Hunting the Hunters

The deep blue of the South Pacific Ocean was tranquil. From overhead, it looked balmy. Hardly a ripple. Even from an angle, it looked smooth, unless you could get the sun to glance off the surface and then you might detect the faintest trace of a V shaped formation on the surface. There was no boat at the head of the V. None that you could see.

Below the surface, the black sausage like shape of the nuclear submarine, the USS Los Angeles, slipped through the water. It was about 10 Kilometres southwest of Moruroa, cruising at periscope depth, heading just west of north, and trailing several tails. Those on board well knew about the V-like wake created on the surface by the tails. It was the cause for their almost constant watch for French military aeroplanes. Minimising this signature was one reason for the slow speed of the vessel.

The black sausage teemed with life. Most of those on board were asleep, but some were busy. The busy ones were focussing on their work. They were oblivious to the routine characteristics of the boat: its humidity: the sweet and sour smells of sweat and piss and the low hum of electronics. They were not oblivious to the sensory input coming from the tails.

The primary role of the Los Angeles was to listen in to French communications connected with their nuclear test next Monday. As part of that function, they were listening in to the short wavelength radio transmissions of the primary players. These players were all in place. The French authorities at Tahiti, on Moruroa and at Hao; The Greenpeace demonstration and the associated demonstration by the Tahitian fishing vessels.

Inside the sausage, few noises broke the background hum of the boat. There were the occasional order, furtive whispering between the members of the crew and the click of handsets. Top-secret radio listening stations in Australia and Hawaii were monitoring the long wavelength radio transmissions. Only someone within line of sight of the transmitters could capture the short wavelength transmissions. The tails were capturing most of these short wavelength transmissions. The duty crew of the radio shack, fed by a steady supply of data from the tails, were busily flipping between the frequencies used by all the key players.

They were also restless. The tails were feeding them routine material. Nothing exciting to hear. They had fifty minutes before they would hand over and then get some sleep. Suddenly, the senior duty radio operator, Petty Officer Duke Adams, froze. He flipped back to listen again to the transmission from the French Frigate, La Prairial. His duty colleague, Seaman Guts Wolfowitz, noticed his abrupt busyness. Wolfowitz watched Adams’ focussed concentration whilst continuing to scan his allocation of frequencies.

The transmission was in French, but Adams was fluent in the language. Wolfowitz watched him hunch over as he listened to a transmission. Suddenly Adams sat upright, “On the fucking button,” he exclaimed. Petty Officer Duke Adams could not hear the short-range transmissions that the La Prairial would be using to try to communicate with the Whangerei Star. They would need a different type of aerial for that. An aerial that would require them to be on the surface. A dangerous place for submarines; not a place submariners liked to be.

However, Duke Adams had heard enough. He flipped on the intercom to the control room and waited for a response by the Duty Officer. “Sir?” “Yes, Adams?” “A Tahitian fishing vessel has broken ranks and is heading towards Moruroa.” The Officer of the Watch in the Control Room, the boat’s weapons officer, Lieutenant Spotty Thomsen, stopped his current scan of the horizon. The wall clock told him that it was 04:47. ’What the hell, ’he thought to himself. “Okay, I’m coming,” he responded, heading for the radio shack next to the control room.

It took Thomsen seconds to get from the control room to the radio shack. In that time he recalled that, Duke Adams considered himself something of a jazz aficionado. As soon as he got to the radio shack, Adams patched the French transmissions through onto the loudspeaker system. All those in the room could hear the transmissions. It did not help Spotty Thomsen very much. His patchy and overgrown schoolboy French was not up to the task. “Do they usually transmit unencoded transmissions?” Spotty asked Adams. “Sometimes, Sir.” “What are they saying?” he demanded. Duke Adams, listening in to the transmissions, did not immediately react. After about thirty seconds, he did. Taking off his headset he responded, “Sir, they are saying that a vessel that they identify as the Whangerei Star, has broken ranks and is heading towards Moruroa. They are ordering it to return to the demonstration fleet, as are the Tahiti fleet leaders. They report that the Whangerei Star is ignoring both sets of instructions. They have requested backup support.” Duke Adams replaced the headset on his ears.

