”

“What did he say?”

“He actually yelled, ‘JESUS CHRIST!’”

“Then what?”

“Boomer shouted, ‘That’s a goddamned submarine, or am I dreaming?’ I told him I knew it was a submarine. There was not, and is not, one shred of doubt. And you have to believe us. We both saw it, clearly and definitely.”

“Did you see it, Laura?”

“No. I was looking the other way. But I heard Bill shout, and I heard Boomer say it was ‘a goddamned submarine.’ It’s very quiet down there. I should think about three billion penguins heard him as well.”

The Admiral made some notations on a small pad on his desk. Then he picked up the telephone and issued the command he had issued so many times before. “Get me Fort Meade. Director’s office,” he said crisply. “Hurry.”

“Is Admiral Morris there? Morgan, Arnold Morgan. Hey George, how ya been? Yup,… fine… I wonder if you could run a check for me… Yeah,… now. Can you find out if there was any submarine that could possibly have been on patrol around the island of Kerguelen in the Southern Ocean around midday on the morning of February ninth? Yeah, I realize it’s the ass-end of the earth, George, that’s why I wanna know. Run the checks on everyone. Lemme know every submarine unaccounted for on that morning, including all the friendly nets, then gimme a call back. I’m in my office; the switchboard knows how to reach me. Thanks, George.”

He turned back to Bill, and said carefully, “Lieutenant Commander, as well as I know you, and as much as I trust you, if you had come in here alone with no corroboration for this story, I would not,
could
not, have believed you. And precisely the same thing applies to Commander Dunning, who I happen to think is the best submarine commanding officer in the US Navy. I would not and
could
not have believed him either.

“I also know you two could not both have it wrong. I am very certain of that. I believe there was a submarine down there, but what in the name of Christ was it doing there? There’s nothing
to
do down there, except feed the penguins and count the ice floes. But someone’s down there, or at least someone has been down there… and in the next couple of hours I’m hoping Fort Meade will enlighten us. C’mon guys, let’s go find some lunch.”

The small private dining room was elegantly set for three. Before the first course of smoked salmon had been served, the President of the United States stopped by to visit Bill. He walked through the door, smiling. “Don’t get up, Bill, good to see you. Arnold, holding back the enemy, right? And you must be Laura. I am a particular admirer of both your father, and your future husband, both of whom I count as friends. I’m not quite so sure, however, about one of your ex-boyfriends!”

Everyone laughed, and the President sat down next to Laura and poured himself a glass of sparkling water, which everyone was drinking. Bill marveled at the President’s ability to be smooth but not too smooth… Presidential but unfailingly able to say precisely the right thing to put everyone at ease.

Laura reacted to him as everyone who met him socially for the first time did. She and the President were soon talking about the long yacht journey she had just taken, and what fun it had been.

“You know,” he said, “I would love to do something like that. Just set off with a few good friends and vanish from civilization for a month. No phones, no faxes, no staff, no harassment, and no bullshit. Wouldn’t that be great? But it’s not going to happen anytime in the near future. I have to get back to work. Bill, Laura… I wish I could stay longer, but… I’m coming to the wedding, May twentieth, right? Tell your dad… I hope to see him, Laura.”

With that, he gulped his water and was gone. “Wow,” said Laura, shaking her head. “What a man. I adore Americans.”

Thirty minutes later, mid-roast beef, the telephone rang in the corner. “Hey, hey, hey,” said Arnold Morgan. “This could be George.”

He was right. Fort Meade on the line. “Hold it. George, let me just get a pen and a pad.”

The conversation was all of fifteen minutes long. Bill and Laura could only hear snatches. “What about the Soviets?… China?… No, that about wraps up the big players.”

When the call ended Admiral Morgan returned to the table looking serious. “They did a fast thorough job,” he said. “Checked out all of the computerized lists and all the latest overhead pictures, and drew some very sound conclusions. Mainly that every submarine in the United States, Russian, and Chinese Navies are accounted for. So is every one in the Middle East. All the small European fleets are solid, no one’s missing.

“Except for three boats. The Brits are missing a Trafalgar Class nuclear boat,
Triumph
, but we are nearly certain it’s patrolling off the Falkland Islands. They’re just not telling us for the moment, so it’s probably doing something it should not be doing. We can confirm if we have to, but the Royal Navy often has a submarine down there since the Falklands War, so we’re not surprised or suspicious.

“The French have a twelve-thousand-five-hundred-ton strategic missile submarine missing. She’s called
Le Triomphant
, number S616, based at Brest. Last detected in the Bay of Biscay, but not seen for ten days prior to February ninth. She’ll still be on the French deterrent patrol in the Bay somewhere. But from there to Kerguelen is around twelve thousand miles — even running at thirty knots, dived all the way from Biscay, there’s no way she could have gotten there in ten days or even twelve, or fourteen. I dismiss both of them.”

“And the third?” asked Bill.

“Almost too bizarre to think about. But we are showing a missing submarine from the Taiwan Navy. A small Hai-Lung Class diesel-electric. She’s called
Hai-Hu
.”

“As in Silver,” said Bill, deadpan.

Admiral Morgan chuckled. “No. As in
Sea Tiger. Hai Lung
means
Sea Dragon
. Anyway, this Dutch-built boat, eighteen years old, has been missing for a month and a half. She’s got a range of ten thousand miles and could conceivably have got down there. Kerguelen’s seven thousand miles from Taiwan. I can’t imagine what she was doing down there, if it
was
the Hai Lung you and Boomer saw.”

“Even if it was,” said Bill, “what’s it gotta do with us?”

“Plenty,” said Arnold Morgan. “If someone’s sneaking around the world’s oceans in a goddamned submarine I don’t know about, then that someone is up to something devious; and when it’s devious, I don’t like it. And when I don’t like something on behalf of this government, then someone’s gonna need to come up with a few answers. Or I might get downright awkward, instead of just curious.”

“How do you feel now, Admiral?” asked Laura.

“I’m curious. And I want to know where the Taiwan submarine is. I wanna know exactly
when
it returns home. I don’t expect to be told where it’s been, but I’ll be watching them all very carefully.”

Lunch ended at 1500, and Bill and Laura were driven to the airport for their flight home to Kansas. Bill’s brother Ray would meet them.

At the White House, Arnold Morgan was talking to the CIA, trying to determine the comings and goings of Taiwan’s two Hai Lung Class Dutch-built submarines. Their numbers, 793 and 794, were painted high up on the side of the sail. They were easy to identify. The officer on the Far Eastern desk promised to get someone on the case within the hour.

It was five weeks before any serious intelligence emerged. Around the second week in April a few facts started to fall into place. There did appear to be a pattern to the ships’ movements — a somewhat mysterious pattern.

Only one of the Hai Lungs left its base at a time. And when one left it did not return for eleven weeks. Each time one returned, there was a ten-day period when both the submarines were moored alongside each other, and then one would leave, again for eleven weeks. There was no evidence as to where the submarines went. But they always dived thirty miles outside the harbor and were not seen again until they reappeared off the base.