Текст книги "Flood Tide"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

Giordino complied, working the manipulator controls and releasing the grate. Through the silt cloud he could see several places in the grate where the rusting iron had been gouged away by the explosive charges. He watched it fall out of sight back into the sediment on the bottom. “So long, old pal, you served your purpose.”

Pitt stared briefly at a small navigation monitor. “Two hundred feet to the antenna. I make us about to pass under the liner's screws.”

“No hits in the last minute,” said Giordino. “We must have left our angry friends behind in the fog. I suggest you cut back on your throttles and conserve whatever battery power is left.”

“Nothing left to conserve,” replied Pitt, pointing to the instrument dial indicating battery power. “We're down to one knot and the needle is in the red.”

Giordino smiled tightly. “It would make my day if Shang's divers got lost and gave up the chase.”

“We'll know soon,” said Pitt. “I'm going to angle up and out of the cloud. The instant we break into clear water, look astern and tell me what you see.”

“If they're still hanging around,” said Giordino, “and they spot us limping along at half a knot, they'll be all over us like maddened wasps.”

Pitt said nothing as the Sea Dog II emerged from the swirling mud storm. He squinted his eyes, trying to pierce the velvet-green water, searching for the antenna line and Cabrillo's diver. A vague silhouette wavering seventy to eighty feet ahead and slightly to port slowly evolved into the bottom of the launch rocking in the waves rolling across the harbor.

“We're almost home!” Pitt exclaimed, his spirits lifted.

“Stubborn little devils,” said Giordino morosely. “Five of them are swimming like sharks up our tail.”

“Smart fellas to catch on so quick. They must have kept one man in the clear as a lookout. Soon as he caught us rising out of the gunk, he alerted his pals by radio.”

An explosive charge smashed against one of the Sea Dog IPs tail stabilizers and blew it away. A second charge narrowly missed the hemispherical nose section. Pitt fought for control, urging, willing the submersible on a straight course toward the launch. The instant he saw one of Shang's divers out of the corner of his eyes, overtaking and coming in from the flank of the sub, he knew it was all but over. Without battery power and help from Cabrillo, there was no escape.

“So near, yet so far,” Giordino mumbled, staring upward at the keel of the launch as he waited helpless but unperturbed for the inevitable final assault.

Then suddenly a series of concussions swamped and reverberated all around the submersible. Pitt and Giordino were thrown about the interior like rats inside a rolling pipe. The water around them erupted in a mass of froth and bubbles that raged crazily in all directions before heading for the surface. The divers, who were about to close in on the Sea Dog II, died instantly, their bodies crushed to gelatin by the sledgehammer blows. The men inside the sub were both stunned and deafened by underwater detonations. They were saved from serious injury by the pressure hull.

It took several moments for Pitt to realize that Cabrillo, forewarned of the chase in progress, waited until the submersible and its attackers were close enough to the Oregon's launch to throw concussion grenades into the water. Through the ringing in his ears, Pitt heard someone calling over the radio.

"You guys all right down there?” came Cabrifto's welcome voice.

“My kidneys will never be the same,” Pitt answered back, “but we're behaving ourselves.”

“How about the vigilantes?”

“They look like they came out of a Jell-o mold,” replied Giordino.

“If we were attacked underwater,” Pitt warned Cabrillo, “it stands to reason they'll come after you on the surface.”

“Funny you should mention mat,” said Cabrillo airily. “There just happens to be a small cruiser coming this way as we speak. Nothing we can't handle, of course. Sit tight. I'll have my diver hook you up to the towline after we greet our callers.”

“Sit tight,” Giordino repeated acidly. “We have no power. We're dead in the water. He must think we're in an underwater amusement park.”

“He means well,” Pitt sighed as the tension inside the sub eased. He lay there idly, his hands loosely holding the handgrips of his now nonfunctioning controls, staring through the transparent canopy at the bottom of the launch, wondering what cards Cabrillo was about to deal.

“They mean business,” Cabrillo said to Eddie Seng, the Oregon's former CIA agent who was their man in Beijing for nearly twenty years before he was forced to make a sudden departure back to the States and retirement. Cabrillo peered through a small, single-lens telescope at the rapidly approaching cabin cruiser. Its configuration reminded him of a U.S. Coast Guard rescue boat, except that this one was not in the business of saving lives. “They figured the game when they detected the submersible, but they can't be sure we're tied in until they board and investigate.”

