A hand went up. “Subs?”
“Right. China is fielding two Han-class and one of her Xia-class nuclear missile submarines recently launched at their shipyard near the Gulf of Bohai. Both carry twelve solid-fuel ‘Giant Wave’ model-1 missiles with a range of twenty-four hundred kilometers.”
“And that area includes?” the president asked.
“That includes Japan, Taiwan, Korea, and Alaska. In addition, a Song-class diesel sub is off Kaochung at the mouth of the Straits. She’s equipped with a new sonar facility that can simultaneously and automatically monitor and operate five combat targets.”
“No model-2 missiles?”
“We don’t know. That’s one reason I’m sweating right now. The model-2, as some of you know, has a range of eight-thousand kilometers. Any Chinese sub now operating in the West Pacific or Philippines with model-2 missiles on board can aim at and reach any target within Russian and U.S. territories.”
“Who gives a flying fuck about Russia at this point?” General Moore said.
“I do,” Gooch said. “We’re at the stage in the game where everybody damn well better give a damn about everybody else. We’re all on this goddamn planet together. The president just got off the phone with Putin. He called to say he had two Russian Victor III submarines in the theater and headed into the Straits. As I say, everybody needs to know everything. Or almost everything.”
“So what happens next? Charlie?” the president said.
“As you know, the CNO put the fleet on Level Three—canceled shore leave and ordered all units in San Diego and Norfolk to sea four days ago. CINCPAC has informed me through the CNO that the Theodore Roosevelt and her battle group have reached the Straits and await orders; Kennedy and Nimitz with their groups are a day out, moving at flank speed through forty-foot seas. Lead units from both are within three hours of the Straits.”
“Good news,” the president said, staring down at something he’d written on his legal pad.
“Yes, sir. The bad news is the tankers are having a tough time keeping up and we may have a fuel problem if things get really spicy.”
“Well, we’ll just have to handle that,” the president said. “How about the psyops? Director Kelly?”
The lanky CIA man put down the slice of cold pizza he’d been about to eat and got to his feet. His suit was rumpled and his eyes were red and swollen with strain. Like many of his colleagues, he’d gone a day and a half without sleep. He straightened his tie and addressed the president directly.
“Uh, right, on the psychological operations front, Mr. President, we have at your order, activated—sorry—may I just confirm, sir, that everyone in this room has a ticket for Wild Card? Please confirm by raising your hand and stating your name and agency…sorry, folks, this is just for my records…okay. Thanks. Sorry. Regarding Wild Card, sir. That went operational at 0800 hours this evening, EST.”
“Good. Tell them what it is, Brick.”
“How much can I say?”
“Just enough.”
“All right. Operation Wild Card is a ‘deep sleeper.’ It’s, uh, a contingency asset already in place inside Mainland China. A linked chain of our most powerful nuclear weapons. Deep inside one of their major cities. They know about it. They even know its name. They just don’t know where it is. What city, what time. That’s it.”
“Jesus Christ,” John Gooch said. “What are you going to do? Blow up Shanghai? Take out Beijing? Brick, you are talking about killing a couple of million people, for god’s sake.”
“It won’t come to that,” Brick Kelly said.
“I hope to hell you’re right,” Gooch said.
Kelly continued, “We put Wild Card on the table tonight through a deliberately careless radio operator in a transmission from Hickham Air Force Base in Hawaii. He used a code we know they’ve broken. The operator’s message was, ‘Wild Card is in play.’ We’re reading their traffic. They’ve intercepted our transmission. Right now, I would say there is something approaching tense discussion within the halls of the Politburo.”
“So Wild Card is working, Brick?” the president said. There was hope in his question. He’d originally been against the concept of the grievous, last-resort contingency asset. Then came his first post-inaugural briefing. The asset, deep inside Mainland China, would be impossible to remove without destroying the thin line of civility that had existed for some time between Washington and Beijing.
“Let’s just say we have reason to believe the Mandarins in the Forbidden City are rapidly losing their cool. In a severe crisis, their pyramid structure at the very top is hardly conducive to well-reasoned consensus management. You get the top five alone in a room, throw in Wild Card, and, hell, they’re bouncing off the walls.”
“Somehow, I don’t find that image very reassuring,” the secretary of state, Consuelo de los Reyes, said.
“Madame Secretary,” Kelly said to the secretary of state, “I understand your feelings. But Wild Card is the very best chance we have of preventing an all-out nuclear war.”
Consuelo de los Reyes, Cuban-born and Harvard-educated, was the person Jack McAtee was closest to in his administration. He smiled at her and said, “Conch, could you give us an update on what State is doing, please.”
“Yes, Mr. President. Two hours ago, Barron Collier, the U.S. ambassador in Beijing, demanded to see the Chinese foreign minister. Ambassador Collier just came out of that office twenty minutes ago. While there he presented a demarche to the Chinese government. Three demands: one, get the bomb out of New York Harbor. Two, get all French and Chinese forces out of Oman. Three, stop this bullying harassment of Taiwan.”
“And what, pray tell, was their initial response?” the president said.
“Knowing Collier as I do,” Charlie Moore said, “He probably found grounds for productive discussion.”
“Unfortunately he did not, General,” the secretary said, glaring at the former Marine. “The Chinese are playing us—which, to my mind, means they have a lot of equity in this and they’ve thought it through. Or, at least they think they have.”
“The bomb,” the president said as he looked up from his pad. “What did they say about the damn bomb, Conch?”
“China’s opening position is a remarkable display of plausible deniability. They said, ‘What bomb?’”
“Right. The bomb they put in Leviathan’s keel, goddamn it!” General Moore said.
“What about the Gulf?” the president asked.
“They say they aren’t in the Gulf. France is. Suggested we speak with Monsieur le President Bonaparte about Oman. He’s the one who ordered the French troops to invade.”
“And Taiwan?”
“Taiwan is their property. That’s the view. They actually quoted the Taiwan Relations Act. In an odd way, they seemed to be advising prudence on our part.”
“Prudence?”
“Just a feeling. That we should tread lightly.”
“Ah. And this veiled warning took place prior to the Chinese foreign minister knowing Wild Card was on the table, correct?”
“Correct, sir.”
“I just had a thought, Mr. President,” Gooch said.
“Go ahead,” McAtee said.
“This Leviathan. It’s been their plan all along. That ship is the Chinese attempt to check Wild Card.”
The room went silent.
“What does that mean, John?” the president said.
“Check. Checkmate.”
“How so?”
“Trigger one, trigger all. We initiate our detonation sequence, they initiate theirs.”
“I think John’s absolutely right. Only we know where their bomb is,” CIA Director Kelly said.
“That’s correct, Brick,” the president said. “We do know where it is. I just pray to God we get that damn thing out of New York before they pull the trigger.”