“Whoa,” said Secretary Kisendahle. “Cancer. Hmm. Well, I’m familiar. Believe me, I’m familiar,” as he put both hands in the air and motioned a push-away gesture.
Whoa, I didn’t know the Secretary had cancer, or is recovering from it? At least that’s how he alluded to when hearing about the cancer? Calvin thought.
“Yes, sir. The Chinese pilot, named Captain Wu Lee, is best friends with one of our Air Force Reserve pilots named Captain Ford Stevens. So… sir, together, just hours ago, they stole the Devil Dragon from an east coast airport in China, and are flying it inbound to the USS Abraham Lincoln.
The Secretary put his glasses back on, then took them off again. He raised his eye brows, and had an unpredictable look of zero expression on his face. Calvin thought it must have been honed after so many years in the Senate. “Really? Let me get this straight. They are going to land a Chinese Stealth fighter… or rather bomber… on the flight deck of the Lincoln?”
Oh shit. That’s not a great tone of voice. “Yes, sir, they are. The jet just flew undetected through Chinese airspace, then South Korean airspace, and now through Japanese airspace and…”
“Wait a sec. We flew through their airspace? Did they coordinate? Get diplomatic clearances?”
“No, sir. It flies invisible to all radar. They are still airborne right now, and just moments ago passed over Okinawa. We think they will land on Lincoln in about an hour.”
“Well, shit. There goes the diplomacy card,” said the Secretary. The Secretary looked down at the coffee table, and was no doubt considering his options, and who needed to know what, including the President. This wasn’t the first time the military and intelligence community was involved in other countries, but this was the first time meddling with the Chinese like this. The Secretary was a student of history, and Calvin knew he’d be thinking of the 1960’s shoot down of Black Cat Squadron U-2’s by China. Classic smoke and mirrors.
“Who else knows?” asked the Secretary, tapping his gold Cross pen on his white pad.
“Very close hold, sir. Not many. Just the folks on the Navy ships, helping with the recovery. A few folks in the Operations Centers relaying the messages and phone calls might know, and may know of the title, OPERATION WHIRLPOOL. And, ahh, my team that is facilitating the operation.
“Oh, who are they, and what’s this op called again?”
“I have the lead as Mark Savona, an expert in Chinese aircraft. Robert Dooley, ahh, working HUMINT. Emily Livingston, MI6, assigned to DIA as Liaison from the United Kingdom. Last, the pilot, Captain Ford Stevens, was borrowed from the Air Force Reserve. Ahem, originally without his command or Air Force Reserve knowing.”
“Good. Pretty close knit circle of folks. Let’s keep it like that,” the Secretary said. He scratched his cheek. “Air Force Reserve, eh? We can take care of the kid, that’s no big deal. And, MI6. Will have to call them as a courtesy when this is complete. Well. Gil, what do you think?”
There was a long silence for the requisite thinking going on in the General’s head. He let out a breath, and tapped his pen on his memo pad that was nearly blank. “Sir, I’ll take care of the Stevens kid, the pilot, call upstairs to the Secretary of the Air Force, and make sure Lt Gen Maria Ruiz at Reserves take care of him. But, ah, it seems like DIA has caught the big fish. Not sure what the technology is in that jet, but if this thing is completely stealth, it could deliver whatever weapons it wanted without us knowing. Or coalition countries. Or do collection on us, and we’d never know. So, a good catch by DIA,” General Hastings answered. “Toss up if you want talk to the President about it, sir, but I am thinking… no. Maybe I can work with the ASD Public Affairs to gin up some talking points if the story leaks, but with something this big, we usually keep a lid on it.”
“Thanks, Gil. Calvin… um, any action for me to take? What do you recommend?” asked the Secretary.
“Sir, do nothing, for the moment. After we land her, cut off her wings to hide her in the hangar deck, and fly her off in pieces a few weeks from now to a secure location, the Chinese won’t know where to look. Their satellites will be everywhere and nowhere, all at the same time,” answered the Deputy. “Furthermore, the Chinese General Officer on this, the father of Chinese stealth, is an Air Force three-star named He Chen. He’s been described as a hot head, a drunk, micromanager type, that will be not only embarrassed, but will have some explaining to do to the Party. If you relay this to the NSC, VPOTUS, or even POTUS himself, then their aides know, their immediate staffs, we both know the potential for a leak magnifies,” Calvin explained.
The Secretary stood up to look at the National Mall, had his arms folded, and was biting on the edge of his black rimmed glasses. “Thanks everyone,” and the General and Calvin stood immediately. That was the cue the meeting was over, so they shook hands, and departed the Secretary’s office. Gil Hastings shut the door behind them, but stuck his head back in. “Sir, do you want me to talk with the Chairman?”
“Once the mission is complete. PACOM is monitoring, and I’m sure he’ll mention it to the Chairman later today or overnight,” replied the Secretary. “Gil, if we get caught somehow, this is big enough that I’ll lose my job. Make sure you and Assistant Secretary Mike Phillips in PA…, in, ah, Public Affairs, dedicate some time to those talking points.”
“Yes, sir. Will do.”
“You know the drill, Gil. A red folder for bad. Blue folder for good. Gin me up two sets of talking points.”
Lieutenant General He Chen’s Dassault Falcon 8X business jet aircraft just landed at Xining Caojiabao Airfield, located hundreds of miles west of the Gansu Airport. The Xining Caojiabao Airport, serving Xining, capitol of Qinghai Province, is located about 30 kilometers east of downtown Xining, complete with a modern 12,497 foot long runway. Chen’s 8x personal pilots taxied off the runway and got onto the taxiways. The jet belonged to the military, but he was lucky enough to use it extensively. The longer cabin had additional windows for Chen to look outside, and was divided into three different zones for comfort. The 36,000 pound jet could fly 6,450 nautical miles on a tank of gas with eight passengers, which allowed Chen to follow Devil Dragon to new destinations, or commute from western China to the Spratly Islands with ease.
The sun was ready to rise any minute in this portion of China, but it was still dark outside and Chen could only see the Y-9 maintenance jet as he taxied in. He looked around and checked outside quite a few windows of the aircraft, and did not see the Devil Dragon. “Must be inside the hangar already.”
Chen had finished his seventh or eighth baijiu this morning, which the staff would know at first sight and would avoid him at all costs. Baijiu, a distilled alcoholic beverage with an alcohol content greater than 30 percent, was his favorite drink in the early morning. Many Chinese drank the rice based drink because it was so similar in color and feel to vodka, that baijiu was sometimes known as ‘Chinese vodka’. Coming out of the jet and walking down the stairs, Chen stumbled on the second to last step, nearly planting his face on the tarmac pavement. If any politicals or four-star Generals were watching, they would not be pleased.
Chen walked off and away from the aircraft, unsteady as he moved and shuffled from side to side, and into the office next to the hangar. Upon entering, he saw an office full of his team sitting at computers and standing around talking, versus their normal positions inside the hangar and maintaining the Devil Dragon.