The Gulfstream landed on a runway at Keelung naval base. As she descended toward the tarmac, Olivia thought the upscale executive jet seemed juxtaposed with the P-3 Orion anti-submarine aircraft and the F-16 attack jets.
A stark white van rolled to a stop, and its solitary occupant stepped through the driver’s side door. The lithe, silver-haired man slid a lighter under a cigarette.
“You were expecting another admiral in a luxury vehicle?” he asked.
“Shit, Pierre,” Jake said. “I’m surprised you remember how to drive.”
“I wanted time alone with both of you,” Renard said. “I fear we will have little privacy in the near future.”
Jake marched to Renard and threw an arm over his shoulder.
“It’s good to see you,” Jake said.
“And you, my friend. I feared you might not join me.”
“Ran into a little girl trouble.”
“I would say more than a little,” Renard said. “I don’t know whether to thank you or to cast you away.”
“Why’d you have Khan give me the data on Hayat?” Olivia asked. “What do you want from me?”
“A little courtesy, perhaps,” Renard said. “You are in no position to be asking questions.”
“I’ve earned the right by bringing him to you.”
She looked at Jake, but he lowered his head and brushed by her to grab their luggage.
“You studied to be an analyst, yet you wound up in the field,” Renard said. “Why?”
The question caught her off guard.
“Apparently, when men look at me, their penis-brain interlock kicks in. The CIA likes women who can toy with men. Plus, I’m kind of smart and pretty handy with small arms.”
“But you are too smart to waste your time with simple seduction,” Renard said. “Each time you wiggle your breasts to dislodge a man’s brain from his central nervous system, you sense that your analytical skills are atrophying.”
Renard had a point, she agreed. When her father had died, she abandoned her desire to serve as a criminal psychologist, but she wondered if the seduction of the CIA had deflated her true passion of psycho-analysis.
“So what’s next for me?” she asked.
“I want your services as an analyst.”
“I figured that out already. What do you want me to resolve?”
Renard blew smoke.
“If I can finish affairs on this island according to the plan I’ve outlined for the Taiwanese, Hayat is my next target. I want to understand my adversary. Who is he, what is his agenda, and where is he going?”
“I was afraid that’s what you wanted. I went through as much as I could on the plane rides, but there’s nothing sticking out. Unless I get more data, I agree with your friend Khan that he’s heading for India.”
“Very well,” Renard said. “Jake and I have a large enough task in front of us already. Perhaps you’ll have more for us upon our return. I’ve arranged for the best accommodations within the confines of the naval base. I didn’t want the CIA coming for—”
“How come I can’t come with you?” she asked.
“A submarine is no place for a woman,” Renard said.
Jake closed the van’s back doors and frowned.
“Chauvinist,” he said.
“It’s not a matter of ability or social grace,” Renard said. “It’s a matter of keeping twenty-three men focused on their duties without the distraction of her curves.”
“Twenty-three men?” she asked. “The Agosta 90B requires thirty-six for a full crew.”
Renard raised an eyebrow.
“I did my homework,” she said. “You need an extra pair of hands. I can cook, clean things, and steer the damned thing for you.”
“I don’t need the extra hands for a short-duration mission,” Renard said. “The manning requirements are only for extended operations.”
“But you’ll want me eventually, if you’re going to go after Hayat. May as well start my onboard training now.”
Jake chuckled and slapped Pierre on the shoulder.
“Touché, mon ami,” Jake said.
“You’re just giddy because you think I’m going to let you take your girlfriend with you,” Renard said.
“My what?” Jake asked.
“Young lady,” Renard said. “This is battle. Men will die, and I cannot guarantee your safety. Are you ready to face death?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“So be it, then,” Renard said. “I will have Henri issue you the baggiest jumpsuits he can find. You will wear no makeup and no perfume, and you will hide your hair under a ball cap at all times.”
She smirked as she passed by him and sat in the van.
“Don’t worry, Pierre,” she said. “I won’t tell Marie you have a crush on me.”
“I don’t–merde!”
*
Jake squinted as the waterfront came into view. With most Taiwanese assets in constant action, few warships lined the piers. He saw a few aging patrol boats and a hand-me-down ex-American frigate with ripped and contorted metal frayed over its bow.
“That’s from a five-inch shell from a Chinese destroyer,” Renard said. “Our submarine is just beyond.”
Jake hadn’t seen the Hai Lang’s sail cresting over the pier opposite the damaged frigate.
“Where? Behind the thimble?” he asked.
