Lash-Up

by Larry Bond

  The anchor smiled. “General, you commanded the U.S. Pacific Air Forces for two years before you became chief of staff of the Air Force.”

  “And one thing I learned was that predicting the behavior of a country’s decision makers is fraught with peril. Right now, with Chinese ground forces involved in Vietnam and the U.S. Navy shooting at Chinese ships, it might seem to be the perfect time. But this war is really a test of strength between a rising China and what it believes is a weakened America. If Taiwan, or anybody else, decides to act, it won’t be until China is clearly losing.”

  “Is that what you believe this is about? A test of strength?”

  “Yes, Jane, at its most basic level it’s about China feeling its oats and deciding to knock the U.S. out of the dominant position in the western Pacific. President Jackson has repeated over and over again that he’s out to stop Chinese aggression. Do you have that clip from his speech this morning?”

  The image shifted to show the president in the East Room of the White House. The sound cut in just as the president said, “Armed aggression against any country, whether it is a formal U.S. ally or not, is cause for deep concern. If we did nothing, and Vietnam fell to the invading armies, would China be weaker or stronger? Would they be satisfied with their single conquest, or would they look at other countries in the region? None can stand against the Chinese military by themselves. We cannot wait until they attack one of our allies at a time of their choosing. We must show China, prove to them, that aggression is not only futile but will cost them far more than they could ever hope to gain.”

  The picture shifted back to show the anchor and General Sandus watching the image. “Do you agree with his philosophy, General?”

  “He’s got a good speechwriter, and on one level, he’s correct, but national leaders rarely tell you the real reasons for a war.” Sandus paused for a moment, then carefully explained. “The Chinese began this confrontation by shooting down our satellites, which they are still doing, by the way. They believe that without GPS, our military is too weak to stop them from doing what they want. The invasion of Vietnam is a demonstration of Chinese power—a land grab. If we don’t turn them back, then China becomes the big kid on the block. Every U.S. ally, not only in Asia but around the world, will have to rethink their relationship with us, and every U.S. adversary will see new opportunities to advance their cause at our expense.”

  “You make it sound like our survival is at stake.”

  “As a superpower, Jane, yes it is. The most dangerous time for a superpower is when they stop being one. If we lose this war, we’ll find out what that’s like.”

  U.S. Space Force Headquarters

  Edwards Air Force Base

  November 24, 2017

  Ray McConnell was in the hangar when an engineer shouted to him from one of the side offices. “Mr. McConnell, the admiral wants to see you in his office ASAP.” Schultz rarely summoned him like that, so Ray hurried to the admiral’s office on the fourth floor.

  The door was open, and Schultz waved him in. “You need to see this,” he explained without prompting, and gestured toward and empty chair. As Ray sat down, the admiral pointed a controller at the flat screen mounted on his office wall.

  The frozen image came to life, and Ray saw Congressman Thomas Rutledge at a podium. A brightly colored banner across the bottom said, “Breaking News,” and the anchor’s voice-over said, “Congressman Rutledge is speaking at a press conference in the U.S. Capitol. He’s joined by Congressman Clayton Ashford, a Mississippi Republican, in demanding hearings by the House Armed Services Committee on the Defender program and the U.S. Space Force.

  “The White House, the secretary of defense, and the Pentagon have all remained doggedly silent, refusing to acknowledge their existence even after their disclosure on the Internet some weeks ago. Let’s listen to what Congressman Rutledge has to say.” The sound cut in just as Rutledge leaned forward to speak into the microphone.

  “These hearings need to explore the extent of the Jackson administration’s misconduct, including his failure to effectively respond to the Chinese attacks on our navigational satellites, and instead apparently creating a whole new branch of the armed forces without formal congressional approval and spending unknown billions—that’s billions with a b, folks, on a scheme of questionable merit. If that response wasn’t inappropriate enough, the Jackson administration’s also started a war with China, not only risking the lives of our brave men and women in uniform, but virtually guaranteeing a recession—and that’s whether we win or lose.”

