by Joe Poyer
'We now know that they actually had formulated a many-stepped plan. Step one was initiated six days ago with the attack on Thailand. Following their usual pattern – an attack and then a quiet withdrawal, almost a probing action – they again have pulled back their troops within their borders. However, intelligence tells us they are continuing their massive build-up along the Thai-Laotian border. Step two was to be the bombing of the straits fleet – a second Pearl Harbor, in other words. But, thanks to you and your finny friend, that failed. But make no mistake, they have us out-maneuvered and they know it.'
'The same old story, then. They raise a flap and we run around like chickens,' Keilty interjected sarcastically.
'Oh, but not this time,' General Phillips put in. 'We have been keeping track of certain shipments of guided missiles out of eastern Europe. Six shipments have gone in the past seven months, four to India and two to Hanoi. The two shipments to Hanoi contained tactical short range missiles capable of eleven hundred miles with a payload of 60o pounds. Just sufficient for a nuclear device. They were originally intended to carry non-nuclear warheads in which case the range is normally around five hundred miles.'
`That's a tactical weapon,' Keilty snorted.
Phillips ignored the comment. 'As it now stands, we are pretty certain that at least four of these missiles are now aboard that rebuilt submarine. A group of Soviet technicians left Odessa four months ago and haven't been seen since. They were specialists in underwater-launched missiles. We believe that submarine has been modified to fire from depth. Somewhere in the South China Sea that sub is hiding and it probably is not too far away from the straits. And if it is, and if it is armed with those missiles ...' he let the sentence trail off.
`Why near the straits? If they have a thousand mile range they could be anywhere between the Chinese coast and Australia.
Phillips shook his head. 'No, we think they must be near the station. The Vietnamese do not have the sophisticated communications equipment to keep the sub informed of what is going on. She probably has to surface periodically and to keep the radio traffic from being picked up and giving her away, she would have to be close by and using low power, high frequency radio.'
'It seems,' Keilty said slowly, and with great resignation, `that the last time I was informed what these crazy people were up to, I almost got my head shot off ...
`Wait, don't tell me,' he held up his hand to forestall the admiral. 'I know, now, what this meeting is all about. You want me to persuade Charlie to help you find this submarine, right?'
When both Phillips and Collins nodded, he smiled sweetly and went on, 'This is an extremely important mission. The Reds must not be allowed to gain control of Southeast Asia, because do I-know how valuable this part of the world is to the Free World? Why, when the Japanese took Singapore in the last war, do I realize, et cetera? Yes, I do. Of course I do, so let's skip the propaganda and build-up, right? That sub is somewhere off the coast of Sumatra and you want me to find .. . Charlie to find it, right?'
'I told you, gentlemen,' Rawingson laughed. 'Didn't I?' Keilty glared at the rear admiral.
'SEATO has asked that you co-operate with us in this matter, Doctor. There is something going on out there that is obviously bigger than we had thought,' said General Phillips.
Òbviously,' Keilty muttered. He slumped back into the chair and regarded the gray overhead, festooned with pipes and cables worked with cryptic messages. The far bulkhead, fronting on the interior of the bridge, contained nothing but a hatchway and several prints – in very good taste – of rather well-known paintings. Keilty stared at Gauguin's painting of a Tahitian mountain rising from yellowed fields in reddish eminence, dwarfing the single figure trudging along a dusty road.
`Well, General, I am a civilian. And there would be a fee involved -- payable in advance.'
'What?' Phillips exclaimed. He pushed back his chair and dropped his hands to his knees.
'You know the background of
this .. . this plot, yet you make it contingent upon a fee? How the hell ... ?'
`Pay the fee, General,' Rawingson said dryly.
Ìn advance – from the Department of Defense, and I want to see a cable from my bank before I move.
Ì'll be damned ...'
`Pay the fee, General. I don't blame him a bit,' Rawingson said again. 'DOD can settle with SEATO later.'
Out of the corner of his eye, Keilty could see that the others were regarding him quizzically, and he grinned carefully at Phillips.
