Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6)

by Don Keith

  Ψ

  The alarm bells began ringing from multiple intelligence sources around the world. It appeared that every single Chinese PLAN submarine not previously deployed had begun to disappear from their mooring piers. Images from satellites maintained by several governments normally showed naval bases along the South China Sea and up into the East China Sea to be crowded with black hulls. They were suddenly empty. The analysts were at a loss to explain this unprecedented deployment of submersibles by the People’s Liberation Army Navy.

  Then Xinhua, the official Chinese News Agency, announced a military embargo around all sovereign Chinese territory, specifically including the “Province of Taiwan.” This action was in direct response to the brutal assault on a Chinese vessel in territorial waters. An attack launched by a rebel force on Dongsha Island. An unprovoked attack in which American weapons were used.

  A similar message went out through the usual diplomatic channels.

  Almost simultaneously, sources maintained by Li Min Zhou—and relayed to Naval Intelligence via Jim Ward—reported the approval by the Chinese president of the new stance, but with a bit more nuance than the official news report. Regardless of its delivery method, though, it was indeed a strong and dangerous message. The world had now been warned that all military traffic, whether ship or aircraft, that encroached within the embargoed area would be deemed hostile.

  Appropriate action would be taken to protect the lives of Chinese citizens and the autonomy of its territory.

  Ψ

  Jon Ward steered the subcompact rental car out of Honolulu Airport and turned left onto Nimitz Highway toward the Pearl Harbor Naval Base. But rather than merging into the traffic heading toward the Nimitz Gate, he eased to the right onto Kamehameha Highway, toward Pearl City. As he passed the rusty steel monument of Aloha Stadium, he again merged right, this time onto the Aiea Access Road, and soon passed over H-1, one of Hawaii’s three “interstate” highways. He glanced down at the bumper-to-bumper traffic heading out toward Ewa and the leeward communities. Rush hour in Paradise!

  The Access Road ended at a T-intersection. Ward waited for the light to change and then turned left out Moanalua Road. He was out of the dense urban area surrounding the airport, commercial facilities, and military bases and now in a modest residential area. A couple of blocks farther, Ward turned right again onto Aiea Heights Drive. This was an area where the Ko’olau Mountains came down to meet Pearl Harbor. Aiea Drive snaked up a sharp, steep ridgeline, winding back and forth as it ascended the ridge toward the mountain heights beyond. Houses on the left clung to the steep slopes, the terrain dropping away to a green canyon. Those dwellings on the right were built up on terraces of black lava rock. Occasionally a street would drop off to the left and snake down to the canyon floor below or shoot off to the right to serve houses that had been built above.

  Finally, the road made a sharp turn to the right, affording Ward a magnificent view of Pearl Harbor, now two thousand feet below. He made a turn onto another quiet residential street. Down at the end, at the very last driveway, he saw the house number: 99-1750. The blue-and-gold dolphin flag confirmed he had located the place he sought.

  He had found Tom Donnegan’s retirement roost.

  When Ward pulled into the driveway, he recognized Tom’s battered old Land Rover filling up the carport. He had barely parked the rental when Tom Donnegan came barreling out of the house with surprising speed for one so elderly and engulfed him in a huge bear hug.

  “Jon, my boy,” Donnegan growled. “Where the hell have you been keeping yourself? You been neglecting your old Papa Tom.”

  Tom Donnegan and Jon Ward had a long history. Donnegan had been the XO on a submarine skippered by Ward’s father. That had been the case when Ward’s dad was tragically killed while on a highly classified mission. Jon had been a very young boy at the time. But after that, Donnegan had been like a father for Ward as he was growing up. That had not changed after Ward was appointed to the US Naval Academy. He became young Ward’s mentor and then his boss throughout his career before Donnegan retired from his job as the Navy’s top spy.

  It was only natural that when Donnegan stepped down, he made certain Jon Ward took over the job.

  “You’re right, Papa Tom. I’m going to blame it on the requirements of the job, but I know that’s a pretty shabby excuse.”