  The screen flashed back to the news anchor. “This is not the first time that Representative Rutledge has called for congressional hearings on Defender and the U.S. Space Force. Inquiries on the possibility of convening such a hearing have been sent to the House Minority Leader, Representative Thad Preston, and the ranking Republican on the House Armed Services Committee, Representative Rick Nussbaum. We’ve received a short joint statement this morning that acknowledged that ‘Congressman Rutledge’s concerns have merit, and consideration is being given to convene a hiring on the topic,’ a rather lukewarm response, to be sure.

  “Joining me in the studio are two widely recognized experts on congressional issues. The first is a political columnist with The New York Times…”

  As the image shifted to a pair of analysts, Schultz hit the power switch. The admiral said in warning, “If a hearing is convened, it will be nothing but trouble.”

  “We’ll have to testify, won’t we?” Ray asked.

  “I’m the head of the U.S. Space Force, so I’ll be near the top of their list.” Schultz grinned. “You’re at the top, of course.” He grinned. “It isn’t like they haven’t been looking for you.”

  Ray sighed. “Everyone with their name in the Defender document has been approached.”

  “And may be subpoenaed,” Schultz concluded.

  “My house is being watched. That’s when they started following Jim Naguchi, when he went back to get some stuff for me. He’s gotten the worst of it.”

  “Well, you certainly couldn’t go.”

  “I haven’t left the base in weeks—really, since we arrived here. I haven’t wanted to leave, but this media hunt makes me feel like a fugitive.” He shrugged. “Not that there’s anywhere I need to go.”

  “Especially with Jenny here,” teased Schultz.

  “You don’t seem to be very worried about these hearings,” Ray observed.

  “It’s as great a danger as the Chinese,” Schultz countered. “Just preparing for and attending the hearings would cost us time we can’t afford. And even though it would be classified, there would be leaks. And with the legislative branch of the government fully engaged, Congress could pass legislation shutting us down or establishing a special prosecutor, or, God forbid, making us part of the air force.”

  “And there’s nothing we can do,” Ray complained.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Schultz corrected him. “One of my jobs, as head of this organization, is to keep stuff like this out of your face so you can focus on more important things. I’m working the system back in Washington, and we have other friends who are doing their own thing. Luckily, it doesn’t take a lot to slow Congress down. Our one advantage is that they don’t know our timeline. If we can stall them for just a little while, the whole thing will be moot.”

  Ray was about to ask how long it would take for Congress to issue subpoenas when Schultz’s phone rang.

  “Admiral Schultz,” he said after picking up the handset. “Yes, Colonel, he’s here.” The admiral’s head snapped toward Ray. “Thank you, I’ll tell him.”

  Hanging up the phone, Schultz chuckled. “That was Colonel Evans. He asked me to tell you he’s going golfing.”

  * * *

  Colonel Evans said, “If I knew you were going to show up at my office this fast, I would have sent a text message from the golf course.” He was smiling, though.

  “Which I wouldn’t get until after I
left the SCIF!” growled Ray.

  “Exactly!”

  Ray shook his head wearily and asked, “You’ve still got the camera set up, right? You’re going to watch him make the pickup?”

  “Of course,” Evans replied. “It will be evidence at his trial, as well as monitoring his actions.”

  “I wanted to see him make the pickup,” Ray explained. “This still just doesn’t seem real to me.”

  “And seeing another video on a computer screen will make it real?” Evans asked flatly. “Right. Anyway, Chung usually does his business after he hits a few balls. I’ll let you stay that long, but I want you well away from here after that.”

  Ray almost laughed at Evans’s parental tone but fought the urge and nodded solemnly.

  Evans’s flat screen had six windows set up, each showing the driving range from a different angle. Most were wide-angle views, but two were tightly zoomed in on the dead drop—the light pole and its support.

