Authors: Patrick Robinson
“And yet,” said the Ayatollah, smiling, “we seemed to rate less of your consideration than all of the others.”
“Most certainly not,” protested the Admiral. “But we could treat the others as businessmen. You we had to treat as brothers.”
“And you decided to become your brother’s keeper?” asked the Ayatollah, still smiling.
“What more could you expect from your greatest friends?” replied Pheng.
Both Zhang Yushu and Ravi Rashood smiled wryly at the dazzling skill and brevity of the exchange.
“Which brings us back to a poignant question,” countered the Ayatollah. “Are you still our greatest friends?” And this time, his face was passive, devoid of even the thinnest of smiles.
“Of course,” replied the Admiral. “Nothing less. We honor you and trust you.”
“Then you will surely wish to convey those thoughts to us in a way that would earn our own gratitude and thanks.”
“Most certainly…but…”
“I am afraid, but nothing. When we leave this room at the conclusion of these discussions, we expect to be bidding a temporary farewell to our blood brothers, friends, and sales agents. In so doing, you will have bought the continued devotion of the most powerful nation in the Middle East. And I would most respectfully remind you, your partners in so many great future ventures.”
“Yes, of course, we do see that,” said the Chinese government’s Political Commissar, turning once again to Admiral Zhang, looking for help.
Zhang obliged. “I am afraid,” he said, “the bonds that hold us together are much stronger than the issues that occasionally separate us. I accept in principal your request to have us purchase two Russian submarines on your behalf, because that in itself is not unreasonable among friends.
“However, I must also speak to you as a former CO of a Luda Class guided-missile destroyer. By that I mean a professional Naval Officer. And I have several questions that I shall ask in no particular order.” And now Zhang read from the pages of a small notebook:
And, finally, we require an answer to this sixth question—what precisely do you want the submarine for?
The Ayatollah gave way to Admiral Mohammed Badr, who stood formally and spoke without notes.
“Admiral,” he said, “as I explained earlier, the two ships we wish to acquire are the two
Barracudas,
the
Type 945s.
And the first operational one will come under the command of my son, Commander Ben Badr, who I trust you will remember.
“He studied right here in Qingdao at your Submarine Academy four years ago, and like the rest of his class, took his final diploma in Nuclear Propulsion. His six-month work experience program took place in Shanghai the following year, and I hope you remember it was almost entirely in your Han Class Type 091 nuclear boats. Ben worked in Hull 405, right after her refit.”
“He’ll find that
Barracuda
a sight more difficult than Han 405,” replied Zhang. “She’s a lot faster, a lot bigger, and a lot more complicated.”
“The principles, however, remain the same,” replied Admiral Badr. “And there were four other young Iranian officers taking the same courses in Qingdao as Ben. Two of them are Commanding Officers in our Kilo Class program and the other two command surface ships. Indeed, in the past month we have sent eight Lieutenant Commanders to study advanced nuclear physics at the University of Tehran. We are not complete novices in nuclear ships.”
“No, I understand that. You do have the basis of an SSN crew, and, of course, the majority of the sub’s company can operate an SSN on much the same lines as they operate a diesel-electric boat. The systems are, after all, Russian.”
“Precisely so,” replied the Iranian. “Nonetheless, we shall require training, and I am hoping the Russians will agree to undertake this under the usual terms. Perhaps you could send a group of Chinese personnel, accompanied by a dozen of our own people, and they could join the crew making the delivery along the northern route.”
“You are assuming much, Admiral,” said Zhang.
“I am really assuming only one thing,” said Admiral Badr. “That when you threaten to open that vast checkbook of yours, the greedy, half-starved Russian Bear will very nearly bite your hand off.”
Everyone laughed. Mohammed Badr continued, “It will take perhaps six or eight months. But I am confident we can put together a competent crew to run a
Barracuda
submarine.”
“Perhaps,” said Zhang. “But question six remains. And for us, it’s a deal breaker. We have to know, in the strictest confidence, of course, precisely what you intend.”
“That is simple. We intend to take out the new American oil pipeline that runs from Alaska down the West Coast, and that will in the coming months provide all of America’s electric power from Washington State south all the way to the Mexican border.”
“You do?” said Admiral Zhang, smiling but plainly incredulous. “And do you expect to be blamed for this?”
“Certainly not, if we can mount our attacks in silence, from deep water, using both missiles and torpedoes.”
“And your basic objective?”
“In the long term, to continue with a steady stream of attacks on U.S. institutions and businesses. Always stretching them, making them defend themselves, until they decide their global position is untenable, and retreat into a new policy of isolationism, probably in partnership with Canada and Central and South America. But gone from the Middle East.”
“You are moving into waters that we would deem very dangerous,” interjected Pheng. “Very slowly we are picking up large contracts for Middle East oil, and we are already seeing the United States in retreat from the Gulf. Why attack their oil interests in Alaska?”
“Because America will always be America,” replied Admiral Badr. “She will be stung by any attack on her pipelines. And she will raise heaven and hell to repair and protect. This White House wants the United States to be self-sufficient in oil. And when she finally recovers from the blows we inflict against her, she will consolidate her interests around Alaska, moving in a very heavy Navy presence to defend her interests.
“It’s just one more step in our strategy to stretch her forces out, until the United States becomes just a passive oil-trading customer of both yours and ours. Not some sort of Goliath trying to rule the Middle East as well as everywhere else.”
“You intend to cause the United States to abandon its global role because she will no longer consider it worthwhile?”
