Power and Empire

by Marc Cameron

  The skies opened up, and it began to rain. More thunder echoed through the narrow streets. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t thunder at all, but the flat crack of gunfire.

  57

  Marine One took roughly seven minutes to fly from the White House to Joint Base Andrews. The HMX-1 helicopter flew in a formation of three identically marked Sikorsky Sea Kings, shifting positions constantly while en route to confuse any would-be attackers with their Presidential shell game in the predawn darkness. Identical helicopters had already been transported to Tokyo along with dozens of Secret Service vehicles (including two copies of the Presidential armored limo known as The Beast) aboard Air Force C-17s and C-5s.

  Ryan saluted the Marine as he left the chopper and then walked approximately a hundred fifty feet with Special Agent Montgomery before returning the salute of the staff sergeant at the base of the air stairs leading to Air Force One. He paused halfway up the steps and looked at the big blue-and-white bird. The smell of jet fuel and tarmac gave Ryan the creeps, but if he had to fly, this was the plane to do it on.

  Mary Pat Foley was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. Arnie van Damm followed him inside.

  “MP,” Ryan said. It was a chilly morning and he wore his navy blue flight jacket with the Presidential seal.

  “Good morning Mr. President,” the DNI said. “We have Captain Lim of the Taiwanese Coast Guard vessel Taitung on the line now.”

  Ryan followed Foley amidships to the combination dining and conference room. Scott Adler was already there, along with the chief of naval operations, Admiral George Muñoz, and Coast Guard commander Jeff Carter. Gary Montgomery had already peeled off with the rest of the Secret Service detail to give the President his space.

  A Chinese man in the blue uniform of the ROC Coast Guard looked on from the flat-screen television mounted on the bulkhead at the end of the conference table. He was slender, with high cheekbones and the pinched look of a man in the middle of a violent storm.

  “Can he see us?” Ryan asked the Air Force staff sergeant from Communications.

  “I can indeed, Mr. President,” Captain Lim said. “We are approaching your American research vessel now, but I must inform you that the PRC destroyer Kunming is twenty-six nautical miles to the west and closing rapidly.”

  “How far are you from undisputed Chinese waters?” Ryan asked.

  Captain Lim looked off screen and barked something in Mandarin. The pitch and roll of the ship were evident in the footage. “Eleven nautical miles,” he said.

  “Very well,” Ryan said. “I appreciate your assistance—and I know the crew of Meriwether is even more grateful.”

  With Ryan aboard, Air Force One began her takeoff roll almost immediately.

  “We are almost in position, Mr. President,” Lim said. “I have explained to Commander Carter how we plan to attempt the rescue. I must ask to be excused as we get under way but one of my crewmen will attempt to video our efforts to the extent possible once we actually begin.”

  “By all means, Captain,” Ryan said. “Thank you again.”

  Ryan nodded and the staff sergeant put the connection on mute.

  United States Coast Guard Commander Jeff Carter sat at the table to Ryan’s immediate right with a blank sheet of paper and a black Sharpie marker. Both Carter and the Four Star were on board Air Force One solely to be the president’s subject matter experts regarding the Meriwether rescue. Both men would fly home commercially from Tokyo while everyone else on board attended to their duties at the G20.

  “If I may be permitted, Mr. President,” Carter said.

  “Of course,” Ryan said.

  Carter drew a small X in the center of the paper. “Meriwether is here, drifting toward undisputed Chinese waters at an estimated four knots.” He drew a second X. “Taitung, a thousand-ton Taiwanese Coast Guard patrol vessel, is approaching from the south. At eighty-seven meters, she can handle the seas, but she has a raised helicopter pad on the aft decks, giving her a large superstructure and making her susceptible to being shoved around a great deal in high winds.”

  “And the Kunming?” Ryan asked. “How soon will she be in range to be a threat?”

  Commander Carter looked up from his drawing, deferring to the CNO.

  Admiral Muñoz said, “The Kunming is a threat now, Mr. President. Her YJ-83 antiship missiles have at least a one-hundred-eighty-kilometer range, depending on the variant. As far as boarding, at best speed, she’ll be right on top of Meriwether in half an hour, even steaming into the storm as she is.”

