Silent Warpath (Sean Quinlan Book 1)

by Dominic Conlon

  ‘Fire parties, to your stations’ barked Armstrong. He raised his wrist watch to count down the seconds to impact.

  A full array of military hardware now came into play. From the decks of the USS Port Royal a series of vertically launched Anti-Submarine Rockets burst from their cells. The VL-ASROCs carried Mark 54 torpedoes which could be delivered to the sea in seconds. Of the three marine patrol aircraft from the carrier Carl Vincent providing 24-hour cover, the one closest to the torpedo track launched its anti-submarine Compact Rapid Attack Weapon. Basically an air-dropped lightweight torpedo, it struck the sea at the same time as the ASROCs, right in the path of the first torpedo from the Kougar. Programmed to explode on proximity, it detonated and triggered the Kougar’s torpedo warhead.

  The lookout on the bridge relayed the information first. ‘Explosion off our bow, one kilometre.’

  This time they were all facing forward. Through the bridge windows a plume of water hung in the air.

  ‘Sonar, con. Anything else in the water?’

  ‘Second torpedo, homing in’ came an excited reply.

  The ship juddered and the sound of a massive explosion could be heard.

  ‘Fire parties report!’ commanded a grim looking Captain Armstrong. He stopped and grabbed a mike. ‘Weapons control, provide a firing solution.’ He looked across at McIver, only to see him shake his head.

  ‘No Jim. Not today.’ McIver inclined his head, inviting the Captain to a quiet corner of the bridge.

  ‘I know how you feel. God knows, I feel angry too. But we’re not going to get involved. Get in touch with the Russian. Tell him we are not - and repeat not - engaging with him. Tell him we are on a peaceful mission to retrieve a lost sub.’

  Captain Armstrong walked away, too angry to reply.

  ‘Sir’ shouted a sonar operator. ‘We’ve just lost contact with Cetus. The friggin’ sub has dropped out of sight!’

  Chapter 33

  The seaman presented the message slip to Captain Armstrong. He read it quickly and turned to everyone around the table.

  ‘It’s a signal from the Captain of the Kougar. They’ve acknowledged our message and are standing down.’

  Natasha and everyone else around the table breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Thanks to Louis we were able to secure Cetus.’ Captain Armstrong raised his glass and everyone round the table followed suit.

  When the Cetus was reported missing after the torpedo explosions, she really thought that it had gone. She felt so bad she could taste bile in her mouth. But Louis didn’t appear at all concerned. He tapped out a code onto his laptop and five minutes later Cetus emerged on the surface. When he saw the puzzled looks from everyone around the table, Louis explained that one of the low-level programs on the sub made it dive whenever any potentially threatening situation occurred.

  The Kougar’s torpedoes had initiated the automatic protection circuit in Cetus, forcing it to dive to a depth of 20 metres. When Louis typed in the counter-code, Cetus slowly reappeared.

  While the ship was being repaired, Natasha and Louis made their way to the now stationary Cetus. Natasha’s long hair streamed out from behind her in the wind. She felt some spray on her face as the motor launch ploughed through the choppy seas towards the small dot on the horizon ahead. She had rarely felt such a mix of emotions before – a sense of relief that the sub had been found, a sense of sadness of the lives that had been lost because of it, a sense of despair that the project might be closed down forever. But most of all she harboured a sense of hope for herself and Sean.

  The update to Cetus’ mission software was in the briefcase beside her. As they approached, the shape became more sharply defined. Natasha could make out the glistening black colour and the short stubby sail. Their launch dragged a thin line behind them. When they clambered on board, two sailors from the shuttle would haul on the line until a thick hawser from the cruiser appeared.

  There had been some discussion about the best method of towing the sub back to base. The entire outer surface of Cetus was covered in soft rubber tiles which absorbed radar frequency waves, making it invisible to anyone trying to track its progress.

  The outer shell of the sub was also bereft of lugs or any projection to which they could attach a towing line. Louis explained that the design called for a completely smooth profile, so it glided through the water without making any turbulence which might be picked up by enemy sonar.

