High flight kirk mcgarve.., p.8
High Flight (Kirk McGarvey 5), page 8
part #4 of Kirk McGarvey Series
course, speed, and range to the target."
"Zero-one-zero degrees relative, speed of closure fiveone knots, range
just under twenty-four nautical miles."
Kiyoda instantly did the sums and subtractions in his head. "Come right
ten degrees to course three-five-zero."
"Hai, coming omo-kaji, ten degrees to three-fivezero," Minori said. It
put them bow on to the Russian frigate.
"Weapons, give me a final firing solution on the Harpoon," Kiyoda said.
The GRX-2(B) torpedoes had an effective range of fifteen miles, but the
Sub-Harpoon could be used to sixty nautical miles.
"Kan-cho, is this a drill?" Lieutenant Takasaki asked, Like Minori, he
was one of the bright ones out of the Maritime Self Defense Force
Academy,'and Kiyoda had handpicked him. The man's loyalty was absolute.
70 DAVID HAGBERG
Rectitude and justice, Kiyoda had learned, were the principles that it
was time to die when it was right to die, and to strike when it was right
to strike. His men and officers all understood that. Mishima had
understood it, just as the old man, Sokichi Kamiya, understood it
perfectly. Before this patrol Kiyoda had gone to see the man in the
mountains outside of Tokyo. They'd sat in the garden listening to, the
gurgling water and the gentle music of the windchime that hung in a
gnarled old tree.
"Remember that revenge is justified only on behalf of one's superiors and
benefactors," Kamiya-san had told him. "Revenge may never be used to
correct the wrongs done to yourself, your wife, or your children."
"This is not a drill," Kiyoda said. "Give me a firing solution and open
torpedo door three."
"Hai, the solution is coming up," the weapons control officer replied.
Kiyoda hesitated, The sounds made by the opening torpedo-tube door would
be picked up by the chopper's sonobuoy, and understood for what they
were.
I Wan-cho, sonar, we've got a high-speed screw incoming," Nakayama said
excitedly. "I think the Helix dropped a torpedo on us."
"ECMs, conn, get it off our tail," Kiyoda ordered, keeping his voice
calm. Everything was happening as he'd planned it. The Russians were easy
to manipulate, especially now. "Come left thirty degrees to new course
three-two-zero, and ring for emergency stop."
There was no way they could outrun -the torpedo, so their only recourse
was to make it think they had by turning and slowing down while releasing
a stream of bubblemakers that would drift straight ahead at the old speed
long enough for the torpedo to home in on the false target.
"Give me the new solution," Kiyoda said. Minori glanced over him and a
slight smile creased the corners of his mouth. He understood.
"The solution7is on my board," Lieutenant Takasaki reported crisply. He
too was excited.
HIGH FLIGHT 71
"Conn, Kan-cho, the torp took the bait!"
"Hai, " Kiyoda said. "Watch for the second one." The Helix carried two
torpedoes. "Match bearings and shoot tube three."
Takasaki hesitated a fraction of a second, then uncaged the firl ng
switch and flipped it. "Missile away," he called out. "Time to impact?"
"I'm estimating forty-eight seconds after surface ignition," Takasaki
said.
The Sub-Harpoon was blown out of the torpedo tube and was carried to the
surface in a buoyant canister that was jettisoned when the missile came
to launch position. At that point its rocket motors fired, and it
accelerated toward its target at just under Mach one, its terminal radar
active until lock-on. It was simple, and very effective. In this version,
the warhead consisted of seven hundred fifty pounds of high explosives
jacketed in a high-carbon-steel case designed to penetrate well within
the bowels of a ship before it blew.
Takasaki was watching the launch clock. "Ignition now," he called out. "Sonar, conn, what's our bogie doing?" "Same course and speed, Kan-cho. "Watch for the torp .
"Here it comes, here it comes, but it's farther away this time," the
sonarman radioed. "Right on our starboard bow."
"Come right ten degrees to three-three-zero," Kiyoda said. "Target number
one on that torpedo and launch when ready."
It was a tricky maneuver. Minori had the boat turning practically in its
own length, and even before the turn was completed Takasaki launched
their torpedo from tube one. "Eight seconds to impact," he called out.
"Come left one-five-zero degrees to new course oneeight-zero, emergency
dive to two-five-zero meters." "Hai, coming left one-five-zero degrees to one-eight- 72 DAVID HAGBERG
zero, emergency dive to two-five-zero meters," Minori repeated, and the boat heeled over to port, nose down as it accelerated. A tremendous explosion hammered the hull.
" We got it," the sonarman reported unnecelgsarily, and Kiyoda laughed. It
had begun.
" Give me a damage report," Minori was shouting into the intercom.
Takasaki was looking at the captain. "Shouldn't we wait to see what damage
we've done to that frigate?" "Time to impact?" Kiyoda asked. Takasaki checked his board. "Nine seconds."
11 1 trust your shooting, Shuichiyo. Besides, I don't want that Helix crew
picking up our sail number." "They'll know," Minori said. "But they fired the first shot," Kiyoda said.