Spotty Thomsen thought for a moment, and then tapped Adams on the shoulder. Duke Adams took off his headset for the second time. He told his associate, Seaman Wolfowitz, to continue listening in to the French channels. He then responded to Spotty Thomsen’s tap, “Sir?” “Have you heard anything from Whangerei Star?” he asked, “or from Greenpeace?” Duke Adams shook his head, “Sir we do not have the staff to listen in to them all. At the moment we are focusing on the short wave transmissions from the French ships and helicopters around Moruroa and the longer wavelength transmissions from Tahiti and Hao to Muroroa.”

Thomsen’s face set like concrete as he nodded. He picked up the ships intercom handset from near Duke’s shoulder, to speak to the Chief of the Watch, Junior Lieutenant Bryce Patterson. “Patterson, get me another radio operator on the double. I want him here within five minutes.” Spotty did not like the sound of this. This did not sound like the alcoholic whim of a single Tahitian fishing vessel, not at 5 o’clock in the morning. If it was not a whim, then they may be in contact with someone else. He wanted to find out if the Whangerei Star was transmitting. Someone might also be transmitting to them.

However, he could also be wrong. He decided to wait to see what developed before informing the ship’s captain, Commander John E. Weston. He returned to the Command centre. Soon, he noted, another radio operator passed through the control centre on her way to the Radio Room. Petty Officer Alice Conway, he noted. Nicknamed Smarty, as in smart aleck, he recalled.

Very soon, Conway, in the radio shack, was calling him. “Yes,” he barked. Conway paused, and then responded. “Sir, we are getting regular radio transmissions, presumably from the Whangerei Star, in a language I do not recognise. It seems to be the same thing, repeated over and over again. It could be a code word, Sir.” “Long Wave or short wave?” “Long, Sir.” Spotty Thomsen paused a fraction. ’Of course. But where to?’ he wondered to himself. ’Could be anywhere,’ he acknowledged. “Okay. Record the transmissions and prepare them for transmission to Hawaii. Send a message to Hawaii with the frequency and get them to monitor the transmissions as well,” he ordered. This was above his pay scale. He rang the Captain’s stateroom and waited for Commander Ed Weston to respond. Spotty briefed him on what was happening. “Thanks, Thomsen, I will come straight up.”

Ed Weston, 36, was a tall, rangy man. He reminded his crew of the sculptured figures in barbed wire that you could buy outside the base in Honolulu. Some of his crew had bought one of these sculptures, to give him on leaving at the end of this tour. He knew about his nickname of razorbarb, but never let on. To him it was a compliment. He exuded confidence in himself and in his ship.

This was his third tour as Captain and he knew that it would be his last. In some ways, he was not looking forward to his next posting, ashore somewhere. He hoped that his next posting would be to either Submarine School or to Technology and New Weapons Systems Procurement (NewSyp). He was also wondering whether the next posting would include a promotion. The first couple of his classmates from Annapolis were starting to jump to the next rank and he needed to be up there if he was to keep on getting ahead. He drilled his crew relentlessly, and he knew that it showed in their competent handling of the boat.

He glanced at the wall clock as he came into the control room: 04:56. He walked over to his Duty Officer, Spotty Thomsen. “What’s happening?” Thomsen briefed him on what was happening as they walked into the radio shack. A glance revealed the busy activity in the room. Duke Adams was listening in to the short wave French radio transmissions. Smarty Conway was busy informing Hawaii about the Japanese long wave radio transmissions and getting them to monitor those transmissions. The last radio operator, Seaman Guts Wolfowitz, was listening to the Greenpeace frequencies. Weston knew that he had to send a situation report to Hawaii on what was happening.

“Wolfowitz, send a sitrep to ComPacFleet. ‘A Tahitian fishing vessel, the Whangerei Star, has broken away from their demonstration formation and is heading for French national waters around Moruroa Atoll. They are ignoring instructions to return to their station in the Tahitian Fishing fleet by both the Tahitian leadership and by the French. I expect a French reaction very soon. Long wavelength radio transmissions are coming from the Whangerei Star, in a language that we do not recognise. We are recording these transmissions and have requested that they also be recorded and translated by NavRadSta Hawaii’.” Weston waited until Wolfowitz nodded his head that he had the signal under control. He then walked across to Conway’s station. She acknowledged his presence as he came. “Can you put the transmissions onto the loudspeakers?” She nodded and did so. He listened for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders, looking at Spotty Thomsen. “Sounds like gibberish. Have all of these transmissions been sent to Honolulu?” Thomsen could only shrug and grimace in response to Weston’s comment. “From when Conway came on duty, about ten minutes ago, Sir.” Thomsen paused. “Sir, they sound like a code signal.” Weston nodded. “Sounds like it, the same thing said over and over again.” “It changes at an irregular interval, Sir, and then the new message gets repeated over and over again,” commented Conway, listening in.