“Not all submarines are larger than cruisers,” Renard said. “That reminds me. You remember the masses of water required to trim the Colorado?”
“Yeah.”
“Divide by ten. That is the approximate size ratio between the Trident and the Agosta. If giving orders, divide by roughly two again, because you’ll be dealing with kilograms instead of pounds.”
“I’m walking into hell,” Jake said.
“Don’t worry,” Renard said. “The ship is quite automated and nearly self-trimming. And Henri made a career on the Agostas back in our good old days.”
Renard parked and grabbed a laptop case. Jake chuckled when Olivia snatched her laptop back from the Frenchman’s shoulder.
“I can carry my own stuff,” she said.
Renard led them across the metal girder brow to the back of the submarine. Setting foot on the submarine, Jake felt out of place. On the Colorado, the brow had angled up towards the submarine’s tall back, but after descending to the Hai Lang, he could see under the pier and into the damaged frigate’s anchor well across the pier.
A man in a commander’s uniform stood behind the sail.
“Commander Ye,” Renard said. “Let me introduce you to our new crew members.”
Ye’s eyebrows rose as he fought to keep his neck from snapping and staring at Olivia’s curves.
“Yes, I know she’s a woman,” Renard said. “But she has skills that we’ll need–eventually. I’ll have Henri set her up in my stateroom for privacy. Jake and I will share the executive officer’s quarters, and you, my new friend, I must ask you to join your men in officer’s berthing.”
“Demotion upon demotion,” Ye said. “Just as long as I continue to learn from the masters–and survive this.”
“You are too humble,” Renard said and puffed a cloud of smoke.
“During our latest exercises,” he said, “Commander Ye became the first Taiwanese submarine officer to launch an exercise weapon at a submerged target without the use of active sonar. A quick learner.”
“What did you shoot at?” Jake asked.
“Underwater unmanned search vehicles,” Ye said. “It was all we had.”
Jake shook hands with Ye.
“Are stores loaded? Fuels?” Renard asked.
“Yes, and weapons, too. Three Excocets, ten torpedoes, and one drone.”
“I wish you’d throw that drone over the side and make room for another weapon,” Renard said.
“I’m sure–”
“Yes, Commander Ye, I agreed to carry a drone. I cannot fathom how it will help us, but since your military contractor bothered to develop it, we may as well see if an opportunity for its use will present itself.”
*
Jake stepped down a ladder into a room lined with long cylinders he recognized as torpedoes. Three Taiwanese sailors in blue jumpsuits and a Frenchman watched a semi-cylindrical rack swing a weapon across the passageway.
Olivia landed behind him and started towards the moving mass. She seemed mesmerized by the jungle of hydraulic pipes and armaments.
Jake scrunched her shirt and pulled her back.
“What?” she asked. “I just wanted to see.”
“Until you know what the hell you’re doing,” Jake said, “keep away from all moving things. There are more ways to die on a submarine than you can—”
“Stop!” the Frenchman said.
A sailor near a control console released a joystick. A servomotor hummed, a hydraulic valve clicked shut, and ram arms glistening with lubrication oil glided to a standstill.
“Check that–what is the word?” the Frenchman asked.
“Strap,” Jake said.
The Frenchman turned. He would have made a portly American, but for a Frenchman he was obese. Jake had found him to be a heavy beer drinker while trying to keep pace one night at Pierre’s estate.
“Bonjour, Jake,” he said. “And thank you. Yes, ‘strap’ is the word.”
The portly Frenchman nodded as two Taiwanese sailors tightened a strap holding the torpedo to the rack. The servomotor hummed again, and the rams slid the rack toward the outboard section of the hull.
Jake turned to Ye to ask about the interface between the Subtics system and the weapons, but he saw his reflection in Ye’s polished shoes.
Halfway up the ladder, Ye was engaged in conversation with someone standing over the hatch. He nodded, waved, and slid down the ladder.
“I’ve been summoned to squadron headquarters,” Ye said. “Mister Slate, please feel free to explore. I trust you have enough experience to keep out of trouble, and I’ll have a technician join you as soon as possible to answer your questions. Henri has been tasked with your berthing accommodations. You’ll have to excuse me.”
Ye climbed up the ladder and disappeared into the sunlight. Jake grabbed Olivia’s arm.
“Stay close to me, and don’t touch anything.”
He led her aft and slapped his palm against a ring of machined metal. Having mastered the technique of passing through an ovular hatch that was too small for the human body’s normal carriage, Jake exhaled, tucked his knee to his chest, and lowered his torso in a smooth move.