The snow had tapered off in the late morning hours, and by early afternoon most of Washington, D.C., was back to normal. By 6:30, when Carrara was able to leave his office, the parking lot had been plowed, although the forecast was for more of the white stuff overnight.
He'd done a lot of thinking about what McGarvey had told him, but he wasn't
in the position to do his old friend much good, although it was his
understanding that the meeting with Yemlin had gone off without a hitch.
He'd gotten that call from a Yemlin aide at home last night.
Deputy Director Lawrence Danielle wasn't saying much, and nothing had come
down from the seventh floor. But as he told Mac, it wasn't likely that the
DCI or the White House would be interested in helping out. It was a
private-sector problem, and official policy was to leave it at that. After
the President's economic summit in Tokyo the situation might be different,
but they'd have to wait and see.
His car phone buzzed just as he was pulling out of his parking slot. He
stopped and picked it up. "Yes?" "Mr. Danielle wanted to catch you before you got too
HIGH FLIGHT .73
far," the DDCI's secretary said. "He would like you in his office as soon as possible."
"I'm still in the parking lot," Carrara said, pulling back into his slot.
"Be right up."
Danielle was waiting for him in his conference room, a dozen large
photographs spread out on the table. With him was the Agency's senior photo
analyst, Nathan Conley, a short, slightly built man who'd come to them from
the Defense Intelligence Agency after the University of Minnesota. Carrara
had worked with him before.
"I don't know if this is coincidence or not, Phil, coming on the heels of
Kirk McGarvey's visit, but it sure as hell is going to get the DCI's
attention," Danielle said. He was an older man, stoop shouldered, with
thinning white hair and a pale, almost translucent face. "What have we got?" Carrara asked.
"These shots were taken by our KH-14 recon satellite less than an hour
ago," Conley said. "Over the Tatar Strait, between the Siberian mainland
and Sakhalin Island. We got lucky with the weather."
Carrara studied a few of the photographs, but it was hard to make out
anything for sure, although in one sequence it seemed as if he was seeing
a burning ship.
"At 2215 Zulu, a Russian Federal Navy Krivak-class frigate was attacked and
sunk by what appears to be a Sub-Harpoon launch," Conley said. "We're still
checking, but we think the Russian ship was the Menshinsky, which sailed
from Vladivostok six days ago."
"We did this?" Carrara asked, hardly believing what he was being told.
"No, sir," Conley said. "We have no assets in the region at the moment.
Which leaves only the Japanese."
Carrara looked up. Danielle's mood was impossible to gauge, except that he
didn't seem happy. Mac would be called back, and Carrara was getting the
feeling that his old friend could be right about the Japanese. It was a
sobering thought.
It was midnight before Carrara could get away. There'd been no word from the Russians about the incident, but
74 DAVID HAGBERG
Navy Intelligence reported that six surface vessels were converging on the location, and SOSUS-Sound Surveillance -monitors in the region had picked up the signatures of three Russian submarines, one of them a boomer-an Oscar-class cruise missile boat-with more than enough firepower to start and finish a war.
There would be nothing from Europe for another few hours, nor had Japan
made any comment, although CIA's Tokyo Station reported a lot of activity
at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
CIA Director Roland Murphy, the General, had briefed the President at
10:00 P.m. and was expected back at the White House at nine in the
morning for an update. In the meantime the Agency was on emergency
footing. There was no telling how the Russians would respond, or how the
incident was going to affect the upcoming economic summit meeting in
Tokyo.
"What the hell are the damn fools thinking about?" the DCI had asked at
one point.
"Maybe it's an isolated incident," Deputy Director of Intelligence Tommy
Doyle suggested. "Hell, General, it might have been nothing more than a
sub-driver with an itchy finger. The fever is running high over there
just now."
"I don't buy that for one minute, and neither will the President. They
pick their sub skippers just as carefully as we do. For my money it was
a directed action. And if the bastards wanted to stir up a hornet's nest,
they sure did it."
The one stroke of good fortune was that the news media hadn't gotten the
story yet, although Tokyo Station's latest cable warned that the
international press corps was beginning to stir, and downstairs the
Public Affairs night-duty officer had received two calls from the
Washington Post wanting to know what was going on in Tokyo. The media
couldn't be kept in the dark for long, but all the White House wanted
were a few hours to figure it out before they had to start making policy
and answering questions. Before he left, Carrara went upstairs to Danielle's
HIGH FLIGHT 75
office. The DCI, like nearly everyone else, was dug in for the night. "I'm going home for a couple of hours, boss." Danielle looked up. "What about the Europeans?"
"I'll be back before they start opening up. Dan can start on the early
stuff if anything comes in. I need a shower, a shave, and a clean shirt."
Danielle stared at him thoughtfully. "We need to call McGarvey on this one.
He's hit too close to home. Where the hell is he getting his information?" "He's still got friends in the business." "Too many friends," Danielle said. "Yes, sir," Carrara nodded.
Carrara pulled off the parkway a couple of miles south of Agency headquarters and telephoned McGarvey's hotel from a gas station pay phone. "We have to talk." "Where are you?" McGarvey asked.