  They finally settled on a couple of magnetic grabs which were tied to the end of the hawser and which the sailors would use to secure Cetus.

  The launch slowed to come alongside. Two sailors hopped over onto the slippery rounded back of the sub and held on to the sail. Once they had secured the motor launch with ropes around the sail, they helped Natasha and then Louis across. Louis quickly reached over and undid the outer hatch, hidden at the bottom of the sail. As Cetus bobbed up and down in the water, Louis slowly descended the ladder into the dark belly of the sub, followed more nimbly by Natasha.

  This was the first time Natasha had been on-board Cetus while it was at sea. Louis helped her down the last part of the narrow ladder and found a switch which illuminated the interior.

  She stared down a long narrow corridor which extended along the front half of the boat. Nearly all the rear half was blanked off by a large steel round door protecting the engine compartment and nuclear power generator. Along both sides of the fore gangway, computer racks reached the full height of the sub. Natasha could see the racks were bolted both on the floor and ceiling and she saw hundreds of green LED lights winking amongst them. She shivered. It was cold and the air was stale, though a fresh breeze was starting to find its way in through the sail hatchway.

  On the surface the sub rode the swell, nose moving up and down over the crests. Louis was already at the fore end, checking a server in the first rack on the port side. Natasha carefully made her way towards him and stopped at the computers three racks further down. These were her babies, covering mission loading, sequencing and the main decision making electronics. She grabbed a small hand torch from her bag, checking the serial numbers of the computers until she found the one she was looking for. She pulled out the flat shelf underneath, revealing a keyboard and a flat panel screen which she pivoted into an upright position. She called up the current mission profile and swiftly disabled it. Confident that this software could never work again, she bent down to retrieve the USB memory stick from her bag.

  Within five minutes both Louis and Natasha had completely disabled the sub and loaded new programs which would ensure it could be safely towed back to its home port.

  ‘Murmansk to the US east coast is nearly 4,000 miles.’ Lomax traced the path the task force would take. ‘We know they’re moving at about 20 knots, not taking any chances with the tow.’

  ‘That’s over a week to return to base’ noted DD. ‘And we’ve been back five days.’

  ‘The task force should be moving through the edge of a storm front. Can you confirm their position?’

  ‘Easy’ said DD as he turned to his laptop. Two minutes later he showed Lomax the location on the screen.

  Lomax looked carefully at the detailed map. ‘I think now would be a good time.’

  DD opened up the communications software. He glanced at Lomax for confirmation.

  ‘Do it now.’

  DD clicked on the Initiate module, establishing a new communication session. Satisfied it was working, he clicked on the button to trigger an upload of a new mission profile.

  Just over a thousand miles away in the northern Atlantic, wind speeds picked up to force four and the swell increased by ten feet as the ships faced into the storm. A quartering wind blew spume from the wave crests.

  Every sixty minutes the stern lookout flicked on powerful floodlights to check the position of the tow. He could see the two hawsers stretching out across the white wave tops, but it was difficult to make out the black shape of Cetus being towed 50 metres away. The lookout switched off t
he floodlights and made a note in his log.

  Cetus quietly fed power to the armature of its electric engine. As the screw moved the machine slowly towards the towing ship, the line went slack in the water. Twenty metres away Cetus reversed its screw, creating a white foaming torrent in the water. The sub started to reverse, picking up speed. At its furthest extent one steel cable snapped up out of the water with a loud twang. As Cetus continued to reverse the cable began to hum under the strain. The hum increased in pitch.

  The noise of the gale drowned out the ‘crack’ as first one and then the other magnetic grabs lost their hold. Cetus slowly sank beneath the waves.

  When the lookout switched on the floodlights again some fifty minutes later, the hawsers were slack. Initially he was not unduly worried as the storm had driven the sub closer to the ship several times before. He picked up a pair of binoculars and searched for some sign of the submarine amongst the forest of waves. After two minutes he reluctantly used the intercom to report to the Officer of the Deck.

