Stephen Coonts - Combat

“Yes, sir.”

Heishui went to the chart table, where he laid out the American submarine’s present position, course, and speed. Projecting her line of advance brought her to the north coast of Taiwan about midnight. A mystery within a mystery, he thought glumly.

Chou en Ping, the Chinese ambassador to the United Nations, got slowly to his feet, an all-but-unreadable expression on his flattened oriental face. Until his appointment three years ago he had been head of the Mathematics Department at Beijing University. Very few people in the entire UN were smarter than he was. Sometimes talking to him seemed like an exercise in futility.

“We have come to an impasse,” he said in English. He directed his remark to Margaret Woolsey, the U.S. ambassador. “I have been directed by my government to ask that the voice of reason prevail. We call on the provincial government of Taiwan to immediately hand, over the criminal Shi Shizong. We are sending a military delegation to Taipei to arrest him within twelve hours.”

Margaret Woolsey looked around the chamber at the others, trying to gauge their moods this morning. It was a few minutes after 8:00 A.M., and the session had been going with only a couple of short breaks since nine o’clock the previous evening. They were all tired, their thinking somewhat dulled. It was exactly what Ping wanted. She offered a faint smile. “There will forever be an impasse when it involves the issue of individual freedom,” she said. It was the harshest condemnation of mainland China’s current actions, and some of the other delegates looked up in interest.

“Do you wish to debate the human rights issue again, Madame Ambassador?” Ping asked, pleasantly. “Shall we begin with Harlem, Detroit, or Watts?”

“Let us start with political asylum.”

“That would first presuppose the criminal seeking such protection were to seek it of a legitimate nation. Illinois can no more offer political asylum to a federal fugitive than can Taiwan from China.”

Margaret Woolsey felt a cautious thrill of triumph. Ping was apparently as tired as the rest of them. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Mr. Ambassador.”

Ping seemed momentarily confused.

“The issue is Taiwan, not Peter Shizong.” She held up a hand before Ping, realizing his stupid blunder, could interrupt. “But I agree that Mr. Shizong’s case is a special one of great concern to your government, as well as to mine. It is an issue that should be considered by an impartial panel of judges. I propose that Mr. Shizong be handed over at once to the World Court in The Hague, where he should stand trial to show cause why he should not be returned to the People’s Republic of China to face charges of treason.”

Ping nodded. “Shall we prepare a list of U.S. criminals who should be handed over to the World Court for the same consideration?”

“If you wish, Mr. Ambassador,” Margaret Woolsey said. “Though I would sincerely hope that a connection will be made between them and the current problem between Taiwan and China.”

Ping was holding a fountain pen in his hand. He put it in his coat pocket. “Twelve hours, Madame Ambassador. And I do hope that reason will prevail when our delegation arrives in Taipei.” His gaze swept around the chamber, then he turned and walked out.

McGarvey climbed up into the escape trunk. They were about three miles off Taiwan’s coast, just west of Keelung. He was worried that they were running out of time. It would be light on the surface soon. Unless they got off shortly, they would have to withdraw and lie on the bottom until nightfall. As it was they were running way behind schedule. Every hour that the standoff between the PRC and Taiwan, with the U.S. in the middle, continued, the chances that shooting would begin and someone would get hurt increased exponentially.

The problem was the patrol boats. They were unexpectedly swarming all over the place topside. Along with the increased commercial traffic, this part of the ocean was practically as busy as New York’s Times Square on New Year’s Eve. No one had considered that since the entire west coast of Taiwan was all but cut off from outside traffic, the major ports on the island’s east side, among them Keelung, would have to take up the slack. They had been waiting for an opening since before midnight.

The phone outside the trunk buzzed, and Paradise answered it. “This is the XO.” He nodded, then looked up and gave them the thumbs-up sign. “I’ll tell them.” He hung up. “Okay, it’s clear for now. The captain says that we’ll wait on the bottom here until you get back. Sonar will pick up your outboard, and we’ll surface if it looks okay.”

There were Chinese spies everywhere. If the Seawolf was spotted on the surface, the game would be all but up. “If it’s not clear, come to fifty feet and we’ll get aboard the same way we did last night,” McGarvey said. He did not want to get stuck in the middle of a war zone.

Hanarahan looked startled. “But we were told that he can’t swim.”

“He’ll have to learn,” McGarvey shot back.

Paradise picked up on the exchange, but he shook his head. “I don’t even want to know what you guys are talking about. We’ll be here, okay? Just watch your asses.”

“If we’re not back by midnight, pull the pin, Rod, and call home.”

“I’ll tell the captain,” Paradise said. He swung the escape-trunk hatch shut. Hanrahan dogged it tight, then hit the flood button, and immediately the cold water began to rise.

“What do you figure our chances are, Mr. M?” Hanrahan asked.

“Name’s Mac, and I’d guess about fifty-fifty.”

Hanrahan grinned from ear to ear. “Good deal. When we started they were only a hundred to one.”

“Sir, that is definitely their escape trunk,” Zenzhong reported excitedly. “The hatch is opening now.” The chief sonarman pressed his earphones tighter. “Wait.”

“Stand by,” Lagao told the captain waiting on the phone.

“They’ve released something into the water.”

“A life raft?” Lagao suggested.

Zenzhong looked up and nodded. “Yes, sir. I can hear the inflation noises now.”

“Any idea how many people are leaving the submarine?”

“No, sir. But the hatch remains open, so no one else is leaving the boat.”

“Keep a close ear, Ensign,” Lagao said. He hung up the phone and walked back to the control room, where he and the captain hunched over the chart table.

The Hekou was like a puppy dog lying behind its mother. The Seawolf had cleared her baffles three times on the way in, but each time Heishui was just a little faster shutting down because he anticipated the maneuver, whereas the American captain had no reason to believe that his boat was being followed.

“They put someone on the surface with an inflatable, but they left the door open, so it means they’re coming back,” Lagao said. He had a wild idea what the Americans might be up to, but he didn’t dare voice his opinion to the captain. Not yet. It was just too crazy.

Heishui studied the chart. “They went through a great deal of trouble to rendezvous in secret with their carrier and then take someone aboard. That was a very risky maneuver. And now, presumably whoever transferred from the George Washington is going ashore. Interesting.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Navy SEALs?”

“They’re trained for such maneuvers,” Lagao said. The PRC Navy didn’t have a unit quite like the American SEALs. To the average Chinese sailor an American SEAL was ten feet tall, could run the hundred-yard dash in four seconds, and ate raw concrete for breakfast.