by Larry Bond
“That’s in Dobson’s patrol area,” Patterson remarked.
“The first one that far north, as well. Look,” he said, pointing to the Chinese fleet boundaries, “and the first one in the East Sea Fleet area.”
“So the Vietnamese … and the Indians have the southwest, and somebody else the northeast?” Patterson asked.
“Does Mongolia have submarines?”
“Don’t joke about it, Ray,” scolded Joanna.
“India seems about as likely,” Kirkpatrick countered. “And now somebody else? We don’t even know why Vietnam is fighting. The only thing India and Vietnam have in common is that they both see China as a threat. So who else doesn’t like China?”
“That’s a long list,” Joanna replied.
“Good point.” Already frowning, Kirkpatrick asked, “How do we know it’s only one more player?”
She didn’t bother giving the obvious answer. Patterson felt frustrated by being so clueless, and fearful for the future. If you don’t know where you are, it’s hard to know where you’ll end up.
She thought about the latest tanker to be sunk. The printout said 84,855 gross registered tons, deadweight tonnage 160,000 tons. Deadweight tonnage was a measure of a merchant ship’s carrying capacity.
Years of working on environmental issues kicked in. At a little more than seven barrels per ton, that meant something over a million barrels of crude oil was spreading though the East China Sea. The prevailing winds would carry the slick into the Pacific Ocean …
“Now you know why I called you in,” Kirkpatrick observed. “I’m forming a crisis team. You’re in charge, of course. I’ve already notified State, DoD, and CIA to send reps, and not low-level ones either. Also, you’re getting someone from the council of economic advisers. We have to know just how much pain China’s feeling. If you think of anybody else, don’t even bother asking me first, just grab them and fill me in when you can.”
She’d done this before, Joanna reminded herself. But she still felt chills. War was breaking out, and they didn’t even know who was fighting, or why. And she had to find answers.
“My charter is to give the president options to guide U.S. policy. I believe the best U.S. policy right now is to find out what the hell is going on.” Kirkpatrick sighed and took a long drag on his own coffee cup.
“You haven’t slept yet, have you?” she asked.
“No, and I have to brief the president at 0700 hours this morning. That gives you,” he glanced at his watch, “less than three hours to come up with intelligent suggestions for me to offer the president. Don’t be subtle. The rest of the world is going to start reacting to the sinkings very soon. Wake people up, reach out to anyone in the government you think can help. I’ll be back here at 0630.”
“Are you going to get some sleep, I hope?”
“No, I’ve got a few bodies of my own to exhume. If they have anything useful, you’ll be the second one to know.”
9
TIDINGS
31 August 2016
0700 Eastern Daylight Time
CNN Headline News
The two anchors on the CNN morning broadcast did their best to look grim. Happy faces were not appropriate to the news. “War has broken out off the coast of China, although so far a one-sided war, and a secret one.”
The image on the screen was frightening, but fascinating. “This was the Chinese-owned and -flagged tanker Hai Tun Zuo, en route from the Persian Gulf to Shanghai, loaded with over half a million barrels of crude oil.” The massive vessel, broken in two, listed drunkenly on the ocean’s surface. The two parts of the ship were enveloped by flames, fed by a dark black slick that spread out hundreds of meters. The bow and stern were elevated as the torn midsections took on water, exposing the red lower hull. The white upperworks on both parts were scorched and stained. Rescue ships stood off upwind from the oily black smoke that half-hid the shattered vessel.
“At a little before dawn local time, Hai Tun Zuo suffered a disastrous explosion, leaving her on fire and sinking. Normally, a disaster like this would have to be investigated and its cause determined, but this was not an isolated incident.”
A map replaced the burning tanker, with a flickering point of fire marking the ship’s location to the west of Hainan Island. The map then began to fill with other points of flame.
“In the past forty hours, over a dozen merchant ships, all Chinese tankers loaded with oil, have suffered deadly explosions, dotting the ocean with desperate calls for help. Naval experts all agree that someone has begun torpedoing Chinese tankers.”
