Red Shark

“Thank you, General.” The image changed to an oblique view of the Sugun, wallowing like a hog in moderate seas. “She sailed three days ago. Here, you can see that we tracked her by satellite into the Yellow Sea, where we lost her just north of Shanghai.”

“Lost her, how?” Scott asked.

Fumiko met his gaze on the video monitor. “Coastal traffic in and out of Shanghai is very heavy. Many ships look alike; it’s easy to confuse them.”

“Why wasn’t one of our SSNs put on her ass?”

Fumiko trapped her lower lip under white front teeth. “I—”

“We’re short of assets,” Radford grumped. “Go on, Miss Kida.”

“We thought we’d picked her up again the next day, near Wen-chou. The NKs trade with Mainland China, and the Sugun has called at that port in the past.”

“But not this time.”

“No. The ship we thought was the Sugun turned out to be another one that looked like her, and without a helo.”

“So where is she now?” Jefferson asked.

“We don’t know,” Fumiko said. “We’re searching for her,” she added as if that would make things right.

“Holy shit,” Chief Brodie rumbled under his breath.

The other SEALs looked at each other and silently rolled eyes.

“Have you any fresh comms intercepts that might tell us something?” Scott said. “Like maybe where Jin disappeared to.”

Fumiko said, “No, no comms. Even so, there’s no reason to believe anything has changed.”

An infrared picture on the screen showed the incredible volume of coastal traffic plying waters between Mainland China and Japan. Hundreds, if not thousands, of green deltas representing vessels of all types, infrared heat signatures from their machinery and cargoes glowing bright red and orange, swarmed off the coast of China at Shanghai and other ports.

“Scott.”

“Yes, General?”

“Take a look at this.” The picture shifted to macro view. Radford jockeyed a pointer up against a bright red delta outlined in white, north of Taiwan. “We think this one may be a Chinese diesel submarine. Don’t have a positive on it yet, but its heat bloom comports with a Chinese Kilo 636.”

“Think she’s on routine patrol?”

“Don’t know that either. We’ve counted heads up at Tingchow, their Northern Fleet sub base. Couple of their boats are missing, and this guy might be one of them.”

“Okay, we’ll definitely keep him in mind. Thanks for the heads-up, General.”

Jefferson shifted in his chair. “General, if you have no reason to think Jin has aborted—”

“None.”

“—then we still have a go, right?”

“Right. And as soon as we find the Sugun, we’ll let you know if it appears anything has changed.”

Scott knew how quickly a situation could change, how it could scuttle plans and endanger lives. Their lives. For all its vaunted technology, the SRO was too often left in the dark; unlike the JDIH, Radford had pushed for and received heavy funding for electronic intelligence-gathering — Elint — via satellites and the like rather than human intelligence — Humint — on the ground in hostile territory. Satellites were useful for finding submarines like the Chinese Kilo, and large, unmovable facilities like air bases and weapons dumps, but not people.

“Fumiko, do you have anything new that might help to identify Jin’s guest?”

“Nothing,” Fumiko said. “We’re still monitoring comms, but they’ve gone down. I know that’s an ominous sign. But we’ve also been monitoring commercial and private flights from Japan to Taiwan, looking for someone who might fit our profile. And not just those from Narita and Osaka, but also the smaller airports that serve Taiwan. We’re also monitoring seaports south of Nagoya. But so far nothing. We’ve had a report that Wu Chow Fat was seen somewhere between Taiwan and China, but that’s all.”

“How was he seen?” Scott asked.

“Aboard his junk, the White Dragon. She puts to sea at least twice a week.”

“To pick up drugs from North Korean ships and deliver them to his customers?”

“We think so.”

Radford interrupted. “I’m meeting with the president. I’ve scheduled another briefing twelve hours before you commit. Perhaps by then we’ll know more. Any questions?”

Brodie waved a paw at Scott, who said, “General, we need an update on how many of Fat’s men are on that island. How about rechecking that for us.”

Radford’s image began to break up. “I stand by our numbers — there are not more than twenty men on Matsu Shan.”