Minutes passed without further conversation. Vespa was becoming slightly concerned when Ostrewski was back in her ears. “Maria and I have set a date: two months from now.”
Though it was physically impossible, Liz tried to turn her head to look at Ozzie. The fittings on her torso harness prevented her from shifting her shoulders more than a few inches. “Wow. That’s great, Ozzie.” He’s really going to do it. “Congratulations.” Her voice was flat.
“Thanks. We want to have a church wedding, you know? It’ll take a while for my family to make travel arrangements out from Chicago.”
Liz’s pulse was back under seventy. As seconds passed, she reminded herself to scan the instruments again: fuel flow, engine RPM, tailpipe temperature, the TA-4’s own vital signs.
“Michael.”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you wait until now to tell me? I mean, why not before we launched? Or after the debrief?”
“Hell, Liz … I guess I don’t really know. Maybe it just seemed important that we have a little time … you know, without anybody else around.”
She almost laughed. “Well, this is as private as it gets.”
“Ah, I just thought that maybe you’d sort of like some time to, you know, maybe, talk.”
She forced her feminine fangs back; she would not coyly ask, Gosh, Ozzie, talk about what? “That’s sweet of you, Michael.”
Liz mentally cataloged everything she did and did not want to say—and everything that she could never again discuss with her friend and rival. In two months there would be no going back.
“I’m going to miss you, Michael.”
He knew exactly what she meant. “Thank you, Liz. But Ozzie will still be here. And you’ll still be Wizard Two.”
“Does Maria understand that?”
He thought for several seconds. “Maybe not quite. But she will. It’s part of my job as her husband.”
“Roger. Break-break.”
Again, Michael Ostrewski perfectly read the intent of Elizabeth Vespa. Ozzie waggled the stick and said to Scooter, “You have it. Come right to two four zero. Descend and maintain four thousand five hundred feet.”
Hawk Six banked into a thirty-degree turn in the night sky, leaving something more than jet exhaust in its wake.
Twelve
Who Needs Oxygen?
Four Skyhawks were announced by the Pratt and Whitney whine that once was an ordinary sound at Marine Corps Air Station El Toro, south of Los Angeles. Peters looked up from the flight line, where ATA and the Sukhoi delegations were quartered. “Well, that’s the last of them.”
The TA-4Js broke up for landing interval, gear and flaps coming visible during the 360-degree overhead break. In a descending spiral, line astern, each pilot allowed sufficient distance behind the plane ahead.
“Lookin’ good,” Peters commented.
“Damn straight,” added Robbins.
Peters shielded his eyes with one hand. “I guess Zack had his division up for practice before they left Williams.” He looked back toward the parking lot adjacent to the flight line.
“Expecting somebody, boss?”
“Yeah, Rob. I told Jane about Zack’s ETA. She and Carol were going to be here for for his arrival.”
Robbins worked his eyebrows. “I thought there was some doubt if Carol would even come.”
“There was, up until a couple days ago. I guess it took some begging on a pretty thick rug, but Zack convinced her she’d be better off here with us than waiting back home.”
“Roger that.” Robbins did not need to elaborate. He had persuaded his own wife to accompany him rather than stay alone in their condo—too many people did not want the program to proceed.
As Hawk Ten taxied into the chocks, Delight waved from the cockpit, his rear seat occupied by one of Chief Dan Wilger’s maintenance men. The other three A-4s parked beside Delight’s, their noses gently bobbing on the long nose-gear oleos.
The boarding ladder was barely in place before a car horn sounded behind Peters and his entourage. Jane Peters and Carol Delight alit from the rented Ford, waving to the crowd as two security men emerged from the front seat. Delight scrambled down the yellow ladder, tugging off his helmet. He met his wife halfway across the ramp, scooped her up in both arms, and carried her back to their friends. “You fool, put me down!” Carol’s demand lacked conviction.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Zack cooed. He kissed her warmly, then turned to face Jane Peters. “You too, honey.” He leaned forward to touch lips with her.
“Pure, what the hell are you doing?” Hook Peters knew perfectly well what his partner was up to.
