“You’ll be the first to know, sir,” Austin said.
An aide entered the room then and leaned in to speak quietly to Austin, who listened for a moment, then turned to Macklin and tapped his large aviator watch.
“Brad?”
“We have a call with President Jiechi in ten, Mr. President, then it’s the Russian president at twenty-two hundred, followed by the British prime minister thirty minutes later and a few other heads of state until midnight. The world leaders want to tell you how sorry they are and extend the customary offer of assistance.”
Macklin frowned, hating that dog-and-pony show, especially when he had so much on his plate. “Do I really have to?”
Austin shrugged. “I didn’t write the protocols, nor did I run for office, sir. Each world leader will be expecting the big kahuna at this end of the line.”
“All right, all right,” Macklin said, standing, which prompted everyone else in the room to also stand. “All of you have your marching orders. Get to work, and we’ll pick this up first thing in the morning.”
Standing by the door, Keith Okimoto, the head of the presidential Secret Service detail, spoke into his lapel microphone, “Big Mac’s on the move.” A compact, muscular martial-arts champion, the Japanese American’s tight features and dark eyes were usually enough to make people keep their distance. Macklin once said he thought that the man looked as if he’d just stepped out of a samurai movie set, sword in hand, ready for action, which was precisely how he ran the detail. Rumor had it that Okimoto had been the one who’d given Macklin the “Big Mac” code name.
Prost caught up to them halfway to the elevators.
“Mr. President, there’s one other thing I’d like to discuss.”
“Shoot,” Macklin said, stopping, as did Austin, Okimoto, and three other Secret Service agents surrounding them. The agents took a discreet step back, out of earshot. “But make it quick. Don’t want to keep our… favorite trading partner waiting.”
Prost hesitated briefly before glancing at Austin and then saying, “Maybe this is not a good time.”
He sensed the DNI’s concern. “Why don’t you join me at Camp David tomorrow afternoon? Can it wait until then? I’m addressing the nation tomorrow evening from the lodge.”
“It can wait, sir,” Prost finally said. “See you tomorrow.”
Back in in the Oval Office, a Chinese interpreter with a top-secret clearance joined Macklin and Austin, who represented part of the core of the White House National Security Council (NSC), the principal forum used by presidents when discussing national security and foreign policy.
Missing at Macklin’s request so they could actually get some work done before the morning meeting were DNI Prost, Defense Secretary Adair, the secretary of energy, his vice president, and the White House Chief of Staff. The latter was handling congressional leaders, running blocking and tackling so Macklin could work the problem without interruptions from Capitol Hill.
Aides to Prost, Austin, and Adair also stepped in, able to respond at a nod from the president for more information, based on what the Chinese president might say.
The president sat in a high-backed leather chair and pressed the speaker button on the phone next to him.
“Morning, Xi,” Macklin said, aware of the time difference.
“Good evening, Mac,” the new leader of the People’s Republic of China reciprocated in the British accent from his days at Oxford. “I wanted to express my condolences and offer assistance.”
Macklin raised his brows at the warmth and concern in the Chinese leader’s voice.
Nothing like having a major disaster or terrorist strike for world leaders to engage in a lovefest.
Although protocol required him to be here all night long listening to empty offers, nothing prevented him from taking the opportunity to make helpful suggestions to his compadres across the pond. “I appreciate the… offer, Xi. My greatest need from you, though, would be to put more pressure on North Korea to end its missile tests and stop creating so much drama in the region. That would go a long way toward helping us focus on catching the bastards who carried out this attack.”
He paused to let the Chinese president respond and smiled at the silence that followed. He glanced at Austin, who didn’t bother to hold back a grin, giving his commander in chief a thumbs-up.
Macklin wondered how many people were listening to this conversation on the Chinese side. He actually liked President Jiechi, a man who appeared genuinely interested in shifting the cooperation needle between their two nations in the right direction. Although he also understood the challenges the new leader faced while trying to drive some much-needed change in old-school Beijing, he couldn’t pass up the chance to get China to apply some pressure on the rogue nation-state.
“I… hear you, Mac,” Xi replied. “I will… look into it.”
Yeah, Macklin thought. You do that, pal.
“Thank you, Xi. I look forward to good news.”
The conversation came to an end, and as the Chinese interpreter stepped out and one of Austin’s aides summoned the Russian translator to get ready for the call to Moscow, Macklin looked at his secretary of state and said, “Need a minute, Brad.”
“Of course, Mr. President,” Austin replied, ushering everyone out before closing the door behind him.
Walking over to the windows next to his desk, Macklin stared at the manicured lawn under the floodlights, his hands deep in his pockets as he thought of his predecessors standing on this very spot. From JFK during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1963 to Jimmy Carter during the Iranian hostage crisis to George W. Bush in the aftermath of September 11, each had stood here, knowing he was in the defining moment of his presidency. He thought of the crew of Truman and the civilians who had died and been wounded. Then his thoughts turned to the crew of Missouri, who would strike the first blow in retribution. What was that old saying? Mess with a bull, you get the horns.
— 3 —
Swift, silent, and quite deadly, the Virginia-class submarine represented the culmination of thirty-five million labor hours of computer-aided design and development to create a worthy replacement for the aging fleet of Los Angeles — class submarines. Its innovations included stealthy pump-jet propulsion technology, improved sonar systems, and photonic masts instead of a traditional hull-penetrating periscope. The latter meant that the control room no longer had to be located at the top of the operations compartment under the sail, slaved to the periscope. Instead, it occupied the level below, at the widest beam of the ship, translating into a larger, open layout that improved information flow. It also meant that the officer of the deck would no longer need to hang on to a periscope, gazing through a maze of mirrors and prisms. Rather, the photonics mast housed an array of high-resolution, night-vision, and infrared cameras that fed selected large screens in the control room.
As Missouri cruised at a depth of sixty feet, so its tactical communications mast could break the surface, Commander Frank Kelly waited patiently behind the two electronics technicians as their communications system downloaded the day’s broadcast from US Naval Forces Central Command (NAVCENT) in Bahrain. NAVCENT was the US Navy element of the US Central Command (USCENTCOM) with an area of responsibility that included the Red Sea, the Arabian Gulf, the Arabian Sea, and the eastern end of the Indian Ocean where Missouri currently operated.