At thirty-five, Busby had been in the Navy long enough to know that
admirals were not the most patient bosses. While Admiral Magruder had a good
reputation for fairness, it wasn’t likely that he was going to appreciate what
Busby had to tell him.
Which was absolutely nothing.
Busby sighed and ran his hands over his head. His hair was trimmed
Marine-close to his head, his skull clearly visible through the pale blond
fringe. For a moment, he considered shaving his head completely. Blond hair,
blue eyes, and pale skin detracted from his personal idea of how an
intelligence officer should look as a steely-eyed professional in daily
contact with secret spies and highly classified information. And his
nickname, given to him at his first squadron as an ensign and boot air
intelligence officer, didn’t help either.
Who wanted to get a prelaunch briefing from an officer nicknamed “Lab
Rat”?
Well, after he talked to Admiral Magruder, he might not have to worry
about his haircut. The Admiral was likely to rip off his head, along with
several other sensitive body parts. He sighed again and stared at the yellow
legal pad. The information he could give the Admiral was remarkable only in
its lack of usefulness.
Item: The Chinese, along with five other nations, claimed ownership of
the Spratly Islands. The Spratly Islands were barely worthy of the title
“island,” since most of them were almost completely submerged, bare tips of
rocks poking mere feet above the surface of the South China Sea.
Item: The ocean bed surrounding the Spratly Islands was one of the
richest remaining oil fields in the world.
Item: Yesterday, one of the islands disappeared, along with the tank that
had been perched precariously on it. Tomcat 205 and other battle group
sensors had detected a massive explosion in the area.
Item: All of the Chinese submarines were accounted for, at least
according to the satellites.
Item: The Chinese, although world-famous for the dangerous Silkworm
sea-skimmer, were not known to possess a long-range cruise missile similar to
the U.S. Tomahawk.
Busby studied the list for a moment and then doodled a question mark next
to the last two items. He was long on questions, short on answers. For an
intelligence officer, it was damned irritating.
1215 local (Zulu +12)
Operations Center Commander, Seventh Fleet
Honolulu, Hawaii
“So Tombstone’s on the front line again,” Vice Admiral Thomas Magruder
said. As Commander Seventh Fleet, he had operational command of every Navy
asset west of the international date line. Right now, that included his
nephew’s battle group. “I should have known getting promoted to Rear Admiral
wouldn’t change his luck. When did this happen?”
“Thirty minutes ago, sir. The battle group sent the on-scene Tomcat back
to take a look at the area, and then launched some S-3B’s to get a closer
look. The helos followed them in after the Tomcats tanked,” the watch officer
replied.
“And you mean to tell me that we don’t know what caused it? With a full
battle group in the area, as well as satellite coverage? What about nuclear
data? Any indication that it was something besides a conventional war shot?”
the admiral asked.
“KH-11 was down, sir, but other sensors indicate that there was no
nuclear involvement. It seemed like a good time for routine maintenance,
according to the SpaceCom watch officer I spoke with. With a battle group in
the area, and no hostilities imminent …” the watch officer let his voice
trail off.
Space Command in Colorado controlled all “national assets,” the highly
classified network of satellites, sensors, and other sources of information
that were deemed too important to national security to be under the
jurisdiction of any single service. While they were generally responsive to
requests for information and observation scheduling, it was not unusual for
them to take satellites down for maintenance without warning. Absent a
request for special coverage, the electronic security whizzes in the secret
“black” programs there felt it was better to avoid the risk of letting anyone
know when the satellites weren’t looking. That had been decided in
coordination with the Air Force in a series of budget battles.
The Air Force, the most junior of all the military services, coveted all