And she was supposed to tolerate this? Not being secure in her very own office? The last time her life had been in danger, and she and T’ing had been on the run, they’d bolted to the security of the United Nations building as soon as they were able to. Brad had mobilized a strike force of people she had no idea he even knew.
And now this.
For a moment, she considered confronting him. Telling him about the listening device, and asking him bluntly whether or not China was responsible. But no, that would do no good. He was even better than she was at concealing his expressions, and she would know only what he wanted her to know. In the shifting game of alliances and deception, how was one to know who one’s allies really were? And despite her long-held belief that personal relationships were an important part of diplomacy, would their friendship have any effect on the conduct of affairs between nations?
“The mustard catfish, I suggest,” he said finally.
“What?”
“For your dinner. It is one of your favorites, and I noticed several others enjoying it tonight. Perhaps that would be a good selection.” He withdrew his hand, then picked up his own menu to study it.
The world is about to go to crap, and the representatives of the two principals are trying to decide what to have for dinner. Hell of a contribution to world peace. But it could be the last time for a long, long time, if China goes ahead with those missile tests. And the last one ever if they actually have the balls to target Taiwan.
She looked over at T’ing. He raised his head from his menu and smiled, a pleasant, genial expression that betrayed no hint of his real thoughts. And that he had some real thoughts, oh yes, she had no doubt of that. He always knew more of what was at stake than she did, and had a connoisseur’s appreciation for subtle layering of national interests and the complexities of international affairs.
She withdrew her hand from the table. “Yes. The catfish, I believe.”
TEN
With his makeshift staff assembled around his conference room, Batman opened the folder in front of him. He glanced around at the faces, evaluating what he had to work with.
Better than it could have been, but not as good as a regular battle staff. Most of the officers seated at the table were either maintenance experts, exceptionally skilled in managing the supply system and flow of work that kept an airwing flying, or supply officers carrying long lists of everything onboard. The hangar bay had been hastily outfitted as a high-level maintenance depot, and the ship was manned with the appropriate personnel. He had jet mechanics, avionics specialists, and electricians instead of pilots and operations specialists, supply clerks instead of radiomen. Still, they were sailors, and there were certain skills they would have their disposal. Chief among them was the ability to take orders and think creatively.
“Okay,” Batman said, “so far, so good. I know this is a short-notice deployment for everyone, and I expect to be advised immediately of any problems that arise because of this. Our primary mission may be as an aircraft repair facility and the supply resource, but let’s not forget one thing, ladies and gentlemen — this is an aircraft carrier. And as such, I expect all of her systems to be fully operational. That includes the catapult, the arresting gear, and every combat system we have on board.” He held up one hand to forestall protest, and continued. “No, I’m not expecting you to get the hangar queens working, learn to fly them, and go on combat missions.”
That garnered a slight chuckle from two of the maintenance officers. One of them spoke up. “Admiral, I’m willing to give it a shot, if you are.” Batman remembered from his service record that the man had flunked out of the Tomcat training pipeline.
Might be interesting to see just how much he remembers.
“That won’t be necessary, but I’ll keep it in mind. No, we need to be able to recover aircraft and launch them again. God forbid, if something should happen to the United States, having an extra big deck ship around might come in awful handy for Admiral Grant. In all probability, it’s not going to happen. But if we have the capability, I want to be able to exercise it.”
“I’ve got a couple of techs who were air traffic controllers before their nerves gave out,” one officer said.
“Yes, and I’ve got an operation specialist. Dumb as a rock — so they sent him to fix aircraft instead of talk to them.” The officer shook his head, disgusted. “But a good man, a hard worker — we get him some help and keep an eye on him, he can manage.”
One by one, the other officers around the table volunteered the latent capabilities within their units, and Batman was surprised at the breadth of experience. Finally, he turned to the senior engineer present and said, “Effective immediately, in addition to your other duties, you will be my chief of staff. I want a full, fleshed-out roster of how we’re going to set flight quarters for both launch and recovery, as well as an analysis of the impact on damage control capabilities. I want names, specifics, not just ‘to be determined.’ ”
Then Batman pointed at next most senior officer. Odds were that every maintenance officer onboard had started life as an aviator and flunked out of flight school. “Fallen angel, right?” Getting a nod of affirmation in response, he said, “Okay, you’re the air boss. Pick your mini boss and your tower crew. What you don’t have, train. Let me know your proposed training schedule and give me an estimate of how long it will be before you’re ready to conduct underway flight operations.
“And the rest of you — I want this entire evolution supported. Your full support, you understand — I don’t want to see anyone just going through the motions. If you know something that somebody else doesn’t, you tell them. It’s going to take all of us working together to pull this off, but we can do it.”
I hope we can do it, he added silently.
“Admiral, with all due respect,” his new chief of staff said, “do you really expect anything to happen to the other carrier, sir? I mean, do you know something we don’t know?”
Batman nodded. “Yes. I know that you fight the way you train. If we don’t train to do this, we won’t be able to pull it off. I don’t know how or when we’ll need these capabilities, but if we do, I want to be ready.”
Wexler leaned back against the leather seats and went over the evening in her mind. Apart from his cryptic warning about the British ambassador, there had been nothing out of the ordinary in T’ing’s conversation or conduct. Not that she really expected to catch him in an unintended reaction. She just hoped she’d upheld her ambassadorial inscrutability as well as he did.
The driver pulled up in front of the townhouse she occupied for most of the year. The man sitting next to the driver got out, took a quick look around, and said, “Okay, Madam Ambassador. It’s clear.”
Sarah Wexler got out of the car. She still was not comfortable with the new security measures Brad had implemented, but under the circumstances, she had little room to complain. And she had to admit, she appreciated not having to fight the traffic herself. Riding in the quiet elegance of the back of the Lincoln town car, she read briefing papers, signed correspondence and dictated answers to letters. It was, she found, the most productive part of her day.
A car pulled up behind the ambassador’s, and a gun immediately appeared in her escort’s hand. “Get in — take off,” he snapped at Wexler and the driver. “Head for—”