The image shifted to show a white-painted rescue vessel with a red band angled across the bow and Chinese characters along the side. “China’s Maritime Safety Agency, responsible for search and rescue at sea, has mobilized its entire force to respond to the distressed vessels, any one of which is a major disaster. The Border Guard, a separate Chinese paramilitary force, is also assisting, as well as hurrying to the defense of other Chinese vessels.
“Other merchants have approached the distressed vessels and offered what aid they could, but the wrecked ships are often on fire, and many of the survivors require more medical care than the civilian ships can provide. In all the attacks so far, at least seventy merchant sailors are known to be dead or missing, with twice that many injured.”
Images of stretchers being carried away from a helicopter were replaced by a seated Chinese official, flanked by military officers. Chinese characters scrolled across the bottom of the screen. “Officials in Beijing have condemned the sinkings as ‘terrorism,’ but have refused to identify their attackers, or explain this refusal. The Chinese ambassador at the UN also declined to comment, and would not speculate on possible Chinese actions. The only conceivable reason for not naming the perpetrators of the sinkings is because the Chinese do not know who they are.
“Insurance rates are already rising, although so far only for ships headed for the new war zone. And within the last hour, Lloyd’s has announced it will no longer issue insurance for Chinese-owned or -flagged ships.
“The belligerents’ goal is obvious: to starve the world’s largest nation and fastest-growing economy of oil. Rumors of other measures, including cyber attacks against Chinese interests and sabotage of Chinese refineries, are circulating, but have not been confirmed.”
The Lloyd’s of London logo was replaced by shots of Chinese warships steaming in formation. “Although called ‘terrorism’ by the Chinese, no known terrorist group has the resources to operate even a single submarine, and naval experts agree that an attack on this scale would require several vessels. The U.S. Navy refused to speculate on the identity of the mystery subs, and categorically denied making any attacks. They would neither confirm nor deny the presence of U.S. submarines in the South China Sea. The White House is preparing a statement for release later in the day.”
The picture shifted back to the stricken tanker. “In the case of Hai Tun Zuo, the crew was able to send a distress call, and because her emergency beacon was activated, rescuers were able to arrive relatively quickly.” The camera panned over to a helicopter hovering while a sling was lowered to a bright orange lifeboat.
“Most of the twenty-three-man crew were rescued, but three are known dead and another five are still missing. Pushed by the prevailing winds and ocean currents, the slick is expected to arrive at the Leizhou Peninsula in a day or two.
“As of this morning, the Chinese are losing a war with a phantom submarine fleet. It remains to be seen if they can stop or even identify their enemy. Please stay tuned for further developments in this fast-moving crisis. A list of all the vessels attacked is available at our Web site.”
31 August 2016
0900 Local Time
By Water
Halifax, Nova Scotia
Mac had split off everything about the sinkings onto a new daughter blog. He’d also shelved all his projects in a desperate effort to keep up with the insane amount of traffic. It wasn’t the news of the
sinkings themselves. There’d been eleven in the past twenty-four hours, and after the first three, he’d set up an online database to display what was reliably known: location, identity, casualties, and so forth.
He’d been very careful to post only official information, and that only after he’d thoroughly reviewed it. The Chinese government wasn’t obligated to tell the truth, after all.
War had not been declared, but truth had already become a casualty. His notoriety in the naval community was now working against him, as would-be contributors inundated him with rumors. Most were disappointed when they found out that their data was old, inaccurate, or just plain wrong, but they accepted it. Others were convinced of their information’s accuracy, gleaned from some “inside source” or “inspired deduction.” Those individuals would not take no for an answer, and accused him of being narrow-minded or biased, except for one person who accused him of being in the pay of the Chinese! Mac loved a good exchange of information via e-mails. These were nothing like a good exchange.
