Childress took the phone. "Yes, Sam."
Sam Hanson's voice was level, controlled, and totally emotionless, the voice of a thirty-year professional warrior addressing a superior officer. ' '. President. You are needed in the War Room immediately, sir."
Childress didn't even consider asking questions.
"I'm on my way."
He handed the phone back to the Secret Service man.
"We're diverting to the Pentagon. Let's move." No questions were asked there either. The Secret Service man keyed his radio, issuing orders. At the head and tail of the column, the sirens of the police cruisers began to warble and the motorcade turned south, heading for the Arlington Memorial Bridge.
The Pentagon was commissioned in 1942 as the world's largest office complex. At the time there was some debate over what was to be done with it following the demands of the Second World War, it being held as inconceivable that such a vast facility would be required by a nation at peace.
In reality, the Pentagon was saturated within five years of its becoming operational in 1945. Expansion had been required, and the only direction to go had been down.
Several annexes, command-and-control facilities, and operations centers had been built into its understructure over the years. The current War Room had at one time been an underground parking garage. Now it was the place where the blood decisions were made.
President Childress had been here often enough before, but now there was an added charge in the air, like the first eddy of a summer thunderstorm rolling in. Looking down from the glass-walled over watch balcony, he could see the duty crew at their ranked workstations. They were moving with a focused intentness, and there was a tension in the voices that intermittently issued from the balcony intercoms Sam Hanson was there, as was an angular, graying Air Force four-star, General Morrell Landry, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. At the moment, the General was leaning in over a communications console, speaking into a telephone handset.
Childress's security adviser turned to greet his commander in chief.
"Sorry to disrupt your day, Mr. President, but it looks like we have a major problem developing out in China."
"Beyond what we already have?"
"A geometric escalation, sir. Shit plus has just hit the fan."
"What's happened?"
"One of our stealth destroyers was on a recon probe outside of Shanghai when they ran into a covert Red Chinese naval operation. A major live-fire incident has ensued. At this time, we are reporting no casualties on our side and a full briefing is being prepared for you on the event. However, to cut to the chase, we have learned that the Reds have sortied a fleet ballistic-missile submarine. Intentions and destination unknown."
"And we are to presume that this is an unusual event?"
Hanson nodded. "This is the first boomer sailing that they've had in over a year. It's also apparently taken place under extreme security.
Given the current situation in China, we can't afford to see this as being a coincidence."
Childress's breath trickled from between his lips in a whispered sigh.
He sank down into one of the padded observation seats that looked out across the warroom.
"All right," he said. "Is ther any chance at all that we could be reading this wrong? That this could be some kind of routine evolution?"
Hanson shook his head. "Everyone has been running projections on the China crisis, CIA, DIA, NSA, RAND, everyone.
And, for once, everyone is in agreement. They are all stating in no uncertain terms that the Communists are losing the war. Their backs are to the wall and the only option they might have left is to use the bomb ... soon.
"God Almighty." It wasn't a profanity. It was a prayer.
The Security Adviser relentlessly pushed the point home.
"Mr. President, Red China's reactivation of a major nuclear strike system at this time can have only one meaning."
President Childress shook off the effect. "Where's the Secretary of Defense?"
"Still at the Advanced Joint Services Fighter Trials in St. Louis. I've already had a sitrep relayed out to him. The same to the vice president.
Do you want them recalled, sir?"
Childress nodded slowly. With his elbows resting on the chair arms and his fingers interlaced, he stared into the future.
"The Secdef, yes. Immediately. The vice president, no. In fact, I specifically want Stan to stay put out there in Utah.
Do we have an E-4B in at Hill Air Force Base?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Then we'll just put an enhanced communications and liaison staff in at his summer place. It might be a good idea to keep the National Command Authority dispersed for a while."
"I concur, sir," Hanson approved. The president was beginning to react to the crisis in much the same way he had to an in-flight emergency aboard one of his old ANG C-130s.
"What about the secretary of state?" Childress asked.
"Has he been advised?"
"I got off link with Secretary Van Lynden just a couple of minutes ago.
He wasn't surprised. He indicates that this tracks with certain events that have been developing within the crisis-reduction talks over the past few days. Harry agrees with the assessment and he believes that the potential for a nuclear event does exist. He'll be standing by to confer with you at your convenience, Mr. President."
"Very well." Childress nodded. "Hold a line on standby for me. Now, how about the military end of this thing?"
"General Landry is standing by with the word."
America's senior military officer straightened at Childress's approach, the cluster of aides and advisers he had been in consultation with falling back respectfully.
"Mr. President."
"The short version, Morrell. What do we have?"
The JCS chairman turned and indicated a map display on the repeater console beside him. "I'm certain that the National Security Adviser has already given you the basics, sir.
At about oh eight hundred Washington time, the Reds sortied a three-boat wolf pack out of Shanghai. Two Han-class hunter-killers and a late-model Xia missile boat. The NAVSPECFORCE destroyer that made the sighting was able to make a solid ID on all targets. Unfortunately, our ship was also spotted and was driven off under fire, losing the contact."
