“Don’t do that, for Christ’s sake. Some left-wing politician would probably want me charged with murder under the new Act to Prevent Unreasonable Cruelty to Far Eastern Dwarves.”
Both officers laughed, although somewhat grimly.
Colonel Lee Peng was mainly concerned about his orders. Personally issued by the Commander-in-Chief, they were coldly specific: “Seek and pursue any suspicious vessel in the area six miles due south of Xiachuan Dao. You have authority to open fire on, and sink, any United States naval vessel in national waters, or, in hot pursuit, in international waters.”
And now he stood on the bridge, continuing a short conference with his executive officer, Lt. Commander Shoudong Guan, and his combat systems chief, Lt. Commander Anwei Bao. And the discussion bore a somewhat fatalistic edge.
All three of the senior officers on board knew that the main trouble with the American Navy is that it is likely to hit back, very fast and very hard. They also knew that even if they managed to get helicopters up and were able to blitz the Americans with depth charges, depth bombs and maybe even torpedoes, an American SSN could still fire three or maybe even four torpedoes right back, hard and accurate. They’d keep well clear. And privately, all three of the Chinese officers thought that to open fire on a big, fast American warship of any kind was something very near to suicide.
Colonel Lee, however, was adamant. “The C-in-C left no room for manuever,” he said. “He told me to open fire and sink it.”
“Did he have a view about losing the best surface ship in our Navy?”
“No, Guan. He did not. He seemed not to listen, or at least not to hear. Then he told me the honor of my country was at stake. The only thing that mattered, both to him and to his masters in Beijing, was that we hit and sink a major American submarine. And he was certain there was at least one out there, possibly two…”
“Well, he may not know it, but I do,” replied Lieutenant Commander Anwei. “The Americans, if we find them, will hit back. Like mad dogs, probably. I think a lot of people may die out there this morning.”
“Have you considered the possibility of just ignoring everything and denying we ever saw anything?”
Colonel Lee smiled. But he said, “My old friend Guan, I must be honest. Yes, I have. But consider those consequences. It would be known that we saw something, possibly overhead, certainly among this very large crew. If we were to turn a blind eye in the face of the enemy, the entire senior command of this ship would be ‘disappeared,’ possibly jailed for life in national disgrace…I think we would all prefer to take our chances with American retribution, and return as heroes.”
“Hopefully not in a coffin,” replied Guan. “Anyway, we may not see anything.”
“Indeed.”
“Anyway, how do we look now, navigator…?”
“We’re fine, sir. Making very good time, just approaching longitude 111.30, just a little less than two hours to go, sir. This is a very fast ship. We’ll be in the area at a little before oh-six-thirty at this speed.”
It was the first time in living memory that anyone had marched along the corridor and just barged straight into the President’s private office without even knocking, regardless of who might be in there. Even President Clarke’s secretary was slightly taken aback as Arnold Morgan made his entry.
The Chief Executive, unused to being interrupted this brutally, was on the phone and looked annoyed until he saw who it was, and noticed the broad smile on the face of his National Security Adviser.
He just dropped the telephone, quite literally on the floor, and left it dangling there. And he stood up and said in a tremulous voice, “Tell me he’s safe, Arnie. Please just tell me he’s safe.”
“He’s safe, sir. On board the nuclear submarine USS Hartford, under the command of Commander Jack Crosby. They’re on their way back to the carrier, USS Ronald Reagan. Linus is shaken, but unharmed. He sent you his love via the satellite.”
President Clarke almost collapsed with relief. He sat back in his chair and just kept saying, over and over, “Thank God…Thank God…Thank God…,” and he let the tears stream down his face. He was too happy to stop them, too joyful to care.
Admiral Morgan just said, gruffly, “You need me anymore, sir? We’re still pretty busy on this. I was going over to the Pentagon…”
“No, Arnold. No, I’m fine now. You go right ahead. But could you ask Kathy to come in and see me, soon as you’re on your way…”
“Sure, sir. Maybe catch you a little later?”
“Arnie, I sure hope so. If it hadn’t been for you…for your belief in our ability to hit back…I don’t think I would ever have seen Linus again…”
“Thank you, sir. God bless you, and Linus. I’ll send Kathy right over.”
The admiral left the office as brusquely as he had entered. He marched back down the corridor and said to Kathy, without breaking stride as he passed her desk, “Coffee. Car. Go see the boss.”
Then he moved back into his own office and called Admiral Mulligan. It was 0445 tomorrow in the South China Sea, a quarter to four in the afternoon in Washington.
“Hi, Joe. How do we look?”
“According to Frank Hart, the SEALs should be leaving the island right now with the second and final group of crewmen, all eight boats…starting to take off some of the Special Forces. Their ETD Xiachuan for the second run out to the submarines is 0445, their time. No one is reporting any Chinese activity within a fifty-mile radius of the transfer zone four miles south of the beaches.”
“Hey, that’s great, Joe. What time do they estimate the last guys get away?”
“Frank’s saying oh-five-fifty-five. Which is almost dawn.”
“Hmmmmm. That puts the last transfer in daylight, right?”
“Fraid so. But we do not really expect a Chinese attack.”
“Don’t you? I wouldn’t put anything past those little pricks. ’Specially when they’ve had their noses put out of joint, as they most certainly have.”
“Well, we can only keep watching, sea and air. Anything shakes loose, I’ll call you…”
“No need, Joe. I was just coming over to see you. Get some decent coffee ready, will you? Kathy’s ignoring me.”
The CNO laughed as he put down the phone. And almost immediately Admiral Morgan’s internal line rang.
“Outer desk to base. Coffee one minute. Car downstairs. Over and out.”
The admiral hit the intercom button and snapped, “Base to outer desk. Cancel coffee. Meet me in our favorite Georgetown restaurant at nineteen-thirty. Will you marry me?”
“Outer desk to base. Lovely to the first. No to the second. I love you. Over.”
The admiral gathered up his briefcase and headed out, marching down to the elevator that would take him to the underground garage where his chauffeur, Charlie, would be waiting if he valued his life, job and pension.
Kathy, meanwhile, was in the southwest corner of the West Wing, entering the Oval Office.
“Hello, sir,” she said. “I’m so happy for you. Isn’t it the most marvelous news?”
“The best possible,” said the President, and the future Mrs. Arnold Morgan noticed that he looked about 10 years younger than he had an hour previous.
“But now I want you to do me two favors.”
“Of course.”
“I want you to arrange for the church across the street in Jackson Place to be open, and please inform the Secret Service that I am planning to walk over there in the next half hour. Tell ’em to make whatever arrangements they need. Second, I would like you to come with me — I expect you remember we were together when my prayers were answered. And I would like us to walk to church together.”