"I'm on the parkway. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He hung up, his
palms cold and wet. He was committing treason for friendship. McGarvey was
owed, he told himself. Nonetheless, the headhunters, and ultimately Murphy,
would have his balls nailed to the wall if and when he was tumbled.
Activities prosecutable under the National Secrets Act.
All the way downriver and across the Key Bridge the same refrain played
itself in his head. A betrayal of a basic position of trust. The most
heinous of crimes against his country.
It had begun to snow lightly by the time Carrara pulled into the Four
Seasons Hotel parking lot. McGarvey was waiting, and as soon as he got in
Carrara headed for the darkest comer he could find and parked. "Did you get word from Yemlin?" McGarvey asked.
"Not yet," Carrara replied. "But everything has changed. I just came from
Langley, and I have to get back as soon as possible." "What is it, Phil?"
"Six hours ago a Russian Navy frigate was sunk in the Tatar Strait by a
sub-sea missile that was probably launched from a Japanese submarine. We've
been listen-
76 DAVID KAGBERG
ing to radio chatter all night. No survivors. Not one man out of a crew of two hundred plus. In the meantime, nobody is officially saying a thing. We're waiting for the Europeans to come on line in the next couple of hours, and at nine the DCI briefs the President. But the Russians are pumping one shitload of resources into the region. No one knows what the hell they're getting ready for, but it doesn't look good. The Japanese may be going after Sakhalin Island finally, and the Russians are responding." "It's not that," McGarvey said.
"You're going to get called on this one, Mac," Carrara said. "They're
going to want to know where you're getting your information."
"I read the goddamned newspapers, Phil," McGarvey said sharply. "But the
Japanese aren't after Sakhalin."
"They're showing that they're able and willing to protect their home
waters. We've gone all through that."
"Maybe," McGarvey said. "Maybe it's something else. Are we taking sides
yet?" "It's too soon for that." "Was the attack unprovoked?" "Unknown."
McGarvey looked away for a second. "What do you think?"
"We'll probably end up jumping all over the Japanese. Demand they
apologize, demand they make reparations. Tokyo will deny any prior
knowledge. They'll say it was a sub-driver who went berserk."
"Maybe they'll be telling the truth," McGarvey said. "How do I contact
Yemlin?"
Carrara's breath caught in his throat, although he'd suspected McGarvey
would ask that. "If Murphy thinks you're involved he'll come gunning for
you. Won't be much I'll be able to do. Fact is, I'll probably fall with YOU." "This is important," McGarvey said. "That it is, Mac." "I'll keep you in the loop." "Yeah, do that," Carrara said. "It's a blind number,
HIGH FLIGHT 77
untraceable. No one will answer the phone, but when the connection is made, give them your name and your message and hang up. If Yemlin wants to see you, he will."
Arlington Cemetery opened at 8:00 A.M., and fifteen minutes later Yemlin, wearing the same dark overcoat as before, came down the broad path past Kennedy's grave. Even from a distance, McGarvey could see that the Russian was troubled.
"I'm assuming you've heard the latest," Yemlin said as McGarvey fell in
beside him. "The situation is very disturbing." "Is Moscow willing to help us?"
"Yes," the SUR officer said. "But everything has changed. You can
understand that my superiors want to talk with you. They have many
questions."
"All right," McGarvey said. "But it'll have to be very soon, Viktor
Pavlovich. With what has just happened, your superiors must understand the
urgency of our request."
"There is a 2:20 flight from Dulles this afternoon. It will put us in
Moscow by late morning." McGarvey stopped short. "I'm not going to Moscow." "It's the only way," the Russian said.
"An airplane factory worth a billion dollars is plenty of leverage. I'll
meet them in Paris."
"They won't go along with that. Maybe before, but not now." "Then the deal's off."
"I don't believe you. Think of this from our viewpoint. We're under the
gun, and it's possible that you can help us more, for the moment, with the
truth than with an airplane factory." "I'll give you the truth."
"We have to be certain," Yemlin insisted. "In Paris that may be impossible.
But in Moscow we believe you will tell the truth. It's up to you. We will
not kidnap YOU." It was up to him, McGarvey thought. But he didn't
78 DAVID HAGBERG
know if he could face Moscow. Not yet. The price he'd have to pay was still too high, the dangers too great. Facing Yemlin was bad enough, but facing the others, facing his own past, could prove to be more than he could handle.
FOUR
Riding in a cab downtown from his hotel in Georgetown, McGarvey was struck by how beautiful Washington had become under a fresh blanket of snow, but he felt like a stranger here. Despite the extraordinary happenings of the past few days, he was still on the outside looking in. He was a civilian. If he got himself backed into a comer he would be on his own. There'd be no cavalry to the rescue.
After his meeting with Carrara he'd tried the Gales Creek telephone
number Kennedy had given him, but the woman who answered could only tell
him that Kennedy was en route back to Washington, D.C., and that she
would get a message to him as soon as possible.
Against his better judgment he went to Dominique Kilbourne's Watergate
apartment. He figured that if he called her first she would hold him off
until morning. But he didn't have the time. He was developing an odd,
