End Game

Storm went back inside. He was just about to see if he could hunt down a cup of coffee when Eyes’s excited voice erupted in his ear.

“Port Somalia has just been attacked!” shouted Eyes.

“There’s a fire on the artificial island, and the sonar array picked up the sound of a large explosion.”

Storm’s mind jumped from shock to reaction mode, sorting the information, formulating a response. The airplanes they’d seen before—they had to have been involved.

What would Admiral Johnson say now?

“Get Airforce down there right away,” said Storm. “Bring the SITT crew back, then sink the smuggler’s vessel, cargo and all. Prepare a course for Port Somalia,” he added, speaking to the navigational officer. “I’ll be in my quarters, updating Admiral Johnson.”

Off the coast of Somalia

6 January 1998

0023

THE COMMANDO SATTARI RESCUED HAD BROKEN HIS LEG

falling from the decking to the rocks, but had not been shot.

He slumped against the captain as the men paddled against the current. They attacked the waves like madmen, pushing against the spray, which seemed to increase with every stroke.

Sattari could hear the explosions behind them and saw the yellow shadows cast by a fire, but dared not take the time or strength to look back.

“Another kilometer,” yelled the coxswain. He was referring not to the rendezvous point but to the GPS position where the boat would turn to the north; the pickup would be roughly four kilometers beyond that.

Still, Sattari repeated the words aloud as a mantra as he END GAME

35

worked his paddle: “Another kilometer to go. One more kilometer to success.”

Aboard the Abner Read , off the coast of Somalia

0023

THE SMOKE FROM PORT SOMALIA ROSE LIKE AN OVERGROWN

cauliflower from the ocean, furling upward and outward. It was so thick Starship couldn’t see Port Somalia itself.

If the aircraft they’d seen earlier had deposited saboteurs—not a proven fact, but a very good guess—it was likely that the planes would be returning to pick up the men.

The Abner Read had activated its radar to look for them.

Starship’s job was twofold. First, scout the water and see if he could find any trace of the saboteurs. Second, check the nearby shore, which was the second most likely escape route. And he’d have to do all that in about ten minutes, or he’d risk ru

He saw the Indian corvette to his right as he approached the outer edge of the smoke. The ship looked like an up-sized cabin cruiser, with a globelike radar dome at the top.

Designed for a Russian Bandstand surface targeting radar, the large dome held a less potent Indian design. But it was the small dish radar behind the dome that got Starship’s attention—the Korund antiaircraft unit extended its sticky fingers toward the Werewolf, marking a big red X on it for the ship’s SS-4 antiaircraft missiles.

“Werewolf One being targeted by Indian vessel,” Starship reported to Tac. He hit the fuzz buster and tucked the little helicopter toward the waves, weaving quickly to shake the radar’s grip. “Hey, tell these guys I’m on their side.”

“We’re working on it, Werewolf One. They’re having a little trouble identifying targets.”

“Duh. Tell them I’m not a target.”

36

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“We’re working it out. Stay out of their range.”

“It’s ten kilometers,” protested Starship.

“Head toward the shore and look for the raiding party.

We’ll let the Indians look at the water.”

“Yeah, roger that,” he said, jamming his throttle to max power.

Off the coast of Somalia

0028

THE LIGHT LOOKED LIKE THE BAREST PINPRICK IN A BLACK

curtain, yet everyone aboard the raft saw it instantly.

“There!” said the coxswain. He lifted a small signal light and began signaling.

“Go,” said Sattari, pushing his oar. “Stroke!”

The little raft heaved itself forward as the men pushed at the oar. Sattari felt the commando he had rescued stirring next to him.

“Rest,” he told the man. “We’re almost there.”

“Ship!” said the coxswain.

Sattari swept his head back, though he continued to row.

The low silhouette of the Indian patrol boat had appeared to the northeast; it was perhaps three kilometers away.

“Stroke,” insisted Sattari. The pinprick had grown to the size of a mayfly.

Sattari had personally told the commander of each of the four midget submarines to leave if threatened—even if that meant stranding the team he was assigned to retrieve. He did not regret the order, nor did he curse the Indian ship as it continued to move in the direction of the light. He only urged his men to row harder.

His own arms felt as if they were going to fall off. His head seemed to have tripled in weight, and his eyes ached.

“Two hundred meters!” called the coxswain.

A searchlight on the Indian ship, barely a kilometer away, swept the ocean.

END GAME

37

“Stroke!” yelled Sattari. “Stroke!”

And then they were there, clambering over the rail at the stern. The sleek co

“Get aboard, get aboard,” said Sattari.

He pulled the raft close to him, then plunged his knife into its side. As it began to deflate, he saw the Indian patrol boat bearing down on them, its lights reaching out in the darkness.

One of the other commandos took the raft and began to pull it down into the hatch.

“No. Let it go. It will give them something to look at,”

said Sattari. He tossed it off the side, then pulled himself down the hatchway. The submarine’s crewman came down right behind him, securing the hatch.

“Commander, we are aboard. Dive,” Sattari said loudly, though the command was clearly u

Aboard the Abner Read , off the coast of Somalia

0032

“THE INDIANS HAVE SPOTTED A COMMANDO BOAT ABOUT FIVE

kilometers from Port Somalia,” Eyes told Storm. “Empty.”

“Submarine?”

“Unsure. They don’t carry sonar. That’s a Russian Project 1234 boat. I’m surprised it made it across the Arabian Sea. I don’t envy their sailors.”

Storm studied the hologram. The Abner Read had a world-class passive sonar—the Littoral Towed Array System, or LITAS—which was carried on a submerged raft behind the ship. Built around a series of hydrophones, the system picked up and interpreted different sounds in the 38

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

water. In theory, LITAS could hear anything within a twelve-mile radius of the ship, even in shallow waters where sounds were plentiful and easily altered by the sea floor. Very loud vessels—such as the Indian ship, which the system identified even though it was thirty-five miles off—could be heard much farther away.

The Abner Read also carried an active sonar developed by DARPA as part of a project known as Distant Thunder.

The sonar was designed to find very quiet electric submarines in what the engineers called “acoustically challenging” waters. The Abner Read had used it with great success to find a submarine operating on battery power in the canyonlike Somalian waters to the west. Like all active sonar, however, the device not only alerted the prey that it was being hunted, but told it where the hunter was, an important concession against a wily captain. Storm preferred to hold it in reserve if at all possible.

The northwestern tip of Somalia loomed about fifteen miles ahead. By altering course slightly, Storm could cut off the most likely escape route north and still be in a good position to chase a submarine if it headed west.