The Russian Admiral was a loyal member of the Naval high command, and he cared deeply about the service in which he had worked for all of his life. If the Chinese pulled out now, he knew it would cause shocking hardship in every corner of the Russian shipbuilding industry, and indeed among the Navy personnel.
The priority, he believed, was to save the order from Beijing for the unfinished aircraft carrier in the Ukraine, and to come up with a foolproof scheme to deliver the final two Kilos to China. With some luck, he thought, we might even get them to hold over the $300 million, maybe even roll over the order for more Kilos. “Just as long as I can come up with a method of delivering them,” he thought. “Without that fucker Morgan and his bandits sinking them first.”
He sat alone in his office, gazing at a large map of the Northern Oceans, those to the south of the floating Arctic wasteland that flows around the North Pole. He looked again at the unfathomable areas where the surface waves rolled over a twelve-thousand-foot depth. And he checked his calendar for the weeks when the ice would be at its northern summer limits. Then he looked at the availability of the largest nuclear submarines this world has ever seen, which were built, he thought proudly, in the old Soviet Union…their own massive platform for sea-launched, intercontinental, ballistic missiles…no one, not even the USA, would monkey around with one of these. They could operate under the ice if necessary, a thousand feet below the surface, and were capable of smashing through ice ten feet thick.
Admiral Rankov gazed with some satisfaction at the map, thinking about…his twenty-one-thousand-ton colossus of the underwater world, which packs the punch of nearly forty torpedoes and antisubmarine missiles. Powered by two massive nuclear reactors, it can run swiftly beneath the waves at almost thirty knots.
“Just let him try,” growled Admiral Rankov. “Just let him fucking well try.”
10
More than three hundred relatives and friends attended a memorial service for Dr. Kate Goodwin at St. Francis Church, Brewster, yesterday. Dr. Goodwin was one of twenty-nine Americans presumed dead after the Woods Hole research ship Cuttyhunk vanished in the Southern Ocean off the island of Kerguelen eighteen months ago. The principal reading was delivered by Mr. Frederick J. Goodwin, the senior feature writer on this newspaper, and a first cousin of the deceased.
—Cape Cod Times, June 28
10
THE SHARPLY WORDED MESSAGE SUMMONING Admiral Zhang Yushu back to Beijing had an unusual urgency about it. The regular helicopter flight from the Navy’s Southern Fleet Headquarters at Zhanjiang up to Canton, and then a commercial flight north, would not be fast enough.
Which was why the Commander in Chief of the People’s Liberation Army-Navy, in company with his South Sea Fleet Commander, Vice Admiral Zu Jicai, had commandeered one of his Navy’s 700 aircraft to use as a taxi, and was presently ensconced in a TU-16 Badger making five hundred knots forty thousand feet over the Changjiang Lowlands. Neither of the two senior officers had any idea why they had been summoned to the capital, but the meeting they were scheduled to attend was set to start at noon, and it was now 0700. They were eight hundred miles due south of Beijing, and the converted bomber was flying directly above the central reaches of the Yangtse, where the great river threads its way through a sprawling network of inland lakes, dams, gorges, and canals. Down below the Yangtse flowed muddily eastward beneath dark gray clouds, its water slashed by a torrential downpour.
“What d’you think, sir? The submarines?” asked Admiral Zu.
The C in C was thoughtful. “No, Jicai. I don’t. When all of this started we had seven Kilos trying to make it back to China. Five of them have been destroyed, and the other two are not yet ready to leave Russia. I can’t think of any possible development as urgent as this obviously is.”
“Well, if that’s the case, it must have something to do with Taiwan. It seems to me, always Taiwan when the politicians get anxious.”
“That is true. But I’m not sure what this is all about…still, we’ll know soon enough.”
“What happened about the submarine money?” asked Admiral Zu. “Are the Russians cooperating.”
“Not much choice for them,” said Admiral Zhang. “They could hardly expect us to forfeit a three-hundred-million-dollar deposit on three Kilos that somehow fell off their own barges right in the middle of Russia.”
“Did we ask for cash back?”
“No, we just agreed to roll the money over for the final two…meaning we pay three hundred million dollars more when they arrive safely in Chinese waters—that completes the deal. Admiral Rankov is working on an escort program that he swears will be impregnable…even by the American bandits.”
“It would be expensive for his government if they fail again, eh?”
“Very. They have agreed to repay the three hundred million dollars in full, if those submarines fail to arrive in a Chinese port for any reason.”
“Were they as reasonable over the loss of the first two in the North Atlantic?”
“Not quite. They held us to the letter of the contract. We’d paid two hundred million dollars down, and two hundred million more at the completion of sea trials, which were deemed to have concluded when the Kilos dived and left Russian waters. The final payment was due, naturally, when they arrived in Xiamen. Unhappily we had the second payment on an automatic transfer through the Hong Kong-Shanghai Bank, direct to Moscow on a specified date. We paid it, and three or four days later the Kilos were lost.”
