Empire Rising (23 page)

Opening his satchel, Daniel retrieved one of the iPods and placed it against the metal access plate where grease was periodically pumped into the upper hinge. The magnet on the back of the iPod adhered to the metallic frame. After a few taps and swirls of the iPod's click wheel, the timer was set for ten minutes. Another tap and the timer began counting down. Daniel hurried to the adjacent tunnel, running parallel to this one, where he affixed the second iPod in a similar location for West Gate 3. Checking his watch, Daniel set the iPod timer to seven minutes, synchronizing both iPod countdowns.

Five minutes later, Daniel was in his office, standing at the window overlooking the Miraflores Locks, counting down the remaining two minutes. Container ships had just exited both of the upper locks, and their water level was twenty-seven feet higher than the locks below. Just as he checked his watch again, the floor of his office rumbled and windows rattled. He looked up to see half of East Gate 3 shear away from its upper hinge. The massive gate tilted back toward the lower lock, ripping away from its bottom hinge. Twenty-six million gallons of water in the upper lock, no longer held in place, surged into the lower lock, spilling over the lower gates into the Pacific Ocean. Seconds later, Daniel felt another rumble, and half of West Gate 3 also sheared away.

The Panama Canal was now impassable.

 

34

ISMAILIA, EGYPT

Caleb Malcom knelt in the darkness, his knees sinking into the soft sand at the base of the escarpment, sloping thirty feet up toward the clear night sky. His knees sank farther than they would normally have, for tonight he carried an extra sixty pounds slung across his left shoulder and in the black rucksack strapped to his back. The two men accompanying him, one on each side, also knelt low to the ground, their features illuminated by bright white security lights located just over the top of the embankment. Each of the two men, also clad in black, carried a matching rucksack and identical weapon slung across their shoulder.

There was no cloud cover tonight and the temperature had plummeted. Malcom's breath condensed into fine white mist as he exhaled, recovering from his sprint across the flat expanse of sand between the security fence and the base of the escarpment. The security patrol had passed by only three minutes ago, so they had seventeen minutes to accomplish their task and retreat through the hole they had cut in the fence. Their vehicle was just over the ridge, and they'd be long gone before the security forces arrived. Malcom glanced at each man beside him, ordering both men to begin their ascent in ten seconds.

After ten years in the military in one of the Army's elite units, Malcom had been hired by Bluestone Security, spending six years protecting supplies en route to forward bases. However, after America withdrew from Iraq, his employment had been terminated due to lack of contracts, and with no job came no money. After becoming accustomed to a $200,000 annual salary, it wasn't long before Malcom racked up serious debt and was willing to entertain more creative methods of employment.

Chris Stevenson had approached Malcom two weeks ago, offering a lucrative deal. Malcom considered declining, but only for a moment. Someone would take the job, and it might as well be him. It would be easy to accomplish the mission; he knew men who would assist, had access to the required weapons, and knew contacts in the region who could perform reconnaissance. The decision was easy.

It was difficult tonight, however, climbing the steep embankment. Malcom's feet slipped in the loose sand, but less than a minute later, all three men crested the top of the escarpment. Stretching into the distance in both directions lay the 120-mile-long Suez Canal, and directly in front of Malcom transited the
Aegean Empress
, a 200,000-ton oil tanker passing from the Red Sea into the Mediterranean. A half-mile in front of the
Empress
was another tanker, and behind, a third. He had timed it perfectly.

Malcom slipped the RPG-29 from his shoulder and shrugged off his rucksack, as did the two men beside him. It took only five seconds to load the anti-tank round, another five to stand and hoist the launcher into position, and another five to take aim on the
Aegean Empress
. After a quick glance at the two men beside him, Malcom shouted his order. All three men fired simultaneously, their projectiles streaking through the darkness.

The anti-tank round sliced through the
Aegean Empress
's hull just above the waterline, igniting the ship's oil tanks in a jarring explosion. A fireball billowed hundreds of feet skyward, illuminating the three men atop the escarpment in a burst of orange light. Two rumbles in the distance followed, accompanied by similar pulses of light.

