Ghost Force Read online

  GHOST FORCE

  PATRICK ROBINSON

  CONTENTS

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  CAST OF PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

  PROLOGUE

  As a general rule, Admiral Arnold Morgan did not do…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lt. Commander Jimmy Ramshawe, assistant to the Director of the…

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jaan Valuev, for the past six years, had led something…

  CHAPTER THREE

  General Eduardo Kampf and Admiral Oscar Moreno had spent a…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The most astonishing aspect of the lightning-fast Argentinian military action…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Peter Caulfield vacated Portsmouth Dockyard shortly before noon and headed…

  CHAPTER SIX

  HMS Ark Royal crossed the fifty-degree line of latitude in…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The three British Special Forces recce teams were not merely…

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Captain Fawkes copied his Northwood signal to the Marine Brigade…

  CHAPTER NINE

  Under the cover of a cold mountain fog, Captain Douglas…

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rick Hunter gazed up at the scaffold from which he…

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  USS Toledo ran slowly inshore, 51.16S 59.27W on the GPS,…

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At 1400 Major Pablo Barry ordered all aircraft out of…

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  There was no diplomatic communiqué from Buenos Aires the previous…

  EPILOGUE

  Viper K-157 ran slowly northeasterly up through the GIUK Gap,…

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY PATRICK ROBINSON

  CREDITS

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  For this, my ninth techno-thriller, set in the future and, hopefully, sailing perilously close to the wind, I needed to be more careful than usual with my sources.

  For reasons that I hope are obvious, I would not wish to implicate any senior officers, either naval or military, on either side of the Atlantic, within the many politically lethal issues contained in these pages.

  I decided therefore to accept no direct advice or instruction from anyone; rather, I based the story on the strongly held views mentioned to me by so many commissioned officers over several years.

  This book involves a new journey to the cold South Atlantic, and the ever-vexing questions surrounding the ownership of the remote Falkland Islands. And I have inevitably drawn on the mountain of knowledge I received from the Task Force Commander of the 1982 war, Admiral Sir Sandy Woodward, whose autobiography I helped to write fourteen years ago.

  This time, however, I did not go to him with every twist and turn in the road, nor did I drive him mad for detailed explanations of the myriad of high-tech naval data at which he is a world-acknowledged master and commander, and I remain ever the layman.

  I plowed a lonely furrow, distilling many, many highly controversial opinions into my own story. I hope its subliminal message will be enjoyed by serving, and indeed, retired, officers. With perhaps a chilling lesson for the kind of politician we all despise.

  Any mistakes, and wayward opinions, either technical, tactical, or strategic, are mine alone. And nothing should be laid at the door of any present or past Commander, naval or military, whose acquaintance or friendship I have long valued.

  This applies to perhaps a dozen people, but in particular it applies to Admiral Woodward, who, on this occasion at least, remains shining-white innocent of any involvement with my occasionally acid-dipped pen.

  —P ATRICK R OBINSON , 2005

  CAST OF PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

  United States Senior Command

  Paul Bedford (President of the United States)

  Admiral Arnold Morgan (Private Adviser to the President)

  Admiral George Morris (Director, National Security Agency)

  Lt. Commander Jimmy Ramshawe (Personal Assistant, Director NSA)

  Admiral John Bergstrom (SPECWARCOM)

  Central Intelligence Agency

  Agent Leonid Suchov (Deputy Chief, Russian Desk)

  United States Navy SEALs

  Commander Rick Hunter (Assault Team Leader)

  Lt. Commander Dallas MacPherson (2 I/C, Explosives)

  Chief Petty Officer Mike Hook (Explosives)

  Petty Officer First Class Don Smith

  Petty Officer First Class Brian Harrison

  Seaman Ed Segal (helmsman)

  Seaman Ron Wallace (helmsman)

  Chief Petty Officer Bob Bland (Military Breaking and Entering)

  Captain Hugh Fraser (CO, USS Toledo , SEAL team insert commander)

  United Kingdom Political

  The Prime Minister of Great Britain

  Peter Caulfield (Secretary of Defense)

  Roger Eltringham (Foreign Secretary)

  Commander Alan Knell (Conservative Member of Parliament, Portsmouth)

  Robert Macmillan (Conservative MP)

  Derek Blenkinsop (Labour MP, East Lancashire)

  Richard Cawley (Conservative MP, Barrow-in-Furness)

  Sir Richard Jardine (Ambassador to the United States)

  United Kingdom Armed Services

  General Sir Robin Brenchley (Chief of Defense Staff)

  Admiral Sir Rodney Jeffries (First Sea Lord)

