Silent Warpath (Sean Quinlan Book 1)

by Dominic Conlon

  A little later he carefully rose from his prone position and reconnoitred the whole area. The opposite side of the ridge offered a useful close approach without being seen by anyone from the woods. He looked for signs of any recent surveillance but found none.

  When he returned to the lay-up point it was growing dark. In the distance Sean heard the faint sound of a car or truck. He imagined that the woods would be patrolled by forestry people on the lookout for fires at this time of the year. He filled his rucksack with some of the food and water and hung the binoculars around his neck. He jumped up and down a few times after strapping it on to check that there would be no noise from the pack.

  Sean settled into position pulling his newly made camouflage net over him. He didn’t have long to wait.

  Chapter 21

  Cetus made good speed. There were no indications of anything ahead. While it was still in range of ship based weapons and the ever present helicopters, Cetus could not stop tracking probabilities, trajectories and outcomes.

  For that reason it had called its evasion package into play. Part of the package included a random number generator to decide whether it would steer east or west of its course. The computer was literally able to flip a coin: heads to go left, tails to go right, so that no attacker could guess with accuracy which direction the sub might go next – assuming they had Cetus in their sights.

  What the program could not do was rule against a chance happening, such as a cup of coffee being spilt onto a map. This was precisely what had just happened aboard the USS Port Royal.

  ‘Dam’ said Captain Armstrong, sucking a finger. ‘That coffee’s hot!’

  ‘Sorry Captain, shall I bring another?’ asked the Ensign.

  The Captain shook his head.

  ‘Shall I fetch a spare map?’

  Armstrong looked at the damp stain that the coffee had made on the chart.

  ‘No, don’t bother – I think it will be OK. Next time, please just leave drinks on the side over there.’

  The young man looked crestfallen and backed away.

  The Captain traced his finger across the chart, but the stain drew his eyes away from the intended ambush site. The night before he and McIver had argued into the small hours about the best location to position the fleet. McIver wanted to blockade nearer coastal waters, thinking that the area under the coffee stain would be too far east.

  Captain Armstrong wasn’t so sure. He thought that the sub would want to take to the deeper water further away from the continental shelf. He reasoned that the sub had been boxed in once before and though it was only a machine, it seemed to be able to learn from its mistakes.

  The rogue sub certainly appeared to have an uncanny intelligence when it came to evading their hunting group. Armstrong didn’t believe that computers were intelligent in any sense of the word, but he knew that given sufficient processing power they could out-beat the greatest chess grandmasters.

  Which, in the end was what this job was all about surely? Chess, played out on a grand scale.

  He reached for the telephone.

  DD burst in through the door and began to splutter in his haste to tell Lomax the news. Lomax eyed the lad. He had seen DD excited before but this time his expression displayed real fear.

  Lomax made him sit down and take a few deep breaths before beginning to talk. ‘OK, take it from the beginning.’

  DD sucked in a huge breath. Lomax shook his head. ‘Take it slowly.’

  ‘They’ve uncovered our bug’ gasped DD. ‘But worse than that, they’ve started a trace.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lomax felt icy tentacles along his spine.

  ‘It means they’re on to us!’ gasped DD.

  ‘You’ll have to do better than that. Is our safe house known to them?’

  DD shook his head.

  ‘Are they likely to discover where we are?’

  ‘No’ replied DD.

  ‘Then what is the problem?’

  ‘They discovered our tap. Then they started a search on their network - looking for evidence of when the bug might have been planted.’

  Lomax got up and began to pace.

  ‘I guess they looked at the telephone fault log’ continued DD, ‘and tried to discover when the tap was placed on their system.’

  Lomax stopped pacing and sat down again. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Well they eventually got round to our false telephone fault. They checked on their system to see when they’d logged the call. Then they checked with the telephone people who must have given it the all clear. I’d altered their system to show that a call had been logged.’

  ‘And?’

  DD ran his hand through his hair. ‘And that seemed to be OK at first. But they queried the call several times as though they didn’t believe the information.’

  ‘What could have given us away?’ enquired Lomax.

  DD looked at the floor. ‘I don’t know. The only thing that ties us in is the location of the tap. They must have discovered the physical location of our tap, checked their logs and then someone must have remembered we visited that room.’

  ‘So they know they were tapped. And they now know who did the deed. So what?’

  ‘So they started a back trace. They used some programs to hunt on the Internet for any information about the device we left.’

  Lomax looked perplexed. ‘But surely they can’t track it back to here?’

  ‘No. But since they discovered our tap I haven’t been able to check what they’ve been up to directly. But I have picked up some of their queries at specialist hardware places that sell devices like the one I used.’

  ‘Can they trace it back to us?’

  ‘No, but they might get wind that Her Majesty’s Government have an interest - you can’t exactly buy these gadgets off the shelf.’

  ‘So even if they knew there was a British interest, they still wouldn’t be able to find us?’

  ‘No – I don’t think so. But I don’t know what access to resources these people have. They discovered our tap more quickly than I thought they would. Perhaps they have access to immigration records? Who knows.’

  ‘Did you get any useful info from the tap while it was in place?’