“An ill wind,” said Admiral Zu.
“Yes. And the Russians were within their rights. They said it was unfortunate but that they were not asking for any favors. The contract was specific. The sea trials were completed successfully, and the money was theirs. They had, after all, built the submarines, and the ‘accident’ was not their fault.”
“So we’re out seven hundred million dollars on the deal so far?”
“Correct. If they manage to deliver the last two safely, we will have paid one billion dollars for two submarines. Very expensive, hah?”
“Yes. But will we receive compensation if the Russians can successfully prove to the United Nations that America was responsible?”
“We will. I personally wrote that clause into the new agreement. Russia will demand repayment in full—one and a half billion dollars for five submarines. We’ll get our four hundred million dollars back. The Americans will also have a huge bill for reparations to the Belomorski Canal, and I imagine the Russian government will demand colossal compensations for the loss of life caused by the deliberate acts of US piracy.”
“Will we claim damages for the hundred men we lost in the first two Kilos?”
“Oh, undoubtedly…if the Russians manage to prove anything.”
“Does their investigation go well, sir?”
“Those villains in the Pentagon are remarkably clever. My view is that nothing will be proved…I just hope that Admiral Rankov is able to get the final two Kilos here without further trouble. Then we will have five…almost sufficient for us to be very dangerous to any cruising American aircraft carrier…that’s what I want. The three Kilos we have are simply not enough. Two of them are in dock for repairs. The third is awaiting overhaul.”
The big Navy aircraft with its two solitary passengers came lumbering into Beijing airport shortly before 0900. A Navy staff car was waiting at the edge of the runway when the plane came to a halt. The Admirals were on the road to the city within six minutes of touchdown. The aircraft refueled and left immediately for Canton.
Admiral Zhang told the driver to go straight to his official residence, where he and Admiral Zu would shower, change into fresh uniforms, and have some breakfast. He would like the car to wait and drive them to the Great Hall of the People at 1130. The Paramount Ruler disliked lateness, and he would make no exception—even for two very senior military figures who had raced 1,300 miles from the southern borders of China that same morning.
Admirals Zhang and Zu arrived at Tiananmen Square
at 1150, and were greeted by a Navy escort of four guards, who accompanied them down the long corridors to the committee room. Inside, already seated, was the General Secretary of the Communist Party. He sat next to the Chief of the General Staff, and the two men were speaking to the rarely seen head of the central Chinese Intelligence agency. The new Political Commissar of the Chinese Navy, Vice Admiral Lee Yung, was also in attendance, and was deep in conversation with the East Sea Fleet Commander, Vice Admiral Yibo Yunsheng.
Zhang and Zu arrived two minutes before the Paramount Ruler himself, and everyone stood as the great man walked in, escorted by two senior assistants. He smiled and nodded his greetings to his most trusted colleagues. The eight armed guards who attended him at all times were already positioned in the corridor.
The Ruler wished everyone a good morning and said that he would like General Fang Wei, the Intelligence chief, to address the meeting and to bring them up-to-date with a developing situation in Taiwan. Admiral Zu turned to his C in C and nodded discreetly as the General stood up and began to recount the results of a report he had just received from one of his field officers operating under deep cover on the island of Taiwan.
It concerned the continuing disappearance of some of the most eminent nuclear physicists in the country, many of them attached to the permanent faculty of the most distinguished universities in Taiwan. Professors had suddenly vanished from such academic strongholds as the National Central University in Chungli; the National Chengchih University in Taipei; the National Tsing Hua University in Hsinchu; the National Chunghsing University in Taichung; and even from the National Taiwan in Taipei, and from Tamkang University in Tanshui.
“At first,” said General Fang, “we noticed nothing.” There was no information, he reported—no one knew anything. Not friends, colleagues, nor even relatives. “But then we noticed that after two or three years, the professors were suddenly, quite inexplicably, back in their university posts, as if nothing had happened. And still no one could learn what was going on.
“Then,” he said, “about a year ago, I tried to tighten our grasp on the senior nuclear scientists and engineers, checking about twenty-five of the top men every twenty-four hours. Three months ago, two of them suddenly disappeared on the same day. They have never been seen since. And no one knows where they are. At least, no one is telling us.
“We did of course run all the routine checks—airports and seaports—and there is no record of them leaving the country. But Taiwan is a small and surprisingly talkative place. It is not possible that these men remained on the island without someone knowing something. Nor is it possible for such people to disappear without relatives or friends bringing it to public notice…unless they’d been told not to. And in this case, we had, at one time, a total of eleven truly distinguished Taiwanese scientists, all nuclear physicists, all missing.
“Now, as you know, we have been aware of this situation, in various degrees, for several years—since we are always concerned that our irritating neighbor may take it upon itself to develop its own nuclear capability. But we have never had any evidence. And it’s been very hard for us to pinpoint dates of departures and arrivals back…I should mention that the illustrious Professor Liao of the Taiwan National University has vanished twice, for around eighteen months each time.