But he wouldn’t stop reading and answering his mail. There’d been a few gems. Reports of a fire at a Chinese shipyard had been confirmed indirectly by the local media. His correspondent at Lloyd’s had allowed him to break the news about suspending insurance on Chinese tankers. Christine had appreciated his phone call on that one, although she’d acquired the same information only moments after he did.
Now he was calling her again. She’d given him her cell number, because she was so rarely in her office. “Mac!” She sounded rushed, but also pleased. “What news by the water?” she joked.
“It’s about Vinaship Sea.”
“That’s last week, Mac.” She sounded a little disappointed. “Have you seen the news today?”
“I won’t dignify that with an answer,” he huffed, but both knew he was joking. “There is a connection, Christine.”
“What? I may not be an expert, but Vinaship Sea was Vietnamese, and it wasn’t a tanker.”
“Bear with me for a moment.” Mac spoke quickly. “I’ve had several correspondents in Asia tell me about information that’s being leaked on Chinese blogs and Web sites, probably by a government office or the intelligence service. It claims to be a list of Vinaship Sea’s actual cargo—a surface-to-air missile battery, anti-aircraft guns, and ammunition, all destined for the Spratly Island chain.”
“That would explain the large explosion!” she remarked, almost happily.
“That part fits, but more important than that is her destination,” Mac explained. “I’ve plotted her course based on the new information, and it matches the location where she was sunk perfectly. The Vietnamese lied about her destination, and even filed false position reports. So if she was torpedoed, it had to be by someone who knew her true position.”
“And the Chinese knew,” she concluded. “Doesn’t this mean the Chinese are saying they sank the ship?”
“Indirectly, yes. The Spratly Islands are contested by Vietnam and China, among others. If Vietnam was secretly moving arms to the area, China may have decided to stop them just as secretly. And now they want other people to know.”
“So the tanker sinkings are payback by Vietnam?” She sounded skeptical. “That’s a lot of revenge for losing one ship.”
“And it’s also a lot more ships than the Vietnamese Navy could possibly sink. They only have three diesel-electric submarines. We did the math. You need a lot more than three.”
“So probably the Vietnamese and almost certainly some other navy are trying to damage China’s economy by sinking tankers.” She paused, then said, “That’s not a real strong headline.”
“It’s more than you knew five minutes ago,” he countered. “How about, ‘A Secret International Conspiracy, Aligned Against China’?”
“That sounds much better. I’ll have to rush, but we can probably get this into the next hourly feed. Please send me what you’ve got. And I’ll make sure your name gets mentioned.”
He pressed a key. “You have it.”
31 August 2016
1155 Local Time
Pentagon City Metro Station
Arlington, Virginia
Senator Lowell Hardy stepped off the Yellow Line Metro train at the Pentagon City station and reluctantly took the escalator up to the street level. The thick heat of Washington in August poured down the angled steps, and Hardy took strength in the restaurant being close—just across the street and four blocks down.
He hadn’t picked Siné Irish Pub, although it was a good place to meet. Good faux-Irish food and decent Irish beer. Not too noisy to have a conversation, or too quiet to stand out.
He suppressed the last thought, but it was a mysterious message, after all. A fellow submariner and a friend of Jerry Mitchell’s wanted to meet. The matter was extremely urgent, and he had suggested noon at Siné. He hadn’t left a name, or number where he could be reached. Hardy wondered if he’d pick up the tab.
The message hadn’t mentioned red carnations, so Hardy had simply walked in, expecting to be met. Nobody came up to greet him, but there was a short line waiting to be seated, and he joined it. When it was his turn, he asked, “Reservation for Hardy, twelve o’clock?”
“Yes, sir,” the hostess answered brightly. “Your other party has already been seated.”
Hardy followed her to a booth, where a single man waited. In his late forties, maybe early fifties, Hardy judged, the stranger was fit, blond, with a broad round face that screamed “Russian!” He was wearing jeans and a polo shirt, but on him the clothes looked like a disguise. Hardy started to feel uneasy, but it was too late to back out now.