  “There.” Ray pointed to one of the windows. The camera was pointed across the width of the driving range, showing all the tees, which were empty. Chung walked into the frame, set up his clubs near the light post, grabbed a driver, and teed up a ball. Ray noticed how Chung kept his head up, using every motion to scan a different part of his surroundings. He hit a few balls, taking his time to verify he was all by himself. His attention drawn to the surroundings, he sometimes missed hitting the ball altogether. The other cameras confirmed he was alone. After a quick basket, Chung put the driver back in his golf bag. As he bent over to pick up his bag, his right hand lingered out of view for the briefest moment. “There.” Evans tapped the screen. “He’s opened the concealed pocket in his bag.”

  “If you say so,” Ray answered. “It fooled me.”

  “It’s supposed to,” Evans replied, “but he made exactly the same motion last time he was there. Now he will go over and lean against the light standard while he ties his shoe.”

  Chung did exactly as Evans predicted. Ray watched as the traitor smoothly recovered a new flash drive with fresh instructions from his Chinese masters. Watching the act in real time had an unexpected effect on Ray. Suddenly, he grew ferociously angry, boiling mad. He wanted to charge out to Chung right now and grab him red-handed.

  “It’s real now, isn’t it?” Ray noticed the colonel watching him, nodding slightly. “I’ve wanted to collar this sunuvabitch since we found him. But our patience has been rewarded. We’ve found out who his contact is, where his contact goes, and the FBI’s now tracking that guy.”

  Ray’s temper had cooled only slightly. Tersely, he asked, “When will you get the flash drive? I’m curious to see what the Chinese want now.”

  “About five minutes after he’s back in his trailer. We know his pattern now. The accomplice isn’t expecting to hear from Chung for another week or so, so we can move in at any time. The FBI will keep the other bastard under surveillance and hopefully track him to the next link in the chain. Now, don’t you have something useful to do?”

  * * *

  The ringing woke him out of a dream. Confused, Ray fumbled to turn on the reading light, then grabbed the phone, unplugging it from the charger as he yanked it to his ear. Concentrating, he managed a passable “McConnell.”

  “It’s Evans. Come to my office as soon as you can.” He hung up before Ray could ask about what, and sudden anxiety propelled him out of bed. He focused his eyes on the phone in his hand. It was 2:10 A.M.

  Ray’s trailer was positioned close to the hangar and office annex, and he hurried through the early-morning desert chill toward the front gate and the security office. There were lights on in the hangar, but most of the complex was dark. He walked quickly, but halfway to the office, he heard a voice behind him. “Ray!”

  It was Schultz, dressed in a gray sweat suit that read FLY NAVY across the front. Speaking softly, Ray asked, “Did Evans call you, too?”

  “Yeah. Let’s see what’s worth waking us up for.”

  Evans was waiting and offered coffee to both without asking. Ray tried to wave it off, saying, “I‘ll never get back to sleep,” but the colonel insisted.

  “Too bad. I need you awake for this. We just got the decrypted contents of the flash drive back.” He woke up his laptop and gestured to a list on the screen.

  Ray started reading, and his heart sank. “It’s a shopping list: current program status, communications frequencies and protocols, data-link vulnerabilities, the names and addresses of the families?”

  “Oh, it gets even better,” Evans remarked sternly.

  Schultz and Ray watched as Evans brought up a separate file with detailed schematics of Defender. Ray gasped, “Look at this. ‘Critical components in the hydrogen fueling system.’ I recognize the diagrams, but someone’s added these notations. Numbers and a Chinese character? Are these…”

  “NSA says the character means ‘kilograms.’ Most likely, weights for explosive charges.”

  “Sabotage?” Even Schultz was stunned. “This is unbelievable!”

  “This guy is being instructed to plant explosives on my baby!” Ray shouted.

  “I know, incredible, isn’t it?” Evans answered. “Well, now we know, categorically, the Chinese are worried about what we’re doing here.”