“Now, to bring you to my point…one week ago we were secretly informed that two of the professors who disappeared, Liao himself, and Nhung of Tamkang, would be returning to work within two days. And we watched every incoming flight, every arriving ship. We checked every passenger list. And there was nothing. Then by some miracle the two professors arrived back at their universities exactly when our contact said they would.
“We were absolutely mystified. Where had they been? We decided, therefore, that their mode of transport must have been military, but there were no military aircraft or ships arriving from abroad at the appropriate time, barring only their submarines. And, sure enough, we were informed that a Hai Lung had docked at the Taiwanese base in Suao three days previously, following an eleven-week absence.
“That fitted our inquiry. It was the only oceangoing vessel that could possibly have brought the professors back at the right time. We then checked its departure date, April fifth. And we discovered a real coincidence. Remember the two professors I mentioned? The ones we had under surveillance, who disappeared on the same day…they vanished on April fourth.”
The General paused and looked at his audience, before adding slowly, “It is therefore my conclusion that the scientists are leaving Taiwan, and returning, by submarine. If we knew where the Hai Lungs were going, we would know where the nuclear scientists were.”
The Paramount Ruler nodded his head gravely. And when he spoke, he addressed Admiral Zhang. “We do know something of the activities of the Hai Lungs, I believe?”
“We do, sir. But I am afraid, not enough. We have established their sailing pattern…the eleven-week tour of duty mentioned by the General is accurate. The Hai Lungs dive very quickly once out of the harbor at Suao, and we have never seen them again until their return eleven weeks later. We have concluded their probable speed is eight or nine knots dived…and that they are covering around two hundred miles a day. That would mean a thousand miles every five days.
“However the real clue lies in the eleven-week absence, which is far longer than any submarine would normally remain on patrol, if it was local. The sheer length of time rules out the possibility that the Hai Lungs are merely lapping Taiwan, or patrolling the Strait, or watching Korea. Otherwise they’d be back within about sixty days. The eleven-week time span is what matters, because it means they are going far away, and they are getting refueled.
“In five weeks they can make seven thousand miles, possibly a little farther. We calculated one week on station and five weeks back. It appears to be a kind of shuttle service. The trouble is, when you are just a few miles out of Suao harbor, to the southeast, the Pacific shelves off very steeply to about ten thousand feet, and we have never been able to track them because they run deep and silent.
“However, this new information about the scientists provides a support for the existence of a possible specific project, being conducted, most likely, seven thousand miles distant.”
“You may think it is time we learned a little more,” replied the Paramount Ruler. “I think it is becoming obvious that Taiwan is taking more than a passing interest in the development of a nuclear capability. The question has become quite sharply defined. How? And where? Where are they doing it?”
At this point General Fang requested permission to speak. “As long ago as three years,” he began, “we received a report that a local furrier in Taipei had received an order from the Taiwan Navy for a large number of garments, jackets, hats, trousers, and boot linings. All in fur. Two months ago we found that the order had been renewed. One of our officers did track the shipment from the furrier to the submarine loading bay.”
“Which proves beyond doubt,” interrupted the Paramount Ruler, “that the submarines are either going to the cold North or the cold South, but probably not East or West.” Everyone else smiled also at the gentle wit of China’s venerable leader.
“Sir,” said Admiral Zhang. “I do agree we must find out what the Taiwanese are doing. And I am honored that you have invited me here today because I think I may be able to assist. I have considered the route of these two submarines on several occasions and I have always found the northern option the less likely of the two.
“I considered that they could be going up to the Aleutian Islands, which are spread out and have some very remote areas. But beyond the islands is the heavily patrolled Bering Sea, and the Bering Strait. Russians to the left, Americans to the right, and both in the middle. If I were seeking a place to establish a clandestine operation, it most certainly would not be up there, and it would not take me eleven weeks to get there in any event.
“Also there is no reasonable choke point on the north route where we could kee
p watch for the Hai Lungs…I am therefore drawn to the conclusion that we should bear the Aleutians in mind but concentrate on the more likely prospect that the Taiwanese submarines are headed south.”
“And what about choke points?” asked the Navy’s new Political Commissar, Admiral Lee Yung. “Are there any that we can utilize?”
“There are several,” replied Admiral Zhang. “The most usual place to keep watch would be the Malacca Strait, but in this case I’m inclined to think not…the Taiwanese submarines will almost certainly make their journey dived, and the waters through the Malacca Strait have a few tricky, shallow areas. My personal view is that the submarines will run straight through the middle of the South China Sea and head directly south-southwest for two thousand miles. Then, once they arrive in the Indonesian Islands, they will head due south between Sumatra and Borneo, arriving at the Sunda Strait—the water that divides Sumatra and Java—three days later. They can then run through there submerged and make straight for the open ocean.”
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