Not until she’d exited the briefing room, ignoring the hostile glares of the officers, closing the door of her private quarters behind her, did she allow the mask to dissolve. She slumped into the red satin chair next to the dresser. The tears she’d been holding back sprang from a well deep inside her.
It was too much. She should never have accepted the position of President. They were right, Huang and Lo and the others. She had no qualification, no skills, no right to take her country and all its people with her into an abyss of death and misery.
She would resign.
Brave men were dying out there in the Strait. Why? Because she was filled with the need to prove herself? Or was it her own lust for revenge for her husband’s assassination?
Through her tears she looked up at the framed photograph on the dresser.
Kenneth, what would you do now?
The handsome, bespectacled man in the photograph smiled back at her. Charlotte squeezed her eyes closed, feeling again the pain of her loneliness. How long had it been? Four years and a few months since the rainy April night they found him shot through the heart on the doorstep of his Taipei office.
They had been a team, Dr. Kenneth Soong and his vivacious wife, Charlotte. He, the scholarly, idealistic statesman who, everyone said, would someday lead Taiwan to its rightful sovereignty. She, the bright and dutiful helpmate who stood beside him, laughed at his convoluted jokes, edited his speeches, consoled him on his defeats.
Helpmate. The word had a bittersweet flavor as she dredged it up from her memory. The public perception of the Soongs was of a complementary pair — he the strong and resolute leader, she the supportive assistant.
It was a charade.
Gazing again at the smiling face, Charlotte forced herself to recall the truth. Despite Kenneth’s undeniable brilliance, he was a man bedeviled by self doubt. She always knew that he lacked something — an inner strength, firmness of conviction, a sense of direction. He needed a compass. Charlotte supplied it.
It all came back to her now — the late night sessions during which she bolstered his wavering confidence, coached him for the next day’s confrontation in the legislative Yuan, instilled in him courage that he did not possess.
She was his compass. And his courage.
No one outside their little circle knew the truth. Together the Soongs climbed through the labyrinthine politics of Taiwan, battling both the factions that wanted war with China and those who preached capitulation. Kenneth Soong and his minority party were on the brink of winning leadership of Taiwan when his enemies decided to remove him. He had become too great a threat to their plans.
A feeling of utter hopelessness washed over Charlotte. Kenneth was gone, and with him her strength, her font of knowledge. Kenneth would know how to deal with this crisis. His analytical mind would sort out the false information from the true. He would know what to do.
But he would be frightened to death.
She nodded, looking at the smiling face in the photograph. Yes, sad but true. Kenneth would be wallowing in his own fear. His exterior manner would be firm, clear-eyed, focused on the objective. Inside, he would be screaming for help. Kenneth needed a compass.
I am the compass.
She wrestled with this thought for a while. She didn’t believe in destiny, at least not in a metaphysical sense. It was pure happenstance that she occupied the office of President. She was an accident of history. Any of her cabinet ministers or officers on the general staff could manage the country better than she.
Yes, she would resign. She would turn the office over to Franklin Huang.
Something inside her instantly rebelled at this thought. No. She couldn’t identify the source of her misgivings, but it was there. A strong voice was yelling at her. I can’t quit. Not now.
Her thoughts returned to the war room. She could feel the gloom that pervaded the yellow-lighted room. Generals and admirals were quibbling over withdrawal, containment, retreat. They were good, well-intentioned officers, each with a different perspective. They needed direction.
I am the compass.
She felt the intelligent brown eyes of her husband gazing at her. She could hear the words he would have for her. Do it, Charlotte. You know what has to be done.
She rose from the red chair. Peering into the mirror over the dresser, she dabbed at her eyes, freshened her make up, gave her flowing black hair a once-over. She hooked her talisman, the umbrella, over her right arm.
On her way out she delivered a curt nod to the sentry, then strode back to the war room thirty meters down the hall.
They looked up as she entered.
“More bad news, Madame President,” said Weng-hei. “The flotilla commander reports that two more of his ships have been sunk, a destroyer escort and a frigate.”
“Sunk by what? A submarine?”
“He doesn’t know. Possibly an aerial attacker that was undetected. They had no warning.”
“The invisible enemy again?”
The admiral nodded. “The commander has requested permission to withdraw his ships for rearming and repair.”
She studied the admiral’s grave expression for a moment. He looked like a man who had resigned himself to defeat. “Withdraw? Is that what you recommend, Admiral?”
“If we wish to preserve what naval strength we have left, yes.”
“Without control of the Strait, we will have lost the war.”
“Perhaps. But we still have aircraft overhead. We have submarines on station. We can—”
“Enough. There will be no further talk of withdrawal. Taiwan cannot afford such a luxury. Admiral, your task is to destroy the enemy’s navy, not run from it.”
Weng-hei looked as if he had been jolted with an electric current. “I did not mean that we should run. Only that—”
“I understand your meaning. Let me explain your duty in very simple terms. So long as you have one ship left afloat, you will use it to attack the enemy. Is that understood?”
The admiral’s face drained of color. “Yes, Madame President.”
A hush fell over the briefing room. General Wu, who had been studying the wall-sized graphic display, turned and gave her a curious stare. At the duty desk, an army colonel’s mouth dropped open as if he’d seen an apparition.
Her eyes swept the room, pausing to gaze at each of them. “Listen to me, each of you. The invisible weapon that the PLA is using against us has been identified. A plan has been proposed to deal with it.”
She told them about Operation Raven Swoop, leaving out the specific details of time and force size. She also left out any mention that Americans would be involved.
When she was finished, she glanced at her watch. “General Wu will brief you on the mission and explain the support functions that the commandos will require. Wish them luck, gentlemen. Taiwan’s fate rides with them.”
Taking long, purposeful strides, she walked past them to the red lighted exit. As she left, each of the officers, one after the other, snapped to attention.
“Okay, assuming I took the assignment,” said Maxwell, “who is the second pilot?”
Boyce looked up from the op plan. “Who says it has to be a pilot?”
“I do. I need somebody in the back seat who can run the Black Star’s systems.”
“How about a Taiwanese Air Force pilot? Some guy who speaks English and can talk you through the check lists and instruments.”
Maxwell shook his head. “He ought to be an American. I don’t want problems with chain of command if we have to do something innovative.”