Peter Sasgen - War Plan Red

“He is.”

“That he always docs the unexpected. That he’s dedicated and committed to a cause.”

“True.”

“Stealing a submarine is a bold act of terrorism, wouldn't you agree?”

“Yes. Especially when you consider the planning that went into it.”

“What are you getting at,” Alex said.

“Stealing the K-363 only makes sense if, as we all thought, Zakayev and Litvanov had a cruise missile aboard to launch at Moscow or St. Petersburg or some other place. But they don’t, so what’s the point? Litvanov knows that sooner or later he’ll be hunted down and sunk. What will they have proven? Nothing. Zakayev dies and his cause dies with him. It doesn’t add up.”

“My head is throbbing from the bad air,” said Alex, “and you’re making it worse, Jake, by trying to make me understand how Zakayev thinks. I can’t. No one can.”

Abakov said, “But Jake is right: Zakayev would die for his cause, but only if by doing so he accomplished his goal.”

“And what is his goal?” Alex said. “Does anyone know. Does he know?”

“Of course he knows,” Scott said. “And the fact that he has no nuclear missiles or torpedoes hasn’t changed a thing. He’s still dangerous and we still have to find him.”

“The Russians will have to find him,” Alex said. “We’ve been recalled, remember?”

“Not necessarily.”

“What do you mean?” Abakov said.

“Maybe the message from NorFleet got scrambled up and we didn't receive it. Maybe we were having trouble with our radio and couldn’t receive it. Maybe anything. What I’m saying is, we have to find Zakayev and can't rely on the Russians.”

“Jake, you can’t disobey their orders,” Alex said.

“Technically the recall order is for Botkin, not me. Besides, to quit now would be admitting defeat. It would be a surrender. Look, it’s risky, but we can't give up when there is still potentially so much at stake.”

He wanted to tell her something, something personal, to break the spell of gloom, but when her gaze fell on him, it seemed as if she were looking right through him.

“You're the Navy’s garbage man aren’t you?” Alex said sharply, refocusing.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means they send you out to clean up their mess and fix things: bring Frank Drummond home; find the K-363; kill her if you can but don’t fuck up. And by all means keep the mess out of sight. If you don’t, well, you’re expendable. Do I have it right?”

For a long moment Scott said nothing. It wasn’t always like that, but then one day it was. “This is a cold blooded business. There’s no room for mistakes.”

“And you’ve made a few.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell us what happened in the Yellow Sea.”

There was a long silence.

Abakov rose and said, “I’ll be in my stateroom.”

“Stick around, Yuri,” Scott said. “You might as well hear this.”

The memory of that incident slammed into his consciousness with a grim fury. He started talking but didn’t look at his companions. “We had arrived in Sohan Bay in the north, to deliver a SEAL team into North Korea. My sub, the Chicago, had an Advanced SEAL Delivery System, a mini-sub that can transport ten men and their equipment. I couldn’t get inshore because of shoaling, but the SEAL team CO was okay with that. Seas were rough and I felt there was no way they’d make it unless I got them in close to the mouth of the river at Sinanju.”

“What was the target?” Abakov said.

“The nuclear complex at Yongbyon.”

“Oh my God,” said Alex.

“The NKs said they had enough plutonium to build twenty nukes and were making threats to use them or sell them to terrorists. The SRO couldn’t get reliable intelligence about what the NKs were up to, whether or not they really had any nukes or whether they were bluffing. The Russians and Swedes had installed some krypton 85 sniffers in their embassies for us that would confirm the reprocessing of uranium, but the results were inconclusive. Meanwhile, the SRO had developed a new miniature monitoring device with a satellite uplink but had no way to get it into the Yongbyon area. The devices look like a plant native to the region.”

“You mean the kind of plant that grows in the ground? Like a weed?”

“Yes. Only they’re made of a synthetic material and have miniature processors and transmitters, and a spike on the end that you push into the ground. The SEALs had the job of planting them.”

“So, what happened?” Alex said.

What happened? He’d probably never know how the North Koreans stumbled onto the mission. Luck more than anything else, he had told himself over and over until he believed it. Some parts were still a blur, but others he remembered like they had happened yesterday.

The young SEAL lieutenant and his men had been eager to carry out their mission. Scott nosed into shallow water after launching an Unmanned Underwater Vehicle, a UUV, to probe for mines, which proved to be nonexistent. The SEALs' mini-sub lifted off the Chicago’s deck at night and, using North Korean coastal traffic as cover, headed for the mouth of the river.

“And that’s when the NKs showed up,” Scott said. Noisy as a dishwasher. That’s what he remembered thinking. A goddamned Soviet Romeo-class diesel submarine built by the North Koreans from Chinese plans. It had apparently chug-chugged its way up the coast from Namp'o, submerged.

“We weren’t in danger of being detected, not by that old crock. But then a frigate and two patrol craft showed up and that’s when it got hot. The NKs must have had a port surveillance system to detect swimmers and swimmer delivery vehicles. When they started dropping anti-diver hand grenades, I knew the mission had been blown.”

“What did you do?” Alex said.

“I had strict orders to pull out if something went wrong and to not risk the ship under any circumstances.”

“In other words, you had orders to abandon the SEALs.”

“In an emergency they were expendable.”

“And you disobeyed orders.”

Scott nodded. “I couldn't leave them behind.”

“How did you get them back on board? It must have been a nightmare.”

A nightmare that still haunted him. Scott had activated the laser communication-navigation system used to direct the SEALs in their mini-sub back to the Chicago for recovery. Then he fired two decoys simulating the noise signature of a Chinese Ming-class diesel attack submarine. The first decoy drew the two patrol craft away from the SEALs and on a wild-goose chase into the mouth of the river. The second decoy, aimed at the North Korean sub, caused so much confusion that the sub ran aground.

The frigate was another matter.

“The SEALs’ mini-sub was in our beacon cone, ready to relock on deck. But the damned NK frigate got lucky and picked us up on sonar.”

Scott saw the Soho-class frigate turn on her heel, and with a bone in her teeth, charge the Chicago. He was in a race to get the SEALs aboard and haul out into deeper water before the frigate attacked. It was a race Scott knew he would lose unless he violated all the rules, including the rules of engagement governing the mission itself.

“Snapshot, tube one! Target One!” Scott had commanded, and a moment later: “Fire!”

He remembered the pressure pulse and slam of the air piston signaling ejection of the MK-48 torpedo. “What happened next?”

“Nothing. The North Koreans never said a word. We expected a storm to break, maybe even a declaration of war. Silence. They must have believed that they had attacked a Chinese submarine that was snooping in their territorial waters.”

“But what about the frigate?”

“Sunk.”