There was no time to be wasted. Security forces would be converging on their location within minutes. Malcom slung the RPG over his shoulder but then paused, staring dispassionately at the oil tankers burning brightly in the darkness. He found it odd, but he felt no adrenaline rush from his destructive endeavor. The thought of what awaited him in his bank account, however, was quite exciting. Reaching down, he grabbed his rucksack and slung it over his other shoulder as he began working his way down the steep embankment.

 

35

USS
NIMITZ

USS
Nimitz
surged south at ahead full, alternately launching and recovering aircraft on its patchwork Flight Deck. Twenty miles to the north, USS
Lincoln
followed behind as the two carrier strike groups entered the northern entrance of the Taiwan Strait. Arrayed to the west, cruisers and destroyers mirrored the carriers' movement, establishing a screen against Chinese missiles. Unseen in the waters ahead, twelve fast attack submarines straddled the width of the Strait, searching for Chinese submarines. Meanwhile, two hundred miles to the south, another twelve American submarines were headed north, leading the other two carrier strike groups through the Strait's southern entrance.

Nimitz
was at General Quarters, and Captain Alex Harrow stood his watch on the Bridge, supervising his carrier's flight operations. Their aircraft had fared well thus far, losing only ten percent of their fighters. Anti-air missile defense and enemy fighter resistance was almost nonexistent as
Nimitz
's F/A-18 jets struck supply nodes along the Chinese coast and beachheads on the west coast of Taiwan.

It would take another twenty-four hours to completely cut off the supplies flowing across the Strait. The number of ships ferrying equipment from China to Taiwan was impressive, but the four carrier strike groups had been whittling away at the small transports all morning.

Harrow looked out the Bridge windows, observing one Super Hornet descending from the Flight Deck to the Hangar on Elevator 1 while another ascended on Elevator 3, the fighter's normal allotment of self-defense missiles cut in half, increasing its payload of anti-ship missiles. There had been only sporadic Chinese fighter jet activity, and CAG Captain Helen Corcoran had decided to alter the mix of defensive and offensive weapons, increasing the wing's kill rate.

It was just too easy. Harrow's gut told him something was wrong, but there was nothing to confirm his fear. Everything was proceeding exactly as simulated in countless war games.

 

36

Y
Ǐ
N BISHOU
FUJIAN PROVINCE, CHINA

Just above the island of Taipei, a shimmering orange sun was climbing into a deep blue sky, bathing the cliffs rising from the Chinese mainland in gentle warmth. Deep inside the volcanic cliffs, harsh fluorescent lighting illuminated a cavern carved from the mountain's innards. Through the center of the mile-long cavern, with wharves lining each side of the man-made harbor, a channel flowed into the Taiwan Strait. Moored to the wharves were twenty-four Yuan class diesel submarines, their crews assembled topside, standing in formation. A hundred feet above the submarines at the inland end of the cavern, Admiral Tsou Deshi stood behind a narrow terrace, surveying
Y
ǐ
n Bishou
and the East Sea Fleet's flotilla of attack submarines with pride.

It had taken ten years to construct
Y
ǐ
n Bishou
, its creation concealed from America and their satellites in orbit. The United States was focused on
Sanya
, another underground base at Hainan Island. China had stationed their nuclear-powered submarines at
Sanya
, knowing it would focus America's attention there, and help keep
Y
ǐ
n Bishou
concealed.

America believed the only threat to their Navy was China's nuclear-powered submarines. If the Pacific Fleet had remained in deep water east of Taipei, that assessment would have been correct. But that wasn't the case today. The Pacific Fleet had been lured into the Strait. True, America had sunk many submarines and destroyed hundreds of missile batteries, but that was part of the plan.

In the next two hours, twenty-four new Yuan class submarines, just as advanced as their nuclear counterparts, would sortie to sea. Additionally, these submarine crews wielded a potent advantage. But before his crews sank the dagger into the American Navy, Admiral Tsou felt it fitting to offer a few words of encouragement.

