“And the Chinese torpedo fired at a U.S. Aircraft Carrier?”
“Christ!” he replied. “How did you find out about that?”
“Same way I find out about everything — not from you!”
He turned away from her and looked out the window.
“How close are we to war with China?” she asked in a soft tone.
“I wish I knew,” he replied quietly, continuing to stare out his window.
“The Chinese embassy is still open, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve tried to get in to see the ambassador. So far they have ignored all of our requests.”
“What about our embassy in Beijing?”
“Still there — still open. Same thing — they’re ignoring us.”
“This doesn’t make any sense. If they are preparing for war, why keep the embassies open, and then not talk to us? What are we missing?”
Forrester walked away from the window. “Unfortunately, a large part of politics involves timing, posturing and drama. We’re going to have to wait and see what happens.”
CHAPTER 23
Vice Admiral James Billingsly and Jessica again held their monthly dinner party with the usual guests. After dinner the three men retired to the study for Cognac and cigars.
“I don’t know what you did,” Ralph Cummings said. “But you made things worse, not better. I can’t get in to see anybody connected with China.”
Billingsly nervously knocked the ash from his cigar into the ashtray. They know what I did, and they are going to use the same technology to attack us. This is my fault.
Billingsly shifted the conversation over to Clive Bentonhouse. “What about the Iranians? Are they returning to the negotiation table?”
“They are,” Bentonhouse replied. “And they seem to be in more of a mood to compromise.”
Of course they are. Billingsly thought.
“The Chinese are doing something?” Jessica asked as they got ready for bed.
“Yes,” Billingsly replied.
“James, exactly what is happening?”
“I can’t go into any details, but the new level of technology we have is being duplicated by the Chinese.”
“So they will have the same technology we have?”
Billingsly glanced around the room. “What they’re building will be bigger than what we have.”
“Well, isn’t that how this technological weapon thing works? You always told me that it was a constant ratcheting process. We develop a superior technology, and before too long, someone else develops something better. Then it’s up to us to create something even better. Isn’t that always going to happen?”
“Yes, yes, it is,” Billingsly admitted. “It’s just that it takes decades to develop new technology and then the damned Chinese simply steal and duplicate what we have done. It can take us twenty years to develop a new weapon system and it takes the Chinese only two years to steal it and catch up with us. It just isn’t right. Something has to be done to stop this insanity. I have to figure out how to stop what they’re doing.”
“James, I know you’re upset, but there will be an answer. You’ll see. Just give it some time.”
She doesn’t understand, Billingsly thought. Time is something we just don’t have.
Billingsly watched with dread as Rod Schneider plopped the new report on his desk at the Pentagon.
“In case you were thinking of using force against the new facility in northern Manchuria, you need to look at this.”
Billingsly flipped open the folder and read. “Brigade level?”
“Yep,” Schneider replied. “The place is crawling with 3,000 troops, and not just your average grunt. This is China’s top combat unit, with anti-aircraft missile support. They’re even starting construction on what looks like a military air station, ten miles down the mountain. Whatever motivated them, they’re taking it seriously.”
Billingsly buried his face in the palms of his hands. This just keeps getting worse. “Okay, thanks for the update.”
As Schneider left, Billingsly pressed the intercom button. A repeat of his last meeting with the Secretary of Defense was not something he was looking forward to. The problem was this wasn’t going to be a repeat; it was going to be worse.
“We can’t let them finish this facility!” Billingsly firmly stated.
“And we’re going to do what to stop them? Nuke the place?” the Secretary of Defense replied. Billingsly lowered his head momentarily. “Admiral, we’re not starting World War Three over this. Am I getting through to you?”
“Yes, Sir,” Billingsly said as calmly as he could. “We could…”
“Enough!” the Secretary of Defense shouted. “We’re already getting pushed back by China’s military. We don’t need to make matters worse. Whatever you’re doing over there, shut it down, NOW.”
“Yes, Sir, but…”
“NOW, Admiral!”
“Yes, Sir,” he replied strongly. Billingsly turned and left. Why is all of this falling apart? And why now?
CHAPTER 24
Captain Paul Jacobs stood in the small trapezoid-shaped observation platform in the top of the sail (or what used to be the conning tower on older submarines) and guided his vessel out of the Bangor Submarine Base and toward the open ocean. The U.S.S. Massachusetts — SSN 224 — was a Seawolf Class Hunter — Killer submarine, assigned to Submarine Squadron 5, Pacific Fleet, based out of Bangor, WA. The sub was 353 feet long and 40 feet wide, displacing 9,138 tons of sea water when submerged. The Massachusetts had a crew of 14 officers and 146 enlisted personnel on board.
Jacobs was amused at how Navy tradition had developed its strange and sometimes twisted logic. Technically, a boat was something small that could be lifted up onto a larger ship. The early submarines were small and carried anywhere from one-to-six-man crews, so they were boats. Over the years, submarines became much larger, but the classification of boat still stuck, even though the Massachusetts was considerably larger than many of the Navy’s ships.
Jacobs checked his watch: 2:08 AM. The weather report called for overcast skies. He examined the sky above for any large holes in the cloud cover. So far there weren’t any. The low fog that had formed on the surface of the water just after midnight swirled gently around the sub as it moved silently through the water, giving the Massachusetts the cover it needed. As one of the four most advanced submarines in the world, foreign countries tried hard to keep track of where it was, when it came into port, and especially when it left. Satellites and ground observers were his main concerns for as long as the Massachusetts was on the surface. Once he reached deeper waters and slid quietly beneath the waves, his sub would become the deadly invisible threat to America’s enemies that it was designed to be.
His mind drifted back to the awkward conversation he had had with his girlfriend, Lynn Waggoner. I needed more time to consider all of the consequences. She has obviously been considering her decision for months. Why couldn’t she give me the same time and consideration she took for herself? I asked her to wait until this next patrol was over, but no, she had to have an answer now. What did she really expect me to do? Disappointment and guilt filled his heart. He’d hardly spoken to anybody before they left port. At least now the duties and activities of being on patrol would consume his mind and his time. At least I hope they will.