“How many do you make out?” asked Seng.

“About five, all carrying arms except the helmsman.”

“Any good-sized weapons mounted on the boat?” asked Seng.

“None that I can make out. They're on a fishing expedition and not looking for trouble. They'll leave two men behind to cover us, while the other three come on board.” Cabrillo turned to Seng. “Tell Pete James and Bob Meadows to slip over the unobserved side of the launch. They're both strong swimmers. When the boat comes alongside, tell them to swim under our craft and hang in the water between the hulls. If my plan works, the two guards remaining behind on their boat will instinctively react to an unexpected situation. We've got to take all five without guns. Nothing that makes noise. There'll be enough prying eyes on the dock and ship as it is. We'll just have to tough it out the best we can without drums and bugles.”

James and Meadows slipped over the side under a tarpaulin and waited in the water for the signal to swim under the launch. The rest of Cabrillo's men lounged around the decks as if dozing. One or two acted as if they were fishing off the stern.

Now Cabrillo could plainly see that Qin Shang Maritime's security men were wearing showy, dark maroon uniforms that were better suited for a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. Four of them clutched what looked to Cabrillo like the latest-model machine pistols manufactured by the Chinese. The boat's captain wore the indecipherable, hard expression of a Chinese in authority.

“Remain where you are!” he shouted in Mandarin. “We are coming aboard!”

“What do you want?” Seng yelled back.

“Dockyard Security. We want to inspect your boat.”

“You're not the Harbor Patrol,” said Seng indignantly. “You have no authority over us.”

“You have thirty seconds to comply or we shoot,” the captain said with icy persistence.

“You'd shoot poor fishermen?” Seng said bitterly. “You're mad.” He turned to the others and shrugged. “We'd better do as they say. They're just crazy enough to do what they threaten.”

“All right,” he said to the Qin Shang Maritime security captain, “come aboard. But don't think I'm not going to report you to the People's Republic harbor authorities.”

Cabrillo leaned over the helm, shielding his face with a straw hat so the security guards couldn't see his Western eyes. He casually flipped a few coins over the side as the signal for James and Meadows to swim under the launch. Slowly, one of his hands snaked onto the throttle lever. Then, just as the captain of the security boat and his men were in the midst of leaping across the narrow gap separating the two craft, Cabrillo cracked the throttle open and just as quickly pulled it back, abruptly widening the gap between the two boats.

As if the action was a rehearsed comedy routine, the security cruiser captain and his two men fell into the water between the two boats. Acting on impulse, as Cabrillo predicted, the two men still on the security boat dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, reaching out to their superior in an attempt to haul him out of the water. Their rescue attempt failed as two pairs of arms reached up out of the water, grabbed them each by the throat and pulled them overboard with a wild splash. Then, taking one man at a time by the feet, James and Meadows hauled them under the launch to the opposite side, where they were rendered unconscious by a none too gentle rap on the back of the head before being pushed aboard and roughly dumped in a small cargo hold.

Cabrillo scanned the stern of the United States and the end of the dock for witnesses. He counted no more than three or four shipyard workers who had paused to watch the activity on the two boats. None appeared unduly concerned. The cabin on the security cruiser had blocked off most of the view the workers had from the dock and the liner. As far as they could see, it looked like a normal investigation by the security force. All they could see was Cabrillo's crew still dozing and fishing off the stern of the launch. The shipyard workers soon returned to their jobs, showing no signs of alarm.

James and Meadows climbed back on board and, along with Eddie Seng, quickly stripped the security commander and two of his men of their clothes. A few minutes later all three reappeared on deck wearing the security guards' uniforms.

“Not a bad fit,” said Eddie, modeling his damp attire for Cabrillo, “considering that the suit is soaking wet. ”

“Mine is about four sizes too small,” grumbled Meadows, who was a big man.

“Join the club,” said James, holding out an arm and demonstrating a sleeve that barely passed the elbow.

“You don't have to walk down the runway at a fashion show,” said Cabrillo while jockeying the launch next to the security boat. “Jump over and take the helm. As soon as we've got the submersible under tow, follow along in our wake as though you were escorting us to the Hong Kong Harbor Patrol dock. Once we're out of sight of Qin Shang's shipyard, we'll cruise around until dark. Then we'll head back to the Oregon and scuttle the security boat.”

“What about the five drenched rats in the hold?” asked Seng.