“I’m ravishing two gorgeous women at the same time,” he declared. “It’s a Manly Man kind of thing.”
Carol Delight settled more comfortably in her husband’s arms, both hands around his neck. “I’m glad you’re in a manly mood, dear,” she said sweetly. “Jane took me shopping on the way back from John Wayne Airport.”
Delight shifted her weight in his arms. “That’s as manly an airport as there is. I hope you spent a lot of money.”
Carol cocked her head, as if studying him. “Did you get enough oxygen on the way over here?”
“Darlin’, I don’t need oxygen as long as I’ve got you.”
That saccharine statement prompted a chorus of “Yuuuk” sentiments when Chief Wilger appeared. “Excuse me, folks,” he intoned. “You might want to come listen to the portable radio.”
“What is it?” Peters asked.
“Well, apparently the Chinese and the Vietnamese are shooting at each other.”
At eight that night most of the instructors and their wives gathered in the Peters’s suite at the old visiting officers’ quarters. Two security guards from the firm contracted by Wei stood outside, guarding the door.
“I want you all to know what’s going on in Vietnam and how it affects us,” Peters began. He stood by the television set that was turned on but muted. The news graphic headlined, “War in the Tonkin Gulf.”
“First, apparently it isn’t really a war. It seems to be a limited naval action involving the same area that was disputed several months ago. China and Vietnam both claim the area where petroleum was found, and Vietnam has been drilling there for a few years. You’ve heard the same news reports I have, but a couple of my D.C. contacts have more detail.”
Peters paced a few steps, staring at the carpet. “Congressman Ottmann is coming out here tomorrow or the next day at the latest. So are a couple of Navy representatives involved with the PRC carrier program. From them, I’ve learned that Chinese marines occupied two of the three drilling platforms.”
Robbins interrupted. “Terry, what’s Washington say about the Chinese carrier program? If the chinks are the aggressors, won’t that result in some kind of sanctions?”
“I’m just coming to that, Rob. Washington has chosen to treat this as a local feud. Even though Beijing is technically the aggressor, the State Department waffles it enough to say that both sides should stand down.” He raised his hands. “That’s just diplomatic BS. The president and Congress are in bed with the Chinese too far to back out. The bottom line is markets and money, and in that contest, Hanoi loses every time.”
“So you’re saying we’ll continue with the CarQual schedule?” Ostrewski sat on the floor between Vespa and Thaler.
“Well, as of now I haven’t heard anything different. Rob, you were out to the boat yesterday. How’d it look?”
“Fine. Captain Albright was happy with things, and he said he can give us twenty-eight knots. Oh, we heard from Pensacola. Two landing signal officers are inbound tomorrow. They’re supposed to clear us instructors for preliminary CarQuals before the Chinese begin trapping.”
Peters scanned the crowded room. “Any other questions?”
Liz Vespa voiced the thought in a dozen minds. “Only about a hundred, skipper.”
Thirteen
The Truest Test
Peters convened the briefing in Ottm
ann’s suite. Zack Delight, Rob Robbins, Ozzie Ostrewski, Psycho Thaler, Liz Vespa, and Chief Wilger were seated around the dining-room table.
“First,” Peters began, “for those who haven’t met Congressman Tim Ottmann, I’ll introduce him by saying he’s on the House Military Affairs Committee. He chairs the Tactical Airpower Subcommittee, which has oversight of the Chinese carrier program. Before that, Skip made a poor but honest living as an Eagle driver.” Ottmann shared the group’s laughter.
“Before Skip explains the reason for this meeting, one thing has to be clear.” As usual when he wanted to make a point, Peters paused. “Everything that’s said here stays here. What we’re planning is potentially dangerous, and the legal implications are not clear-cut. Zack and I are in, but you have to make your own decisions. So, before we continue, anybody who wants to withdraw, do so now.” Peters waited but nobody stirred. Peters then turned to Ottmann, standing at the head of the table.
“Thanks, Terry.” Ottmann cleared his throat. “Folks, in no more than seven days Mainland China will invade Taiwan.”