  ‘I got some info about this man Schaeffer. From his emails it looks like he’s head of a security team. I’m not sure who he reports to but I’ve seen a few emails from him to his team. Here’s the latest.’

  DD handed a sheet of paper to Lomax. ‘It looks like they know Natasha is heading to her parent’s log cabin. Schaeffer is personally taking charge and going after her.’

  Lomax scanned the paper quickly and came to a decision. ‘OK. You had better finish tidying up and make sure that you haven’t left any other traces.’

  Lomax handed the paper back and pulled out his mobile. ‘I need to call Sean urgently about Schaeffer.’

  He could tell they were not tourists or forest rangers. They had a light slow tread as if unsure of the way. A twig broke with a loud crack. The man in front turned back sharply.

  ‘Watch where you’re putting your feet!’ he hissed. ‘And you with the flashlight - put it out.’

  The flashlight snapped out.

  Sean caught the metallic glint from a sub-machine gun slung over the shoulder of the tall man in front. The second carried a long barrelled sniper rifle. Although he couldn’t quite make out the third, he guessed he was carrying a firearm as well.

  The men stopped about a hundred metres from where Sean lay concealed. They formed a huddle and their soft voices carried over the gloom. Sean couldn’t quite make out what they were saying but their intentions were clear. They turned and headed towards the cabin, their heavy boots breaking more twigs and branches that Sean had scattered earlier. As they neared the cabin their pace grew slower and quieter.

  They spread out. Sean felt a shiver run across his shoulder blades. He was tempted to deal with the hunters near the cabin first, but he didn’t know if they had left someone watching. The last thing he
wanted was a bullet in the head when he wasn't looking.

  Once the men had passed his hideout Sean crawled back to the path. It was easy to spot the location of the guard because of the cigarette glow: he was sitting in the passenger seat of their 4x4 car. Sean moved around to the back of the car before closing in. He calculated his approach was masked by the blind spot of the rear view mirror. The guard had omitted the simple precaution of locking the doors.

  Sean listened carefully. The man finished on his walkie-talkie and tossed it onto the seat next to him. Sean yanked the door open and pulled him out. A swift jab to the thorax followed by a hard side punch to the temple and the man slipped into unconsciousness without making a fuss.

  Sean pulled out some plastic cuffs from his rucksack and bound the man’s hands and feet. Next he taped over the mouth and dragged him 50 metres into the undergrowth. When Sean looked in the truck’s cabin he heard the radio playing softly. He found the keys still in the ignition, turned it off and opened the bonnet. He checked the engine with his flashlight, reaching in to remove three plug leads. He hid them carefully in the back. If the worst came to the worst he wanted spare transport.

  Shining the flashlight around the back he saw a tarpaulin draped on the seat. Pulling it away revealed a long barrelled rifle glinting in the gloom. Sean lifted it out and checked the safety. He examined it closely in the torchlight and whistled quietly. It was a Heckler & Koch PSG1 with telescopic sight still attached. He found a box of rounds in the glove compartment and slipped them into his pocket.

  Sean went back into the bush to check the guard who was regaining consciousness. He looped a thin cord between his leg and wrist ties then secured it around the bole of a nearby tree. That should buy him enough time to deal with the rest of the hunting party.

  Sean transferred the box of rounds to the rucksack and tied the rifle to the outside. He pulled it on, tightening the cinches. Running up the road and back into the woods, he wondered how far the rest of the gunmen had taken things in his absence.

  ‘I’m beginning to see this machine as a real live adversary Jim’ said McIver. ‘It’s quiet, stealthy and cunning. And even with all the hardware we’ve got we still haven’t a real chance of finding it and fixing it for good.’

  McIver was grumpy this morning. He had only a few hours sleep the night before. Then during breakfast he discovered that the Captain had altered the plans they had agreed earlier. Who the hell is running this show? he asked himself. He ought to give that man a dressing down and order him to revert to the original plan.

  McIver was tempted but once he talked to him he saw the sense in what the man was trying to do. By extending the line out towards the east, Armstrong hoped to cover off the possibility of the sub out-flanking their welcome party and slip past using the greater ocean depths away from the continental shelf.

  ‘I’m sorry about the change of plan Jock. I didn’t tell you because I thought you needed the sleep’ said Armstrong quietly, hoping to ward off the worst of the man’s ire.

  In the light of day McIver conceded that the man did have a point. It would be tragic if the sub choose that route and they had no assets out there to intercept.

  ‘We’re also close enough now to patch into the Carl Vincent group’ said Armstrong.

  ‘Good. Let’s get some air cover from them - we could do with some air patrols equipped with anti-submarine weapons.’ McIver considered what he required. ‘No nuclear depth bombs or weapons though. We don’t want to start World War III’.

  ‘Very good sir.’ said Armstrong firmly.

  ‘OK Jim.’ McIver turned to look through the bridge window. ‘Sorry I jumped down your throat earlier.’

  ‘That’s alright Jock’ Armstrong replied quietly.

  ‘Time to get moving’ said McIver.

  ‘Commander!’ Armstrong called for his officer.