Cabrillo turned from the helm and leered. “We'll enjoy seeing the expressions on their faces when they wake up and find they've been abandoned on an island off the Philippines.”

Not having enough oxygen supply to remain underwater, the Sea Dog II was towed on the surface with the upper hatch partially open. Pitt and Giordino remained inside while the security boat cruised alongside and screened any view of it from passing ships and shore. Thirty minutes later the Sea Dog II was quickly lifted back onto the deck of the Oregon. Cabrillo was there to help Pitt and Giordino out of the submersible. With muscles stiff and numb from the many hours of tight confinement, they were grateful for his help.

“I apologize for leaving you cooped up like that, but as you know, we ran into a little difficulty.”

“And you handled it very well,” Pitt complimented him.

“You boys did a pretty fair job of fighting off the bad guys yourselves.”

“We'd still be sitting on the bottom if you hadn't lobbed those grenades.”

“What did you find?” asked Cabrillo.

Pitt shook his head wearily. “Nothing, absolutely nothing. The hull below the waterline is clean, no modifications, no concealed hatches or pressurized doors. The bottom has been scraped and recoated with antifouling paint and looks as unaltered as the day she was launched. If Qin Shang has a shifty method of slipping illegal aliens ashore in a foreign port, it's not from below the waterline.”

“So where does that leave us?”

Pitt gave Cabrillo a steady look. “We've got to get inside the ship. Can you manage it?”

“As the resident whiz, yes, I believe I can arrange a guided tour of the ship's interior. But consider this. One, maybe two hours from now is all we have before the security guards we kidnapped are discovered as missing. The chief of Qin Shang's shipyard security will put two and two together and figure the intruders came from the Oregon. No doubt he's already wondering how and why ten of his divers went missing. Once he alerts the Chinese Navy they'll come after us as sure as women bear babies. With a head start the Oregon can outdistance most any ship in the Chinese fleet. If they send planes after us before we can get out of their territorial waters, we're dead.”

“You're well armed,” said Giordino.

Cabrillo tightened his lips. “But not immune to warships with heavy guns and aircraft with missiles. The sooner we get the hell out of Hong Kong and onto the high seas, the safer we'll be.”

“Then you're pulling up anchor and skipping town,” said Pitt.

“I didn't say that.” Cabrillo looked over at Seng, who had thankfully changed into dry clothes. "What say you, Eddie?

Do you want to put the uniform of a Qin Shang security chief back on and parade around the shipyard like a big man on campus?

Seng grinned. “I've always wanted to tour the inside of a big cruise ship without paying for a ticket.”

“Then it's settled,” said Cabrillo directly to Pitt “Go now bee what you have to see and get back here fast, or we'll all regret not knowing our grandchildren.”

“DON'T YOU THINK WE'RE OVERDOING IT A BIT?” SAID PITT less than an hour later.

Seng shrugged behind the wheel on the right-hand side of the driver's seat. “Who would suspect spies arriving at a security gate in a Rolls-Royce?” he asked innocently.

“Anyone who does doesn't suffer from glaucoma or cataracts,” Giordino said wearily.

A collector of old classic cars, Pitt appreciated the fine workmanship of the Rolls. “Chairman of the Board Cabrillo is an amazing man.”

“The best scrounger in the business,” said Seng as he braked to a stop beside the main guard gate in front of the Qin Shang Maritime Limited shipyard. “He made a deal with the concierge of Hong Kong's finest five star hotel. They use the limo to pick up and deliver celebrity guests to the airport.”

The late-afternoon sun was still perched above the horizon when two guards came out of the security shack to stare at the 1955 Rolls-Royce Silver Dawn with Hooper coachwork. The elegant body lines exemplified the classic “razor edge” saloon style that was popular with British coach-built cars in the 1950s. The front fenders gracefully swooped downward across

the four doors to the skirted fenders at the rear, matching the sloping rear roof and trunk known as the “French curve” that was copied by Cadillac in the early eighties.

Seng flashed the identification he'd taken from the captain of the security boat. Though the two men could have passed for cousins, he did not allow the guards to study the photo on the ID card too closely. “Han Wan-Tzu, captain of the dockside security,” he announced in Chinese.

One of the guards leaned in the rear window and peered at the two passengers in the rear seat who were wearing conservative blue pinstripe business suits. His eyes slightly narrowed. “Who is with you?”