Ì'll be damned . . .' Phillips ejaculated again. He then stood up. At the hatch, he turned to stare at Keilty, who did not even turn around. When the hatch slammed shut, both Keilty and Rawingson laughed uproariously.
The meeting dragged on into the late afternoon. Keilty was briefed on the situation by both Hallan and Hutchins. The two had been working together steadily for the past few years since Saigon and with it all of South Vietnam and later Cambodia had fallen to the Communists. Between them, they had amassed an immense amount of data.
Hutchins had specialized in the Vietnamese armed forces. The Vietnamese navy consisted in the main of a conglomeration of outdated craft; former South Vietnamese riverine and coastal patrol craft, six destroyers – two of them lately purchased from the Soviet Union – and three mine sweepers. The rest were miscellaneous vintage French and American motor torpedo boats. Their air force again was built mainly on French equipment – mostly propeller driven left over from the colonial days and more up-to-date captured American F-5's and helicopters and some new Migs, again from the Soviet Union and lately brought south from bases around Hanoi. The biggest addition had been the new SAM series of anti-aircraft missiles and ground facilities.
Hallan finished up, 'they really have us as far as defending their turf goes. Outside their boundaries, nothing. I think we could probably talk the Malaysians and Indonesians into dealing with them alone but for the fact that they seem to be playing with a heavy hand.
You just can't persuade anyone to argue with nuclear missiles.'
Keilty sat silently, chewing on his knuckle and staring at the Gauguin. He was beginning to feel a little homesick for his peaceful Key, and Margaritta – especially Margaritta.
Silently he cursed Rawingson for dragging him into this mess to begin with.
'So,' he growled, 'where does the submarine come in?'
`That's what we would like to know,' Hutchins answered sardonically. 'I doubt if there are thirty people in the entire Vietnamese Government and military establishment who know that it is there.' He paused a moment to stare at the backs of his hands. 'Perhaps they feel backed into a corner or maybe they still figure they can pull it out. The Vietnamese have never given a damn for quote, world opinion, unquote. They know they can always twist their underdog position around to justify just about any action they decide to undertake.'
'Hell, it doesn't stand to reason,' Keilty interrupted, 'that they will use the bombs on Singapore. The island will be absolutely no use to them if it's a mass of radioactive rubble. They need the naval yard, the airfields, the launching and harbor facilities, and most of the trade.'
'Precisely,' Collins put in. 'My own feeling in the matter is that they will use one or two of the bombs to create the tidal wave, still, in the strait. It would certainly he a lot easier for them than if they had to fight it out with our fleet to clear the channel. And there is only an even chance they would win. Either that . . .' And he paused for effect. . or they will use them to threaten our allies in this area — nuclear blackmail, in other words.'
A knock sounded on the hatch, and Phillips stepped into the cabin and resumed his seat.
'Damned nonsense. I had to speak to the Joint Chiefs to get your advance fee paid, but you will have it tomorrow. Now, how much?'
`Two hundred thousand,' Keilty stated flatly. Phillips reddened, but Rawingson said mildly, 'Pay it.'
'You'll get the cable tomorrow,' Phillips choked.
'Fine,' Keilty said. 'Then we ca
n continue tomorrow.'
Keilty said good-bye to Rawingson at the end of the gangway and walked slowly along the pier to the gate. The gray and blue camouflage of the Vigilant towered over him, bristling with uncovered, action-ready antiaircraft guns. Keilty stopped to stare at the cruiser, noting the covered cylindrical shapes of guided missiles and launchers where the four main turrets had once been located. She looked sleek and deadly.
He was passed through the gate, and pushed his way through the crowds of Australian sailors waiting for rides into the city. The cab drew up in front of the U.S. Military Mission and Keilty, well known by now, was ushered right in by the marine guards. He wandered down the hall to the swimming pool, nodded to the guard, and walked in.
