by Larry Bond
Not for them. China, and more specifically its despotic premier, had to be stopped. Vietnam was clearly intended as just the first of Cho Lai’s coveted prizes. The rest of Indo-China really would fall easily. The question was where would they go after that: Taiwan? Japan, perhaps?
Greene got off the exercise bike. The first time he had used it in Air Force One, he had thought it very strange indeed—he was literally pedaling at just under the speed of sound. Now, like much he had experienced in his brief tenure as President, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
He poked his head out the door of his private room. His national security director, Walter Jackson, was sitting on the couch of the executive office, talking to the National Security situation room for an update.
“Walter, I’m going to take a shower,” said the President.
“Mr. President, a moment?”
“All right,” said Greene, frowning.
Jackson hung up. “Can we get Lin in here?”
Linda Holmes was the legislative coordinator.
“It’s your meeting, Walter.”
Greene stooped down to the small beverage refrigerator. He paused over the selections—a beer would go down pretty well right now—then pulled out a bottle of water.
Linda Holmes came into the conference room holding a large binder in front of her chest. Now just past fifty, in younger years she was quite a beauty. Greene still found her attractive, though there wasn’t a hint of flirtation between them. It would have gone nowhere in any event—she’d just celebrated her thirty-year marriage anniversary.
“Mr. President.”
“Drink?” asked Greene, settling down on the couch.
“I just had coffee.”
“How’s it look?”
“Well.” Holmes opened the binder. She had an iPad 3 in the pocket. She fired it up, then flipped about midway through her book. She tapped the iPad twice, coordinating whatever was on the screen with her documents. “You need eight more votes.”
“In the House?” asked Greene.
“That’s the Senate. The House is even tougher.”
Greene cursed. Now he really wished he’d chosen the beer.
“It’s because it’s Vietnam that’s being attacked,” she added. “Anywhere else, even Taiwan—”
“I know,” said Greene. “All right. Just tell me: Is there any hope?”
She made a face Greene had seen all too often in his short tenure as president. He called it the Bad News Grimace—I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, sir, but. . .
“I wouldn’t rule it out,” said Holmes. “If you could make some calls, it might help.”
“Give me a list,” said Greene.
Holmes tapped her iPad. The printer at the far end of the room began humming.
“I’ll let you know how I do,” said Greene.
He got up. As Holmes left, he took a swig from the water bottle and turned toward the back to his private suite.
“George?”
“Yes, Walter?”
“Are you thinking of sending the troops without the authorization?” asked the national security director.
“Possibly.”
“That’s risky. Legally.”
“Agreed.”
“The worst thing would be to send them too late.”
“I’m well aware of that, Walter. Do you mind if I take a shower now?”
“Couple of other things,” said Jackson. “The operation against Hainan seems to have been successful. NSA has intercepts telling the fleet to look for Vietnamese submarines. The admiral who was supposed to lead the invasion force has been recalled to Beijing for consultation.”
“Excellent.”
“Yes and no. There’s still a sizeable force on Hainan. They won’t stay there forever. And the CIA thinks there’s some sort of operation being planned against Hai Phong. The details are sketchy.”
“What sort of operation?”
Jackson shrugged. “Details are sketchy.”
“Get a hold of Frost and tell him to sharpen it up,” snapped Greene. Peter Frost was the head of the CIA. “Tell him to stop sending me the latest fake YouTube and Twitter posts, and get real intelligence.”
“One other thing you should know, George,” added Jackson, his voice notably lower. “The two American Army officers involved in the Hainan operation as advisers? They’re missing.”
“Missing where?”
“Hainan.”
Greene pursed his lips. Just what he needed—another public relations nightmare.
“Very possibly they’re dead,” added Jackson.
It was a horrible thought, yet in this circumstance their deaths would be far more desirable than their capture.
A terrible thought, especially for him. Would Nixon have thought that about his capture? And yet it was certainly true for the country.
Or at least for him.
Was that the same thing?
Absolutely not. He had to be clear about that.
“Keep me advised,” Greene told Jackson, opening the door to his private suite.
~ * ~
10
Hainan Island, China
Zeus relaxed a little as the Fokker 50 lifted from the runway. They were off Hainan at least. The farther from the scene of the crime, the better.
The turboprops made a loud, droning noise that reminded him quite a lot of the turbocharger he’d installed in his old Firebird.