“Their names are Karl Mahler and Erich Grosse. They are respected marine engineers with the German shipbuilding firm of Voss and Heibert, here to inspect and consult on the turbine engines of the great ocean liner.”

“I don't see them on the security list,” said the guard, checking names on a clipboard.

“These gentlemen are here at the personal request of Qin Shang. If you have a problem with that, you can call him. Would you like his direct and personal number?”

“No, no,” the .guard stammered. “Since you accompany them, their entry must have been cleared.”

“Contact no one,” Seng ordered. “The services of these men are required immediately and their presence here is a closely guarded secret. Do you understand?”

The guard nodded fervently, backed away from the car, lifted the barrier and waved them through onto a road leading to the dock area. Seng steered the luxurious old car past several warehouses and parts depots and under tall gantries arched over the skeletons of ships under construction. He had little problem finding the United States. Her funnels towered over nearby terminal buildings. The Rolls came to a silent halt at one of the many gangways that led up and into the hull of the ship. The ship appeared strangely lifeless. There were no crewmen, shipyard workers or security guards anywhere to be seen. The gangways were deserted and unguarded.

“Odd,” muttered Pitt. “All her lifeboats have been removed.”

Giordino looked up at the wisps of light smoke trailing from the funnels. “If I didn't know better, I'd say she's getting ready to sail.”

“She can't take passengers without carrying boats.” “The plot thickens,” said Giordino, looking up at the silent ship. Pitt nodded in agreement. “Nothing is what we were led to expect.”

Seng came around and opened the rear door. “This is as far as I go. You guys are on your own. Good luck. I'll come back in thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes,” Giordino complained. “You've got to be kidding.”

“A half an hour is not nearly enough time to inspect the interior of an ocean liner the size of a small city,” protested Pitt.

“The best I can do. Chairman Cabrillo's orders. The sooner we abscond, the less chance we all have of being discovered as fakes. Besides, it'll be dark soon.”

Pitt and Giordino stepped from the car and walked up a gangway leading through a pair of open doors and inside the ship. They entered what was once the purser's reception area. It seemed curiously bare of all furnishings and signs of life.

“Did I forget to mention,” said Giordino, “that I can't speak with a German accent?”

Pitt looked at him. “You're Italian, aren't you?”

“My grandparents were, but what has that got to do with anything?”

“If you're confronted, talk with your hands. Nobody will know the difference.”

“And you? How do you intend to pass as a kraut?”

Pitt shrugged. “I'll just say 7a' to anything I'm asked.”

“We don't have much time. More territory can be covered if we split up.”

“Agreed. I'll make a sweep of the cabin decks, you scan the engine room. While you're at it, look in the galley.”

Giordino looked puzzled. “Galley?”

Pitt smiled down at the shorter Giordino. “You can always tell a home by its kitchen.” Then he was walking swiftly up a circular staircase to the upper deck, which had accommodated the first-class dining room, cocktail lounges, gift shops and movie theater.

The etched-glass doors that opened to the first-class dining room had been removed. The walls, with their Spartan fifties decor and high-arched ceiling, stood guard over an empty room. It was the same everywhere he walked, his footsteps echoing on the salon deck, which had been stripped of its carpeting. The 352 seats of the theater had been torn out. The gift shops were bare of display shelving and cases. Each of the two cocktail lounges was little more than a hollow compartment. The ballroom, where the wealthy celebrities of their time danced their way across the Atlantic, was stripped down to the bare walls.

He hurried up a companionway to the crew's quarters and the wheelhouse. The bareness was repeated. The crew's cabins were devoid of any sign of furnishings or human presence. “An empty shell,” Pitt muttered under his breath. “The entire ship is one big empty shell.”

The wheelhouse was a different story. It was crammed from deck to ceiling with a maze of computerized electronic equipment whose multitude of colored lights and switches were mostly positioned in the ON mode. Pitt paused briefly to study the sophisticated ship's automated control system. He found it odd that the brass-spoked helm was the only piece of original equipment.

He checked his watch. Ten minutes was all he had left. Incredibly, he had seen no workers, no crewmen. It was as if the ship had become a graveyard. He dropped down the stairs to the first-class cabin deck and ran down the hallways separating the staterooms. It was the same as the salon deck. Where the passengers once slept in luxury from New York to Southampton and back, there was a ghostly emptiness. Even the doors had been taken from their hinges. What struck Pitt was the lack of trash or debris. The gutted interior appeared surprisingly immaculate, as if the entire interior had been sucked clean by a giant vacuum.