General Landry indicated a glowing arc line on the graphics display of the East China Sea, Shanghai at its central point.
"Given the performance envelope of the involved classes of submarine, we know they still must be somewhere within this area. This zone of uncertainty grows, of course, for every minute we fail to reacquire contact."
"What are we doing about it?" Childress demanded.
"Admiral Tall man, commanding Task Force 7.1, is currently deploying his forces to sweep for the boomer. CINCPAC has also made this Red wolf pack a priority tasking for our Okinawa- and Korea-based Orion squadrons. The problem is that the high belligerency level of the Red Chinese is probably going to make any kind of inshore ASW operations extremely difficult. Task Force 7.1 is already being sharked by Red air force units." Landry hesitated for a moment, then continued. "In addition, sir, on my own authority, I have ordered Looking Glass One scrambled."
Looking Glass One, the angel of death. The airborne command post that would assume control of America's nuclear response forces should Washington, D. C., suddenly become an incandescent cloud of radioactive plasma.
Moving slowly and deliberately, Ben Childress removed his glasses.
Taking a handkerchief from his suit pocket, he polished the lenses and asked himself for the ten thousandth time why anyone would become a president, or a military officer, or a teacher, or anything else that would place the destiny of another human being in their hands.
He redonned the glasses with a single crisp movement.
"All right, General. That's what's been done. What do you advise we do next?"
"The CNO wants to move a second carrier task force into the East C
hina Sea as well as to move additional submarine and land-based ASW assets in-theater. I concur on all three actions. I feel that getting and maintaining a fix on this boomer is an absolute priority.
"In addition," Landry continued, "I suggest we forward deploy the 336th Composite Strike Wing into our bases in Okinawa and Korea. They're on Flyaway Alert now, and we can probably have the first elements in the air within four hours."
"We're talking about a major escalation here, General."
The JCS chairman nodded. "Yes, sir, it is. Normally, I'd say that if we need to send a message, we use Western Union. However, if we've got somebody out there who's even thinking about taking the nukes out of the box, we had better show them, and the entire world, that we're taking it damn seriously."
"Anything else?"
General Landry and Sam Hanson exchanged glances.
"Nothing more at this time, sir."
"Very well. Proceed on all points."
OVER THE EAST CHINA SEA 0901 HOURS ZONE TIME; AUGUST 12, 2006
"What do you think, Arkady?"
"About what?"
"Submarine hunting."
"Mucho divertimento. Very interesting work if you can get it."
They were heading home, back to the Cunningham. Surfing low over the ocean's surface, the Sea Comanche's rotor wash whipped spray up behind her, spinning a rainbow in her wake as the wave crests flickered beneath her. Arkady was again flying with all stealth protocols closed up, seeking to avoid undue attention. Snowy contrails arcing across the blue of the sky marked the passing of other aircraft in the higher reaches, exact identity and intent unknown.
"What's your opinion of the tech we're going to be facing?"
Amanda persisted. She knew more than a little about the subject herself, but Vince Arkady was a dedicated LAMPS helo pilot. As such, he was perforce a master of the trade.
The aviator considered for a moment before replying.
"Better than first gen, anyway. The Reds are running albacore hulls and single-screw propulsion trains. I'd call the Han attack boats the equivalent of an early mark Permit class or an augmented Russian Victor 1. Early-seventies stuff, maybe with a few systems updated with imported tech."
"How about the missile boat?"
"The same, only more so. Have you ever seen pictures of a surfaced Xia?
They have a free-flooding deck casing around their missile tubes. I bet when that sucker maneuvers, it sounds like somebody flushing the John."
"So you don't think finding these guys is going to be a problem?"
Arkady twisted in his harness and peered at her around the seat back. '
' a sub is always a problem, just, in this case, maybe not an overwhelming one. What I am wondering about is what we're supposed to do with these guys after we do find them."
"That is for wiser heads than us to decide."
Arkady grunted into the interphone. "Yeah, well, in my experience, ASW
is sort of like hunting rattlesnakes with an irrigation shovel. If you manage to find one of the damn things, you have about two seconds to kill it. After that it either crawls into a hole and disappears, or it comes after you."
It was an ominously succinct assessment.
An outsider intruded into their conversation. The filtered voice of the Cunningham's air boss sounded in their earphones, feeding them a new intercept bearing out to the ship.
Diverted, Arkady acknowledged the call, replying in kind with a GPU fix and an estimated time of arrival.
Amanda's twenty-four-hour lack of sleep suddenly seemed to overtake her.
Either that, or a sudden subliminal desire to escape the loom of this new bank of problems. The August sun pouring down through the helicopter's canopy made her skin prickle and burn, and she tried to seek out a fragment of shade in the corner of the cramped cockpit. She closed her eyes.
HOTEL MANILA, REPUBLIC OF THE PHILIPPINES 1523 HOURS ZONE TIME; AUGUST
12, 2006
Deputy Premier Chang Hui'an was just completing an impassioned address as Harrison Van Lynden slipped back into his seat in the conference room.
