Chapter Eighty Two Feeling Blind

Admiral Robert Smith and General James Bradley sit, side-by-side and ramrod straight, before the president’s desk in the Oval Office.

“Are you getting anywhere in locating any of the five Kilos?” the president asks, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. His fatigue shows. Don’t worry, he thinks. I’d probably faint from the shock if you told me you have.

“Mr. President, finding a diesel submarine that runs as quiet as these Kilos and doesn’t even need to fully surface to charge their batteries – it’s like trying to find five needles in a haystack twice the size of China,” says Admiral Smith.

“Anything from the Air Force yet, Jim?”

“We’ve got the same problem the Navy has. The only positive thing I can tell you, sir, is that the Air Force would have found them at some point if they were just out on standard maneuvers.”

“So you’re telling me that the Air Force thinks they’re in attack mode.”

“I’d put my career on the line for it, sir.”

“You just did, Jim. Bob, do you concur with Jim?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Then what would your recommendations be now?”