Excerpt from 'Tempest of Fire'

From Chapter Two; National Security Advisor Willis Avery briefs his British counterpart on a new threat in the Pacific


Avery had opened the folder and pulled out a photograph. “We knew we had something when MI: 6 contacted our intelligence services.” He was referring to Her Majesty’s Secret Service, the branch focused on foreign threats. “Especially when we discovered the location of what you’d found." He studied the photo in his hand. “Is this your asset in the Pacific?”

Aultman craned his neck and got a glimpse of the black and white glossy.

Weston nodded. “She’s the HMS Bradford, an Astute class attack boat. Presently on station off the coast of southern China.” Another grin. “Well off the coast, in international waters,” he was quick to add.

“Nice place to be this time of year,” Avery noted.

“Yes, quite,” the Major replied. “She’s been nosing about there for the past three weeks.”

“And we appreciate it,” Avery said. What the Major didn’t know was that the Bradford had sailed to the Pacific at the request of the U.S. Navy—America had intentionally kept her vessels out of the area, hoping the absence of U.S. ships might cause the Chinese military to act a little more freely—and possibly reveal their hand. “Turn up anything interesting?”

Weston leaned forward slightly. “Six days ago the Bradford’s sonar acquired an unusual submerged contact.”

“Submarine?”

The Major nodded. “A very evasive one, too, it would seem. Our boat tracked her for some time. They lost contact with it only yesterday.”

Avery pursed his lips, deep in thought. The Mercedes turned right onto Regent Street, and Piccadilly Circus lay just ahead. “Any idea whose sub it was?” he finally asked.

“Her Majesty’s ships are all accounted for,” the Major answered, and then a sly grin spread across his face. “And we’re reasonably sure where you chaps have yours. That narrows it down a bit.”

“Leaving who?”

“The Bradford’s skipper believes she’s an old Soviet Oscar class boat,” Weston continued. “But we don’t think she’s flying the Russian flag.”

“Then whose sub is it?” Avery asked. Aultman had an odd feeling his boss already knew the answer to that question.

“At first we weren’t sure,” Weston replied. “Years ago, the Russians sold a number of Oscars. Some of their clients were less than reputable—Iran, Iraq. And China.” Weston enunciated the last nation slowly and deliberately. “And now you mention that you have your own suspicions regarding the People’s Republic.”

“Yes.” Avery said simply. “We keep coming back to our friends in the East, don’t we?”

The operation tasked with keeping up with the submarines of hostile nations was code-named SHELL GAME. Since the end of the Cold War, it had given a great deal of job security to the American intelligence community.

The Major moved on. “In any case, British security services got involved, and this morning—” he reached into the leather satchel, producing two more photos, “—they gave us this to chew on.”

Avery looked them over and grunted in satisfaction. “Satellite imagery,” he muttered aloud. Squinting at the pictures, he studied every detail. The high resolution photos pinpointed an area that looked familiar, but Avery couldn’t quite place it. “Where is this?”

Weston leaned in again, tracing a finger down the middle of one of the shots. “This is the Chinese coastline. These—” he pointed to three specks of land, about one hundred kilometers due south, “—are the islands of Huo Shan.”

“What’s so special about them?” Aultman asked.

“Next photo,” Weston answered. “A much closer shot.”

Avery shifted his focus to the second image. “Appears to be some construction on the southern tip of the largest island,” he said. “Right on the water; probably a small naval facility. A helipad, fuel depot here on the left, and this—”

“A pier, nestled in that small inlet,” Weston finished for him. “Enclosed, at that.”

Smiling now, Avery looked up. “That’s a submarine pen.”

The Major nodded. “Our assessment as well,” he said.

Aultman was catching on. “You think the mystery sub is based there? Does it belong to the Chinese Navy?”

Weston frowned. “That’s a bit tricky. Huo Shan is supposed to be uninhabited. China has laid claim to the islands, but for some reason they’ve been ignored by Beijing. And if the Chinese are operating an Oscar in these waters, why base the submarine there, when they have numerous ports along their coastline?” He shook his head. “And if that wasn’t enough, there’s another mystery; her acoustic signature reads like a diesel boat.”

“I thought Oscars were nuclear powered.”

“Quite right. We don’t know if the sub belongs to China or not, but given our current intelligence, that is the most likely conclusion. The Bradford tracked the boat for days, and she never strayed far from this island chain.” He leaned back in his seat. “When they lost contact, that’s where the sub was headed.”

“What about the possibility it’s an Iranian boat?” Avery asked. “Or maybe someone else’s?”

“Iran has two Oscars at present.” The Major replied. “Both are in the Persian Gulf. Syria has one, somewhere in the Indian Ocean. And we know where all of Russia’s submarines are.”

Avery sighed at the mention of those three countries. Each had been a thorn in his side over the past few years, with Iran and Russia drawing most of his ire. He was about to editorialize when Aultman chimed in.

“What if it’s something else?” Richard asked slowly. “Suppose this boat doesn’t belong to the Chinese Navy at all, but a faction of their military that’s under the radar. Maybe some ultra-nationalist group.” He reached across and took one of the photos. “This naval base suddenly appears on an uninhabited island; the very nature of it seems secretive. It’s possible the Chinese high command doesn’t even know it’s there.”

Weston was thoughtful. “Those islands are well outside of their normal patrol routes; if someone wanted to hide their activities, Huo Shan would be the perfect place.” Another thought came to mind, but he kept it to himself. “Rather puts us back at square one, doesn’t it?”

The three men were quiet for a moment as the cars passed Trafalgar Square, then crossed the river Thames. Finally Weston broke the silence.

“What piqued your interest in Chinese naval activity? You mentioned earlier that something was afoot there; could you elaborate?”

Avery looked up and nodded. “You’ve been more than forthcoming, Major. I guess it’s time we returned the favor.” He looked out on the city. The Tower of London appeared in the distance as the traffic began to slow their pace.

“Six months ago, our underwater listening nets in the Philippines picked up something we’ve never seen—or heard—before.” There was still quite a bit he hadn’t told Weston. “As a result, we’ve stepped up the alert status of our fleet around the world. Our consulates and embassies are keeping their eyes open, too. Additionally, we’ve deployed the Victory to Pearl Harbor, along with her control ship.”

Weston’s eyes widened. The Victory was America’s newest class of warship, an unmanned, frigate-sized vessel armed to the teeth with cruise missiles and controlled remotely by another ship from miles away. She was designated as an arsenal ship; an upgrade to the battle wagons the U.S. Navy currently had sailing the world’s oceans. Sending the Victory to the Pacific—and possibly farther—meant two things to Weston. The first was that the United States intended to send Beijing a message. The second—combat action against the Chinese was unthinkable. Clearly tensions in the region must have escalated for the Americans to consider such a move.

“Do you think she might actually be needed there?” the Major asked.

Avery reached into his briefcase and produced several photos of his own, then handed them over to the British officer. The Major studied them before offering a comment.

“Debris field? Where were these taken?”

“South China Sea, in about eight hundred feet of water.” Avery answered. “We believe that’s what’s left of China’s most advanced submarine.”

Weston’s frown returned. “Accident?”

“Not according to the experts.”

“Then what?”

Avery sat back in his seat, and for the first time in the conversation, he had no answer. The silence that followed left Weston chilled.