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Stoner put his face practically on the screen and still couldn’t see it.
“Here,” said Zen. He did something with his controls and muttered something to the computer that Stoner didn’t quite catch; the large screen flashed with a close-up of a small round circle in the water, boxed in by hash marks drawn by the computer.
“Could be part of a long-wave device,” Stoner told him.
“Panel—there’s a radar set. Look at it. Yeah, small. Infrared.”
The screen blurred.
“Too much rain,” said Zen. “Torbin, you have anything?”
“Negative. No transmissions of any type.”
“Same here,” said Collins.
They took two more runs over the island, switching back and forth between optical, infrared, and synthetic radar scans. None of them produced a very clear picture as the storm began to kick up fiercely, but there was definitely some sort of installation here.
“Maybe a long-wave com setup,” suggested Stoner. “Surface radar, sends information out to ships.”
“That radio mast in the tree?” asked Zen.
Stoner had trouble seeing the tree, let alone the ante
“Who’s it working for?”
“Good question. I’d guess Chinese. Have to see the equipment, thought. Could be the Indians. Early warning, something comes south. Radar might scan a hundred miles, give or take. Like to look at it up close, on foot.”
“Yeah,” said Zen.
Zen took Hawk One up off the deck, rising through the clouds to get out of the storm. Even with the computer’s help, it was a hitch flying low and slow in the shifting air currents, their violent downdrafts and rain pounding on his head.
There were two more atolls nearby, both now covered by heavy fog, clouds, and rain. He took a breath, checked his gear—instruments were all in the green, everything ru
“We still have some time,” Bree told him as he came off his last pass. “We can check out those islands to the east as we head for the patrol area. Beyond that, though, we’ll have to call it a day.”
“Hawk Leader.” Zen punched his mission map into the lower left-hand screen, got himself oriented, then checked his fuel panel. It’d be tight, but he could wait to refuel after the flyovers, then launch Hawk Two. He touched base with Ferris to make sure that would be okay, and got an update on some ships they’d seen. Most were civilians, sailing well clear of yesterday’s trouble spot.
“Two Indian destroyers off to the southwest, in the thick of the storm,” the copilot added over the interphone. “If they stay on their present course, they’ll reach the patrol area about five hours from now, maybe a little sooner. Depends on the weather, though. They may not get anywhere.”
“Maybe they’re heading for that atoll we saw with the radar,” suggested Stoner.
Zen grunted. He resented someone else cutting into his conversation. He avoided the temptation to cut him off the circuit, which he could do with the Flighthawk control board.
“More likely they’re scouting for the carrier group to the south,” injected Ferris. “About a day’s sail behind according to the intel brief.”
“I wouldn’t rule anything out.”
Zen took Hawk One back toward the ocean, riding down through the angry carpet of whirling wind and water toward the target, a doublet of coral and rock. The thick drops of precipitation rendered the IR gear useless, and the optic feed was nearly as bad. The synthesized radar did the best, but the Flighthawk’s speed made it nearly impossible to get any details out of the view. The computer assured him there were no “correlations to man-made objects” on the first group of rocks. Approaching the second, he saw a shadow that might be a small boat, or perhaps a large log, or even a series of rocks. He came in higher than he wanted, catching an odd wave of wind. Two more flyovers into the teeth of the storm failed to reveal anything else.
“I think it was rocks,” said Stoner.
“We’ll analyze it later,” Zen told him.
“Hawk Leader, we’re starting to get close to pumpkin time,” Brea
“Roger that. I need to refuel,” said Zen, pointing his nose upward.
Aboard the submarine Shiva , in the South China Sea
0852
“Up scope.”
Admiral Ari Balin waited as Shiva’s periscope rose. His arms were at his chest, his eyes already starting to narrow. He placed his finger deliberately on the handles as the scope stopped climbing, then began his scan with deliberate, easy motion.
The gods were beneficent; they had lost the noisy Chinese submarine, and were now in the middle of a storm that would further confuse anyone trying to track them. it was the perfect preparation for the next phase of their mission, a sign that theirs was indeed the proper path.
Satisfied there were no other ships nearby, Admiral Balin stepped back. Captain Varja, the submarine’s commander, took his turn at the periscope. Where Balin was slow and graceful, the younger man was sharp and quick; it was a good match.
They had down well so far. The weapon had worked perfectly, and the information that had come to them provided two perfect hits. The real test, however, lay ahead.