  Ryan nodded, then waved at the paper. “Please continue, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir,” Carter said. “Captain Lim will quarter the Taitung into the typhoon, putting Meriwether on her lee side while keeping enough standoff to prevent a collision. Once in position, the Taitung will deploy a small search-and-rescue crew of four with her Norsafe JYN 57 hard-topped lifeboat, which will come alongside Meriwether’s rubber lifeboat after they abandon ship.”

  “And the Meriwether herself?” Ryan asked.

  Commander Carter shot a glance at the DNI.

  Mary Pat said, “Captain Holloway destroyed any classified documents as soon as he realized the engine was unrepairable. There is, however, some highly sensitive hardware on the vessel. Most of it is modular and can be removed, but some is too large. Captain Holloway’s engineers have rigged the ship to flood as they board the lifeboat.”

  “Towing is out of the question, then?” Ryan said.

  “I’m afraid so, Mr. President,” the commander said. “The Meriwether is a little too large for that in this present sea state. The Taiwanese cutter would almost certainly pull her through the face of a wave.”

  “Will she go down fast enough?” Ryan asked. “If she’s scuttled, I mean.”

  Admiral Muñoz nodded. “We’re usually worried about slowing down a sinking ship, Mr. President. If Captain Holloway destroys all the through-hulls, those seas will take her in a matter of minutes.”

  Ryan rubbed his eyes. “Sounds simple enough—if they were on a calm lake and not looking at waves the size of houses.”

  “The Norsafe can handle the seas, sir,” Commander Carter said. “And if they have to, the lifeboat would be much easier to tow into friendly waters.”

  “How about getting everyone back aboard the Taitung?” Ryan asked. “If I remember right, those lifeboats leave a little to be desired as far as speed.”

  “That’s true,” Carter said. “But theoretically, she’ll be able to maneuver, and the Taitung should be about to come up alongside her and bring her in on the davit sleds. It’ll be like threading a needle during a car wreck, but they’d rather do that than tow the lifeboat if they are able. Once the Norsafe is drawn in tight, the sleds should keep her from bashing against Taitung’s hull.”

  “That’s a lot of theories and shoulds, Commander,” Ryan said.

  “Yes, it is, Mr. President,” Carter said, giving a somber nod. “But it is the plan. A better option would be for the Taitung to stand off until morning when a ship with a helicopter could arrive.”

  Ryan shook his head. “But Meriwether will be driven into Chinese waters in a matter of hours.”

  The Air Force communications officer spoke up. “Incoming message from SSN Seawolf, Admiral Muñoz.”

  The chief of naval operations read the printed document and slid it across the table to Ryan.

  “Captain Racher has positioned his submarine ten nautical miles west of the Meriwether, Mr. President. Chinese communications would indicate that Kunming does not know she is there.”

  “Very well,” Ryan said. “Let’s hope we can keep it that way.”

  The Seawolf had been built as a replacement for the Los Angeles–class fast-attack submarine fleet. She was fast and well armed, but she was also expensive—too expensive for a post–Cold War Navy, so only three had been built
. In destroyer-versus-fast-attack-sub battle, Ryan’s money would be on the submarine—especially with the surface ship battling heavy seas—but the aftermath would be catastrophic.

  Ryan said, “Have Taitung advise the Chinese destroyer a rescue operation is under way and to stand off.”

  The Air Force comms officer did so. There were several minutes of tense back-and-forth before he turned to Ryan.

  “The Chinese vessel insists on rendering aid,” he said.

  “In contested waters?” Ryan asked, cursing President Zhao under his breath.

  The communications officer typed another message, and waited for the reply.

  “Apparently so, Mr. President,” the comms officer said three minutes later. “Kunming is two nautical miles from the imaginary line and doesn’t appear to be slowing. Their captain says his orders to assist come directly from Admiral Qian, commander of the PLA Navy.”

