Kilo Class by Patrick Robinson Page A

merely to brief Scott Dunsmore on the President’s state of mind regarding the China problem. There were no surprises. Admiral Dunsmore had guessed anyway. Admiral Morgan’s briefing of Admiral Mulligan and possibly another privately invited guest would be a meeting of considerably greater detail. By nightfall Scott Dunsmore expected a clear resolution to have been made. It looked like they were heading for a nonattributable “black” operation. The less people knew about it the better.
    Outside the CNO’s office, a young flag lieutenant informed Admiral Morgan that Admiral Mulligan would be about ten minutes late. He had cleared the Navy yards in a chopper a short while ago and was on his way here. “I’ve just spoken to him, sir. He said to go right in, and he’ll be as quick as he can.”
    Arnold Morgan walked into the outer section of the CNO’s quarters and saw a uniformed Naval officer waiting, reading the
Washington Post
. Directly above his line of medals he wore a small submarine insignia on which were set twin dolphins, the fabled attendants of the sea god, Poseidon. Admiral Morgan glanced immediately at the three golden stripes with the single star on the sleeve, offered his hand in greeting and said, “Morning, Commander. Arnold Morgan.”
    The big man in the armchair stood immediately, shook hands, and said, “Good morning, sir. Cale Dunning,
Columbia
.”
    Admiral Morgan smiled. “Ah yes, Boomer Dunning, of course. I’m delighted to meet you. You probably know, I used to drive one of those things.”
    “Yes, Admiral. I did know. You were commanding one of ’em when I first left Annapolis back in 1982.
Baltimore
, wasn’t it?”
    “Correct. She was brand-new then. Not so refined as your ship, but she was a damned good boat. There’s a lot of days when I wouldn’t mind commanding one again. They were great years for me. Make the most of yours, Boomer. There’s nothing quite like it you know, and you can never get ’em back, once they decide to move you onward and upward.”
    The two submariners sat down in opposite armchairs, each one uncertain about bringing up the subject they were both here to discuss. Admiral Morgan had requested the meeting and would essentially take charge of it. He had also suggested that Admiral Mulligan invite Commander Dunning. The two men had never met.
    Now Morgan elected not to broach the topic of the Chinese submarines until the CNO arrived. He glanced at the open pages of the
Post
and asked Commander Dunning if there were any unusually hideous distortions in the paper.
    “Not that I’ve hit on so far, sir,” said Boomer, grinning. “Matter of fact I’ve been reading a long article in here about that Woods Hole research ship that vanished last year. I’ve read some stuff about it before by the same guy — Frederick J. Goodwin. Seems to know a lot about it.”
    “That’d make a change for a newspaper reporter,” growled the Admiral. “Normally they know just about enough to be a goddamned nuisance.”
    Boomer chuckled. “Well, sir, he’s been down to that French island where the ship disappeared. Found the first bit of wreckage, a hunk from a bright red styrene life buoy. Had the letters
C-U-T
on it. He’s checked back at the base.
Cuttyhunk
was equipped with life buoys that seem to fit that description.”
    “I guess that more or less proves she went to the bottom, eh?”
    “This guy thinks not. He’s saying that if she went down, there would have been wreckage all over the place. And since the Navy sent a frigate in to search they
must
have found
something
. It was just a few days after the incident.”
    “That was kind of unusual. Our frigate was down there sniffing around for three months. Still found zilch. What does he say about the attack that was mentioned in the final message?”
    “That’s really his whole point, Admiral. He reckons they were attacked, and that a crew member made a desperate last-ditch attempt to alert the outside