  “Yeah, the job,” Donnegan said with a nod. “Seem to remember it chewed up and spit out a lot of my time and attention, too.” He grabbed Ward’s valise from his hand and motioned for him to follow him into the house. “But how’s Jim-boy doing? I heard he got himself winged again. Just like his dad. Not smart or quick enough to duck when the shooting starts.”

  “The boy has a real knack for falling into a pile of it and then finding a rose,” Ward said with a laugh. “Is that even a metaphor? Anyway, last time I talked with him, he was set up in some high roller’s suite in Taipei. He has some Taiwanese muscle at his beck and call, involved in an operation with...well... I’ll spare the old retired dude the details for the time being.”

  Besides, something smelled wonderful.

  “Louise is fixing us a pupu platter and mai tais. Speaking of spouses, when the hell are you bringing Ellen out for a vacation? We got a whole suite set up for you downstairs.”

  “She’s ready, believe me. But somebody who shall remain nameless quit his job and left me so much work to do that...”

  Donnegan waved for him to stop his complaining and motioned for Ward to follow him out onto the lanai. Ward stepped through the sliding screen door onto a shaded stone deck.

  “Wow! This is beautiful!” The deck was crowded with orchids of all varieties, and it seemed that they were all in bloom, covering every square inch in vivid purples, reds, yellows, and vibrant whites. The tropical perfume was intoxicating. And beyond the flowers, the view was spectacular. Pearl Harbor and the submarine base stretched out far below them. From here, Donnegan had an unobstructed view all the way past Hickam Air Force Base to the broad, blue Pacific Ocean beyond. And just to reinforce the myth that Donnegan still kept close tabs on his beloved SUBPAC submarines from his lofty perch, a large spotting telescope rested on a tripod at the lanai’s edge.

  Ward touched one of the orchids.

  “Man, Ellen would be in heaven here.”

  Ward’s wife—and Jim’s mother—was a botany professor and specialized in the Orchidaceous family of flowers.

  Donnegan waved Ward to a pair of wicker chairs sitting on either side of a small matching table. The old top spook pointedly put Ward’s valise in the middle of the table. Though Ward had not told him the reason for his trip, Donnegan appeared to be fully aware this was not merely a social stopover.

  Ward took a deep breath before resignedly opening his briefcase. He, too, would like to visit and tell sea stories a bit longer. He pulled out some files.

  “Papa Tom, you told me if I ever needed some help, I’d know where to find you.”

  “So, I’m not just an excuse for a free trip to paradise, huh?”

  Ward handed a thick file folder to Donnegan. He riffled through the papers. As always, the old top spy was a quick study.

  “Yep, this is interesting, and not in a good way,” he mumbled as he read. “This Taiwanese woman, Li Min Zhou, she came to visit me a few months ago. She was looking for some advice, too. She is one very well-connected woman. And not bad on the eyes, either.”

  Donnegan looked to the door quickly, making sure Louise, his wife of more than fifty years, had not heard his last comment.

  Ward smiled. “Yeah, she told me about her visit with you. I’m not sure that I can totally trust her, but she seems to have some spectacularly good resources in China. And it appears she is heading up this deal they have Jim working on. That, of course, involves me and my office on a number of levels.”

  Donnegan nodded. “One thing you can be sure of, she is on your side only as far as it helps Taiwan and confounds the military and government of the People’s Rep
ublic of China. So, I’d say as long as our interests remain aligned with hers, we are good. But if they ever aren’t, she is Taiwanese. And, I suspect, she’s somebody we do not want to get crosswise with. Something tells me she could carve you up and have you filleted before you ever started bleeding. Anyway, from what I’m hearing, she’s probably somebody who can help us, considering.”

  Ward nodded his agreement. He was not surprised Donnegan was still plugged in. “Yep. That’s about the way I figured it. And with all the elephants dancing around on this Dongsha thing, I’m just trying to keep from getting trampled. We have been playing this ‘Taiwan-Two Chinas’ game for long enough. I think we can work it out. And you have confirmed my feelings on Li Min Zhou.” He pulled another file out and offered it to Donnegan. “This is what I really want to talk to you about. It’s way, way out of my field. But it has landed squarely in the middle of my desk.”