  Commander Briggs sighed. At least you always knew where you were with the Captain, even if the Admiral was still an unknown quantity. Pity the enemy though, thought Briggs. He would hate to be on the other side of such relentless warriors.

  ‘I want to send a message - a taste of things to come.’

  ‘Yes sir. What do you suggest?’

  ‘How many Mk41’s do we have?’

  ‘Thirty ready for firing in the cells Captain. And more on each frigate.’

  ‘OK Commander. Tell your Surface Warfare Officer I want his best guess at the point of firing. Then add 200 yards for the first, subtract 200 yards for the second and again for the third. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes sir. You want a pattern of three Mk41’s landing successively closer to the target from the north, from each frigate.’

  McIver interrupted. ‘I also want a pattern of four depth charges, one every hundred yards. Each frigate should lay the depth charges perpendicular to the estimated direction of the sub.’

  Like beaters driving game, McIver planned to herd Cetus along the axis. Sitting like a spider in a web, McIver had positioned his ship at the centre of the arc of steel – if you didn’t count Armstrong’s fine-tuning.

  Satisfied the orders were received correctly, McIver stepped out onto the bridge wing to oversee the launch of the Mk41’s via the Vertical Launch System cells on deck.

  He watched as the first missiles ‘hot launched’ and rose straight up into the air from their tubes. They quickly cleared the ship and turned on course. McIver waited for the strike and through binoculars saw the first pattern of spray spring up some 5km away. He had no idea at what depth to set them and didn’t even know what the operational depth for the miniature submarine was. Certainly no more than 500 metres he thought.

  ‘Make sure those helicopters dunk on the flanks only and co-ordinate with the mine laying.’ McIver directed. If Cetus was near, its most likely route of escape was towards the two Frigates Armstrong had thought to deploy to the east.

  ‘If anyone gets wind of the sub they are to fire immediately - you hear? Do not wait for my order.’

  Unable to sleep, Captain Sheering rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. He could see his old fashioned alarm clock, phosphor arms pointing to 2:14 am. Next to his clock was the empty cup of cocoa he always took before sleeping.

  The Captain commanded the Los Angeles class submarine the USS Cheyenne, patrolling at the furthest reach of McIver’s Anti Submarine Warfare group.

  The spoon on the saucer was rattling with the vibration of the sub and Captain Sheering realised this was the noise that had woken him. As he watched the spoon buzzed with increased energy, leaping up and down until it fell onto the bedclothes.

  The Captain had given strict orders for quiet running. Nothing on or within his submarine should making so much noise.

  Curiously the Captain picked up the spoon and dropped it quickly – it was hot! As he reached for the communicator above his bed, it pinged. He picked it up.

  ‘What the hell is happening?’ he enquired. ‘I ordered full quiet – where is that noise coming from?’

  ‘We don’t know skipper’ replied the Executive Officer. ‘But it’s not coming from inside the boat.’

  Captain Sheering’s blood ran cold. From that moment there was no doubt in his mind that his ship was under attack from Cetus.

  When he had received a detailed briefing about the rogue sub he had considered what countermeasures he should deploy against such an attack. Unfortunately when discussing these with McIver he received only the vaguest comments about their effectiveness. It seemed no-one was sure what the submarine’s capabilities were.

  Still, all was not lost. Captain Sheering had been busy while waiting for Cetus and had made a study of the surrounding currents.

  ‘Take us up to 300 metres - I want to be in the middle of the thermal incline above us. I also want to be facing the oncoming current - steer three hundred and forty degrees. Just make enough turns to keep us stationary. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  Sound battle stations and get all department hea
ds together in the ward room. I will speak to them in two minutes. Try and get a fix on that blasted machine and maintain full quiet.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  Sheering padded to the ward room. While he was waiting for the last of his department heads to file into the cramped space, he could hear the vibration increase in intensity.

  ‘Well men, this is it’. Captain Sheering looked around at the familiar faces. ‘I have to tell you that we are under attack by a very advanced enemy submarine. The next twenty minutes will determine whether we live or die.’

  The men looked at each other, taken aback by the directness of the speech.

  ‘You all know as much as I do about our attacker – which isn’t much. Just let’s say we have a fight on our hands.’

  Captain Sheering grasped the back of a chair and leaned forward. ‘In the next twenty minutes I am likely to give you some strange orders – don’t question them – just act on them immediately. Your lives might depend on it.’

  He looked round around for the last time. ‘Now get to your stations!’

  Chapter 22

  Time was running out and Lomax couldn’t wait for Sean to return. He stomped into the kid’s bedroom and found him asleep in front of a computer screen. Lomax shook him roughly and went back out to make a cup of coffee. He placed the steaming mug on the table.

  ‘Listen DD, we need to go back.’

  ‘What do you mean, go back?’

  ‘Back to the company. We need the information as soon as possible. There’s only one way to get it - we have to break in.’

  ‘Break in?’

  ‘Don’t keep repeating everything I say’ said Lomax testily. ‘We need to go back, break into their computer room, and trace this guy Schaeffer. Are you up for it?’

  ‘Hang on’, said DD. ‘We’ve been there before and now they’ve discovered the bug they’ll be ready for us. How do you expect to get away with it?’