He kicked his leg forward and drew his weight over it without breaking stride. His final maneuver of the graceful display was snapping his palm off the ring and whipping his arm back to his side.
Impressed he had remembered a vital intra-submarine walking skill, Jake looked at the plastic covered batteries on either side of the forward battery compartment. As an afterthought, he called to Olivia.
“Be careful going through the hatch,” he said.
No response.
He looked and didn’t know whether to laugh or offer sympathy to the sad creature holding her hand to her forehead. As blood started to flow between her fingers, he steadied her as she sat on the hatch frame.
“Ouch,” she said.
It seemed more a cry for sympathy than an exclamation.
“Let me see,” he said and moved her hand.
A two-inch gash bled, and the flesh over her brow was turning violet. Jake kicked off his Rockports and yanked off his socks. After sliding his bare feet back into his shoes, he put a sock to Olivia’s head. He scanned the area for droplets but saw no blood.
“You have to watch your blood,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “But it hurts.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Jake said.
“Really?” she asked.
“No. That’s a trophy hatch-gash. But that should teach you not to head-butt hatch frames.”
“Not funny.”
“I know. Let’s get you to Henri. I’m sure he can find you a corpsman–if a ship this small has one.”
She held the sock to her head as he nudged her in front of him and cupped her shoulders. Tentative, she walked as if in a snake garden. Jake guided her aft.
Out of habit, he studied the hydrogen meter to be certain that the chemical byproduct of acid and lead had not accumulated to dangerous levels, but from his in-flight studies, he knew the state of the art water-cooled batteries posed minimal threat.
“This time, duck real hard,” he said.
He supported her through a hatch into the forward auxiliary machinery room. Solid state conversion modules transformed the battery’s high DC voltage to the lower DC and AC voltages needed to run the operations room displays and navigation equipment.
Another hatch led to the after battery compartment, and yet another crawl through one of Olivia’s ovular nemeses opened to the galley.
A Taiwanese sailor in officer whites stared at them.
“Hello,” Jake said. “We seem to be surprising everyone today. You speak English, I hope.”
The officer, a handsome and well-proportioned young man with tanned skin, extended a hand.
“Lieutenant Sean Wu,” he said.
“Sean?” Jake asked and accepted the hand.
“That’s my western name. I needed it for my year abroad at UCLA. It’s easier.”
Jake pointed at Olivia’s head.
“You got any ice? Maybe a towel, too?” he asked.
“You caught me rummaging through here for a snack,” Wu said. “But I got you covered.”
Wu grabbed a clean rag from a metal counter and reached into a freezer. He withdrew a handful of ice and wrapped it in the rag.
“Thanks,” Jake said, but Wu ignored his outstretched hand and moved the rag towards Olivia’s forehead.
“Stop!” Jake said and grabbed his arm.
Wu glared at Jake.
“She’s HIV-positive. We both are. You might want me to handle this.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Wu said. “Let’s get you to the medical cabinet.”
Wu led Olivia through a passageway and sat her down in a small alcove. A bandage appeared in his hands and he handed it to Jake to place over Olivia’s forehead.
Jake heard someone enter the compartment. After taping the gauze to Olivia’s skin, he turned with the care of a submarine veteran. His nose passed so close to a fire extinguisher nozzle that he smelled plastic and dust.
“Is she okay?” Commander Ye asked.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “She’s fine, but you may want to get rid of these socks. I used one to absorb the blood. She’s HIV-positive.”
Ye snapped an order in Mandarin. Wu slipped a latex glove over his hand, pinched the socks between his thumb and finger, and stepped away.
“I feel like an idiot,” Olivia said.
Ye extended a stack of compact disk cases wrapped in rubber bands.
“From squadron command,” Ye said. “The acting Defense Minister himself tasked me to deliver them.”
Olivia accepted the disks.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Ye said. “Your laptops are in the commanding officer’s quarters.”
Jake shrugged.
“I’ll show where that is on my way back up.”
Jake followed Ye through a hatch and up a ladder to the ship’s upper of two decks. He lost his balance for a moment but recovered.
“Was that a wave, this deep in the harbor?” Jake asked. “I thought we just rolled.”
“A little,” Ye said. “The tugs can be rough.”
“Tugs?”
“Yes,” Ye said. “Did Mister Renard not tell you we were getting underway as soon as you were aboard?”
Jake reached the top of the ladder and had to brace himself against a bulkhead. His life had become a chain of surprises.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“On a three-ship operation with us as the primary attack platform,” Ye said. “We’re off to change the tides of war.”