When he reached the entry door in the purser's reception area, Giordino was already waiting. “What did you find?” Pitt asked him.

“Damn little,” Giordino came back. “The cabin class decks and cargo holds are barren voids. The engine room looks like the day the ship left on her maiden voyage. Beautifully maintained with steam up and ready to sail. Every other compartment was stripped clean.”

“Did you get into the baggage and the forward cargo holds that were used to transport the passengers' cars?”

Giordino gave a negative shake of his head. “The cargo doors were welded shut. Same with entrances and exits to the crew's quarters on the lower deck. They must have been cleaned out as well.”

“I got the same picture,” said Pitt. “Did you run into any trouble?”

“That's the weird part. I didn't see a soul. If anyone was working in the engine room, they're either mute or invisible. You meet up with anyone?” “Never encountered a body.”

Suddenly the deck began to tremble beneath their feet. The ships big engines had come to life. Pitt and Giordino quickly headed down the gangway to the waiting Rolls-Royce. Eddie Seng stood beside an open door to the passengers' seat. “Enjoy your tour?” he greeted them.

“You don't know what you missed,” said Giordino. “The food, the floor show, the girls.”

Pitt motioned toward the dockworkers who were casting off the huge hawsers from the iron bollards on the dock. The big rail cranes lifted the gangways and laid them on the dock. “Our timing was right on the money. She's pushing off.” “How is it possible,” Giordino muttered, “with no one on board?”

“We'd better go too while the going is good,” said Seng, herding them inside the car and closing the door. He hurried around the Rolls-Royce's flying-lady ornament on the radiator shell and leaped behind the wheel. This time they were passed through the security gate with the mere nod of the head. Two miles from the shipyard, his eyes darting in the rearview mirror to see if they were being followed, Seng pulled onto a dirt road and drove to an open field behind a school that was empty of children. A purple-and-silver unmarked helicopter was sitting in the middle of a playground, its rotor blades slowly turning. “We're not returning to the Oregon by boat?” inquired Pitt. “Too late,” replied Seng. “Chairman Cabrillo thought it wiser to raise the anchor and put as much water as possible between the ship and Hong Kong before the fireworks start. The Oregon should be passing out of the West Lamma Channel into the China Sea about now. Thus, the helicopter.”

“Did Cabrillo work a deal on the helicopter too?” said Giordino.

“A friend of a friend runs a charter service.”

“He must not believe in advertising,” observed Pitt, looking vainly for a name on the side of the tail boom.

Seng's mouth stretched in a broad smile. “His clientele prefers to travel in obscurity.”

“If we're any example of his clientele, I'm not at all surprised.”

A young man in a chauffeur's uniform stepped up to the Rolls and opened the door. Seng thanked him and slipped an envelope into his pocket. Then he motioned Pitt and Giordino to follow him into the aircraft. They were in the act of tightening their seat belts when the pilot lifted off the playground and leveled off at only twenty feet before ducking under a network of electrical power lines as if it was an everyday affair. He then set a course to the south and flew out across the waters of the harbor, passing over an oil tanker no more than a hundred feet above its funnel.

Pitt gazed with longing at the former crown colony in the distance. He would have given a month's pay to walk the winding streets and visit the multitude of small shops selling everything from tea to intricately carved furniture, dine on exotic Chinese cuisine in a suite at the Peninsula Hotel overlooking the lights of the harbor with an elegant and beautiful woman and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot-Ponsardin brut champagne ...

His reverie was shattered into a kaleidoscope of pieces when Giordino suddenly exclaimed, “God, what I wouldn't give for ataco and a beer.”

The sun was down and the western sky was a bluish gray when the helicopter caught up to the Oregon and landed on one of her cargo-hatch covers. Cabrillo was waiting for them in the galley with a glass of wine for Pitt and a bottle of beer for Giordino. “You two must have had a hard day,” he said. “So our chef is fixing up something special.”

Pitt removed the borrowed coat and loosened the tie. “A hard day and an extremely unproductive one.”

“Discover anything of interest on board the United States?” asked Cabrillo.

“What we found was a ship that has been gutted from stem to stern,” answered Pitt. “The entire interior is nothing but a vacuum with an operational engine room and a wheelhouse filled with automated navigation and control systems.”

“The ship has already left her dock. She must be operating with a skeleton crew.”