His footsteps echoed from the high brick walls as he walked to the edge of the pool's deep end. The pool was twelve feet deep and nearly fifty meters long, lined with white tile. Like the building, it had been constructed before the war in the mid-thirties, and bore the unmistakable stamp of that period's British military architecture.
Keilty sat down on the lowest row of the bleacher seats that lined the two long walls.
Charlie, lying comfortably near the bottom, was completely engrossed in a TV program.
Through the shimmering water, Keilty could see that it was one of the soap operas, piped in by satellite from Honolulu for the edification of military wives in the Southeast Asian area.
He watched the dolphin for a few moments, rising and sinking slowly in front of the plastic-boxed receiver. Finally he tossed a quarter into the water, directly above Charlie.
The dolphin snapped around and shot to the surface, catching the falling quarter in his beak as he did so. He broke the surface, saw Keilty, and swam over to the edge of the pool and tossed the quarter to him.
Keilty pocketed the coin, and grinning, hooked up the transphonemator resting on the diving board.
'Hi, boss,' Charlie grinned, showing double rows of wolfish teeth.
'Hi, yourself. What've you been doing?'
Charlie backed off and jumped half onto the sloping edge that had been rigged for him.
'Not too much of anything. What the devil can you do in a lousy swimming pool? Say, did you know they have Jack LaLane out here?'
'Figures,' Keilty said. 'So they ...'
'I found out that I'm getting fat. According to Jack LaLane, if you sit around doing nothing all day with no exercise, you're not going to burn up carbohydrates, and carbohydrates turn into fat.'
'Dolphins don't sit,' Keilty reminded him. He hunched down next to the pool. 'If it's getting fat you're worried about, I have just the thing in mind that will trim you down to a slim torpedo shape again. How about that?'
`How about what?' The dolphin's voice coming through the transphonemator had a distinctly suspicious tone to it. 'What's this one going to be, another wild adventure?
When the hell do we go home, anyway?'
`What do you mean, go home? All you're worried about is that plane ride.'
`So?'
`So this. The big boys are in trouble again and it seems they need our help.'
`More bombs, I bet.' Charlie looked up at Keilty, staring directly into his eyes. Keilty was slowly learning to read the dolphin's expressions, but this one puzzled him.
`What's the matter?' he asked.
'I thought that we already helped them twice. They said that if we found the bomb for them, we could go back and they would leave us alone.'
`So they did, and we still can, but it looks as if the job was only half done. If we finish it, it means a heck of a lot of money, and with it, we can really get things rolling.'
The dolphin looked slightly puzzled. 'How do you mean half finished? I found the bomb for them all right, didn't I?'
`Yep. But they have more than one. There is a submarine somewhere out there.' He lowered his voice carefully. 'It's loaded with four guided missiles with nuclear bombs in them, and they want us to help them find it.'
Charlie slid halfway back into the water and slapped his tail. 'Is that all?' he almost chuckled. 'Why didn't you say so. There's no problem there.'
`No problem, what the devil are you talking about? Do you realize how much water there is . . . ?'
`Wait,' Charlie interrupted. 'I said it would he no problem because I know where the submarine is.'
Keilty almost fell off his heels in surprise. 'What?' he shouted. 'Where, for God's sake?
How come you didn't tell me about it before?'
Charlie looked somewhat sheepish — no mean trick for a dolphin. 'I forgot. It was on the way back from the station. I was taking a last look round and I spotted something at the base of one of the islands. It took me a while to figure out what it was, but I'm sure it's a submarine.'
Keilty stood up and paced back and forth along the edge of the pool for several minutes, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched in concentration. Finally he settled back down by the
microphone. Charlie, who had been keeping pace with him, flopped back on the board.
'It could be a sub or even a surface ship sunk in the last war.' He paused for a while. 'Can you describe it?' he asked finally.
`Not too well. I had only a three-quarter view. It looked like a submarine that I had once seen, and it was resting on the bottom, perfectly upright.
Keilty listened to the whirring of the transphonemator, staring absent-mindedly at the dolphin all the while. 'It could be,' he said finally. 'It's more than worth checking out anyway – do you think you can find it again?'