Duke Adams abruptly took off his headset and looked at Weston. “Sir, the Whangerei Star has entered French national waters.” Ed Weston nodded to Adams and then turned to face Wolfowitz. He could see that Wolfowitz had finished sending the message to the Pacific Fleet Command in Hawaii. “Wolfowitz, send another message to ComPacFleet. ‘Re our previous transmission. The Whangerei Star has now entered French national waters. A French naval response will come soon’.”

Weston’s body prevaricated. He wanted his coffee, which he had left in the Control Room. However, he was not ready to leave the radio shack. Thomsen saw the prevarication and knew what it signified. “I’ll check on the surface, Sir.” Weston nodded as Thomsen left to go into the control room. Once he had checked on the surface, he grabbed his and Weston’s mugs of coffee and returned to the Radio shack. Weston acknowledged the service when he returned. They settled down to wait.

Weston did not have to wait long for the French reaction. He did not expect the reaction that came. Suddenly Duke Adams, white in his face, patched the short wave French transmissions onto the loudspeaker system. The usually measured tones of the radio operator had gone up an octave and sped up. Adams dropped his headset and turned to face Commander Weston as they all listened to the transmissions. “Sir, the Whangerei Star has shot down a French naval helicopter. The French Frigate La Prairial is manoeuvring to engage the Whangerei Star. It has directed a patrol boat to look for survivors from the helicopter.”

The loudspeakers continued to magnify the alarm and panic in the voice of the French radio operator on the La Prairial. It was clear that things were not going well for the French. Weston turned to his Weapons Officer, Spotty Thomsen. “I want to be closer to the action. Turn the boat to head towards Moruroa.” Thomsen acknowledged the order. He left the Radio Room to go into the control room to implement the direction. Meanwhile Adams continued to brief Commander Weston on the transmissions that were coming from the French and the Tahitians. Wolfowitz also told him about the few transmissions from Greenpeace, when requested. It was clear that neither the Tahitians nor Greenpeace knew what was really happening. Nor did they seem to know who the people were on the Whangerei Star.

Weston decided to wait. He wanted to hear about the confrontation between the Whangerei Star and the French frigate before sending a third transmission to Hawaii. He did not have to wait long. At 05:02 the tone and speed of the French radio operators voice rose several notches. Clearly, there were developments. Weston watched Duke Adams, waiting. Soon, Adams told him that the loudspeaker transmissions said that the Whangerei Star had rammed the La Prairial. There was firing taking place between the two vessels. The alarm in the voice of the French radio operator was palpable.

Weston turned to Wolfowitz. “Send a third message to ComPacFleet." There was a muffled boom coming from the loudspeakers. It acted like a backdrop to the high pitched frantic transmissions from the radio operator on the La Prairial. Adams spoke over the transmissions. “Sir, the La Prairial is saying that the Whangerei Star has blown up and caused damage to the La Prairial.” It was clear that there was more to come. Weston waited. Soon Adams continued, “The La Prairial has been holed and is taking water. The remains of the Whangerei Star has disappeared, er … sunk, Sir.”

Weston nodded at Adams and then turned to Wolfowitz, who was watching him. “Send the message, ‘Re our previous transmission, the French Frigate La Prairial attempted to intercept the Whangerei Star. The Whangerei Star responded by ramming the La Prairial and then, after a brief firefight, blew up, sinking the Whangerei Star and damaging the La Prairial. It would appear that the explosion was deliberately set from the Whangerei Star. The French are not commenting on the crew from the Whangerei Star. I assume that most or all of them died in the explosion. The La Prairial has been holed and is taking water. The extent of this damage is not known at this stage’. Send that top priority.”

As soon as he was sure that Wolfowitz had the transmission under control, he rang through to his duty officer in the control room. “Thomsen, can you get me the specs for the La Prairial.” Thomsen acknowledged the order. Weston waited, sipping his coffee, a small smile on his face. He was getting some minor pleasure from being in the bleachers, watching others conduct their military action. He did not think that the Whangerei Star would have taken these actions, just to be sunk like that. The price was too high for the return that they could expect, let alone what they got. There had to be something else to this action. ’Where and when?’ he wondered.

