China Star

by Maurice Medland

  “Either deed would be an act of war,” Chen said.

  “Sure,” Matt said. “But they might be willing to risk that because of the high stakes. You can’t rule it out.”

  “So far you’ve told me exactly nothing,” Chen said.

  “But the indirect approach is probably the one they’ll use.”

  “Which is?”

  “The indirect approach would be simply to send out a couple of specialized attack boats, nuclear-powered submarines that operate so quietly they’re undetectable. They’ll be waiting for you when the command and control ship gets to the launch site on the equator. You won’t even know they’re there. They can stay submerged indefinitely. They’ll just sit there until you mount the satellite on the launch platform, wait for the countdown, then quietly put a torpedo in it. There’ll be a huge explosion, they’ll disappear, and that’ll be the end of it.”

  “That would also be an act of war.”

  “Nonsense. It’ll be a tragic accident. Happens all the time in rocket launches.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I’m a submarine officer,” Matt said. “That’s the recommendation I made. Of course, I have no way of knowing what the president’s decision will be. But if I were you, I’d be prepared for either scenario.”

  Chen stared at him.

  “Now I’ve met my end of the bargain,” Matt said. “As a man of honor, I expect you to hold up yours.”

  Matt could see Chen’s face turning red.

  “You’ve told me nothing but a lot of nonsense,” Chen said. He turned to Bing. “Get this fool out of here and send in the others, one by one, beginning with the woman.”

  Captain Chen stepped into his stateroom and locked the door behind him. He pulled the black leather chair out from his desk and slumped into it. So that was what the bogus senior colonel was up to. He was about to start a war. Impossible to believe. He closed his eyes and rubbed the lids. It had long been a PLA doctrine that war with America was inevitable, but he couldn’t believe it was about to happen.

  He retrieved a bottle of Chivas Regal from the bottom drawer of his desk, poured himself a shot, and downed it with a grimace. Twirling the empty shot glass in his hand, he stared at the light refracting through it from his desk lamp and pondered the implications of what he’d just learned.

  He couldn’t imagine anything more devastating to the U.S. than the destruction of its communications satellites. Even a nuclear attack on America’s major cities wouldn’t have the impact of such an attack. He’d not only studied in America, he’d studied America itself, and he knew how dependent the country was on technology. The loss of every satellite would not only disable the American military, it would cripple the American economy, causing worldwide chaos and ruin.

  He hadn’t believed Commander Connor at first. The American spy had confessed too easily, had seemed almost eager to reveal everything he knew. Chen had considered it all disinformation until Connor had mentioned the launch date of June 21. That date coincided exactly with an important date entered on Chen’s calendar. Zhuhai had been placed on alert almost four months ago. Chen had been given sealed orders and told to expect a radio-transmitted cryptogram that would authorize the opening of those orders on or about June 21. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  He would never open sealed orders without authorization - such an act was unthinkable - but prudence compelled him to verify that they were still there, still intact. He spun the combination to his safe, opened it, and retrieved a manila envelope. A bright red band across it contained the inscription “Most Secret” repeated in yellow letters. The envelope had been in his safe for so long he’d put it out of his mind. He looked at the flap, sealed with a splash of red sealing wax bearing the South Sea Fleet Command insignia. He picked the envelope up. It weighed almost nothing. It couldn’t contain more than a single sheet of paper. He found himself staring at the inscription stamped diagonally across it in red ink:

  Eyes Only Commanding Officer Luda III-class Destroyer Zhuhai (166)

  He placed the envelope on his desk and rubbed the palms of his hands against the legs of his trousers. He told himself to put it away and wait for the authorizing code. The opening of sealed orders without authorization would mean death, if discovered. He returned the envelope to the safe and closed the door, then hesitated before locking it. He looked at his watch. Just after midnight. It was now June 17. The twenty-first was only four days away. With the date so close, the risk of discovery would be low. He shook his head. Damn the American spy. He had to know.

  He checked the lock on his stateroom door, took a razor blade from his desk, and carefully slit the bottom edge of the envelope. He blew the edges apart and slid the single page out, letting it fall on the desk before him, not daring even to touch it. He leaned forward in his chair.

  Commanding Officer, Luda III-class Destroyer Zhuhai (166)

  Effective immediately, a state of war exists between The People’s Republic of China and the following nations and provinces:

  The Republic of China (Province of Taiwan)

  The United States of America

  All allies of The Republic of China (Province of Taiwan) and the USA

  Following are your orders:

  Proceed with all dispatch to the southern tip of Chilung Island, coordinates 25 N 10, 121 E 48.

  Rendezvous with the destroyer Harbin (112), and the frigates Huaibei (541) and Huainan (540), to form Task Force 34 under the command of PLA Major General Jin Kuan-lun.

  As directed by General Jin, commence missile bombardment of the city of Taipei, specifically targeting the Taiwanese presidential palace and defense ministry for total destruction.

  Provide overall support for the invasion of the island of Taiwan, as directed.

  Engage and destroy all USA, Taiwanese, and allied naval and military forces encountered.