"What have I missed?" he asked quietly, lifting the translator phone to his ear.
"Another round of enthusiastic but unoriginal West bashing," Lucena Sagada whispered her reply. "He doesn't seem to be finding many buyers, however. The other delegates continue to ' with silence.' "
The Secretary of State nodded and replaced his translator phone in his ear. "I've just gotten off the horn with the president concerning the Shanghai incident. How was Chang referring to it?"
"That's it. Just references. They aren't making the big deal out of it I've been expecting. It's almost as if they are preoccupied with something else."
"They are. What do we have next?"
"A change in the schedule, Mr. Secretary. General Ho Chunwa has asked for time to make a general address to the conference."
Van Lynden straightened abruptly as the Red Chinese officer approached the dais. "We'd better look sharp," he whispered to his young associate.
' ' think this one is going to be critical."
The General's features were totally impassive. His eyes panned across the great U-shaped table array and the seated clusters of statesmen.
They seemed to catch Van Lynden's for a moment before lowering to the single page of notes on the speaker's dais.
"In recent days, the situation within the People's Republic of China has grown intolerable due to the ill-advised actions of misled factions within our own populace and the criminal adventurism of other nations.
Accordingly, the People's Government has elected to seek an equitable solution to this current crisis.
"We now put forward this proposal to all of the involved factions within this internal conflict. We call for a ceasefire in place. We call for the withdrawal of all Nationalist forces from the Chinese mainland and a cessation of all outside interference in the affairs of the People's Republic. We also call for the rebel elements to lay down their arms and a normalization of the relationships between all of the involved provinces and the central People's Government.
"In return, the People's Government will recognize the full independence of the nation of Taiwan and accept the legitimacy of the Nationalist government. We will offer both diplomatic and trade relationships and a formalized nonaggression treaty.
' To the rebel factions of the so-called United Democratic Forces of China, we promise improved economic and political representation, a reevaluation of national policies concerning certain aspects of civil rights, and guarantees of no retribution against the general populace of those provinces involved in the rebellion."
Ho hesitated, a ripple of some emotion momentarily crossing his face.
"Let no one construe this offer as an indication of any weakening of resolve on the part of the People's Government.
This proposal is born solely out of the humanitarian concerns of the People's Government and their desire to restore peace and tranquillity to the People's Republic.
"Let our enemies be warned: Should these just proposals be rejected, the People's Government may find it necessary to consider extraordinary measures to bring this conflict to a close and to further the People's agenda."
Lucena Sagada's pen flashed across the notepad.
Is he referring to what I think he is?
Van Lynden replied with a brief sketch of a mushroom cloud, underlined three times.
The conference room went very quiet as General Ho retrieved his notes and started back to his seat--so much so that the sound of another chair being shoved back abruptly pulled in all attention.
Duan Xing Ho, headman of the Taiwanese delegation, rose to his feet. He made no attempt to approach the dais; rather, he spoke from where he stood, his fingertips resting on the tabletop in front of him. His words were quiet, but his violation of protocols made them a shout.
"When the peoples of China began their quest for freedom, we were fully cognizant of the extremes to which the b
rutal and repressive regime that now rules from Beijing might resort. We wish to assure them that we have prepared accordingly. We wish also to state that should ' methods' be employed against the forces or territories of either Taiwan or the United Democratic Forces of China, ' methods' of retaliation will also be utilized."
"Oh, Christ!" Van Lynden whispered. "They've both got them!"
TAROKA GORGE, TAIWAN 0845 HOURS ZONE TIME; AUGUST 13, 2006
It is a titanic rift in the granite buttress that makes up the eastern side of the island of Formosa, a sheer-walled crevasse worn down through solid stone. The river that had been the instrument of the gorge's creation still boiled along its floor, the white of its foam contrasting with the grays of the stone and the greens of the moss and lichen that sheathed it.
Man had left his mark here as well. A highway had been blasted and chiseled into the south wall of the canyon and a railway roadbed had been carved into the north.
And then there was the door.
It was set in the northern canyon wall, a spur of the rail line feeding into it. The concrete of its framing had long ago exposure-darkened to match the surrounding rock, and the inch-thick armored steel of its panels was streaked with rust.
The mouth of a quarter-mile-long bunker/tunnel, it had been constructed back in the 1950s as a munitions-storage site. Hundreds of such installations had been constructed throughout Formosa in preparation for the final, inevitable showdown with the mainland. Sunk deep into the mountain's underbelly, it had been used for this critical if uninspiring function for decades.
Then, two years ago, its tasking had been changed.
Air horns blared, sending echoes rippling through the canyon.
The doors of the bunker parted and slid aside with a howl of hydraulics, allowing the deep-throated rumble of a diesel power plant to escape. A small switching engine rolled out of the tunnel. Moving at a walking pace, it swung out onto the mainline track.
Three rail cars trailed behind it. The central car was a windowless command-and-control van. The first and third each mounted an erector/launcher rail and carried a single, slender, finned form. The upper stage of each white-painted missile flared out into a bulbous, lozenge-shaped warhead.
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