  Donnegan leafed through it as Louise brought out the mai tais. She gave Ward a long hug and asked him about Ellen, then told him the food was coming soon and disappeared back into the house. She, too, knew the drill, that business took precedence.

  The old spy whistled softly as he read. “Is this estimate real? This guy, this Dr. Smith—I've heard of him—he’s estimating that there’s something like a million tons of gold down there. Jon, do you know what this means? There has only been something like two hundred thousand tons of gold mined in all of human history. This is five times that much. Even if he is off by a power of ten...”

  Jon Ward was shaking his head, perplexed.

  “I slept through all my economics classes, Papa Tom, but something tells me a discovery like this could have a negative impact besides just all the greedy shenanigans it would—and already has—set loose.”

  Tom Donnegan took a long sip of his Hawaiian mai tai—a variation of the cocktail known locally as mia tia—without tasting it. He frowned as he gazed out at the breathtaking view, not seeing it, thinking.

  “If the world’s markets were to get wind of this, and if there was a reasonable chance somebody has the technology to go way down there and get the stuff...Lord help us. That alone is more than enough to collapse the entire world economy.”

  Ψ

  Jon Ward had another stop to make while he was on Oahu. This one was not going to involve pupus or mai tais. He needed to get over to Camp Smith, the headquarters for the US Indo-Pacific Command. There, he would meet with Admiral Rufus Clark, who ran that command.

  Although he could easily see Admiral Clark’s office building from Tom Donnegan’s lanai, it was across a deep canyon. Ward had to retrace his route down from Aiea Heights and then climb back up Halawa Heights to Camp Smith, all while fighting traffic and the ill-handling subcompact rental car.

  Admiral Clark met Jon Ward at the entrance to the headquarters building and immediately ushered him down to the SCIF, which was buried in the building’s basement, safely away from prying eyes.

  Ward well knew that Admiral Clark and his staff were extremely busy, frantically moving the fleet to counter the Chinese threat against Taiwan while also juggling all the other crises in an area of responsibility that covered half of the globe. Ward eschewed the normal pleasantries and got right down to business.

  “Admiral, I asked to meet with you to discuss the current Chinese submarine deployment,” he began, “and to brief you about a capability that you may not have been read in on.” Ward went on to quickly explain how his Office of Naval Intelligence and a certain three-letter government agency had cooperated in developing and deploying a very sophisticated undersea tracking system. And how it had come about under the cover of being a seismic warning system for the Taiwanese Office of Earthquake Preparedness. They had the system operational and had recently successfully tested it. This had been accomplished without the Taiwanese and very few Americans being aware of its existence or its many capabilities.

  Clark shook his head. “Jon, you sure this thing actually works? Sounds awful Buck Rogers sci-fi to me.”

  “It’s what we used to detect and track the Boise and then warn her of that noisy screw problem she had. A real-world test, if you will. If we can detect and track one of our own boats that far away, I’m pretty confident that we can track the Chinese right there on top of the system.”

  Clark again shook his head and frowned. The frustration was heavy in his voice. “That’s all fine and dandy, but as you know, the president has our hands firmly bound with the rules of engagement he required. Basically, we can’t get within four hundred miles of Taiwan and we can’t shoot at anything or anybody unless we have already been shot at. He’s afraid we’re going to get all trigger-happy and start World War III unless we are firmly hog-tied. And he’s pretty sure such a thing might affect his chances for re-election or prevent him from getting the Nobel Peace Prize or something.”

  Ward scratched his chin but grinned. “I figured that might be the case. But I think I have the solution. We won’t violate the president’s orders and we won’t shoot at anybody. The key here is we need to chase the Chinese subs back into their ports and blow the doors off this phony embargo. And the people who can do that are the Taiwanese. We simply vector them to the Chinese subs, based on the seismic warning system data we’re collecting, and give them a way to ring the subs’ chimes without sinking them.”

  “You got a way to do that? Cause if you do, I’m damned impressed.”

