“But of course, we are already prepared,” Chang said finally. “I agree with you, and I am afraid I can shed no additional light on the matter. Your sources are perhaps more… forthcoming… that mine are.” He saw his translator struggle to get exactly the right nuances in his choice of words to accurately convey Chang’s tone of voice.
Norfolk sighed. “I was afraid of that. If the weather holds, we may see the carrier tomorrow. Her escorts will be another week behind her, so it’s up to you and me to provide cover for her.” He saw Chang grimace, and nodded in agreement. “Right, it’s not the way we like to work. But under the circumstances…”
Under the circumstances, you want your air power here. You’ll pick up the antiair coverage for the cruiser she’s leaving behind, and you want me to handle any submarine problems in the area, because between here and there, she will be going too fast for submarines to be a problem.
Norfolk then confirmed Chang’s reasoning by saying, “If it meets with your approval, I’ll concentrate on the air problem while you handle the subsurface and surface issues. I’ll chop my two helos over to your operational control to use as you see fit. Once the carrier gets within range, it will be a different ballgame, but for now, that looks like the best use of our capabilities. Any comments or suggestions?”
Chang shook his head. “No. And I think it is an excellent plan.”
“Well, then. Perhaps you could join us for lunch before returning to your ship?”
Chang shook his head, suddenly anxious to be back on board Marshall P’eng. “I hope I will not offend if I decline. But given the matters that we have discussed… well, there are some measures I must take immediately.”
An odd expression crossed Norfolk’s face for a moment, and he looked at the translator. But then he said, “I understand. Perhaps another time?” He gestured to his mess cook. “I was afraid this might indeed be the case, but I have been eager to show off my mess cook’s talent. Perhaps you would accept this package for you and your senior officers on our behalf. And, I am afraid I must admit, that I have taken the liberty of providing several gallons of ice cream to your helicopter crew. I hope that your officers and men will enjoy them as a token of our friendship.”
“Thank you. And I hope we’ll see you onboard Marshall P’eng for dinner sometime when circumstances permit.” With mutual assurances of their undying respect and confidence in each other’s capabilities — and in this instance, each man actually meant it — the two men parted. Chang followed the XO back to the flight deck, preceded by his air crew scrambling to get to the helo before he did, and the captain returned to Combat.
THIRTEEN
Despite the occasional cry of wolf from the intelligence community, life remained relatively normal during the carrier’s transit to Taiwan. Wexler and T’ing repaired a few frays in their friendship and soon resumed their easy conversations over dinner. Although Wexler found the presence of Little Insect in her office troublesome, she spent the time putting the final touches on her plan for uncovering the source.
China’s opening diplomatic salvo came as a surprise to both Wexler and her allies. None of the Asian nations even saw it coming, and it came from a most unexpected quarter.
Brad came into her office after the morning session, his face serious. He handed her a petition addressed to the United Nations, signed by the ambassador from China. It protested in the strongest possible terms the presence or intended presence, or potential presence, of radioactive materials in her territorial waters. China lodged her objection in general, and then specifically noted the aircraft carrier USS United States as a potential source of the objectionable materials.
Wexler scanned the petition hastily, picking out the pertinent points. China was making much of the fact that the aircraft carrier had not even completed sea trials before being deployed. The petition claimed that under the circumstances, her safety precautions could hardly be considered adequate. China requested — no, demanded — that the United Nations take measures to ensure that the aircraft carrier not enter Chinese territorial waters — which, according to the Chinese, extended one thousand miles out past the coastline.
“Complete and utter nonsense,” Wexler said, tossing the petition on her desk. “There’s no way they’ll get any support for that.”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” Brad said quietly. “From what I hear, they might not be alone in this.”
“Who?” she demanded.
“Russia.”
At that, she let out a hearty laugh. “They’re the biggest offenders in the world in the area of nuclear safety,” she said. “They’d get laughed out of session.”
“Maybe.” Brad’s voice was dubious. “Maybe not.”
“Do you have information I don’t?” she demanded.
He shook his head. “I just have a bad feeling about this one.”
An idea occurred to Wexler. She turned to Brad and carefully touched her right ear. It was their prearranged signal. A look of surprise flashed across his face, and then he nodded his understanding.
“It’s a good thing,” Wexler said in a normal tone of voice, “that the President agreed to send those Patriot batteries to Taiwan. I think they’ll come in handy.”
“Sure will,” Brad said.
“Although,” she continued, “I have to tell you, I’m not sure that we’ll really be able to keep the Chinese from finding out about it. And labeling the boxes as farm equipment — well, who is that going to fool? No, I think we’ve got to plan for the possibility that China will find out, although I dread the possibility.”
“Let’s hope everyone just does his job right,” Brad answered.
“Let’s hope,” she said.
And let’s see who does find out!
Later that afternoon, Wexler would learn that Brad’s premonition had been true. Russia, as well as a host of smaller nations, and of course Australia and New Zealand, joined in the protest. The United Nations Secretary-General sent the matter to committee for further study, which would stall the matter further, but there was every chance that with China and Russia acting in concert, the matter would be back on the floor for a vote in record time.
From the outside, Tombstone’s uncle’s new quarters looked like any one of the Beltway Bandits that thronged around the center of the country’s government. They sprang up overnight like mushrooms, bid against each other, merged a week later, and competition for economic survival was fierce.
The entrance sign gave no hint of what was inside. ADVANCE SOLUTIONS, it said, the letters picked out in gold paint over plastic, swirling in a cursive script, impressive and prosperous unless you looked too close. Beltway firms were experts at looking well-capitalized while expending as little money as possible.
Even the double doors leading to the suite were in keeping with Advance Solutions’ public image. The darkly stained wood doors opened onto the portion that was unclassified, complete with a receptionist and a couple of computer technicians. Indeed, Advance Solutions had already bid on three government contracts, although never successfully.
But what was important was what lay behind the metal doors at the far end of the suite. The door frame itself housed a number of security measures, including metal detectors and a fluoroscope. It opened onto a secure vestibule. Entrance beyond that was controlled by a retinal scanner as well as a security number pad. Both were required to gain access. And beyond that armed guards sat behind one-way mirrors, Marines for the most part.