Vespa’s hand instinctively sought Ostrewski’s. Chief Wilger voiced the unspoken sentiment of everyone else. “Holy shit.”
“I know your first concern,” Ottmann said. “You wonder why the Chinese would pick fights with Vietnam and Taiwan at the same time. Well, the Vietnam feud is strategic deception—a manufactured crisis to draw our attention away from Taiwan.
“The real reason behind the upcoming invasion is, well, time. The old guard in Beijing—the hard-line Maoists—are dying off. They want China ‘reunited’ before they go to Marxist valhalla. The new generation is more pragmatic.” Ottmann gave an ironic smile. “By ‘new generation,’ I mean those who don’t remember the Long March in 1936.
“Now, they’ve been very patient. They went along with the so-called internal reforms we wanted because they needed American technology. But there is nothing to prevent the Communist Party from reverting to its old ways once it has what it wants—control of Taiwan. It’s a purely cynical view, but remember, these folks insist that Mao Zedung was ‘too great a man to be bound by his word.’” Ottmann shrugged. “It’s a cultural attitude that we can’t change.”
Ostrewski leaned forward. “Mr. Ottmann, I don’t know much, but I know if China invades Taiwan, there’ll be war with the U.S.”
“Previously I’d agree with you, but things have changed.” Ottmann stopped to organize his thoughts, then continued. “The reason the PRC has initiated its so-called reforms is to increase its influence here. You all know about the scandals that never went anywhere. Well, by making themselves financially necessary to three administrations, the Chinese bought themselves more than political influence. They bought political souls.”
Robbins was tempted to mutter, “No such thing” when Liz Vespa spoke up. “My God, how did it ever go this far?”
“Well,” Ottmann said, “the Bush administration continued normal relations after Tiananmen Square. Clinton, who hammered Bush for his China policy in the campaign, not only continued that policy, but expanded it.” He grinned sardonically. “Hey, Washington runs on hypocrisy like jets run on JP-4.
“Anyway, besides the millions of dollars in campaign money, you had major corporations clamoring to do business with one-third of the human race. After all, most other Western nations already were in bed with Beijing, and our CEOs didn’t want to be left out. So they leaned on their politicians, and things just snowballed.”
Robbins raised his voice. “Sir, how do we fit into this?”
“Okay. Beijing knows that America can’t just lean back while PRC troops walk over Taiwan. There has to be a publicly acceptable reason for us to sit it out and pass some window-dressing sanctions. We’ll probably impose embargos again.
“However, the Chinese are hedging their bet. They have a new long-range missile, the DF-41, with technology we either sold them or they stole from us. France and Israel also contributed, by the way. So, in the next few days we expect China to launch a ‘test’ that’ll hit about two hundred miles off the Washington coast. That’ll be a warning shot that says, ‘America, you don’t have any better missile defense than we do.’ So ICBMs are a standoff.
“Now, that’s where you folks come in. A Malaysian-registered freighter is headed this way with a Chinese crew. Its manifest lists petroleum products. It does not list five backpack nukes.”
Ostrewski merely emitted a low whistle.
“No kidding holy shit,” Wilger said in a hushed voice.
“We’re tracking this ship, the Penang Princess, and we expect it to arrive off Long Beach day after tomorrow. The plan calls for her to transfer the nukes to several smaller vessels that will bring them ashore in different places. But one of them will be delivered, minus detonator, to the Chinese consulate in San Francisco. There, the president and secretary of state will be invited to see it, with a promise that four more have been distributed around the country. At that point, China wins. No American politician is going to defend an Asian island at the expense of thousands of American lives—maybe tens of thousands. It’s in his interest, and Congress’s, to keep the lid on. No overt acts, no hysterical commentary, and damn sure no scandal about giving in to blackmail.” Ottmann shook his head admiringly. “You got to admire the plan—it’s a beaut. Right out of Sun-Tzu.”
“Sun who?” asked Wilger.
“Sun-Tzu, an ancient Chinese military philosopher. He said the truest test of a general is to win without fighting.”
“Okay,” Robbins interjected. “So what do we do?”
Ottmann looked directly at the LSO. “You sink that ship.”