  “Actually, I think I do,” Ward answered. “We give them the positions of the PLAN submarines without telling them where the information came from. Then we provide them with a planeload of our new very lightweight torpedoes. Something called a CRAW, a Compact Rapid Attack Weapon. Those babies are programmed to go after a boat’s screw when we use them for ASW. They’re not big enough to really do any serious or deadly damage to anybody’s modern boats, but they will take out a screw. We just happen to have several pallets of them over at the torpedo facility at West Loch. If we get moving, we can have them loaded and ready to use by Taiwanese P-3s by tomorrow morning.”

  Admiral Clark gave Ward a long, hard look.

  “Damn, Jon. Buck Rogers ain’t got nothing on you!”

  Ψ

  Jim Ward looked up and then smiled broadly as his father walked into his room unannounced. The young SEAL had been doing some calisthenics, trying to ease his sore body back into some level of fitness. The traffic he had been perusing as he passed it on to the ONI in the Pentagon suggested he might soon need to be agile, mobile, and hostile. His Taiwanese bodyguards had set up some gym equipment in the suite, but they still were not allowing him to roam around Taipei alone. That made it impossible for him to get back on his running regimen. Not that he was sure his body was up to it yet, anyway.

  The younger Ward grabbed a towel and wiped some of the sweat from his hands and arms before grabbing his father in a bear hug.

  “Dad, great to see you again, but I assumed you were back in DC...”

  Jon Ward returned the hug, vigorously enough to shut off any questions.

  “Great to see you, too, Jim-boy!” He pulled back and gave his son a look. “Hey, looks like you are getting back into fighting shape. You got a drink for an old, dehydrated sub sailor?”

  The bodyguards, who had been working out with Jim, discreetly disappeared into the next room, almost as if they had been forewarned about the visit from the Navy’s top spook. The SEAL stepped over to a small refrigerator and grabbed a couple of beers.

  “I’m developing a real liking for these Taiwanese beers.” He offered a bottle to his father. “Here, try this. It’s called Formosa Bird Beer.”

  Jon frowned incredulously but took a swig anyway.

  “Hey, not bad. Not bad at all.”

  The elder Ward glanced around the plush setting, then stepped over to the expansive plate glass door and out onto the small balcony. He took another big drink of the beer as he leaned against the rail and looked out over early-evening Taipei, stretched out below him like a carpet of blinking lig
hts. Jim followed his father out onto the balcony and stood silently next to him for a bit.

  “Very nice,” Jon Ward finally said. “Certainly has a better view than any of the patient rooms at Walter Reed.”

  “Okay, Dad. This place is not bugged. It’s swept every couple of days. Go ahead and tell me what you need to tell me.”

  Jon Ward reached into his pants pocket and handed his son a small slip of paper.

  “Son, give this number and password to Li Min Zhou, then flush it. Tell her to call it, but only on a secure line. The people there will give her the URL address to a secure website. There she will find real-time location information for all of the Chinese submarines within five hundred miles of Taiwan, and that includes all those boats that have so suddenly been put to sea in the last couple of days. And tell her that several pallets are being unloaded at the Taoyuan Airport FEDEX air cargo terminal with her name on them. I suggest that she gets them to her navy.”

  Jim looked sharply at his father. “Dad, how in hell did...?”

  “Don’t ask. And tell Miss Li not to ask any questions about the source of the data either.”

  “Understood.”

  Jon Ward drained the last of his Formosa Bird Beer. He turned to his son, grabbed the SEAL’s shoulder with his free hand, and looked him directly in the eyes.

  “Jim, for the first time in my life, I’m thankful you didn’t follow your old man into submarines.”

  Ψ

  Forty miles south and east of the Tongan island of Niuatoputapu and ten miles below the ocean’s surface, the Tonga Plate, under unimaginable geological stress, abruptly slid upward a few meters. In the process, it shoved the Pacific Plate down about the same distance. The movement occurred along a fault a few dozen miles long. The resulting tremor was enough to rattle windows in Hihifo, the small village that claimed to be the capital of Niuatoputapu. Few islanders even noticed. Such minor quakes were a regular occurrence there.