  Chen leaned back in his chair, trembling. It was true. The war games he’d been engaged in with the Harbin, Huaibei, and Huainan off Turtle Island now made sense. China and the U.S. would soon be at war. No. The world would be at war.

  He accepted war with the U.S. - he’d trained for it his entire professional life - but in every war plan he’d ever seen, it was always assumed that China would have the advantage of surprise. If what the American commander had told him was true, the launch of the satellite would not be the surprise the leadership thought it would be. If Commander Connor was telling the truth, and Chen now believed he was, the Americans already knew about the launch and China’s plans for a preemptive strike immediately thereafter.

  He poured himself another shot of Scotch and sipped it. The American spy was not only right about the launch, he was right about something else. Now that they knew, the Americans would not allow such a thing to happen. He had to notify the leadership - but who? He was under orders from General Lao to report what he found directly to Senior Colonel Lao, his ineffectual son. But could a Red Prince be trusted with something so important?

  Chen had his doubts. Something this big should be reported directly to President Xiang, but how could he defy General Lao’s direct orders? Still, he was an officer in the PLA Navy. He had to do the right thing for China. He threw back the remainder of the whiskey and made his decision: He’d call General Lao directly, with the excuse that he’d been unable to get through to his son. If the general was unavailable, he’d call President Xiang.

  He gingerly placed the orders back in the envelope, locked it away in his safe, and walked quickly to the combat information center. In the darkened compartment, he spotted the silhouette of his executive officer near the communication console.

  “Tan. Arrange for a secure line to Zhongnanhai. General Lao.”

  “Ah, Captain,” Lieutenant Tan said. “I was just going to call you. You have an incoming call from Beijing.”

  No doubt the impatient Red Prince. Chen shook his head.

  “Yes, one moment please,” Lieutenant Tan said into the handset. He put his hand o
ver the mouthpiece and whispered, “Director Han Jinhua.”

  Han. The head of the Chinese Secret Intelligence Service was the last person on earth Chen wanted to talk to. He didn’t even want Han to know his name. He hesitated, but he didn’t dare refuse the call. He took the handset.

  “This is Captain Chen.”

  “Have you interrogated the American prisoners yet?”

  No introduction, no greeting. That was consistent with what Chen had heard about Han. The arrogant director of the CSIS had such power he’d never seen the need for manners.

  “We’re in the process of interrogation as we speak, Director Han.”

  “What have you discovered?”

  Chen hesitated. Han knew as well as he did that he was under orders from General Lao to report his findings directly to his son. Still, he couldn’t directly refuse to answer the head of the CSIS.

  “The interrogation is not yet completed.”

  “Surely you’ve completed the interrogation of at least some of them.”

  Chen cleared his throat, buying a nanosecond to think. With the time that had elapsed, he couldn’t deny that he had.

  “Yes, Director, we have.”

  “Well? What have you learned? Who have you talked to?”

  “So far, only the captain of the vessel.”

  “And what did he say?”

  Chen didn’t know who to fear most, General Lao or Han Jinhua. Either could ruin him. He took a deep breath - and a risk.

  “With all respect, Director Han. You heard the orders from General Lao. I am to report the results of the interrogation directly to Senior Colonel Lao.”

  “Yes, I heard those orders, but there’s something you have not heard,” Han said. “You have not heard about the latest purge taking place in Beijing. There is great concern among the leadership about those in the party who have studied abroad. Concern about their trustworthiness. Senior Colonel Lao studied in America. There are many who believe he cannot be trusted.”

  Chen said nothing. He’d heard of no such purge, but if Han wanted one, there’d be one. And on his orders alone. He heard pages being flipped in the background.

  “According to your records,” Han said, “you also studied in America. Annapolis, was it?”

  Chen felt his blood run cold.

  “I assure you, Director Han, I’m a dedicated Communist, loyal to the party.”

  “Everyone who has studied in America says this, but can it be believed? You would be amazed what is revealed under interrogation.”

  Chen’s mouth went dry. If Han ordered him to Beijing for interrogation, his relief would discover the opened orders in his safe, and he’d be finished. He ran his tongue over dry lips.

  “Of course, I want to cooperate fully, Director Han, but you know how untrustworthy the barbarians are. How they lie. I simply did not want to provide a person at your high level with partial information that may be inconclusive.”

  “You will let me be the judge of that.”

  “Of course, Director. We just concluded our interrogation of the captain of the ship, only minutes ago. Under coercion, he admitted everything. He’s an American national, one Matthew B. Connor, posing as the captain of an ocean-salvage vessel. He admitted that he is in actuality a U.S. naval officer with the grade of commander and that the ship was a cover for espionage. For more than five years, he’s been working undercover from a base in Taiwan, gathering intelligence about China.”

  “Yes, yes, we all know the filthy American spies are everywhere. Get to the point. What has the American woman told him and what contacts has he made?”

  “After prolonged electric shock treatment, he admitted that the woman told him about an ASAT-satellite, code-named Raptor, that will be deployed to destroy every American satellite in orbit, both military and commercial.”

  “What else?”

  “She further revealed to him the launch methodology, how the satellite would be launched at sea from a platform on the equator at 106 degrees east longitude, midway between Sumatra and Borneo.”