Spotty Thomsen came into the radio room with the specifications for the La Prairial. Weston acknowledged Thomsen as he laid out the specifications on the tabletop in the room. Weston looked at Duke Adams. “Adams, where has the Whangerei Star rammed the La Prairial?” Adams hesitated for a fraction. “Near the bow, Sir.” Weston knew that these frigates were thin skinned. The collision and explosion could easily have inflicted severe damage on the ship. Weston did not expect it to take long for them to find out. He did not have to wait long. “Sir,” exclaimed Smarty Conway, “La Prairial has requested approval to beach the ship. It is taking water and it has several casualties.”

Suddenly, Duke Adams interrupted. “Sir, La Prairial has requested that a second helicopter take their casualties back to Fangataufa Atoll.” “How many casualties do they have?” “Er, I think three or four, Sir.” Weston turned back towards Seaman Wolfowitz. “Send the following message as top priority to ComPacFleet, ‘Re the attack on the French naval frigate La Prairial by the fishing vessel, Whangerei Star. The Whangerei Star has been sunk and La Prairial is beaching itself as it is taking water. It has about three casualties from this action. The number of French casualties from the shooting down of the helicopter are not known. I estimate that the French will have sustained between six and ten casualties at this stage’.”

Commander Weston was preparing to return to the Control Room, when he saw Conway’s back stiffen. Her head swivelled as she searched frantically for him. “Calm down, Conway,” he directed. Her searchlights locked onto him. Finding him, she felt secure once more. “Sir, Hao have ordered that all of the helicopters return immediately to Hao.” Shock hardened the lines on Weston’s face. It did not make sense. “What is the response from Fangataufa?” he demanded. “Umm, they are transmitting now, Sir,” she responded. Weston could see that she was concentrating. Weston knew that her French was not as good as that of Adams. She looked up at Commander Weston, her colleagues also waiting. “Sir, the French Commander of the Moruroa area on Fangataufa has told Hao that one had been shot down and that they had a war going on. He requested that the order be rescinded.” No sooner had she said this than Weston could see her shoulders hunch over as she concentrated on another transmission. He waited. She finished listening, to tell them, “Sir, Hao have told them that they have a war on themselves and that they need the helicopters immediately.”

’Shit!’ breathed Commander Weston to himself. He had his answer about where and when. The action at Moruroa was understandable to him as a decoy operation if the main attack was to be at Hao. ’But why Hao?’ He wondered. There were only military personnel on Hao. Surely if they wanted to attack military personnel, then attack Moruroa or Tahiti. Either would have much more impact. ’So, what was the target?’ he wondered. ’Besides who were these people that were conducting this attack?’ He realised that Conway was watching him, waiting. He acknowledged her as he turned to Wolfowitz. “Send another top priority to ComPacFleet in Hawaii. Tell them that there has been an attack of some form implemented against the French military forces on Hao Atoll, about 500 km north west of Moruroa. The nature and purpose of this attack are unknown. It would appear that the Whangerei Star action down here may have been a diversionary operation’.” Weston checked that Wolfowitz had the message under control. Let Hawaii find out who had perpetrated this attack, he decided. It was not his task. He left the radio room to go into the Control Room. It was 05:11. “Let me know when there is more action,” he directed at Spotty Thomsen as he left the Control Room to go to his cabin. He wanted to shower and shave for the day ahead. It promised to be busy.

Weston was in the middle of his shower when Spotty Thomsen knocked on his door. “Sir, Honolulu have ordered us to surface. We are to gather the shorter range radio transmissions from the La Prairial and other vessels around Moruroa.” “Fucking hell,” Weston exclaims, “How far are we from Moruroa at the moment?” “About five Kilometres, Sir.” “Too close. Turn due west. I will be up in five. Check for company on the surface.” “Yes Sir,” acknowledged Thomsen as he left to go back to the control room and to check again for surface ships.

Weston hurried his toilet, dressed and came into the Control Room, checking the clock as he did so. 05:21. He went to the periscope: sent it to the surface, and scanned the horizon, looking for surface vessels. Nothing on the surface. “General alarm,” he ordered. The raucous sounds of the general alarm’s klaxon sounded through the vessel. The crew were soon scrambling helter skelter as they made their way to their battle stations. Spotty Thomsen took the microphone to the internal speaker system, “This is not a drill. I repeat; this is not a drill.” Soon the ships Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Jason Caldwell, came into the Command Centre. Spotty Thomsen left to take over his battle station as Weapons Officer. Commander Weston gave his XO a short brief. He then told him why they were going to surface. He also told him that they needed another radio operator to listen in to the French short-range radio transmissions around Muroroa.