The hostess left, and the stranger offered his hand. Hardy took it automatically while the other man introduced himself, “Senator Lowell Hardy, I am Aleksey Igorevich Petrov,” in slightly accented English. “Thank you for coming.”
They both sat down, Hardy’s mind whirling. He’d been in Washington long enough to know that not all spy stories were fiction, but a meeting, out of the blue, with a Russian? The message said, “a former submariner.” And the name “Petrov” jarred old memories. And he was a friend of Jerry Mitchell.
Petrov had sat silently for the moment it took for Hardy to recognize the name. The senator finally said, “The captain of Severodvinsk?”
The Russian nodded solemnly. “Former captain, yes. On her first and only voyage. You and I have never met, but Jerry has spoken of you many times. He and I keep in touch by e-mail, and he was very proud when you were elected a senator. And now Jerry has his own command.”
“Yes, I was at the change of command ceremony when he took over.”
“He will make a good captain.” Petrov smiled. “Not that I am qualified to make such a judgment.”
“Jerry said the Russian Navy let you retire without punishment,” Hardy offered.
“Losing my command and eighteen of my crew was punishment enough,” Petrov replied softly. “I and the rest of the survivors will always be grateful to Captain Rudel, Jerry, and the rest of Seawolf’s crew.” Although he smiled, the lines around his eyes showed his melancholy.
Petrov shook off the mood and straightened a little. “I have stayed close to the navy and submarines since I retired. I am now a naval constructor at the Admiralteiskie Verfi shipyard in St. Petersburg. My government knows about my friends in the U.S. Navy, and when they offered me this task, I accepted gladly. I have a message. It is not an official communication, but this meeting has been approved by the highest levels of my government.”
Hardy had already decided to take Petrov at his word. Jerry had said good things about the guy. He’d trust Jerry’s judgment, but Hardy chose his words carefully. “Is there something that your Foreign Ministry doesn’t want to say to the State Department?”
Petrov didn’t have a chance to answer. The hostess appeared, and Hardy distractedly ordered a burger and iced tea.
As soon as she left, Petrov explained, “This is not a matter for either the Foreign Ministry or the State Department.
It is best if they do not learn of it. In fact, it involves information we obtained from within the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force.”
Hardy couldn’t hide his expression, and Petrov paused for a moment, almost apologetically. “You can understand that we would not normally share this type of information with you, but in this urgent matter our interests coincide.”
What could be so important, Hardy wondered. Then he remembered the morning’s headlines. “Does this concern…” he paused, “the waters around China?”
Petrov leaned forward slightly and spoke softly but clearly. “Japan, South Korea, India, and Vietnam have entered into a secret military alliance to cripple China’s economy. They are using their submarines to sink Chinese merchant ships, and the Chinese Navy if they get in the way.”
Hardy had been about to sip his iced tea. Thankfully, Petrov’s bombshell had reached him before that happened. He quickly set the glass down as the possibilities swirled around him. “Nice. As long as they conceal themselves, the Chinese won’t know who to strike back at.”
“Correct,” Petrov answered. “And if they do, Japan and South Korea are U.S. allies, and your country must come to their defense. They can’t stay hidden forever, but if they can do it for long enough, they can cause tremendous damage.”
“Did this source mention why Vietnam and the others are doing this?”
The Russian shook his head. “I asked the same question. The information only refers to an ‘imminent Chinese threat.’ They may believe that if they don’t fight China now, they will have to later, when China is even stronger and they have no other option.” He smiled. “They also don’t have a very high opinion of America’s willingness to confront China.”
Hardy didn’t react to the last part. “When they do find out, China’s going to get really mad,” Hardy remarked, then caught himself. He wasn’t discussing the day’s headlines with a friend at lunch. This man was the unofficial and secret envoy of a foreign power. “I’m assuming you are confident of the information’s reliability.”