The Chief of Naval Staff, Vice Admiral Sang Ye, had arrived from Beijing. He and Zhang had known each other for many years, and neither would tolerate a wrong word about the other. Sang Ye held great influence over the purse strings of the Chinese Navy, and this was an operation that might require the spending of big money.
The Chief of the General Staff himself, Qiao Jiyun, had flown to Canton on the same private jet that had brought Sang Ye, because it was plainly not merely a matter for the Navy. This was a national military matter that might, if improperly handled, suck China into a headlong confrontation with the USA.
To stress the strong political ramifications of the situation, the Paramount Ruler had insisted that the newly promoted Political Commissar of the People’s Liberation Army/Navy, Admiral Xue Qing, attend this strategy meeting in company with a full staff of deputies, who now waited in an outside room.
The main office, in which now sat the most senior figures in the Chinese Navy, was not really an office at all, but much more of a room of state, as if transplanted from the Great Hall of the People. It seemed to be a thousand years old with its massive 100-foot-long antique Persian rug, which had once been transported with Marco Polo all the way along the old Silk Road.
But the room was only four years old, constructed especially for great meetings such as these in one of the buildings of China’s new Senior Service. Only since the turn of the twentieth century had the colossal importance of the Navy been recognized. It had plainly superseded the Army as the front line of China’s military ambitions, and indeed defense.
For several years, visiting politicians and commanders had sat in plain functional Navy-base rooms until, one morning back in 1999, the Paramount Ruler himself expressed disgust that the most exalted and trusted people in the entire country were somehow sitting in a military slum attempting to solve the destiny of one and a quarter billion people.
“I like coming to Ghuangzhou,” he had said, using as ever the modern Chinese name. “And I am always honored to talk to my commanders here, and to see our great ships. But please, will someone provide us with a comfortable room in which we may speak — something commensurate perhaps with the expectations of those who occupy high offices of state, and from whom much is expected.”
Thus the great room was constructed, with four towering round columns decorated with deeply patterned red silk. Exquisite ornamental lacquer ware, inlaid with gold, from the Ming dynasty of the mid-fifteenth century, was placed upon the most spectacular carved tables from the same period. Upon the wall, behind Admiral Zhang, was a giant painting of the procession of the Ming Emperor Wuzong, his ornate carriage of state pulled forward by a team of elephants.
Two paintings of similar size, each 10 feet in height, were set above the door, one of the former Paramount Ruler Mao Zedong, the other of the Great Reformer Deng Xiaoping, who had once occupied the chairmanship of the Military Affairs Commission. It was he who had promoted Zhang Yushu to C-in-C of the Navy.
And now Deng’s protégé sat at the enormous 12-foot-square carved desk, flanked on either side by two traditional high blue-and-white Ming vases, placed strategically, port and starboard, upon the scarlet leather. They were there as a testimony not only to the grandeur of Chinese culture, but also as a reminder to visiting foreign commanders and dignitaries that China invented fine porcelain in the seventh century, or, as the Paramount Ruler preferred to state it, “One thousand years before Europe, porcelain that has never been equaled.”
Staring happily out from between the vases, Zhang looked like an emperor himself. He called the meeting to order and quickly outlined the story of the captured American submarine.
“Frankly,” he said, “the submarine is an embarrassment. Its presence here will infuriate the Americans, who will, first, want it back, second, invent ways to punish us economically and third, may even carry out military action against us, which would be unfortunate in the extreme.
“The USA is very powerful and very vicious when it has a mind to be. And they would have a case against us. Whatever we may say diplomatically, their submarine was in international waters, where they had a perfect right to be…and we have effectively stolen it.
“However, that will not of course be our argument. We will concentrate on how shocked we are that the USA should have brought such a weapon of mass destruction that close to our coastline — as close as the Cuban missiles were to theirs in 1962 when President Kennedy was happy to risk starting a world war.
“Gentlemen, I should like to clarify our purpose. In our great quest to create a modern, blue-water Navy, we lack one thing — the knowledge to build world-class submarines, which is the one boat that will always keep us safe from attack, allow us to blockade and retake Taiwan, and provide us with control over the world’s shipping routes to the east. But despite all of our careful acquisition of the secret computer formulas and discoveries of Western nations, we have not been able to copy them adequately. There are subtleties in the systems that we do not understand.…”
Admiral Zhang quite suddenly stood up. And he paced behind his chair in front of Emperor Wuzong’s parade, and then he stated very simply, “Gentlemen, the answer to all of our prayers is currently parked on submarine jetty zero-five.”
He paused to allow the full effect of his words to settle on his colleagues. And he added, “Working from plans and documents is one thing, but it is not nearly so effective as working from the real thing, which you can touch, and dismantle and restart, and strip down and examine with the finest available minds in China, and even beyond. I have already sent for a team of twelve senior submarine engineers and scientists from the Russian Central Design Bureau of Marine Engineering in Saint Petersburg.
“They were of course reluctant to come at such short notice, but we are, as you know, their biggest customers these days, by a very long way. And they felt they had to oblige us. I sent a military aircraft to bring them in, in the hope that my friend and colleague Vice Admiral Sang Ye will not object to the expenditure.”