Ed Weston supervised the surface sequence for the vessel, whilst Jason Caldwell dealt with the radio transmission issues. He spoke with the Signals Officer, Ensign Carter Black, about setting up the new antennas. Then he dealt with the issue of crew to monitor the multiple radio transmissions. The ship was on full alert as the surface sequence started to take effect. Once on the surface, they went through their normal regime to check for potentially hostile craft in their vicinity. Soon they had verified that there were no aircraft nor surface vessels in their area. They strung out the short range radio antennae from the sail of the boat and started to listen in to the various radio transmissions, all the while maintaining a watch for both aircraft and surface vessels.

Vice Admiral John Cockburn, Commander Pacific Command, US Navy was grumpy. He did not appreciate having to come to work at such an ungodly hour. He hoped that Burns had a good reason.

The Pacific Fleet Duty Officer, Captain Fleet Burns, had rung him at home, on the orders of the Commander Pacific Fleet, Rear Admiral John Poindexter. Burns had received a string of signals from the Los Angeles that he had sent to his immediate boss, Admiral Poindexter. It had not taken Poindexter long to realise that Burns also needed to inform Poindexter’s boss, Admiral Cockburn.

Burns was waiting when Cockburn arrived at his office. Whilst Cockburn got some coffee, Burns briefed him on the signals received from the Los Angeles. Cockburn grudgingly acknowledged to himself that Burns had a good reason. He directed Burns to assemble his key people to the meeting room, off his office, by 5:15am. Some had been a little late. By 05:17 they were congregated in the meeting room. When Burns told him that they were ready, Cockburn strode into the room and told them to sit down. Cockburn waited a few seconds whilst they settled themselves, then he nodded to Captain Burns. Burns acknowledged the order and started his briefing.

“Okay, listen up. This meeting is to deal with a serious situation that has arisen down near Muroroa and Hao Atolls. We have two critical resources in place in relation to the French nuclear tests at Moruroa. The Los Angeles is off Muroroa. Its task is to monitor the short wavelength radio frequencies around Muroroa. Its task is to do this until the completion of the French nuclear test next Monday. These transmissions include those from the French as well as the Greenpeace and the Tahitian fleets that are demonstrating against the French Nuclear test. It has been intercepting short wave and short-range radio communications within the area of Tahiti, Hao and Muroroa. It has been sending us briefings as well as sending the transmissions back here. The Los Angeles has two radio operators that understand French. It is in the best position to assess what is being said in the French transmissions. Transmissions from Greenpeace are in English and from the Tahitian vessels in French. It is not able to keep up with the volume of transmissions that are taking place. The second asset is the 715/1 Strategic Signals Squadron here on Oahu. It is collecting the longer wavelength transmissions as well as accepting the transmissions sent to it by the Los Angeles.” He paused to take a drink.

“From these transmissions we have deduced that a diversionary attack was conducted by a fishing vessel against the French in the vicinity of Muroroa. The attackers on the fishing vessel shot down a helicopter and rammed a French Frigate. Then the fishing vessel blew up, demolishing the fishing vessel and holing the frigate. We believe that the crew of the fishing vessel initiated the explosion. The frigate has now beached itself on Muroroa. The fishing vessel has sunk, presumably with all of its crew. The Los Angeles has assessed that the French have suffered between six and ten casualties in this action near Muroroa. Soon after there was a major attack on Hao from troops landing from one or more vessels. We do not know how many troops are involved in this attack. We believe that there are about 300 French troops on Hao. Most of them will be from administrative units. Most of the fighting troops that are usually on Hao are down in the Moruroa and Fangataufa area, because of the imminent test and the Greenpeace demonstration.

This attack on Hao is proceeding as we speak. We do not know how things are proceeding on Hao. From the radio communications, it would appear that the French are suffering significant casualties. The French are not having it their way in this conflict. Nor do we know who has perpetrated this action. However, this action exhibits very good planning and execution, by a significant force, coordinated over long distances.” Burns stopped, looking at Cockburn. There were a flurry of questions from those in the room.

