“Of course. The landmass will be yours, and it will serve as a base for controlling the air and sea around the reserves that will catapult your nation from a net importer to a net exporter of oil.”
“Not to mention rich fishing havens. My economists say that the increased fishing revenue will be substantial.”
“Agreed,” Renard said. “And it will allow you to hide military surveillance assets within your expanded fishing fleet. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s focus on establishing your stronghold before talking about preserving it.”
Motion across the room irked him. He had ignored the president’s trio of advisors, but he expected their protests.
After months of sales calls to Andrada’s formal home of Malacañang Palace, the Frenchman considered the chief of staff and his two lackeys as token naysayers. Per his reckoning, they served the sole purpose of giving their passive leader a chance to exercise his presidential right to override somebody’s opinions.
The beady-eyed smallish man with a shiny scalp voiced the requisite protest.
“This is too dangerous,” the chief said. “The risk is too grave. We would be better poised to use diplomatic channels to secure ownership of the islands that are rightfully ours. Military action will only bring military retaliation.”
Renard clenched his jaw to avoid laughing as the president hesitated and feigned a dramatic pause before assuming the strongest air of authority he could muster.
“No,” Andrada said, “The diplomatic channels move too slowly, and they produce decisions which are regrettably unenforceable. The islands are controlled by military power only. We need to start standing our ground.”
“We have no navy to speak of,” the chief said. “And you can’t rent the submarine of a mercenary forever. We can’t hold whatever ground you hope to gain. This is folly. You’ve already spent too much money on this operation with Mister Renard.”
“I will recoup the entirety of his entire fee in only six months of drilling,” Andrada said.
“Only if you can keep the Chinese air and naval forces from demolishing our drilling operations. And what of the Malaysians or the Vietnamese? Even the Taiwanese may react violently against our expansion.”
The Frenchman cleared his throat and slapped a neutral look on his face. Hiding the eagerness to profit from the collective manipulability of Andrada and his staff required effort.
“I have a longstanding relationship with the military leadership of Taiwan,” he said. “In fact, they built the Specter for me. I have advanced much of my career with Taiwan’s support, and I assure you that I can navigate any diplomatic channel to maintain them as benevolent partners to your cause.”
“An excellent point, Mister Renard,” Andrada said. “The Taiwanese are indeed our de facto allies. Their prime minister paid me the courtesy of informing me when they added a naval pier to their airfield on Taiping Island. Taiwan is standing up against our common enemies in the Spratly Islands, and we must establish our own stronghold to appear strong beside them.”
“It’s too dangerous,” the chief said. “There’s nothing you can do to stand against the full might of the Chinese. They have too many assets.”
Renard glanced to the president and feigned deference.
“May I address this, President Andrada?” he asked.
“You may.”
“I agree that the Philippines cannot withstand the full might of the Chinese. But your defenses will be sufficient to deter them from risking their full might. They will send ships and aircraft to challenge you, but I know what they will be willing to risk, and I have advised you how to survive this challenge. My expertise in working against them runs deep, and I speak from experience when I say that I can predict their response.”
“Even if that is true,” the chief said, “then the Malaysians may retaliate. Or the Vietnamese. Or the Taiwanese. You can claim that they will be allies if we spark war, but there is no proof of it. This is madness.”
“War already is sparked,” Renard said. “Your landmasses have been taken. The Chinese park fishing fleets atop shoals in your economic exclusive zone. They’ve even built permanent structures on reefs you rightfully own.”
The chief met his glare, and Renard thought he noted a hint of intelligence as he continued.
“We’re having this discussion because you’ve just stolen a naval submarine from your neighbor. That our agreement places the Wraith in my possession hardly absolves you of your key role in its theft.”
“We could sink the Wraith and let the Malaysians speculate how they lost their submarine,” the chief said. “That’s a simple and clean resolution to the problem. But if you instead proceed with this plan of using the submarine against China, you invite exposure of our role in this.”
“You consider the capturing of a world-class submarine to be a problem?”
“It’s a danger we never should have allowed. We should have simply sunk it and been content to weaken an adversary.”
Renard inhaled soothing nicotine to calm himself and continue the charade that he cared about the chief’s opinion.
“A simple sinking, as you suggest, would have been loud and difficult to hide. The violence required to sink a submarine by military means would likely have been noticed by your adversaries.”
“But we can sink it now. Quietly. And then we can return to the business of running the country without the risk of military retaliation from forces too great to counter.”
“Your country needs the oil,” Renard said. “The rewards of the world’s fourth largest reserves hang in the balance. Your economic future depends upon acquiring your fair share.”
“Not this way. There are other ways to strengthen an economy.”
“Agreed,” Renard said. “But if you had been able to find such a way, I would not be here. You need me. And worse, if you do not procure your share of the reserves, then your adversaries will take it — and then some.”
Renard’s hunting snout sensed that the chief’s requisite protest had sputtered. A quick glance to the president revealed that his temporal joy in playing judge had yielded to impatience. Andrada furrowed his brow and frowned.
“Enough debate,” he said. “It’s time to move forward.”
In the months since Renard had revealed his idea of making a stronghold in the Spratly Islands, Andrada had been hooked. As the Frenchman reeled in his catch by guiding a rote conversation to its predictable terminus, he wondered if it came too easily. A doubting voice told him that deceit would undermine him again.
Then he noticed a change in the chief.
The man’s demeanor shifted, and Renard sensed a subtle but distinct toggling from prey to predator. He appeared taller in his chair, and his eyes gleamed with a new fire. A nod to his underlings suggested that he had completed his charade as the president’s lackey and had morphed into a creature of strength.
When he addressed Andrada, his voice carried a sharp edge, transforming his question into a veiled command.
“You’ll have me move forward with the next phase of the operation.”
“Yes,” Andrada said. “You must see to it, and make haste given the timing that Mister Renard predicts.”
“Since you have ordered it,” the chief said, “I will see that it is done.”
The president stood, his shirt’s bulging buttons protruding from his suit jacket. His staff stood, and Renard reacted on cue, stretching the stiffness from his legs.
“That is all,” Andrada said. “We will reconvene for an operational briefing after dinner at seven.”
The chief marched across the wooden floor, his subordinates trailing him. His terse command carried an authority that Renard respected.