  All eyes looked at Ryan. “Advise Seawolf to stand by, Admiral Muñoz. If the skipper of the Kunming presses me, I swear—”

  Captain Lim’s face appeared again on the flat-screen.

  “Mr. President,” he said, “the crew of RV Meriwether is all safely aboard our lifeboat. We are rigging for retrieval at this time.”

  “And the Meriwether herself?” Ryan asked.

  “The aft deck is already awash, Mr. President,” Captain Lim said, his expression somber. No sailor liked to see any ship go down, even if it was necessary.

  “Thank you again for your assistance, Captain,” Ryan said. “I’ll be making my gratitude formally known to your superiors.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” Lim said, and like the leader he was, rather than basking in accolades, he asked to be excused to see to his duties.

  Ryan put both hands flat on the table and heaved a sigh of relief. “Have Seawolf shadow that damned destroyer awhile and keep her honest.”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” Admiral Muñoz said, typing in the orders personally with his authentication code.

  “Good work, all of you,” Ryan said. “You gentlemen get with the steward and enjoy your favorite beverage on me. Scott, Mary Pat, let’s step back to my office for a bit.”

  He didn’t mention it in front of the military men, but both the DNI and the secretary of state knew they were about to dig into a strategy on what to do about President Zhao Chengzhi.

  58

  Jack Ryan, Jr., bowed his head against the driving rain and ran down the alley with Midas and Yuki, toward the sound of intermittent gunfire. He slowed as he neared the end of the narrow pathway, pulling up behind a broken vending machine to check the cylinder of the .38 revolver he’d taken from one of the bad guys. It was loaded with five, which, he decided, was a hell of a lot better than a sharp stick.

  “Chavez, Adara,” he said. “You guys copy?”

  “Hold up, Jack,” Adara’s whispered voice came back. “If you’re coming down the alley, Chen and his buds are to the right, just around the corner waiting for you.”

  Ryan raised his fist but Midas had already stopped and was relaying the message to Yuki since she had no comms.

  “Are you whole?” Ryan asked.

  “Affirmative,” Adara said. “We’re pinned down in a bar across the street called the Albatross. A black stone front. Pretty sure Chen thinks we’re armed, because he’s not rushing us.”

  “Copy,” Ryan said. “Sit tight a minute. Yuki is armed and I have a little Chief’s Special.”

  “Yuki?” Chavez said.

  “I’ll explain later,” Ryan said. He turned to Yuki. “You have backup anywhere nearby?”

  “My partner is busy with the G20.” She shook her head. “I stopped off here to interview a contact who knows Kim Soo. I did not expect her to be here.”

  “Great,” Midas said.

  “I did not expect you to be here,” Yuki said. Rain dripped from her nose. “Any of you. In any case, gunfire is extremely rare in Japan. Ammunition is accountable here, not just firearms. Police officers are at this moment getting ready to converge on your friends. It would be best for me if we took care of Chen before the authorities arrive. Less explaining, if you know what I mean.”

  Jack nodded, dabbed at the wound on his side. It would need a few stitches, but his rib bone had taken the brunt of the attack—doing what ribs were designed to do and protecting his heart and lungs. It would hurt like a son of a bitch when the adrenaline wore off.

  Yuki was drenched and beginning to shiver. He considered giving her his jacket but thought it would offend her, considering the circumstances.

  “You’ve got eight rounds,” he said, wiping the rain off his face. “I’ve got five. That leaves—”

  Adara’s voice cut him off again. “Jack!” she said. “Chen and the girl are coming back your way.”

  Sirens began to wail toward Shinjuku train station.

  Ryan peeked around the vending machine to see Chen and Kim Soo sprinting toward him. Chen had his head down against the pouring rain, but the Korean woman saw Ryan and brought up a pistol, firing as she ran.

  Rounds thwacked against the vending machine, just inches from Ryan’s face. He shot twice, aiming center mass at Chen, who was also armed and in the lead. He hoped like hell the rounds stopped but didn’t kill the bastard. They really, really needed to talk to him.

  Yuki dropped to her knees as Ryan fired and leaned around the machine, shooting steadily, purposefully, dumping seven rounds and staying aimed in while she reloaded a fresh magazine from her pocket.