Cockburn acknowledged Burns whilst he swatted away the questions coming from those in the room. He was not interested in clarifying the details; they did not matter. What he wanted was to get at the main goal of this attack and to find out who were the perpetrators. “What I want to know,” he rumbled forcibly, “is the goal of this attack. We do not know who these attackers are. This is a well-coordinated attack, using significant resources. I do not buy that they just want to embarrass the French military. If they had wanted to do that, then they would have attacked Moruroa or Tahiti. They have done neither. There has to be a larger goal here and I want to know what it is.”

There was quiet in the room. Cockburn’s face and voice showed that this was time to be careful with the boss. Mitch Baker, Deputy Commander, 715th Military Intelligence Battalion, knew that this ball was coming directly for his plate. ’Shit,’ he thought as he prepared to respond. “Sir,” started Baker, “the French take two nuclear devices out to Hao for their tests. They select one to use for the tests and the second is a back-up. I am not sure, Sir, but they may keep the back-up device at Hao and only take one down to Moruroa.”

You could hear the fine snap and tweak of activities in the building; the closing of a door, the turning of a tap or the flush of a toilet as well as the more deeply muted sounds of aircraft traffic at the international airport over three kilometres away. “Fuck!” exclaimed Cockburn in a characteristic explosion of rage. “FUCK!” he exclaimed again, to emphasize the significance of this, if it turned out to be true. Rear Admiral John Poindexter, Commander US Pacific Fleet, blanched. He fished around. Looking at Burns, he could tell that there was no help there. Burns had made his best shot, now he was waiting for orders. He found Baker. More likely, he assessed. He asked Baker, “Have the French confirmed that this second device is on Hao? If so, have they confirmed that it has been taken?" Mitch Baker looked briefly at Fleet Burns before responding back to Admiral Poindexter. “I am not aware of any French transmissions to that effect, Sir.” Poindexter is not finished. “Okay.” Logical, but not very helpful. “Do we know who these attackers are, or who they might be?” as he continued looking at the Intelligence Officer. Baker acknowledged the question. It was obvious that no one yet knew who the attackers were, but he was not about to state the obvious. He fished around for a suitable response, and found one. “Sir, more than a month ago, the CIA had been monitoring a vessel in the Celebes Sea. Then, about three weeks ago, they lost them. We do not know what they were doing there. As I recall from the report, the CIA tail on them suddenly disappeared. The vessel also managed to avoid the satellite surveillance placed on them. I think that they could have gotten out to Hao in time to make this attack.” “Who are these people?” Cockburn roared. Baker shivered as if hit by a lorry. Disconcerted, he struggled to keep his calm. “Sir we do not know that they have made this attack, but it is possible. They belong to the Kansai Revolutionary Army.” “But the KRA has never operated out of Japan before?” objected Poindexter. “I know sir, but they are the only group that I can think of at the moment who have the capacity to conduct this attack.”

A knock on the door deflected the tension building in the room. Cockburn acknowledged the knock. A seaman came through the door with a message, which he gave to Admiral Poindexter, after saluting. Poindexter took the message and read it as the seaman retired. Poindexter blanched again. “Gentlemen it appears that we have one answer. The second nuclear device was on Hao and the terrorists have managed to secure it.” Fleet Burns ducked his head, Cockburn got angrier and Baker dug in. “How the hell did these shit bags get all the way down to Hao without us knowing about them?” Cockburn demanded, looking at his Intelligence Officer. “What happened to this surveillance that you mentioned?” he further probed. Mitch Baker responded. “Sir, I do not know. I remember reading a brief that came in to the effect that those watching the ship had disappeared and the ship seemed to have avoided the satellite surveillance.” “Who are responsible for this surveillance operation?” demanded Cockburn. “That was the CIA, Sir,” responded Mitch Baker, with a smidgin of relief. The shit coming from this was going to go a lot higher up the tree than where he was sitting.

However, Poindexter was not finished. Looking at Baker, he felt that there were more nuggets in this particular ground. “How many troops would have been on this ship in the Celebes Sea?” asked Admiral Poindexter of the Intelligence officer. Mitch Baker swung to face Admiral Poindexter. “I cannot recall the details of the report at the moment, Sir. I think that it could not have had more than 30 troops on board.” Burns shook, suddenly very attentive. Poindexter noticed his Duty Officer, Captain Fleet Burns and then responded. “I think that there must be more than just 30 troops involved in this action,” Poindexter commented. Burns glanced at his boss with an acknowledgement. “Sir, I agree with you,” exclaimed Mitch Baker. “So, there is likely to be more than one vessel involved in the attack,” exclaimed Admiral Cockburn.