Tsou spoke loudly, his voice carrying across the cavern. “Today, you will battle America, an enemy bent on the destruction of our country. They send their fleet to the shores of our homeland, attempting to subjugate us to their will. But their Pacific Fleet is overconfident. Today, America will feel the full might of China's Navy, and you will deliver a death blow, ending America's domination of the high seas.” Tsou paused a moment before continuing. “I am proud of the men standing before me, ready to serve the people. This will be our finest hour.”

Tsou turned to Admiral Guo Jian, commander of the East Sea Fleet, standing beside him. “Commence operations.”

 

37

OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE, SUITLAND, MARYLAND

“This is taking forever.”

Inside the four-story National Maritime Intelligence Center in eastern Maryland, Cindy Pon stood with a coffee mug in her hand, peering over Jay Wood's shoulder, examining his computer monitor. She had stayed late tonight, in case her analytical and language skills were required, but the decryption algorithms were still crunching away, the contents of the secure flash drive still unknown. Cindy took a sip of her coffee; it was 10
P.M
. and she needed a caffeine jolt before the drive home.

Sitting at the workstation in front of her in the windowless, high-security enclave, Jay monitored the progress of the algorithm running on the computer, attempting to break the encrypted flash drive they had received from Okinawa two days ago.

“Have faith,” Jay said without taking his eyes off the monitor. “It's just a matter of time.”

Only twenty-seven years old, Jay Wood was ONI's best cryptologist. He had spent the last two days running various algorithms on the drive, evaluating how each algorithm performed before selecting the next. He had already determined which algorithm had been used to encrypt the flash drive, and was now attempting to determine the encryption key. Unfortunately, the key permutations were almost endless, and the process took time. The encryption key at the bottom of the monitor continued morphing—it had now increased to fifteen digits, each digit rapidly scrolling through the over-fifty-thousand characters of the Chinese language. Cindy had a hard time wrapping her mind around the number of permutations possible. A trillion had twelve zeros. The number of permutations in a Chinese encryption key with fifteen digits had seventy zeros. It definitely could take
forever
.

“I'm calling it a day,” Cindy said. “If you happen to decrypt the drive before morning, give me a call. Also let Jina Hong know. She's got the night shift and will take a look at whatever you've got before I get in.”

Jay nodded absentmindedly. He was focused on the monitor. Several of the encryption key digits had stopped changing, each displaying a different Chinese character. One by one, the other digits locked.

“Bingo!” Jay said. “Don't go anywhere, Cindy.” He opened up a new windowpane on the monitor, displaying the icon of the flash drive they were attempting to access, then positioned the pane above the encryption key. He double-clicked on the icon, and several Chinese characters appeared on the screen.

“Your turn,” he said.

Jay slid his chair out of the way as Cindy pulled one up, taking Jay's place at the workstation. She read the Chinese instructions on the monitor—they directed her to enter the encryption key. She had to type in the fifteen Chinese characters displayed below. The problem was she was using a computer keyboard with English letters and Arabic numbers.

Fortunately, this computer was loaded with the necessary software, allowing Cindy to type Chinese characters using pinyin—a method of writing Chinese using the English alphabet. She typed in the pinyin name for the first Chinese character, selecting the exact variation of the character from a pop-up menu. One by one, she entered the encryption key, then looked over at Jay.

Jay nodded. “Hit Enter.”

Cindy reached over and hit the Enter key, and the icon on the screen opened, revealing a folder. She double-clicked on the folder and it opened to reveal eleven files with names in Chinese. The first four were titled after the PLA's four main branches:
Ground Forces
,
Navy
,
Air Force
, and
2nd Artillery Corps
, the last branch being in charge of China's nuclear and conventional ballistic missiles. The second set of files was named after China's seven military regions. An analyst at the Office of Naval Intelligence, she opened the
Navy
file first.