“I am honored to write the check in this instance,” said the Navy Chief of Staff, smiling.
“I am also flying in two other Russian sonar engineers in another plane from Gorky leaving tomorrow…and I hope that will be agreeable as well?”
“So long as it’s not a Boeing 747 for two people,” replied Admiral Sang, smiling-again.
“Oh, no. Most certainly not. It’s just a military aircraft of ours, based out on our far western border. It will refuel there, on the way back to us.”
“And the fee to Central Design for the technicians?”
“Er…two million American dollars.”
“Expensive people.”
“Yes, Admiral. But for this we must have the best. Can you believe our good fortune? We stand today on the brink of building underwater ships that can compete with the Americans. In my view, Seawolf has saved us twenty-five years of research, by which time we would still be behind.”
“How long, Admiral Zhang, do we need the submarine?” asked the Political Commissar, Admiral Xue Qing.
“We could make limited progress in two months. We’d need years to make a complete examination and copy.”
“And what do you propose to tell the Americans during that time?”
“Oh, that the submarine sustained very bad damage in the crash, and our wish is to repair it to the point where it can safely leave for California. We’ll tell them we have a major problem with the reactor and have no wish to release it if there is any form of danger.”
“What if the Americans say they’ll come and pick it up, and repair it with their own technicians?”
“Oh, that would not be acceptable to us. That ship has been quarantined because of suspected nuclear activity, and may not leave the jetty until it is safe. I am afraid we would never allow a foreign warship into the Pearl River Delta.”
“In fact, you just wish to fence with them until you are good and ready to release it?”
“Correct. Of
course, it will hurry things along if we get some cooperation from the crew.”
“They will tell us nothing.”
“Oh, they might, with some persuasion.”
“And where will you keep the crew during all of this?”
“I have already instigated the reopening of the old jail on Xiachuan Dao, about eighty miles along the coast from Macao. It will hold, if necessary, three hundred people including staff and guards, and I’m hoping to have it functional by Sunday. There’s electricity and water on the island — originally installed by the Japanese, but still working.”
“Do you regard this as a place to hide the Americans?” Admiral Zu Jicai was asking the question.
“Yes, in a sense I do. Because I believe the advantage is with us, so long as Washington does not know where these men are.”
“How long do you think it will take the Americans to find out?”
“With luck, two to three weeks. They’ll organize satellite searches, heat-seeking infrared, and they may finally notice some unusual activity on an island that is virtually deserted, as it has been for centuries. Also, the CIA has a very effective spy system.”
“What will the Americans do if and when they find out where their crew is being detained?”
“Nothing, because they will be too late. I intend to move all the prisoners away from the coast within sixteen days to a new jail deep in the interior, which even the Americans will never find. That buys us another twenty-one days with Seawolf…and then with profound sympathy we will tell them there has been a major nuclear accident on board, such that the whole area has had to be sealed off.”
“And the crew?”
“I am afraid they cannot be permitted to return, either, because by then they will know a great deal too much. We are going to interrogate them, vigorously, under the pressure of time.
“All of their senior operatives will know we are planning to copy Seawolf, and it will not take the Pentagon long to work out that we intend to achieve total domination of our own coastal waters, plus the oil routes of the Middle East to the Far East.”
“But Zhang,” protested Admiral Xue. “We cannot just execute them. There would be a world outcry.”
“We also cannot let them return, because then there would be an even bigger world outcry, perhaps at some of the methods we may be obliged to use in order to recreate that submarine and secure their…cooperation.”
“Then what do you propose to do with them?”
“There will be a military trial, held behind locked doors. Each member of Seawolf’s crew will be charged with treason against the Chinese people, and with bringing illegal nuclear weapons within striking distance of the peace-loving people of this Republic. They will be charged with endangering life on the high seas, and with the reckless operation of a nuclear submarine containing weapons of mass destruction, entirely against the spirit of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty of 1991.”
“But we did not even sign that treaty,” interjected Xue Qing.
“That does not preclude us from understanding it,” replied Zhang, uncharacteristically haughty. “And there may be further charges leveled at the Americans, involving lying to the Chinese military authorities while we struggled to make safe their lethal weapons, in order that the good people of Guangzhou may continue to lead their lives without fear of nuclear radiation in our ancient and historic city. Furthermore, we will charge them with sabotaging the reactor and deliberately causing a major nuclear accident in our port.
“Gentlemen, I would suggest that a prison term of perhaps thirty-five years per man would not be unreasonable for such crimes. And during those years, they will of course quietly disappear. But none of them will ever leave China alive. It is already too late for that.”
Each of the six men in the great room nodded assent to the master plan of the Navy’s Commander-in-Chief. This was unusual for China, because civilized talk and discussion is an art form in that country. But the men involved today were wise and experienced. And each of them was aware that the moment Colonel Lee had conferred on the satellite with Admiral Zhang and taken the American ship prisoner, the die was cast. They had done it. And there could be no going back now.
In 10 minutes, the C-in-C would be in the cell block, informing the Americans of precisely what was expected of them as military prisoners of the Chinese government.
1930.
Cell Block Mao.
Canton Navy Base.