  “What about the date? Did he mention any dates?”

  “Yes. She told him the launch date would be June 21.”

  There was a pause.

  “What else?”

  “She told him the satellite would be used immediately once in orbit.”

  “Now listen carefully,” Han said. “It’s critically important to know who, if anyone, the Americans have contacted with this information.”

  “I agree, Director. At first, the American spy denied that any contact had been made. Of course, I would not accept this. Under threat of emasculation, he admitted that contact had been made with the U.S. Navy. Specifically, Admiral Vern Taylor, Commander in Chief of the Pacific Forces.”

  Another pause.

  “When was this contact made?”

  “In the early morning hours of June 14, immediately after the woman escaped from the laogai on Turtle Island.”

  “How was it made?”

  “By satellite phone.”

  “And you believe this?”

  Chen started to say the date of June 21 confirmed it, then thought better of it. The less he knew of China’s war plans, the better.

  “There can be no mistake.”

  The line went quiet. Chen waited, listening to the faint crackle in the background.

  “All right,” Han said. “Here’s what I want you to do. You say the American spy is a U.S. naval officer. Using any means necessary, I want you to extract every shred of information he knows about American plans to counter this threat.”

  “We’ve already done that, Director. The American officer revealed the plan under severe torture. He admitted that the U.S. will either sink the command and control ship en route to the launch site or have ultra-quiet undetectable submarines in the area, waiting to torpedo the launch pad.”

  “Which is it?”

  “He doesn’t appear to know. He says it will be a decision of the U.S. president.”

  “Knowing the Americans,” Han said, “they will avoid a direct confrontation. They will more likely take the second approach.”

  “Very clever of you to discern this, Director. The American said that is, indeed, the scenario he recommended. After the rocket is transferred to the launch pad, they’ll quietly fire a torpedo into it and disappear. To the world, it will look like an accidental explosion.”

  “And you believe this?”

  “Yes, Director, I do. As I said, the information was extracted under threat of emasculation.”

  “But how would he know this?”

  “He’s a submarine officer. He’d know about such tactics.”

  “He may know tactics, but that doesn’t mean he’d be privy to such a high-level plan.”

  “That would normally be true, Director Han, but in this case, the spy is well connected. He’s a relative of the American Chief of Naval Operations.”

  The line went quiet again.

  “Very well,” Han said after a moment. “You’ve done well, Captain . . . Chen, is it?”

  “Yes, Director.”

  “Listen to me carefully, Chen. You are to tell no one of this conversation. Is that understood?”

  “But my orders are to report the information to Senior Colonel Lao.”

  “You have new orders. Orders from me. Orders that supersede all others. Are they understood?”

  “Yes, of course, Director Han, but you heard General Lao’s orders. How can I not make a report to Senior Colonel Lao?”

  “That’s no longer your concern,” Han said. “I will notify the necessary authorities.”

  “Welcome home,” Old Wang said, opening the door of the limousine. He swept his arm toward James’s boyhood home. “Does it look the same?”

  James looked up at the ornate entrance to his father’s house, a palatial estate overlooking Nanhai, the southern lake. It hadn’t changed much in the years since he’d last seen it, other than looking a bit smaller, a bit more run down, like everythin
g at Zhongnanhai. He stifled a yawn. Exhausted from working nonstop since he’d gotten there, he’d let Old Wang talk him into catching a few hours of sleep before flying out. He dutifully glanced at the grandiloquent Chinese architecture, the manicured grounds, the moon shimmering across the lake. He nodded.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, the general loves it here.”

  James glanced across the lake at an equally palatial estate a half-mile away. The home of Han Jinhua dominated a hilltop overlooking the opposite corner of Nanhai. He couldn’t fathom the depth of hatred the old man seemed to have for him. Without the general behind him, Han would eat him alive. He noticed a light on in a corner of the house. Unlike his father, Han maintained his office in his home. The scrawny old peasant was probably working into the night, trying to see who else he could ruin. James shuddered. Hopefully, he’d never see the man again.

  “Where is the general?”

  Old Wang smiled proudly. “Still hard at work in his office - he’s seldom in before one. I prepare him a warm bath and a light snack before bed, and he’s up by five or six, back at it.”

  James looked at his watch. Twelve-fifteen a.m. He’d be asleep by the time his father got home.

  Wang picked up his bag. “What time does the plane leave?

  James smiled at the old man. “Whenever I say.”

  “Good. Then you can sleep as long as you like.”

  “I wish,” James said, looking at the date on his watch. With the passing of midnight, it was now June 17. The launch was only four days away. He’d been stuck in Zhongnanhai for more than two days, working out of a guest house, dealing with Han Jinhua’s troublemaking. With so much at stake, he felt he had to be present during the assembly of the rocket and the mating of the payload on the way to the launch site. Even if that weren’t necessary, he’d still want to be there to witness the launch. Because of Han’s meddling, he’d already missed the sailing of the CCS, but he could still catch the ship. First, a few hours’ sleep, then a three-hour flight to Guangzhou, where he’d be flown to the Zenith by helicopter.