He found the door open and saw the secretary seated at his desk. Rickets waved him in and lowered his phone conversation as a smug smile crept across his face.
“What can I do for you, admiral?”
“I imagine you’ve heard about the Taiwanese sinking a Chinese submarine with a tactical nuclear missile?”
“Just confirmed by Keelung,” Rickets said.
Thinking that he faced the next Republican presidential candidate, Brody looked to the carpet.
Having been wrong in every assumption about the Chinese campaign, he accepted Renard’s support and would capitalize upon it. Irony pulsated through him as he realized that years ago Renard and Slate had nearly killed him when he commanded a submarine, and then he had spared their lives. Now, allies.
He blurted out his thoughts.
“You were right,” he said. “I owe you an apology. Renard and Taiwan had a great plan. I was wrong to doubt it and challenge you. I apologize.”
Rickets stood and approached him, extending his hand. Brody shook it.
“I don’t think you owe me an apology for a difference of opinion,” Rickets said. “But we’re good.”
Rickets stepped back into his teleconference chair and gestured for Brody to sit beside him.
“I still have work to do for you,” Brody said.
“Agreed,” Rickets said. “You protected our allies in Korea and demonstrated a presence beside our allies in Japan. Now you can divert your forces toward sinking the Chinese submarines remaining in the Philippine Sea.”
“How much time do I have?” Brody asked.
“Ideally, three weeks. Although a few shipping companies will take the risk before you sanitize the water, it won’t be enough capacity to sustain Taiwan. Food shortages are already starting in remote parts of the island, and their jet fuel reserves are four weeks away from drying up, assuming the first risk-tolerant tankers get through.”
“What if they don’t get through?” Brody asked.
“Three weeks. Either way, Taiwan is close to losing air superiority over the Philippine Sea due to lack of fuel,” Rickets said.
“And if that happens, it’s a free-for-all for Chinese surface combatants. They take over the Philippine Sea, they block incoming shipping, and they take out the patrol crafts to open up the sea again to their submarines.”
Something sat wrong with Brody. He looked at the darkened monitor, half-wishing Renard would appear to clarify his doubts.
As if inspired by the Frenchman, he grasped his concern.
“I can’t just attack Chinese submarines in international water,” he said. “Technically, they haven’t done anything.”
“Right. You’ll have to escort commercial shipping and catch them in the act of aggression. It’s difficult, and it’s going to put you in compromised positions. There will be casualties, unfortunately, and it will be a race against time to account for every hostile submarine, but I have faith that your unit commanders can pull it off.”
Brody chewed on Rickets’ ugly option and then thought of the opportunity Renard had created using the Reagan as bait. He chuckled, and Rickets raised his eyebrows.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well, shit,” Brody said. “I think I’ve got a trick up my sleeve to get out of this jam by the end of the week and with zero American lives lost.”
“How?”
“With my newfound respect and alliance with Renard.”
CHAPTER 27
Jake stepped out of his wetsuit while sailors locked the hatch above them. They scurried away with a haste that caught Jake off guard.
Expecting a greeting party from the front, Jake had to hit an about face to see who cleared his throat from the engineering spaces.
“Hello, Jake.”
“Claude. It’s good to see you, my friend.”
Sweat covered the cotton shirt draped over the lean frame of the French engineer. Jake noticed Claude LaFontaine’s standoffish body language and stood fast.
“What’s going on, Claude?”
“I won’t speak for myself because I’m honestly undecided how I feel about it. But there’s a bit of resentment among the crew.”
“Resentment?” Jake asked. “For me?”
“You left us, we went to battle without you, and now Pierre has put you back in charge.”
Jake choked on a surge of anger, swallowed it, and forced himself to see the crew’s perspective.
“Yeah,” he said. “I get it. I’ve been selfish recently. I guess I need to repair some relationships.”
“It’s good that you realize it. You have work to do, and little time to do it.”
“Can you help me understand, Claude? What’s the tone? What are the expectations? I’m getting everything one-sided from Pierre, but I see he and I both missed this issue.”
“Regaining Henri’s confidence is your best option. Antoine will follow his lead, as will Lieutenant Commander Jin. The rest of the crew will fall in line behind them, including myself.”
“Where is Henri?” Jake asked.
“Judging by our down angle, I imagine he’s submerging us at the moment.”
Jake took note of the tension as his calf muscles balanced him against the decline.
“Can you give me advice, Claude?” he asked. “This isn’t the sort of thing I’m good at.”
LaFontaine turned toward the engineering spaces. As he stepped away, he offered advice over his shoulder.
“Move cautiously.”
Alone, Jake rolled his wetsuit and stuffed it under his arm. He walked forward, crouched through a door, and paused in the berthing area. The vessel’s formal commander, Lieutenant Commander Yangi Jin, had ceded the senior stateroom to Jake, and he hoped to find that Henri had showed no signs of having used it during his absence.
As he slipped forward to the captain’s personal space, Jake felt relieved to see crisp sheets and no sign of Henri’s presence. He hung his wetsuit on a door hook, sat on a foldout chair, and reached for a phone. He dialed the engineering spaces.
He heard an unfamiliar voice with a Mandarin accent. He asked for LaFontaine and waited.
“Yes, Jake?”
“Claude, can you have someone bring me a tablet computer? I need to prepare a tactical briefing.”
“I could, but—”
“I know it’s not your job,” Jake said. “But I don’t want to bother the others while they’re submerging.”
“I will see to it, Jake.”
“Will you also do me one more favor?” Jake asked. “Please ask Henri to come by my stateroom at his convenience.”
“I’m uncertain that such a move is cautious.”
“Emphasize the part where it’s at his convenience,” Jake said. “But I want him to come to me.”
“I’m no diplomat, but I will do my best and let you know what he says.”
Jake hung up. Minutes later a Taiwanese sailor brought him a computer, and he began crafting a tactical engagement on an electronic chart. He blended knowledge of the Reagan’s approach to the Philippine Sea with the Chinese submarine wolf pack’s reaction to that knowledge.
The phone rang.
“Jake.”
“It’s Claude. Henri said he would see you shortly after settling the ship on depth.”
Jake glanced at the depth gauge and noted that it had been steady at one hundred meters for ten minutes. Henri delayed his visit, as he expected.
“Thank you, Claude.”
Jake hung up and returned his attention to his navigation chart. Time flew as he updated his briefing, and two knocks on his door startled him.
“Come in!”
The door clicked open.
“You summoned?” Henri asked.
“We needed to have a conversation.”
“I’m here.”
“Fine,” Jake said. “You led a perfect mission while I was gone, but I’m taking command of this submarine at noon. If that bothers you, now is the time to speak.”