Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)
“Can you bring some force to bear on the Chinese without it being tied to the U.S.?”
“Understood, Mr. Overholt,” the admiral said. “Force from afar.”
“That’s it exactly, Admiral.”
“Leave it to the navy,” the admiral said. “We’ll come up with something.”
The telephone went dead. Overholt replaced the receiver and spoke to Cabrillo.
“Hold tight, Juan,” he said quietly. “Help’s a coming.”
“Fair enough,” Cabrillo said before disconnecting.
IN the movies, when a submarine goes to battle stations, it does so with much whooping from sirens and gongs. Men scurry down narrow passageways as they race to their stations and the tension that comes over the big screen is palpable and thick.
Reality is somewhat different.
Noise inside or outside a submarine is the enemy—it can lead to detection and death. On board the United States Navy Los Angeles–class attack submarine Santa Fe, the motions for battle were more like a roadie setting up a rock concert than the chaos of someone yelling “fire” in a crowded theater. A red light signaling action pulsed from numerous fixtures mounted in all the rooms and passageways. The crew moved with purpose, but not haste. The action they would take had been rehearsed a thousand times. They were as natural to the crew as shaving and showering. The commander of the Santa Fe, Captain Steven Farragut, stood on the command deck and received the condition reports from his crew with practiced ease.
“Electric check completed on packages one and two,” an officer reported.
“Acknowledged,” Farragut said.
“Boat rising to optimal firing depth,” the driver reported.
“Excellent,” Farragut said easily.
“Countermeasures and detection at one hundred percent,” another officer reported.
“Perfect,” Farragut said.
“Sensors report clear, sir,” the chief of boat said. “We appear to be alone out here. We can commence operation inside of eight, repeat eight, minutes.”
“Acknowledged,” Farragut said.
The great beast was rising from the depths and preparing to bite if necessary.
ADAMS burst into the control room of the Oregon. He was dressed in a tan flight suit that he was zipping up as he approached.
“Mr. Chairman,” he said, smiling a blindingly white smile, “what can I do for you?”
Cabrillo pointed to one of the computer screens. “George, we have a situation. We have the two Zodiacs along with seven of our people trying to get out of Macau waters. We can’t turn to pick them up because we’re being pursued ourselves.” Cabrillo pointed to another screen. “You can see they also have a tail. You need to provide support.”
“I’ll mount the experimental weapons pods Mr. Hanley designed for the Robinson. That gives me mini-rockets and a small chain gun, so I can cover their exit.”
“What about the extraction system?” Cabrillo asked.
“I can’t pull seven people aboard,” Adams said, “I don’t have the payload.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” Cabrillo said. “Let me explain.”
CAPTAIN Ching stared at the radar screen. He had been told the ship he was supposed to intercept was an aging cargo ship named the Oregon. From the description given by the pilot, the vessel was little more than a bucket of rust. Somehow, Ching was beginning to doubt that—Gale Force was steaming at fifty knots, and if the radar on the computer screen was correct, the cargo ship was doing forty-five. At the current speeds, the Oregon would be safely in international waters in less than five minutes. Then there would be the risk of a major incident if the sailors on Gale Force attempted a boarding.
“Give me full speed,” Ching ordered the engine room.
“THE hydrofoil is accelerating,” Hanley noted. “At the increased speed, they will intercept us a minute or two before we reach the demarcation line.”
Cabrillo glanced at the screen showing the water in front of the Oregon. The clouds were finally clearing and soon they would be free of the fog bank.