Pitt shook his head. “There is no crew. If, as you say, she's sailing out of the harbor, she's sailing without benefit of human hands. The entire ship is operated by computer and remote command.”

“I can vouch for the fact there isn't a scrap of food in the galley,” added Giordino. “Nor stove nor refrigerator nor even a knife and fork. Anybody taking a long voyage on that ship will surely starve.”

“No ship can sail across the sea without an engine-room crew and seamen to monitor the navigation systems,” Cabrillo protested.

“I've heard tell the U.S. Navy is experimenting with crew-less ships,” said Giordino.

“A ship void of a crew might cross the Pacific Ocean, but she would still require a captain on board to take on a pilot and handle payment with Panamanian officials for the passage through the Canal into the Caribbean.”

“They could put on a temporary crew and captain before the ship reached Panama—” Pitt suddenly paused and stared at Cabrillo. “How do you know the United States is heading for the Panama Canal?”

“That's the latest word from my local source.”

“Nice to know you have a man inside Qin Shang's organization who keeps us up-to-date on current events,” said Giordino caustically. “A pity he didn't bother to tell us the ship was converted into a remote-operated toy. He might have saved us a boatload of trouble.”

“I have no man on the inside,” explained Cabrillo. “I wish I had. The information was obtained from the Hong Kong agent for Qin Shang Maritime Limited. Commercial ship arrivals and departures are not classified secrets.”

“What is the United States's final destination?” asked Pitt.

“Qin Shang's port at Sungari.”

Pitt stared at the wine in his glass in long silence, then said slowly, “For what purpose? Why would Qin Shang send a fully robotic ocean liner with its guts removed across an ocean to a miscarriage of a shipping port in Louisiana? What can be rolling around in his mind?”

Giordino finished off his beer and dug a tortilla chip into a bowl of salsa. “He could just as well divert the ship somewhere else.”

“Possibly. But she can't hide. Not a ship her size. She'll be tracked by reconnaissance satellites.”

“Do you suppose he intends to fill it with explosives and blow up something,” offered Cabrillo, “like maybe the Panama Canal.”

“Certainly not the Panama Canal or any other shipping facility,” said Pitt. “He'd be cutting his own throat. His ships need access to ports on both oceans as much as any other shipping company. No, Qin Shang must have something else in mind, another motive, one just as menacing and just as deadly.”

THE SHIP PLOWED EASILY THROUGH THE SWELLS IN A SLOW rocking motion under a sky so brightly lit by a full moon that one could read a newspaper under its beam. The scene was deceptively peaceful. Cabrillo had not called for the ship's full cruising speed, so she loafed along at eight knots until they were far beyond the Chinese mainland. The whisper of the bows cutting the water and the aroma of fresh baked bread wafting up from the galley might have lulled the crew of any other cargo ship on the China Sea, but not the highly trained men on the Oregon.

Pitt and Giordino stood in the surveillance and counter-measures control room in the raised forecastle of the ship, acting strictly as observers while Cabrillo and his team of technicians focused their eyes and minds on the radar detection and identification systems.

“She's taking her sweet time,” said the surveillance analyst, a woman by the name of Linda Ross who was seated in front of a computer monitor that showed the three-dimensional display of a warship. Ross was another prize from Cabrillo's headhunting expeditions for superior personnel. She had been chief fire-control officer on board a U.S. Navy Aegis guided missile cruiser when she fell under Cabrillo's spell and an offer of incredible compensation that went far beyond any money she could make in the Navy. “With a maximum speed of thirty-four knots, she'll overhaul us within a half an hour.”

“How do you read her?” asked Cabrillo.

“Configuration indicates that she's one of the Luhu Type 052 Class of big destroyers launched in the late nineties. Displaces forty-two hundred tons. Two gas turbine engines rated at fifty-five thousand horsepower. She carries two Harbine helicopters on her stern. Her complement consists of two hundred and thirty men, forty of them officers.”

“Missiles?”

“Eight sea-skimming surface-to-surface missiles and a surface-to-air octuble launcher.”

“If I was her captain I wouldn't be concerned with preparing a missile strike against a helpless-looking old scow like the Oregon. Guns?”

“Twin one-hundred-milh'meter guns in a turret aft of the bow,” said the analyst. “Eight thirty-seven millimeters mounted in pairs. She also carries six torpedoes in two triple tubes and twelve antisubmarine mortar launchers.”

Cabrillo wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “By Chinese standards, this is an impressive warship.”