Odd to be thinking of the ‘Bird now. She wasn’t nearly as nice as the Corvette he’d kept, but she had been a pretty car in her own right, old-school muscle and gas guzzler. He’d done a good job with her, and she’d paid him back nicely, returning a decent premium over what he’d paid when he sold her to a millionaire on eBay. At least he assumed the guy was a millionaire; he didn’t even bark about the price.
The Fokker banked sharply, pushing Zeus against Christian.
“Something’s up,” Christian told Zeus. “We’re turning north.”
“Solt’s got it under control.” She was sitting a few aisles away.
“I’ll bet.”
“You come up with a better plan, let me know.”
Casually glancing to his right and then left, Zeus tried to get a read on the other passengers. He could only see a handful. They were all Asian, probably Chinese. They didn’t seem particularly worried or thrilled to have escaped Hainan. He thought of striking up a conversation to see what they knew of the situation on the island, but decided it was too risky; there was no sense calling more attention to himself.
Zeus unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Where are you going?” asked Christian. There was panic in his eyes.
“Bathroom.”
Zeus glanced at the faces of the passengers as he walked toward the back of the cabin.
No other Europeans. Mostly men, mostly in formal business clothes. His own clothes, a baggy pair of cotton pants and a Western-style sweatshirt with a pseudo designer name, were probably among the most casual on the plane.
The restrooms were occupied. Zeus turned back toward the cabin, hoping that Solt Jan had seen him and would follow. But she didn’t.
The door to one of the commodes opened. Zeus stepped back to let a short, thin woman squeeze past. Then he went inside the restroom.
He needed to wash his face. The salt water from the ocean felt as if it had embedded itself into his pores. He rubbed the water from the faucet into his forehead and down across his cheekbones, to his jaw and chin. He filled his palms again and ran them over his face, trying to flush the salt and fatigue away.
He avoided looking in the mirror, knowing he looked terrible. He took a quick glance at his clothes—stolen from a gym locker, but reasonably close in size—then opened the door and went back out to his seat.
“We’re going to Zhanjiang,” whispered Christian as he sat down.
“How do you know?”
“Solt told me. She came by while you were in the restroom.”
“Okay.”
“She says there’re flights from there to Beijing. From there we can go anywhere. I’m not crazy about going to Beijing.”
“There’s always Pyongyang,” Zeus answered sarcastically, referring to the capital of North Korea.
“You’re a real comedian.”
“Did she say how long the flight was?”
“Didn’t ask.”
Zeus leaned over, trying to see through the window next to Christian. If they were going to Zhanjiang, it shouldn’t take very long. They would fly directly over the island, cross a small strait, and then reach the mainland not far from the city.
“Not even anything to read,” grumbled Christian.
“We’ll be down soon.”
“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to that.”
The pilot began speaking over the loudspeaker in Chinese. There was some rustling in the seats as he went on.
Zeus waited for him to finish, hoping he would repeat the announcement in English, but he didn’t. Finally, he leaned across the aisle.
“Excuse me,” he said to the sleepy-eyed man sitting opposite him. “I don’t speak Chinese. I wonder if you could tell me what he said.”
The man simply stared at him.
Two rows ahead, Solt Jan heard him talking and turned her head back. She got up and came back, kneeling down next to his seat. She looked as if she were genuflecting.
“The plane is diverting because of the war emergency,” she told him in a whisper.
“Uh-huh.”
“Zhanjiang is closed,” she added, her voice even softer. “The pilot didn’t say, but we are most likely going to Beihai. We will be able to continue from there.”
She shook her head, telling Zeus not to ask any more questions.
“Small airport,” she whispered. “But adequate.”
“We’re in your hands.”
She nodded, then went back to her seat. The aircraft had begun banking gently westward,
“Why do you think they closed Zhanjiang?” Christian asked.
“Need it for military operations,” said Zeus. “Has to be.” Probably in response to our fake attack, he thought. Zeus guessed there would be extra patrol flights now, the Chinese military in high paranoid mode.
Good. Though not necessarily for them.
The airplane leveled off. The harsh drone of its engines eased. Zeus wondered about the Vietnamese air force. They still had some flyable MiGs, but he doubted they’d risk them this far from their base. In fact, he tended to doubt that they’d risk them at all.
“We’re over the water,” said Christian a few minutes later.
“What can you see?”
“Lights. I think I can see a boat. A ship, I mean. There’s the coast.”