Admiral Poindexter nodded, looking at the Military Intelligence Officer. “Major, where are they likely to take this device?” Mitch Baker had no idea. “Sir, the Kansai Revolutionary Army has never conducted operations outside of Japan before now.” Cockburn interrupted. “But you just said that they had a vessel in the Celebes Sea. That is a long way from Japan.” Baker rattled like a loose window in a thunderstorm. He prevaricated and looked around as if seeking inspiration. “Sir, that is true, but this is the first action that they have taken outside of Japan, as far as we know.” Cockburn just looked at him. Poindexter realised that further rattling of Baker would be counterproductive. “So, you think that Japan is the most likely target?” Rear Admiral Poindexter asked. Mitch Baker turned to face this new question. “Sir, from their history it is the most likely place that they would want to send it. However, we have seen that recently they seem to have changed their modus operandi. I think that we need to consider other alternatives, Sir.” Poindexter turned towards Cockburn. “I would agree, Major.”

Poindexter knew that he had mined what gold he could from Baker. There was only one other place to look. He turned to face Fleet Burns. “Captain, what other places could they plan to send this device to, in your opinion?” Burns nodded. He had seen a question coming. He had also seen Baker trapped. He did not intend to suffer the same fate. They needed time. “Sir, I suggest that that question requires careful consideration. If their aim is to send this device into a large metropolitan area, then we need to consider larger cities. I do not know the killing zone for these French devices, and that will affect our assessment. However, I would think that Japan, Hawaii and the west coast of the USA contain the most likely targets. We have time to make this assessment, Sir.” Cockburn, listening to this exchange, made a face. ’Maybe,’ he thought as he turned to face Rear Admiral Poindexter. “John, our naval aerial resources are far too far away to deal with this threat. We need to get a carrier task force out into the Pacific. It needs to both block the way to Japan, and to be on hand if these terrorists have other targets in mind.” Poindexter nodded, “I agree, Sir.” Cockburn continued. “This will mainly be a naval operation. Can your people consider the most likely targets? Get back to me as soon as possible, so that we can decide where to position this carrier group.” Poindexter nodded. “Sir, I will warn the Seventh fleet to be ready to send a carrier task force of two carriers and their supporting vessels to sea at short notice. Captain Burns, I want you to assess the targets for this device and report back to me within six hours.” Burns, relieved, acknowledged the order.

Vice Admiral Cockburn could tell that he could not get more from those in the room. He closed the meeting. He looked at his immediate junior, “John, can you wait behind as there are several things that we need to discuss?” Rear Admiral Poindexter nodded. Whilst the various attendees at the meeting were filing out of the meeting room, Cockburn and Poindexter went to Cockburn’s office. Cockburn rang for some coffee. He indicated a seat to Poindexter as they both sat down. “John,” Cockburn started, “this is going to wet a few pants in Washington.” Cockburn paused to consider the time in Washington. Just before lunch. “I need to let Admiral Clendening know about this. At the moment, Leadbeater is not in Washington. Clendening can arrange for him to be told about these developments. This will go right to the top. I want us to be prepared for any eventuality that we can reasonably expect to come our way.” He paused to take a sip of coffee, and to think. “What are going to be our problems in finding these vessels?”

Poindexter had been waiting for that question. “One of the real problems that we are going to meet is the sheer size of the Pacific Ocean. We do not have aircraft anywhere near capable of getting down to the South Pacific in one hop. I think that we are going to need satellite surveillance, Sir.” Cockburn nodded. “I can see that. I can also see that we have a problem as to where to send this Carrier Task Force, because of the same issue.” Cockburn thought for a moment as Poindexter responded. “Sir, we do have some time. It will take those vessels ten days to two weeks to get to within the vicinity of Japan, even at full speed.” Cockburn looked at him. Poindexter was smart enough, but sometimes he was just a little smooth for Cockburn’s liking. “Once the media get to this, we are not going to have five days, let alone two weeks. There is going to be all sorts of speculation in the media as to where this device is going. And that is going to get translated into demands for solutions, yesterday.” Poindexter nodded. He knew when to be careful with Cockburn.

