“Of course, Mr. President. I’ll make that call right now.”
Carr hung up the receiver, then walked back to the couch. He sat down, rubbing his palms together, questioning softly, “Where the hell could they be?”
“Is any of this going to have an impact on the Vice President’s upcoming visit to China?” Bancroft asked.
Carr leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. “Good question, Hank. Right now there are too many unanswered questions — for us and them. I’d be surprised, though, if they didn’t have their own investigation underway. Maybe I should give the Chairman a call. He should know what happened, what was planned, if he doesn’t know already.”
Bancroft threw out another scenario. “There’s always the possibility, Mr. President, the Chairman may not receive the same information we have.”
The intercom on Carr’s desk buzzed. He went to answer it. “Yes, Theresa.”
“Mr. President, there’s a call for Director Bancroft.”
“Put it through. Hank, line 3.”
While Bancroft took the call, Carr walked over to a white, French Provincial-style credenza, brought from his family’s home. He picked up a silver tray holding tall glasses and a pitcher of water, then carried it to the coffee table. He poured a glass and offered it to Prescott, who declined.
“Sir,” Bancroft said, as he approached the President, “my folks are picking up more chatter from the Chinese. I think I’d better go.”
“All right, Hank. I’ll be waiting for updates.”
Prescott stood. “Maybe I’d better go, too, sir.”
Prescott was about to leave the Oval Office, when the President called, “General! Have Hank come back in. You can go.”
Bancroft came in, closing the door behind him. “Yes, Mr. President?”
Carr had his back to Bancroft. With his arms folded tightly across his chest, Carr said, “Hank, when this incident is over, I want an investigation into why we didn’t know about that plutonium sooner.” He turned toward the director. “Somebody dropped the ball on this. Find out why.”
“I can assure you I will. Is that all, Mr. President?”
“Yes, Hank. That’s all.” Bancroft left.
President Andrew Carr stood alone, wondering what the hell was going on, and worrying about Team Alpha Tango, two Navy SEALs, and two canisters of plutonium.
He went to his desk and pressed the intercom switch. “Theresa, tell the Vice President I’d like to see him. Once he’s here, put a call through to Chairman Xiaoping.”
Captain Gregson removed his cap, as he walked into the Wardroom, spotting Admiral Wade Larrimore seated in front of a television, watching a John Wayne movie. Larrimore was on board only in the capacity to see that the carrier and her task force completed its mission. It was his flag that flew on the Coral Sea.
“Excuse me, Admiral,” Gregson said as he stood behind Larrimore.
Gray-haired, blue eyed, Wade Larrimore swung his chair around. “Nat! What can I do for you?” He took a sip of coffee.
“Sir, I just got off the ‘horn’ with Washington.”
Larrimore pointed as he said, “Pull up a chair.”
Gregson put his cap on a nearby table, then sat down. “The Coral Sea’s been put on alert, Admiral.”
“What’s happening, Nat?” Larrimore asked, reaching toward the table to put his white coffee cup in its saucer.
“You know that a team was sent in to extract those two SEALs, sir.”
“Alpha Tango, right?”
“Affirmative, Admiral. No one’s heard from them yet, but we have orders to standby. The President’s gone so far as to say, if necessary, we have his permission to send a chopper or boat into Chinese waters — accidentally, of course.”
“Then, let’s go, Nat!” Larrimore exclaimed, as he stood abruptly, then headed for the door. “I want my ‘barge’ made ready. It might be faster than a chopper to get all those men aboard.” Stowed in the hangar bay, the Admiral’s forty-two foot motor boat was used for transporting him and officers whenever and wherever requested or required.
Gregson grabbed his cap from the table, then caught up to Larrimore.
Chapter 19
Approaching from the south, three Army trucks slowly drove through the outer rim of old Shanghai. Soldiers sat on both sides of the bed, holding their rifles, unsure of what to expect. Two major explosions had occurred in one day, and in less than two hours of each another. Incidents like this just didn’t happen here.
The trucks passed a two-story white building. The new American Consulate. It seemed to come through the explosion almost unscathed. What they couldn’t see was the roof, where flying debris had landed.
Nearing the north end of old town, the trucks stopped. An order was shouted. Men immediately jumped out of the beds, having to step over and around piles of rubble before forming two lines in front of the first truck.
Standing at attention, they dared not be obvious as they tried to view the devastation without turning their heads. Pieces of what were once structures, were now shattered. Wood, glass, doors, parts of bricks, even whole bricks were strewn everywhere.
Getting out of the lead truck with extra care, Colonel Tao Chiu adjusted his cap over the bandage wrapped around his head. A sharp pain shot through his hip when he stepped onto the pavement. But he was lucky. He was one of a few who survived the blast, one of three who were able to walk away.
There was little left here to give him any clue as to who did this, but his suspicions pointed to the Americans. What he was unable to answer, though, was why? And where were they now? How could they have left Shanghai without being recognized, or even seen? It was virtually impossible for them to escape by air, whether by helicopter or not. They could still be in hiding, waiting until dark. But then what? Drive? Possible. But where would that get them? Maybe as far as… He paused, then looked overhead in thought, before turning to the lieutenant standing near him. “You’ll be in charge. Keep all the men here. Set up a perimeter around this whole area.” The young officer saluted, then immediately carried out the order.
Chiu returned to the truck, got in, then ordered the driver to take him back to the garrison. His first priority was to respond to officials in Beijing. Priority two: alert naval gunboats. He was confident the Americans would attempt to escape by boat, as they had last time, but probably not in a simple rubber boat. The question was how and where could they get anything larger? They definitely had to find one with more power. He pressed his fingers against his eyes, trying to relieve the pain. Then, he slowly drew his fingers away, as a picture formed in his mind. Rows of fishing vessels in the Huangpu River.
Hundreds of fishing boats and commercial trawlers headed south along the last section of the Yangtze where it joined the East China Sea. More than just fishing vessels traveled this route. Barges carried coal, bricks, gravel, and sand. Some were headed to the Grand Canal, the longest canal in the world, at fourteen hundred miles long, ending north at Beijing.
Little by little, the sun’s rays began to break through the heavy cloud cover. The temperature was beginning to rise along with the humidity. The inside of the cramped cabin was already stifling. Sweat dripped from brows, stung eyes, ran down backs.
“Dao,” Grant called, “is it clear around us? Can we open the doors?”
Kwan leaned toward the window, doing a sweep with his eyes. “Clear, but keep out of sight. I can’t see what’s behind us.” He slid the port door back, while he tried to maintain a steady course, keeping an eye out for other craft.