  ‘So how long have you known about this?’ Dinsdale’s face was red with anger.

  ‘Not that long Martin’ replied Prime Minister John Ashdown. ‘An opportunity arose during the course of the mission. I thought it was too good to pass up.’

  Dinsdale started pacing about the PM’s office. At last he came to stand in front of the Prime Minister’s desk. ‘You’re finished’ he said simply. ‘Once word of this gets out, you, me and the rest of the government will be forced to resign.’

  ‘But word will not get out, will it Martin?’

  ‘How can you stop it? Too many people know about it.’

  ‘That’s not true. There are only seven people in the world who know about this. And now you’re the eighth.’

  Dinsdale sank into the nearest chair. ‘John, I really think you should resign. You could go now without too much fuss from the media. You could say you had planned to retire anyway, after fifteen years in politics.’

  ‘And who would take over my role – you?’ asked the PM scathingly.

  Dinsdale held up his hands. ‘Well, I am the deputy PM, so I suppose I would stand in until our internal election procedure is complete.’

  Ashdown shook his head. ‘No, Martin. I’ll tell you why that isn’t going to happen. If my continued presence in this post is to be put at risk by a leak originating from you, then you don’t know me very well.’

  The PM swivelled round in his seat to look at Dinsdale directly. ‘You underestimate my resolve.’

  He got up and brought two crystal whiskey glasses to the desk and poured a good measure in each. ‘But I will tell you what is going to happen. In the next seven days I will call a snap reshuffle of the cabinet.’

  Dinsdale started to object, but the PM stopped him. ‘Martin I know this will be painful for you, but for the good of the country you have to go.’

  ‘Then there is nothing else for it..’ Dinsdale said hopelessly. ‘I’d rather take my chances in the country than be sacked as deputy leader.’

  The PM rested both elbows on the table. ‘Let’s just imagine that you’ve been working late in the chamber and you stop by for a drink in the commons bar before you set off in your Jaguar for your flat.’ The PM raised his glass. ‘Halfway home, you see a car behind you. It’s revving its engine and trying to overtake. You pull in to let him pass, but it’s driven by a drunk who crashes into your car and sends it spinning across the road. A fire engulfs your car. You’re burnt alive in the wreck.’

  Dinsdale’s face drained of blood. ‘You couldn’t do that!’

  The PM shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can do anything I want Martin. If you ever so much as threaten to let this particular secret out, I will have you killed.’

  In the moonlight from the window, Sean watched as her back arched and she gave a moan of sheer pleasure. She fell forwards onto him and he held her close, the realisation coming quickly. His hand came away, sticky with her blood. The sound of tinkling glass registered and Sean knew with a dull certainty she had been shot.

  He pushed her off the bed, away from the window. Crouching low he ran to one side of the window and looked out. There was nothing. He would only have a minute before they came for him. He crouched and ran back to Natasha, pulling the sheet from the bed and fashioning a tourniquet around her upper arm.

  He pulled on his jeans and ran to the kitchen, picked up the wooden block of knives and ran to the hallway.

  Police Sergeant Evans scanned the apartment from his car. Like Sean he heard the glass breaking, but there was no obvious source. He waited, unsure whether to investigate or stay put. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed movement. His patience in staking out the apartment was about to pay off. He saw a tall man in a long overcoat approaching the front door. He held a rifle in his right hand and his left arm was in a sling.

  Evans unclipped his revolver and prepared to move.

  Sean heard the lock as it shattered from the impact of the high velocity round. Again there was no sound of firing, so the man was using a silencer. The front door burst open. Sean caught a glimpse of the man’s silhouette in the light from the street. ‘Schaeffer’ he breathed. He let fly with one of the kitchen knives and was rewarded with a cry of alarm. The wood in the door surround splintered only inches away from Sean.

  Sean withdrew into the living area. Seconds later he heard Schaeffer trip over Natasha’s bicycle in the hallway. Sean picked out another knife and balanced it in his hand. This might be his last chance. Sean hefted the knife. It was the longest one he had. He had to decide whether to throw it and risk it not connecting, or to deliver it personally. There really was only one choice after all.