  The colonel started pacing as the two senior officials looked on. “Chung has had way too much access for a civilian contractor. While I was waiting for you two to show up, I’ve been drawing up new security procedures. Except for a select few,” he said, nodding to Ray and the admiral, “no one person should have access to everything. This is what happens when speed is the overriding priority. These new protocols will probably slow things down a bit. I’m sorry, but it can’t be avoided. We’ve already paid too high a price for our mistake.”

  Schultz nodded his understanding; he was the one ultimately responsible. “The effectiveness of security is inversely proportional to its convenience,” he quoted.

  “Well put,” Evans replied. “They can use this as a case study for future security-manager training.” He shrugged. “Maybe they will, someday.”

  “Then that’s it! We take Chung down now!” Ray demanded.

  “The technical term is ‘arrest,’” Evans observed. “We already have a plan to take him into custody, but I need to let my DCIS and FBI liaisons know first so they can put extra agents on the messenger. Even though Chung isn’t expected to make contact for a little while, we still need to take precautions.”

  “Do we know who the runner is?” Ray asked.

  “You don’t have a need to know that, and frankly neither do I,” answered Evans. “The FBI knows, and since they have jurisdiction off base, I won’t stick my nose in their knickers.”

  “So sometime tomorrow they’ll snag his contacts. What about Chung?”

  “He’s mine. Oh, there will be an FBI agent present, but I reserve the honor to put the cuffs on that asshole myself.”

  Looking at them both, Evans asked formally, “Do I have your permission to arrest him?”

  The two looked at each other, and the admiral nodded to McConnell. “You say, it, Ray.”

  “Permission granted.” Ray’s expression held grim pleasure. “And I hope you use rusty handcuffs.”

  Evans nodded acknowledgment and said briskly, “Admiral, Ray, thank you for coming and making the decision so quickly. This simplifies my job immensely, but I’ve got some arrangements to make, so if you’ll excuse me.”

  “One question, Colonel,” injected Schultz. “How are you going to keep this quiet? You just can’t nab Chung in front of everyone. How do you intend to keep his arrest a secret?”

  Evans’s face developed a wicked smile. “Oh, don’t worry about that, sir. I have the perfect diversion.” With that, Evans shooed them out of his office. Reluctantly, Ray and the admiral complied and began walking silently back to their trailers. Schultz was already yawning. He said, “I’ll see you later in the morning, then,” and turned to leave, but Ray had to ask, “How can you sleep a
fter making a decision like that?”

  The admiral smiled tiredly. “That was an easy one, Ray. And there’s nothing else to do, so I’m going back to bed. I advise you to do the same. You were going to stay up, weren’t you? Is something about this worrying you?”

  “No. I agree it was the best thing to do, but there’s just so much to think about.”

  “Ray, if you’re going to be a leader, and not just an engineer, then learn to let go when you can, or you’ll burn out. It will all be there in the morning. Good night.”

  Schultz headed for his trailer, and Ray did the same. He had been planning on staying up, tackling the mass of work that always waited, but really just marking the hours until Chung and his cohorts were arrested. But if he’d learned anything, it was that the admiral gave good advice.

  Ray barely felt his head hit the pillow.

  U.S. Space Force Headquarters

  Office Annex

  1100 hours

  November 23, 2017

  Glenn Chung had been fielding trouble calls all morning. Like most information techs, he regarded them as a pain, since most user problems were self-inflicted. On the other hand, it took him all over the Defender complex. Besides, this latest call might be an actual problem. Several people in the laser section had reported a ‘sharp, acrid smell’ near one of the servers. Sometimes, user descriptions of the problem could be a little vague, but this one sure sounded like a hardware failure.

  The server for the laser section had one of his special “black boxes” on it. It was probably all right, but there was always the chance it was the source of the smell or that it had been damaged. He had a replacement ready, and a good story if the laser-lab supervisor was curious. Chung remembered his name: Al Sawyer. He was good with names. It was an asset in his profession.

  Chung didn’t bother knocking, but when he opened the door, he didn’t recognize the man waiting next to the server bank. It certainly wasn’t Sawyer, who was African American. This man was white, and taller—much taller. His name tag read RANDOLPH.