  Admiral Mark Palmer (C-in-C Fleet)

  Admiral Alan Holbrook (Task Force Commander)

  Captain David Reader (CO, HMS Ark Royal )

  Major Bobby Court (Company Commander, Mount Pleasant)

  Captain Peter Merrill (Commander Immediate Response Platoon, Falkland Islands)

  Sgt. Biff Wakefield (RAF Rapier Missiles, Mount Pleasant)

  Brigadier Viv Brogden RM (Commander Landing Forces, Falkland Islands)

  Lt. Commander Malcolm Farley (CO, Royal Navy Garrison, Mare Harbor)

  Captain Mike Fawkes (CO, HMS Kent )

  Captain Colin Ashby (CO, HMS St. Albans)

  Commander Keith Kemsley (CO, HMS Iron Duke )

  Captain Rowdy Yates (CO, HMS Daring )

  Commander Norman Hall (CO, HMS Dau
ntless )

  Captain Colin Day (CO, HMS Gloucester )

  Captain Simon Compton (CO, submarine Astute )

  United Kingdom 22 SAS

  Lt. Colonel Mike Weston (CO, Hereford HQ)

  Captain Douglas Jarvis (Team Leader Fanning Head Assault)

  Combat Troopers: Syd Ferry (Communications); Peter Wiggins (Sniper); Joe Pearson; Bob Goddard; Trevor Fermer; Jake Posgate; Dai Lewellwyn

  Lt. Jim Perry (Team Leader SBS, Lafonia)

  Russian Senior Command

  The President of the Russian Federation

  Valery Kravchenko (Prime Minister)

  Oleg Nalyotov (Foreign Minister)

  Gregor Komoyedov (Minister for Foreign Trade)

  Boris Patrushov (Head of FSB, Secret Police)

  Oleg Kuts (Energy Minister)

  Admiral Vitaly Rankov (C-in-C Fleet, Deputy Defense Minister)

  Russian Navy

  Captain Gregor Vanislav (CO, Viper K-157 )

  Siberian Political and Oil Executive

  Mikhallo Masorin (dec.) (Chief Minister, Urals Federal District)

  Roman Rekuts (New Leader, Urals Federal District)

  Jaan Valuev (President, OJSC Surgutneftegas Oil Corp.)

  Sergei Pobozhiy (Chairman, SIBNEFT Oil Corp.)

  Boris Nuriyev (First VP Finance, LUKOIL Corp.)

  Anton Katsuba (Oil Ops Chief, West Siberia)

  Argentina Senior Command

  The President of the Republic

  Admiral Oscar Moreno (C-in-C Fleet)

  General Eduard Kampf (Commander Five Corps)

  Major Pablo Barry (Commander Marine Assault, Falkland Islands)

  Principal Wives

  Diana Jarvis (Mrs. Rick Hunter)

  Mrs. Kathy Morgan

  UK Prime Minister’s Principal Guests

  Honeyford Jones (pop singer)

  Freddie Leeson (soccer player), wife Madelle (former nightclub employee)

  Darien Farr (film star), wife Loretta (former TV weather girl)

  Freddie Ivanov Windsor (restaurateur)

  PROLOGUE

  As a general rule, Admiral Arnold Morgan did not do state banquets. He put them in the same category as diplomatic luncheons, congressional dinners, state fairs, and yard sales; all of which required him to spend time talking to God knows how many people with whom he had absolutely nothing in common.

  Given a choice, he would rather have spent an hour with a political editor of CBS Television or the Washington Post , each of whom he could cheerfully have throttled several times a year.

  It was thus a matter of some interest this evening to witness him making his way down the great central staircase of the White House, right behind the President and his guests of honor. The Admiral descended in company with the exquisitely beautiful Mrs. Kathy Morgan, whose perfectly cut dark green silk gown made the Russian President’s wife look like a middle-line admin clerk from the KGB. (Close. She had been a researcher.)

  Arnold Morgan himself wore the dark blue dress uniform of a U.S. Navy Rear Admiral, complete with the twin-dolphin insignia of the U.S. Submarine Service. As ever, shoulders back, jaw jutting, steel-gray hair trimmed short, he looked like a CO striding toward his ops room.

  Which was close to the mark. In his long years in service as the President’s National Security Adviser, he considered the White House was his ops room. He always called it “the factory,” and he had conducted global operations against enemies of the United States with an unprecedented free hand. Of course, he had kept the President posted as to his activities. Mostly.

  And now, with the small private reception for the Russians concluded in the upstairs private rooms, Arnold and Kathy stood aside at the foot of the stairs, alongside the Ambassador and a dozen other dignitaries, while the two Presidents and their wives formed a short receiving line.