  Sergeant Evans pushed the door wide open. There were no lights on in the apartment and it was difficult to see what was going on. ‘Police, freeze!’ he shouted. A second later the round penetrated his stomach, blowing him backwards into the street.

  Sean heard the front door again and the shouted command to freeze. He launched himself at Schaeffer in the darkness of the hallway, having to guess exactly where he might be. With his left hand he felt the man’s coat. He twisted and drove the knife deep into Schaeffer’s chest just as the rifle went off.

  Racing back to Natasha, he switched on the bedside light. The tourniquet had staunched the blood, but Sean discovered another wound below her shoulder on her back. He made a pad with the rest of the sheet before reaching for the phone.

  The view from the hideaway was beautiful. For the most part heather covered the hill, sweeping down until it met the bracken. The slope then gave way to grass. Some sheep grazed below a well worn path overlooking Gare Loch. There was a bench just off the path facing the loch and on the bench sat Lomax.

  Sean breathed in the damp air that held the chill of the coming winter. He had spent the night in a shallow depression amongst the heather and he was numb with the cold and mist. The wound on his lower ribcage had started to throb painfully in the damp air. Even so, the day promised some sunshine and Sean felt good to be in touch once again with nature.

  From his hide, Sean used his binoculars to scan the loch and the surrounding area. He was satisfied Lomax was alone and he tucked the binoculars out of sight. He crawled out under cover of the heather, standing slowly to examine the scene. Carefully he turned and checked back up the hillside. The whole area was deserted except for Lomax and himself. He removed his gillie suit and walked quietly to stand ten metres behind the bench.

  ‘A beautiful day.’

  Lomax turned round, his face impassive. If he heard Sean’s approach he gave no sign. He turned back to face the loch bringing the binoculars back to his eyes. He started to scan the water again, swinging first left and then right.

  ‘Any sign of Cetus?’ Sean asked.

  ‘Not yet’ Lomax replied.

  ‘You may never see her’, remarked Sean.

  ‘She has to surface before going into dock.’

  ‘I heard there was an almighty furore when the Americans discovere
d their sub had gone missing again. I suppose you engineered it to make it look like the sub had lost its tow.’

  ‘Something like that’ said Lomax, vaguely.

  ‘Was it worth it?’

  ‘Worth what?’ asked Lomax.

  ‘Worth coming back to the Agency?’

  Lomax let the binoculars fall with a sigh. Sean moved round to the front of the bench so he could see him better. Lomax gestured to the empty seat beside him. Sean sat and looked out over the water. ‘That was why they took you back, wasn’t it?’ Sean carried on. ‘You were a burnt out case. I don’t know what happened, but your last job got to you. You needed a lot of time to recover. I can only imagine what you must have gone through to get to that stage – someone like you. You were one of their best men.’

  ‘It wasn’t pretty’ replied Lomax.

  ‘No’, reflected Sean. ‘But out of all the people they had on the books, they chose an agent who had retired on the grounds of ill health.’ Sean glanced sideways at Lomax. ‘But there was a price, wasn’t there Lomax?’

  Lomax remained still.

  ‘They made a bargain with you and you accepted.’ Sean looked squarely at Lomax. ‘Am I right?’

  Finally Lomax nodded his head.

  ‘They offered you promotion, provided you carried out all your orders. Especially the orders you didn’t tell me about.’

  Sean looked back to the loch and saw a tiny fissure appear in the water. He pointed it out to Lomax.

  ‘All for that’ he said. As they watched, the fissure grew bigger and revealed itself as a bow wave from the radio masts on Cetus. Slowly the conning tower came into view and then the black tubular shape of the submarine. It rose steadily, gently broaching the still surface of the loch.

  ‘Why did you shoot Dennis Clarke?’ Sean turned to look at Lomax. ‘Orders from London?’

  ‘I should have shot him earlier.’ Lomax said the words so quietly that Sean almost failed to hear him.