Founeen
Questions
The responses came with machinegun rapidity.
“We don’t have ordnance!”
“How do we know the nukes are aboard?”
“What about the Navy or Coast Guard?”
And, on everyone’s mind, “How do we stay out of prison?”
Ottmann raised his hands, asking for silence. “I’ll answer as many of your questions as possible, folks. First, we know the backpacks are aboard because one of our sources helped load them. Most of our intel has been back-channel between unofficial contacts on both sides. I can’t tell you more for obvious reasons—you were all military professionals. But I’m convinced the intel is real.
“Second, we’re not involving the Navy because the people in DC who know about this plan need ‘plausible deniability.’ That’s a buzzword that means you’re lying and everybody knows you’re lying but nobody will prove it because everybody else lies, too. The Santa Cruz is perfect: officially it’s not a U.S. or a Chinese ship. It’s not yet commissioned in either navy, it has a mixed crew, including civilians, and there’s been no transfer ceremony.”
Zack Delight spoke up. “Tim knows I’m an all-up round for this plan. But how about explaining the legality?”
“Right. The plan is to launch you during your first qualification period with thousand-pounders that’ll be loaded aboard right before the ship leaves the dock. You’ll have the location of the Penang Princess inside our twelve-mile limit, and a full briefing on her. You’ll land back aboard before the Santa Cruz returns to U.S. waters, which is a legal technicality, but it preserves the appearance of American neutrality.”
“But, Congressman,” Vespa interjected, “we’ll still have sunk a neutral ship. People will probably be killed. Aren’t we—pirates or something?”
Ottmann smiled as he reached inside his sport coat. From the pocket he produced several folded sheets. “These are full pardons, exonerating you for everything since Adam. They’re signed by the president but undated. You’ll have your copies, notarized by the attorney general, before you take off from here to land aboard the ship. If everything goes well, you won’t need them. If things go wrong, you’re covered.”
Vespa locked eyes with the New Yorker. “So the president …”
“ … still denies involvement.” Ottmann smiled a
gain.
“Excuse me, sir,” Robbins said, “but how do we know these papers are valid? We might be set up, and you wouldn’t know it.”
“Well, Rob, I could just say, ‘Trust me.’ But if one of you goes to prison, I’ll be there waving bye-bye when you finally walk out the front gate. As deep as I am in this, I’d never see daylight again.”
Robbins’s blue eyes had a little-boy gleam. “You just told me that you’ve got the president by the …”
“By the plausible deniability.” Ottmann grinned.
“A couple of other things,” Robbins continued. “If I was smuggling nukes into this country, I wouldn’t put ‘em all in one basket, and I wouldn’t wait until a few days before I might need ’em. Doesn’t that seem kind of suspicious?”
“Geez, Robo. You ever consider a career in politics?” Ottmann chuckled at the sentiment. “Your instincts are good, but we know that the Chinese decided not to risk discovery of the backpacks until almost the last minute. And actually they’re not putting them all in one basket. As I said, some or all of them will be put in other boats before unloading. That’s why we need to sink the ship at a specific time and place.”
“We’re going to recover them?”
“We’re sure not going to leave them on the bottom of the ocean. Tactically, it’d make more sense to sink the ship in deep water beyond our limits. But this way, the U.S. government has full authority over recovery and salvage operations. I believe that a Coast Guard cutter will accidentally be nearby to pick up all survivors—and whatever they get off the ship.”
Ozzie gave an appreciative whistle. “Sounds like you have it all doped out, sir.”
“Well, it’s been a long time planning. But in any operation like this, there’s always the Oscar Sierra factor. Just remember that if things do turn to shit, you’re covered legally.
“Anything else?” Ottmann asked. Liz Vespa’s frown caught Ottmann’s attention. “Miss Vespa?”
“Liz,” Scooter corrected. “You know, all this seems really well planned, but I don’t understand something. Why are the Chinese blackmailing us with ICBMs or backpacks? They must know we can’t stop them from taking Taiwan—we don’t have the people, the airlift, or the sealift anymore. So if they’re willing to accept the political fallout, why not just go?”
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