“We intend to remove the United States from the Middle and Far East with a policy of exasperating our enemy to death. And that way lies the construction of a great world-dominating Sino-Iranian trading partnership, and, very possibly, a giant Islamic State stretching the length of North Africa, in the image of the Prophet’s own magnificent vision.”
Zhang looked pensive. He nodded, sagely, and suggested a ninety-minute break, since it was almost midday, in order that both sides may consider the ramifications of the discussions so far. The Ayatollahs agreed and the Iranian contingent prepared to leave the sprawling Northern Fleet Base and return to the hotel, driving through the pleasant streets of the oceanfront resort that had once been a Colonial outpost of the German Reich, back at the turn of the nineteenth century.
The town of Qingdao still bore the remnants of its Colonial past. Indeed, parts of it looked like a small Gothic town in Bavaria, dotted with houses set beneath steep sloping roofs made of bright red tiles with half-timbered facades. Tall towers of Protestant and Catholic churches led up to the former Governor’s mansion, which looked precisely like a Prussian hunting lodge, set at the top of the old Bismarck Hill.
The Iranian negotiating party drove along the former Kaiser Wilhelm Ufer, and once back at the Huiquan Dynasty, Admiral Badr and General Rashood sat out on the terrace in the hot sun while the Ayatollahs prayed. They drank large cool glasses of beer, still made locally in the Germania Brewery under the city’s old name of Tsingtao, and exported all over the world.
“What do you think, Mohammed? Have we got ’em?” Ravi’s words betrayed no anxiety, but he was very focused.
“Absolutely,” replied the Admiral. “There’s no doubt Zhang will act as our agent in the purchase of the
Barracudas.
But I’m sure he’s going to ask for a five percent commission. Like $30 million if they cost $600 million. I think the rest falls into place for them very well. Any disruption in the U.S. fuel economy will please them, especially as they will suddenly, for the first time, find themselves
important, supply-side traders with the United States. They will love that. Equality with the Great Power, and all that. Their oil contracts in the Gulf will suddenly look very good indeed.”
“Yes, I agree,” said Ravi. “The operation plainly has a lot of appeal to them. I suppose their worry is that the
Barracuda
will somehow get caught, perhaps even before she has made her silent attack. And the Chinese will not want the ship to be apprehended with crew from the People’s Liberation Army on board.”
“No. They certainly will not. But our ace is the fact that we will insure the
Barracuda
never sails into a Chinese port.” The Vice Admiral had another deep draft of beer, and then added, “If there is a stumbling block here it will rest on the reply of the Chinese to the Russians, if the Americans start to blame Moscow?”
“I’ll brief them on that,” said Ravi. “And it’s very simple. They will admit nothing. They will operate under the guise of mass confusion, hold Naval inquiries, find out why the submarine never came to Shanghai, swear to God the Russians have done nothing wrong, express total bewilderment at the problems on America’s West Coast. Deny all knowledge. Offer help. Smile like hell. And look concerned at the misfortune that has befallen their great friends across the Pacific.”
Mohammed Badr chuckled. “The Chinese will also hope the
Barracuda
is never caught, eh?”
“It won’t be. That SSN can turn away from the eastern Pacific, and run nonstop without fueling through deep water all the way to the Indian Ocean, the Antarctic, the South Atlantic. Anywhere it wishes. There is, as we both know, nothing quite so elusive as a smooth-running nuclear submarine.”
They ate a light lunch overlooking the giant cul-de-sac of the Yellow Sea. Just slippery sea cucumber, prawns, and scallops, all local specialties from one of China’s oldest fishing ports, situated for centuries on this remote coastline more than three hundred miles due north of Shanghai, 340 miles southeast of Beijing.
They reconvened shortly before two o’clock. Vice Admiral Zhang brought with him his oldest friend, Admiral Zu Jicai, the wise and wily Commander of the Southern Fleet, plus a Deputy Commander-in-Chief (Northern), Vice Admiral Zhi-Heng Tan,
and the Northern Fleet Commander, Vice Admiral Zhu Kashing.
They sat in a tight group at the head of the table, and Zhang opened the proceedings on an extremely optimistic note.
“I think, gentlemen, you may assume that the Navy of China will make every attempt to purchase your two
Barracuda
submarines for you. However, I am sure you will understand this will entail a certain amount of time and almost certainly several journeys to northern Russia. It is essential that we act as if the submarines were to be for ourselves, and I thus conclude that a small remuneration in the form of a commission would be in order, say, ten percent of the cost.”
Vice Admiral Badr interjected immediately, saying, “We had factored that in, Admiral, but we would not like to lose sight of the fact that this little venture is a very small favor returned to us in light of the, er, misunderstandings over the C-802 missile. I conclude, therefore, that five percent would be a more agreeable commission.”
Zhang turned and whispered to Admiral Zu, who was sitting, as always, at the right of the Great Man. They both smiled, having known full well from the start that the commission would be five percent. And Zhang beamed at the meeting, secure in having just earned $30 million for the Chinese Navy, and said, “Well, we would not, of course, undertake this for anything less than ten percent, at least not for anyone else. But you, ah, that is very different. You are our brothers, and five percent is the correct number between us.”
He rose to shake hands on the deal with the Ayatollahs, and with Admiral Badr, and with the somewhat mysterious General Rashood. There was much bowing from the Chinese, and much hugging shoulder to shoulder from the Muslims. The deal was cemented with declarations of love and affection. And trust.
The discussions were not, however, completed. And the conversation swerved toward the departure of the first
Barracuda
on its mission to Alaska.