Admiral Zhang Yushu kicked open the door and strode into the dirt corridor in front of the six occupied cells. He wore full dark blue uniform, with sidearms and high black boots. In his right hand he carried a slim wooden officer’s baton. He was accompanied by Commander Li and four guards, all of whom saluted the Navy Guard lieutenant, with three stars on his shoulder, already on duty inside the door.
As Zhang made his entry, the lieutenant stood to attention rigidly, all five feet two inches of him, and literally screamed, in English, “STAND UP NOW! EVERYONE…STAND UP IN THE PRESENCE OF THE MOST EXALTED COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE PEOPLE’S NAVY!”
The weary Americans dragged themselves up, and the guard screamed again, “YOU WILL SALUTE THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF! YOU WILL SHOW THE UTMOST RESPECT WHILE YOU ARE HERE! STAND UP AND SALUTE! YOU ARE CRIMINALS IN A PEACEFUL COUNTRY!”
“Captain Crocker,” said Admiral Zhang in fluent English. “Remember, there is no one in this world who can help you. You have been caught red-handed, apparently preparing for an act of war in our Chinese waters. There is nothing your country can do for you. Oh, I realize that mighty Uncle Sam could hurl a nuclear missile at the city of Canton and probably obliterate it, killing two million of my innocent countrymen. But it would not concern us overly. We would still have almost one and a quarter billion people left. War has always meant attrition to us. We can stand losses perhaps as no nation has ever done.”
He walked to the end of the line, glaring at each man. And then he walked back, and as he did so he intoned, “In any event, the USA is not going to hit Canton, because they most certainly want their submarine back, and they probably do not want to kill all of you, so they are not going to start bombing us.
“Neither are they going to launch some kind of an invasion against a country as big as ours. Which brings me back to my original point. In the end the U.S. government will do nothing for you. You are entirely in our power, and I advise you most strongly to cooperate to the full.”
The American captain stared at him, and said firmly, “Under the terms of the Geneva Convention, neither I nor any of my men are obliged to tell you one thing.”
This had the effect of infuriating the lieutenant beyond reasonable control. Either that or he was going for the Chinese equivalent of an Oscar.
“YOU!” he yelled. “YOU! YOU WILL NOT ADDRESS THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF UNLESS YOU ARE GIVEN PERMISSION.”
“Why don’t you fucking zip it, asshole,” growled the unshaven Brad Stockton, whose hard-muscled athletic build had been known to strike terror in the lower decks of various submarines.
“Yeah, why don’t you,” added Shawn Pearson. “Anyway, I’ve met you before…didn’t you used to work in Wing Fat’s Chop Suey House down by the docks in Norfolk?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you in there,” said Master Chief Stockton. “Cheap little joint run by cheap little Chinese assholes.”
“SILENCE!” roared Admiral Zhang. And then, his voice instantly softening, “Captain Crocker, you will now inform your fellow officers that they will speak only when they are spoken to…perhaps you would do that before we continue our little talk.”
“Admiral Zhang, might I suggest,” said Judd politely, “in an ancient and honorable American tradition, that you take that stupid little stick you’re carrying and go fuck yourself, and possibly your mad sidekick at the same time.”
The C-in-C, who spoke excellent but formal English learned strictly from textbooks, looked faintly bewildered at this outburst of colloquialism. But his lieutenant, who had lived fo
r a few months as a student in California, understood perfectly, and once more went into a frenzy.
“YOU ARE PRISONERS OF THE PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA!” he screamed. “YOU WILL NOT BE INSUBORDINATE OR I WILL HAVE YOU PUNISHED IN A WAY YOU WILL NOT FORGET! NOW SILENCE!”
“Hey, Zhang, who is this fucking little creep you hang out with?” asked Shawn. “Remember ancient Amellican proverb, you judge a man by Iris friends, and right now I’m seeing twin assholes.”
The admiral’s face was thunderous. He had come into this corridor to intimidate, to frighten his prisoners. And right now he was considering having at least two of them shot. But he was a man of clear purpose, and he snatched from the lieutenant a document that listed the names, ranks and serial numbers of the Americans.
Angry though he was at their insolence, he saw no advantage in putting to death the Master Chief of the entire boat, plus the tall young Navigation Officer, who probably knew more about certain electronic systems than anyone in the entire Chinese Navy.
“Your attitudes,” he said gently, “will get you precisely nowhere. At the same time, my well-meaning requests are being rejected. I will thus leave you now until the morning. You will be given a bowl of plain rice and water…and Captain Crocker, try to bear in mind, there is NO ONE on this earth who is going to do one thing for you. Your government is in the process of abandoning you completely, which leaves the field of submarine research open for me to conduct as I wish.”
Judd Crocker, with a sidelong glance through the grill to the next cell, which contained Lt. Commander Bruce Lucas, just nodded and murmured, “I’m not sure I’d count on that, Zhang old buddy, not if I were you…”
0140. Friday, July 7.
Office of the National Security Adviser.
The White House.
“I mean, Jesus Christ, Joe, this has been going on for thirty-six hours. How come it’s taken so long to get me informed? What the hell’s the matter with you guys?”
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