James Barrington - Foxbat

‘You don’t have to, captain,’ chung-yong Lee Kyung-Soon replied. ‘All you have to do is obey. Do you have any questions about your instructions?’

‘No, but—’

Lee shook his head. ‘Then we understand each other. Order your crew to prepare to abandon ship immediately.’ Through the bridge window he pointed at the Kang San 5 , a quarter of a mile off the starboard bow, which was visibly slowing down in preparation to receive the crew of her sister ship. ‘I will join you myself once I’ve completed my final tasks on board.’

As the captain made a broadcast to alert the crew for action, Lee headed down the companionway from the bridge and made his way to the forward hold. The two soldiers on guard outside saluted him as he approached, and unlocked the watertight steel door. Inside the hold, he headed across to a wooden crate that was the only thing the cargo space now contained, loosened six turn-buckles that held one of its sides in place, and dropped the panel to the floor.

In the crate was a bulky spherical object trailing wires and cables, with a basic control panel partially obscuring it, apparently inactive, since none of the lights was illuminated. On the floor of the crate were two large dry-cell batteries, terminals already connected, with a series-fitted master-switch screwed to the side of the crate.

Lee reached inside and turned the switch. Immediately the control panel sprang to life, lights illuminating and dials registering. He checked the instrumentation against a printed list clipped below the panel, then began running through a series of actions to ensure that all the circuits were fully functional.

Satisfied that the instrumentation was registering correctly, he moved to the second and final phase of his task. He turned his attention to a small alphanumeric keyboard located directly below a ten-inch TFT panel and fed in a six-digit code that he’d been instructed to memorize at his last briefing in Pyongyang. The panel lit up and a menu appeared that Lee methodically worked his way down.

The penultimate item on the list was a communication check, and Lee simply selected ‘radio’ and checked that the built-in receiver was getting a signal from the Kang San 5 , where the lieutenant had been instructed to broadcast music on a specific frequency. The tiny speaker immediately began emitting sounds definitely not to Lee’s taste, but that didn’t matter.

He keyed the frequency he’d been instructed to use, and checked twice to ensure that he’d got it right. That done, he made a final visual check of the entire apparatus before he turned away and walked out.

On deck, he opened his briefcase and extracted a satellite telephone and GPS receiver. He noted the position the GPS was recording, then made a thirty-second telephone call, before making his way towards the waiting lifeboat.

Forty minutes later, the Kang San 5 began a slow turn to the west, towards the distant Midway Islands, and began picking up speed, leaving her deserted sister ship now dead and silent, wallowing in the long swell.

HMS Illustrious , Yellow Sea

The flight deck of the Illustrious was a scene of noisy, but clearly organized, chaos. Without ear defenders, the roar of jet engines was deafening, and Richter’s nostrils immediately filled with the unmistakable smell of burning kerosene. Two Sea Harriers were waiting at the aft end of the deck, their Pegasus engines running, and both still with telebrief lines connected, so Richter guessed their pilots were getting last-minute instructions from the Operations Room. On the deck in front of them, the Merlin that had served as his personal taxi was shutting down, rotors folding into the fully aft position preparatory to the helicopter being towed over to the starboard side of the deck, close to the island, to clear the carrier’s runway for the Harriers. Meanwhile, right forward, on zero spot just to the right of the ramp, another Merlin was waiting to lift off.

Waiting for him at the bulkhead door in the island – the steel structure containing the bridge, Flyco and other offices on the starboard side of the deck – was a lieutenant wearing 3J rig, a dark blue ‘woolly-pully’ over a white shirt. He led Richter up to Flyco, on the port side rear of the bridge. In fact, Richter knew the way blindfolded, as he’d spent around four years at sea on all three of the CVS carriers when he was a squadron pilot, and on numerous occasions had been required to report to either Commander (Air) or Lieutenant Commander (Flying) and, during Sea Harrier operations, both officers were to be found in Flyco.

‘Mr Richter, sir,’ the lieutenant announced, and a bulky man with a heavy beard, sitting in the right-hand chair, swung round, the three rings on his shoulder epaulettes glinting in the sun. In front of him, the ship’s Lieutenant Commander (Flying) was sitting in another black swivel chair, controlling flight-deck operations.

‘Welcome back, Spook,’ said Roger Black. ‘I wondered if the “Mr Richter” we had been asked to collect from Kunsan would turn out to be you.’

Richter smiled and extended his hand. ‘Congratulations on your promotion, Blackie.’ When he’d last seen Black – during a spot of continuation training in the eastern Med that had turned into rather more than the routine two weeks – he’d been Lieutenant Commander (Flying) on board the Invincible .

‘So what kind of trouble are we in this time?’ Black asked. ‘Whenever you’re around, uncivilized things seem to happen. There were a few bodies lying about on Crete after you left the island, I understand.’

‘They weren’t all my fault, Blackie, and this time none of it’s my fault.’

‘It seems you know this gentleman?’ a voice interrupted. Black stood up and Richter turned round to face the captain, a tall, slim, fair-haired man with thin lips and a nose that even an ancient Roman might have considered excessively aquiline.

‘Yes, sir, we met on board the Invincible when I was Little F.’

‘Welcome aboard, Mr Richter. I’m Alexander Davidson.’ The captain extended his hand. ‘I gather you’ve some information for us about what’s going on north of the border.’

Richter nodded, with a glance round Flyco before replying. As well as the three senior officers, a naval airman was sitting waiting to execute Little F’s instructions and control the deck lights, and just beyond Flyco, on the left-hand side of the bridge wing, a lookout was standing with binoculars hung around his neck. From past experience Richter knew that rumours spread on warships at almost the speed of light, and what he had to tell the captain now probably shouldn’t be allowed too wide a distribution.

‘Could we perhaps adjourn to the Bridge Mess, Captain?’

Davidson raised his eyebrows slightly, but nodded. He walked back onto the bridge to inform the Officer of the Watch where he’d be, then returned to Flyco and led the way down one deck. Richter and Black followed him into the Mess and the commander slid the door closed.

‘Well, Mr Richter?’

‘I probably don’t know a great deal more than you do because I’ve spent most of the last two days in the air.’

‘Where were you two days ago?’ Black asked.

‘Pretty much in the middle of Russia at a place called Slavgorod North. I was with a GRU general trying to find out who’d stolen about half a squadron of MiG-25 Foxbat interceptors from the Russian Air Force.’

‘And did you?’

‘I think so, yes. We believe Pyongyang coordinated the thefts and that the aircraft are now somewhere in North Korea, probably sitting in hardened shelters close to the DMZ. We also think a theft of around fifty AA-6 Acrid air-to-air missiles from a depot in Dobric, Bulgaria, was orchestrated by the same people. Bolt the Acrids to the under-wing pylons of the Foxbats and you’ve got a very potent weapon system.’