  Both Chen and Kim Soo fell, their pistols skittering across the wet pavement.

  More gunfire erupted from the other end of the alley.

  “Talk to me, guys,” Midas said.

  “We’re good,” Chavez came back. “Our two bad guys decided to engage the police. Are you guys all right?”

  “We’re good,” Midas said. “Chen and Kim Soo are down.”

  “Dead?” Chavez asked.

  Jack put a hand to Chen’s neck. “Chen’s still alive,” he said. Yuki did the same with Kim Soo but shook her head.

  “Get them off the street if you can,” Chavez said. “If you can manage to stop shooting, the cops might think these other dudes are responsible—at least until ballistics comes back. These idiots appear to be ready to go down in a hail of bullets, so they won’t be around to question, either. I figure you got about five minutes while the cops still have their hands busy.”

  Yuki picked the lock to the back door of a bar off the alley, leading into a storage room stacked high with boxes of wine and assorted liquor. Midas dragged in Kim Soo’s body as well, in case any local police came up the alley from the other end to investigate. Ryan and Yuki leaned Chen against a stack of Suntory whiskey boxes and brought him around with a pinch to the underside of his upper arm. Shamisen music came from the thin door to the main bar along with a sliver of green neon. Otherwise the storage room was dark.

  “Jack san,” Yuki said. “You must give me the revolver.”

  Ryan shook his head. “Not yet. Still too sketchy out there.”

  “I will return it if needed,” Yuki said. “Possession of a firearm is seven years in prison in this country. No matter who you are.”

  Ryan groaned and handed over the revolver, butt first. He took his frustration out on a moaning Vincent Chen.

  “Tell us something, champ,” Ryan said. “What are you doing in Japan?”

  Chen put a hand to his shoulder, exploring the wounds, then looking to the floor at Kim Soo. “I think the bitch shot me,” he said.

  “I think so, too,” Ryan whispered. The gaping exit wound in front of Chen’s chest indicated the shot had come from behind. “Seriously, though, you some kind of bagman or what? I can get you protection if you help us out.”

  “Protection would be most welcome,” Chen said. “They will kill . . .” He began to cough
up a pink foam, choking on his own blood.

  “Damn it!” Ryan hissed. At least one of the rounds had punched through Chen’s lung. He put a finger to the man’s lips, grateful for the shamisen music. “You gotta hush, dude, or they’ll find us.” He had no idea who “they” were, but Chen was scared of somebody.

  “Gang . . .” Chen coughed again. “F . . . f . . . four . . . Ki . . .” He attempted another cough, but there was no energy in it. His words trailed off in one last rasping breath.

  Yuki put her fingers to his neck. “He is gone.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Ryan hissed. “They trail this guy all the way around the world, and now he dies spewing nothing but gibberish. “Did he say ‘kill’?”

  “Couldn’t tell,” Midas said. “He might have. Maybe ‘gang four-key’ or ‘gang for kill.’ Hell, none of it makes sense.”

  “Gang of Four?” Adara guessed over the net. “That’s got Chinese implications.”

  “Could be,” Ryan said. None of this helped him figure out what threats might be facing his father. “How’s it looking out there?”

  “One shitbird is down,” Chavez said. “And the other has to be running out of bullets. You guys haul ass as soon as you’re able. We’ll sit tight here and play innocent bystander until things simmer down.”

  “Copy that,” Ryan said. He grabbed Vincent Chen’s leather briefcase, relieved to find a laptop computer inside. That was something anyway. With any luck, Gavin could link to it remotely and give them a little nugget to go on. Yuki took Kim Soo’s ID and cell phone. Ryan draped the case over his shoulder and took a quick peek out the back door.

  The police were still busy at the other end of the path. Rain pummeled the pavement, throwing as much spray back up as came down. If anything, it was raining even harder than before. They couldn’t retrace their steps. There would surely be crowds gathered around the wounded—and possibly dead—they’d left behind. The police might even be there by now. Better to go straight out the front of this place.