Macklin frowned at the confusing naming convention. The Types 094 and 096 were ballistic missile subs. The 095 was an attack sub, equivalent to the Virginia class. But all were nuclear powered.
Stress showing in his voice, Prost continued. “Those JL-2s have the ability to hit targets 7,400 miles away. That means they can patrol northeast of the Kuril Islands and strike three-quarters of the United States. If they advanced across the international date line, they could hit all fifty states.”
Pete Adair and Les Chalmers exchanged concerned glances.
Staring into Macklin’s eyes, Prost continued in a level voice. “Mr. President, the missiles contain state-of-the-art guidance and warhead technology stolen from US military contractors. They are very reliable and accurate.”
“Your recommendation?” the president queried.
“Same as before: We still need to move a carrier strike group to the strait ASAP to send a clear military signal to Beijing. Then you need to get on the horn with President Jiechi.”
Adair almost jumped out of his chair. “Your suggestion is going to spread ourselves too thin, Hart. We have two carrier groups in the Middle East, and that’s barely enough to keep it contained. And in anticipation of possible retaliations for our recent airstrikes, the Israelis have called up two brigades of reservists and are positioning armor along their borders with Lebanon and Gaza. Our targeted strikes against terrorists in many Middle Eastern countries have soured our relationships with many of our so-called allies in the region. Although we were fully justified in our actions, the reality is that with two carriers disabled, we’re rapidly approaching a one-war-at-a-time situation.”
“Wrong, Pete. Not when we still have the upper hand,” President Macklin flared, picking up the glasses and directing them at his secretary of defense. “It’s called boomers. That’s why we have Ohio-class ballistic missile subs in our inventory. Our situation has drastically changed since nine-eleven. I’m going to make it clear that we will use whatever it takes to prevail in any conflict. As president, I will show determination to use nukes, if necessary, to prevent or retaliate against attacks or imminent threats of WMD use. Our adversaries must believe the United States has the will to use overwhelming force, including nuclear weapons, to prevail in any scenario.”
The blunt declaration was met with stunned silence.
Breaking the silence in the tension-filled room, the secretary of defense spoke in measured words. “Mr. President, China is less predictable than the Soviet Union ever was. Their new president is just one guy in a sea of old-school sharks who hate our guts for upholding the Taiwan Relations Act of 1979. China’s rapid military buildup is aimed squarely at us. They have missiles capable of targeting all of our country and many of our allies. This is not the time to provoke Beijing.”
The president sat back and took a deep breath. The TRA, which he had pretty much memorized, required the US government to make available to Taiwan defense articles and defense services in such quantities as may be necessary to enable Taiwan to maintain a sufficient self-defense capability. In addition, it required that Macklin inform Congress promptly of any threat to the security of the people of Taiwan, and finally it stated that the president and Congress shall determine the appropriate action by the US in response to any such danger.
To Macklin, it pretty much meant that he had a responsibility to protect the people of Taiwan as he did the people of South Korea, Japan, and even the Philippines. And the best and most visible way to do so was by parking a carrier strike group there just as he had parked Roosevelt and her escorts in front of the Korean Peninsula.
The president shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. His eyes bored into Adair. “We need a strong presence in the Gulf, in the Sea of Japan, and in the Taiwan Strait. I need a defense secretary that can provide me with a recommendation to cover all three.”
Adair’s cheeks turned red. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then lifted his gaze and said, “Stennis was supposed to cover the latter, so the only option I see is to move Vinson over there ASAP, keep Lincoln in the Mediterranean, and Roosevelt parked by North Korea, and use Reagan as the surge. We will also have to rely on long-range strategic bombers and cruise missiles to cover the slack. In addition, I will recommend that we increase our air force assets at Bagram, Kandahar, and also at al-Udeid Air Base in Qatar. That will help offset the loss of a carrier in the region.”
“One follow-up question, Mr. Secretary,” Prost said. “Should we keep Lincoln in the Mediterranean, or move it to the Gulf or perhaps the Arabian Sea?”
“I can answer that,” Chalmers said. “The Arabian Sea provides the most flexibility, especially since we will only have one carrier group there. We can easily hit all the usual suspects from a more centralized location.”
“I concur with the general,” said Adair.
“Then make it all happen,” Macklin said. “ASAP.”
“Mr. President?” Brad Austin said, leaning forward.
“Yes?”
“About Hart’s suggestion that you get on the horn with President Jiechi… I have an alternative thought.”
“Go on.”
“You might want to consider letting me talk with the ambassador here in Washington and use him as a conduit to communicate your discontent with the military build-up.”
“It’s more than a discontent, Brad. I’m fucking pissed off.”
“I’ll, ah… find the right words to convey that, sir.”
“Fine,” Macklin replied, deciding to let the secretary of state do his job. “But I’m parking Vinson right in front of their lying asses, and I’m ready to take them head-on. Make sure that message is also… conveyed.”
— 12 —
Javier Ibarra appreciated the mild sea and clear weather of the unseasonably warm and breezy October day. It made for a smooth start of his new contract.
Sitting at the helm of the seventy-eight-foot-long vessel, he idled the twin Cummins diesels, while his veteran crew of three worked the furling main, genoa, and mizzen sails, which blossomed and snapped as they caught the westerly winds.
Shipbuilder to the rich and famous for more than a century, Cheoy Lee Shipyards were renowned for their quality motorsailers. They had the range and seakeeping ability to make extended journeys with little or no support. And Ibarra’s Erasmus was no exception. But more important to the master smuggler was the spacious yacht’s ability to haul secret cargo.
He felt the familiar tug as the 145,000-pound yacht accelerated to twenty-one knots under the power of 2,300 square feet of sails, its hull slicing through gentle waves.
Ibarra shut off the diesels and left the generator running to power the vessel’s navigation systems as well as its array of creature comforts, including the climate-controlled bridge, cabins, and its well-stocked galley and main salon amidships. An electric cable also ran into the battery compartment of a twenty-three-foot Vantage Boston Whaler secured to the forward deck, next its hoisting crane, keeping it fully charged in case of an emergency. Most transoceanic luxury yacht crews settled for traditional lifeboats, but Ibarra could never contemplate launching into the North Atlantic without at least some semblance of a backup that could go a few hundred miles between its integrated and auxiliary gas tanks.