  This was deliberate, because the Russians always brought with them a vast entourage of state officials, diplomats, politicians, military top brass, and, as ever, undercover agents—spies, that is—badly disguised as cultural attachés. It was, frankly, like seeing a prizefighter’s goons and bodyguards dancing a minuet.

  But here they all were. The men who ran Russia, being formally entertained by President Paul Bedford and the First Lady, the former Maggie Lomax, a svelte, blonde Virginian horsewoman, fearless to hounds, but nerve-wracked by this formal jamboree in support of U.S.-Russian relations.

  So far as President Bedford had been concerned, the presence of Arnold Morgan had been nothing short of compulsory. Although the telephone conversation between the two men had been little short of a verbal gunfight.

  “Arnie, I just got your note declining the Russian banquet invite…Jesus, you can’t do this to me!”

  “I thought I just had.”

  “Arnie, this is not optional. This is a Presidential command.”

  “Bullshit. I’m retired. I don’t do State Banquets. I’m a naval officer, not a diplomat.”

  “I know what you are. But this thing is really important. They’re bringing all the big hitters from Moscow, civilian and military. Not to mention their oil industry.”

  “What the hell’s that got to do with me?”

  “Nothing. ’Cept I want you there. Right next to me, keeping me posted. There’s not one person in Washington knows the Russians better than you. You gotta be there. White tie and tails.”

  “I never wear white tie and tails.”

  “Okay. Okay. You can come in a tuxedo.”

  “Since I don’t much want to look like a head waiter, or a goddamned violinist, I won’t be wearing that either.”

  “Okay. Okay,” said the President, sensing victory. “You can come in full-dress Navy uniform. Matter of fact, I don’t care if you turn up in jockstrap and spurs as long as you get here.”

  Arnold Morgan chuckled. But suddenly an edge crept back into his voice. “What topics concern you most?”

  “The rise of the Russian Navy, for a start. The rebuilding of their submarine fleet in particular. And the exporting of submarines all over the world.”

  “How about their oil industry?”

  “Well, that new deepwater tanker terminal in Murmansk cannot fail to be an issue,” replied the President. “We’re hoping they’ll ship two million barrels a day from there direct to the USA in the next few years.”

  “And I guess you know the Russian President already has terrible goddamned problems transporting crude oil from the West Siberian Basin to Murmansk…” Arnold was thoughtful. And he added slowly, “…And you know how important that export trade is to them.”

  “And to us,” said President Bedford.

  “Give us a little distance with the towelheads, right?”

  “That’s why you gotta be at the banquet, Arnie. Starting with the private reception. Don’t be late.”

  “Silver-tongued bastard,” grunted Admiral Morgan. “All right, all right. We’ll be there. Good morning, Mr. President.”

  Paul Bedford, who was well accustomed to the Admiral’s excruciating habit of sl
amming down the phone without even bothering with “good-bye,” considered this a very definite victory.

  “Heh, heh, heh,” he chortled, in the deserted Oval Office, “that little bit of intrigue on a global scale. That’ll get the ole buzzard every time. But I’m sure glad he’s coming.”

  Thus it was that Arnold and Kathy Morgan were now in attendance at the State Banquet for the Russians, gazing amiably at the long line of incoming guests entering the White House.

  So many old friends and colleagues. It was like an Old Boys’ reunion. Here was the Commander of the U.S. Navy SEALs, Admiral John Bergstrom, and his soignée new wife, Louisa-May, from Oxford, Mississippi; Harcourt Travis, the former Republican Secretary of State, with his wife, Sue. There was Admiral Scott Dunsmore, former CNO of the U.S. Navy, with his elegant wife, Grace. The reigning Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Tim Scannell, was with his wife, Beth.

  Arnold shook hands with the Director of the National Security Agency, Admiral George Morris, and he greeted the new Vice President of the United States, the former Democratic Senator from Georgia, Bradford Harding, and his wife, Paige.

  The Israeli Ambassador, General David Gavron, was there with his wife, Becky, plus, of course, the silver-haired Russian Ambassador to Washington, Tomas Yezhel, and the various Ambassadors from the United Kingdom, Canada, and Australia.

  Arnold did not instantly recognize all of the top brass of the Russian contingent. But he could see the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Josh Paul, talking with the Russian Foreign Minister, Oleg Nalyotov.

  He vaguely knew the Chief of the Russian Naval Staff, a grim-looking, ex-Typhoon-class ICBM Commanding Officer, Admiral Victor Kouts.