Charlie answered slowly, 'Of course, only ..
Ònly what?' Keilty prompted. The dolphin said nothing, staring down at the board beneath his head. Finally he raised his head and looked at Keilty. 'Will this be the last time?'
Keilty saw what was troubling him and suddenly felt ashamed. He patted the dolphin's rough, bony head.
'This whole fiasco has been pretty rough on you, hasn't it?' He paused, searching for the right words.
`Look, Charlie, don't feel that you have to do this. Say no, and I'll tell them to go find their own God-damned submarine.' He stopped, at a loss to say more. He knew exactly what Charlie was feeling, or at least thought he did. Charlie had not wanted to become involved in human affairs, political or otherwise. The close bond was between the dolphin and himself, not between the dolphin and the West, or the human race, or any other part of it, but with him only. He refused to put it on the basis of a personal favor again. While he crouched on the edge of the pool, stroking the dolphin's sand-papery flank, he determined to say no flatly if Charlie refused. Charlie and he were not on terms of master and servant. Keilty considered Charlie as much a personal friend as he considered Weston a personal friend, and he was damned if he would change that relationship for anything.
The dolphin quivered slightly under his hand and slowly let his nine-and-a-half-foot length slide back into the pool.
Àw, what the hell?' he said suddenly. 'If it will get me out of this tank, let's do it.'
`Thanks, Charlie,' Keilty said sincerely. 'Now, where is that sub?'
CHAPTER NINE
It was after 6 p.m. before Keilty got back to the hotel. He threaded his way through the crowds of people – a good many of them in the uniform of one country or another –filling the lobby. He waited impatiently for the elevator. The hotel's air conditioning was hard put to keep up with the humid heat of the pre-monsoon season, and even in his light clothes, he was wringing wet. All he wanted was a cool shower, a cold drink, dinner, and bed.
The elevator doors glided open softly and he stepped inside. 'Nine,' he said to the boy at the controls, and the doors closed softly. He leaned back against the plastic-walnut paneling and closed his eyes gratefully for a moment. When he opened them, he found he was staring into the dark muzzle of a 9 mm Walther. The muzzle was close enough for him to see the rifling grooves inside the barrel. He stood stock still, not changing his position an inch, except for the movement of his eyes.
The ele
vator boy had turned his back and was carefully examining the Otis Elevator sign.
Behind the gun was a man with Chinese features – less than thirty, he judged – wearing a green uniform with a tag reading Wan Fin Delivery Service. Directly behind him, with a pistol pointing at Keilty's midriff, was an older man – a Caucasian, he thought, and then realized the man was probably Eurasian.
For a long moment they said nothing. The elevator passed the third floor.
'Don't you think this is overdoing it,' Keilty asked, the attempt at humor not quite coining off, as his mouth was suddenly dry.
'How is that?' the Eurasian asked politely.
'Pointing a gun at my face in a Singapore elevator.' Keilty tried to grin, but that didn't work either.
'I see,' the other answered. 'Well, perhaps Alan Ladd will appear on the scene. I am sure that if we were Japanese, he would.' The man smiled again, then his face tightened almost imperceptibly. 'Please do not make a move. We would be very sorry to have to kill you.
The elevator stopped at the ninth floor and both men put their guns out of sight, the man in the delivery uniform shoving his in a jacket pocket. The doors slid aside and a neatly dressed couple stepped in.
British tourists, from the way they were dressed in formal evening clothes. The Eurasian nodded to the blonde woman and her escort, saying 'Good evening.' He stepped out of the elevator and Keilty followed, the uniform right behind him. They walked down the blue-carpeted hall to Keilty's suite.
`What a shame,' Keilty said. 'Forgot to pick up my key at the desk.'
`Don't worry.' The Eurasian produced a passkey. He unlocked the door and Keilty was pushed inside.
He spun around, but both guns were on him instantly and he straightened slowly from his crouch.
'I wouldn't advise you