Piranha: Firing Point

“Madam President,” Pacino heard himself saying, his voice miraculously level and deep. “I would never presume to come into this group and think out loud. I would very much like to issue an opinion in two sentences that everyone here nods at, and you send me on my way. But before I give you my opinion, I just want to say a few things first.”

He had their complete attention. Daniels had raised an eyebrow. O’Shaughnessy had gone into his zombie stare. Baldini frowned, as did Lido Gaz, lines furrowing into his forehead. Pinkenson smiled encouragingly, though the smile was strained. National Security Adviser Cogster was leaning far back in his couch seat, his hands behind his head, his eyes half shut behind the wire-framed glasses.

“As a submarine admiral, I have some concerns about the East China Sea.”

“Now you tell us,” Gaz spat, only half under his breath.

“Madam President, gentlemen, this invasion was sudden.

I know you stationed the RDF over in Yokosuka for just this contingency. Madam President, and I agreed with your decision to do that. I also fully support the speech you gave today. But, gentlemen, we need to recognize the risks. And one thing we’re risking is a submarine attack in the East China Sea.”

“What?” Cogster sputtered. “What the hell you talking about?”

Baldini joined in, peeved. “Pacino, what is this?” “Admiral,” Lido Gaz said slowly, drawing out the first syllable, “do I understand you to say there are enemy submarines in the East China Sea?” “I said we are taking risks,” Pacino continued, iron in his voice. “I didn’t say those risks were unjustified. But I have to tell everyone in this room, I’m worried about something. Number one, eleven days ago six frontline Japanese attack submarines disappeared.” “Sank, you mean,” Cogster said.

“Did they?” Pacino shot back. “No emergency buoys, no black-box transmissions?” He was out on a limb, he knew, but Cogster had gotten his blood up.

“Let’s ask Chris Osgood what he thinks of that statement,” Gaz said in his peculiar lisping manner.

The CIA chief looked up, sitting straight. He shot a look at Pacino, and Pacino was sure there was an almost imperceptible nod behind it. Osgood put on reading glasses, half frames like O’Shaughnessy’s, and read through his Writepad. “Admiral Pacino is correct. There were no black-box buoys found at the wreckage sites.

And no black-box transmissions recovered at NSA.” “Well, okay,” Gaz said slowly, doubtingly, “I guess if you say that, Chris, we’ll all just have to accept it.” “Is that true, as far as NSA knows?” Cogster said, shooting a glance at Daniels.

“We didn’t get anything from any transmitter at the Pacific wreckage sites,” Jack Daniels said, addressing Wamer, turning to Osgood and Gaz.

An odd thought occurred to Pacino. “Any salvage vessels at the wreckage sites?”

Osgood nodded, looking down at his Writepad. “Matter of fact, quite a few,” he said.

“Anything that can haul up a sub hull?” Pacino asked.

“Only one. Two ships went out there, each one with a surveillance minisub, robot operated. The salvage ship that can haul up floor debris jumped around from site to site. We never saw them bring up anything, but then we weren’t watching them carefully. We figured any information on this would come through more official channels. Your contact at the MSDF, Tanaka, did you speak with him. Admiral?” “Not yet,” Pacino said, hating the way his priorities could become crystal clear in hindsight, yet so murky in real time.

“Please,” Gaz said in disgust. “Those subs sank. What are you saying. Admiral, that six captains faked their deaths so that they could link up with their revolutionary comrades in the Red PLA? Like my grandmother used to say, ‘Maybe so, sonny, but I kinda fuckin’ doubt it.’”

“Worry number two,” Pacino drove on, fighting for his credibility, “we’ve never secured the East China Sea, not the first sonar surveillance, not the first SSN patrol.”

O’Shaughnessy sat up straight, his face forming into lines of thought, the zombie look dissolving.

“If there is anything there, from whatever source, we’d best get on it now. Get the Seahawks and the Blackboards and the Pegasus planes out over the water now and get the dipping sonars wet, get some sonobuoys out there. And for God’s sake, get the Annapolis and the Santa Fe, the 6881’s attached to the fleet, out ahead of the carriers and scour the lane from Japan to Shanghai, clean it completely up. And one other thing, let’s get the fleet on a random antisubmarine warfare zigzag pattern immediately. It’s damned hard to shoot at a serpentine target, especially if the zigs come randomly. And let’s form the fleet into an antisubmarine formation, destroyers and frigates in front, troop ships spread out, high-value aircraft carrier targets — I mean, ships — coming in three separate task forces, far apart, each carrier surrounded by its close-in-radius destroyers with a roving destroyer-frigate force combing the waters ahead.