Cockburn decided that he could not achieve any more here. His next action needed to be to contact Washington. He heaved himself off the chair to go to his desk, with the comment, “I need to go tell the Navy Chief the good news.” Poindexter nodded. He knew dismissal. He finished his coffee, stood and thanked Cockburn for the coffee before saluting and leaving the office.

That morning the US Secretary of Defence, Caspar Leadbeater, was in a meeting at Newport Mews Naval Station. The subject of the meeting was the continued US Navy support for the Northrop Grumman nuclear facilities at the Naval Station. At 11:25 (06:25 in Honolulu), Leadbeater’s Chief of Staff came into the room and tiptoed up to his side. He gave Leadbeater a written message from the Chief of the Naval Staff, at the Pentagon, Admiral Clendening. Caspar read the message and then glanced hard at his aide. “Are you sure?” He demanded. “Admiral Clendening is taking this very seriously, Sir.” Leadbeater nodded. He could understand that.

The exchange had interrupted the presentation by a member of the Northrop Grumman staff on their activities at the shipyard. Leadbeater stood up, and started to leave for the door, looking at the presenter, “Give me five minutes,” he stated. He immediately disappeared out into the corridor with his Chief of Staff. He left a befuddled presenter without the main object of his presentation.

Leadbeater looked at his aide. “Find out when I can get to see the President today. Backtrack from that as to when I need to leave here. Tell Clendening that I need to be briefed as we fly from here to Washington.” “Yes Sir. What about the Joint Chiefs?” “Yes, get Clendening to brief the Joint Chiefs. Look, I also need to let Eisenstein know. Get him on the line for me and let me know in the meeting.” “Yes Sir, they have also requested satellite surveillance,” confirmed the aide. Leadbeater acknowledged the comment. “I suppose that is reasonable,” he responded. “I will need to go to Reagan about that.” His aide nodded and Leadbeater returned to the meeting. As he entered the room, he apologised for the interruption to the partially recovered presenter. The presenter gathered his wits and commenced to resume his presentation.

Within five minutes, Leadbeater’s Chief of Staff had the US Secretary of State, Henry Eisenstein, on the line. He went into the meeting for the second time and informed Leadbeater that Henry Eisenstein was on the line. Leadbeater stood up, apologised to the presenter and went into the adjacent room to speak with Henry Eisenstein.

“Henry.” “Yes? Hullo Cap, you must have something urgent to say to be interrupting your meeting with the Grumman people. They will not like that.” Leadbeater laughed, “No. Look Henry, I have just been informed that a serious situation has arisen out in the South Pacific. My people have informed me that we have intercepted French radio transmissions that indicate that there has been some sort of diversionary attack on French naval units near Moruroa, acting as a feint to cover the main attack by terrorists against the French Military Base on Hao Atoll, about 500Km north east of Hao. These terrorists have now taken the backup nuclear device that was on Hao Atoll.” “Oh Jesus!” exclaims Eisenstein. Leadbeater waited for the shock to subside a little. “Can you ring the President’s office and arrange a briefing for him? It is easier to do in Washington than for me to do it here.”

Eisenstein shook himself. “Yes, of course. When will you be ready?” “In about two hours.” “Okay, I will get back to you. Do we know how much damage can be done by these French nuclear devices?” “No, Henry, we do not know that. The CIA should know.” “Who has done this?” “Henry, we do not know at this stage,” protested Leadbeater with some frustration. Eisenstein took the point and rang off. Caspar Leadbeater looked at his Chief of Staff and another aide that had joined him. He looked at the second aide. “Brent, can you arrange for us to leave here immediately.” He turned to his Chief of Staff. “Jock, can you go into the meeting and tell them that I have been called back to Washington. We will be at the helicopter.” “It is better that you do that, Sir,” suggested Jock Mendelssohn. Caspar nodded his head in disagreement as he headed out towards the helicopter. “No, you do it.” Meanwhile Brent Absalom had rung the helicopter to warn it for their immediate return to Washington. It was already starting as they approached. As soon as the second aide caught up with them and the pilot had completed his pre-flight checks, they left for Washington, about a 45-minute flight. During this flight, he arranged a meeting with the Joint Chiefs, for 12:30 and for the Director of the CIA to come to that meeting. Admiral Clendening then briefed him on the situation out in the Pacific.