Obviously, the Chinese didn’t think the Vietnamese air force was much of a threat, or there’d be a blackout.
The airplane suddenly dipped down. Something flew past Christian’s window.
“Shit,” said Christian.
“Sshhh,” said Zeus. Bat everyone else was talking, and pushing toward the windows near them.
“Fighters,” said Christian.
“What are they doing?”
Christian didn’t answer as the Fokker suddenly dipped down again. Zeus felt his stomach rising in his chest, and fought back a gag response.
Christian reached for the barf bag. So did several other passengers as the Fokker turned sharply eastward, tucking its left wing down and then pivoting even harder onto its right.
Zeus strained against the seatbelt, then felt himself pushed back as they leveled off. He wanted to look out the window, but Christian was in the way, getting sick. Zeus turned toward the aisle, trying to keep his own stomach from feeling too queasy.
The pilot came on with another announcement. His words seemed to come more quickly than before, though Zeus could only guess at what he was saying.
Don’t worry. All is routine.
The plane leveled off. After a few moments, Zeus braved a glance at Christian.
“Maybe we should change seats,” he suggested.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“You all right?”
“No.”
Zeus stepped into the aisle, then slipped in as Christian got out of the way.
A set of lights blinked beyond the wing. One of the planes that had buzzed them earlier was now flying parallel to the Fokker. Zeus guessed it was a fighter, and that they had inadvertently strayed into a military area.
That didn’t seem to make much sense, though—they were still out over the water.
Then he saw lights in the distance. At first, he thought he had spotted a city; then he realized he was looking at one of the Chinese aircraft carriers.
Zeus pushed against the glass, trying to get a better view. The Chinese had two carriers. The last he had heard was that they were operating together. But he could see only one.
Something was landing on it. From this distance it was impossible to tell what kind of plane.
Zeus turned his attention to the dots of light near the larger ship. They were escorts. The Navy probably already knew exactly which ships they were, how they were equipped, even who their captains were. Very possibly an unmanned spy plane was watching them at this very moment. Still, this was a real intelligence opportunity: Zeus studied the dots, trying to memorize the pattern. Two small ships flanking the carrier, with a larger ship to the south. Three other vessels behind, to the north. Two seemed relatively large and wide; he guessed they were supply vessels of some sort, with their own escort.
When they were past the last of the ships, the aircraft on the wing veered away. A cone of orange appeared at the back of the gray fuselage, changing from a circle to an ellipse as it made its turn. Zeus stared after it. When he finally turned his attention back to the cabin, he saw that the stewardesses were handing out towels. They were landing soon.
“You okay?” he asked Christian.
“Better. Sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“Funny thing is, I feel hungry now.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t push that.”
Zeus went back to looking out the window. He couldn’t see any more lights, just a dull, orange-brown glow ahead to his left. He glanced at his watch: fifteen past three.
Where had the time gone? And yet it had seemed to pass so slowly.
Ten minutes later, the plane began to bank in the direction of the glow. By now, it looked like a pale yellow foam rising from the crust of the blackness below. Zeus guessed it was Beihai, where they were headed.
The pilot confirmed it with an announcement a few seconds later. The only word Zeus recognized was the name of the city.
He tightened his seatbelt and waited patiently as the plane put down, the engines growing into a loud roar as the wheels hit the tarmac. The passengers applauded as the pilot feathered the engines and gently nudged the brakes.
The plane stopped a good distance from the terminal. A pair of buses waited nearby. Zeus watched a moveable stairway being pushed close to the fuselage.
The passengers got their things together, then filed out slowly, silently, no doubt wondering like Zeus and Christian what they were going to do next.
Solt was a few passengers ahead of them. Zeus angled to the left as he neared the bottom of the steps, intending to catch up. But as he reached the bottom of the stairs, the attendant standing there tapped his shoulder.
“This bus,” she said in English. “That one is full.”
Zeus turned dutifully and led the rest of the passengers to the second vehicle. The driver smiled and nodded as he boarded, greeting him in Chinese. Zeus found a seat a few rows back.
Christian slid in next to him silently. Zeus guessed that he was embarrassed that he’d gotten sick, though he had plenty of company.
The bus was quiet. When the last passenger had found a seat, the driver closed the door and put the vehicle into motion, gliding across the blacktop toward a two-story buildin
g about two hundred and fifty yards away. He stopped behind the first bus, which had already discharged its passengers.
