“Whoa, whoa, listen to yourself, Muck,” Elliott said. “You sound like a quitter, like a spoiled brat who just wants to take back his bat and ball and go home. What is with you? This doesn’t have anything to do with Wendy being pregnant, does it? You’re not trying to keep us out of harm’s way because you got one in the oven, are you?”
“Wendy’s pregnant?” Cheshire exclaimed. “Is it true? You didn’t tell us this, Muck!”
“Tell ’em, Muck,” Elliott said, that cocksure grin on his face again. He guessed, McLanahan knew, and he was smug and happy that he guessed right.
“Yes, it’s true,” McLanahan said. “We didn’t say anything because we’re only going on our third month.” McLanahan jammed a finger in Elliott’s face. “General, it has nothing to do with Wendy — it has to do with you, ” he shot back angrily.
“What about me? I’m doing my job, the job I was hired to do!”
“Hired by whom? Jon Masters, the U.S. government — or the Taiwanese government?” McLanahan asked.
“What in hell are you talking about?” Elliott retorted, perhaps a little too vehemently.
“I’m wondering how that Captain Sung synchronized onto our comm channel during our surveillance,” McLanahan said hotly. “The chances of him finding our initial frequency, channel-hopping along with us, then calling in the blind and reaching us at the exact moment we were in the area — I’d say that was a thousand-to-one shot.”
“A kid with a Radio Shack scanner and some brains can do it,” Elliott said. “You know that.”
“So how did he know we were flying a bomber?”
“He must’ve guessed,” Elliott said. “That Taiwanese ambassador saw us in the White House; he knows we’re bomber guys, and he passed the info along to his navy. Hell, stealth bombers have been in the news for months now.”
“So I suppose you guessed the captain’s name, then?”
“What?”
“You mentioned the captain’s name, Sung, even before he called us on the secure channel,” McLanahan said. “You also admonished Sung for launching the attack when he did. You didn’t bother getting an authentication — even though you got one from Samson, talking to him over an even more secure satellite freq — because you knew Sung couldn't authenticate. And you were quick to blame the Navy for lousy communications security, when it was you all along.”
“You’re nuts, Mack.”
“Nuts, huh? Why don’t I call back to Blytheville and get Wendy to pull the phone records from the day before our launch?” McLanahan asked angrily. “We can get the caller’s name and number for any call in or out of headquarters, and Security might even be able to get a transcript. You must’ve been in contact with someone right before launch — we can find out who it was.”
Elliott was about to protest again, but he looked at McLanahan’s stone-angry face and cracked a smile. “Jesus, I can’t believe I guessed right: you are going to have a baby,” the old ex-three-star general said. “I think of you as a son, Patrick. I feel like I’m going to be a granddad.”
“Stick to the point here, ‘grandpa.’ ”
“All right, all right — yes, I was in contact with the Taiwanese — with Kuo, the new ambassador to the U.S. that we ran into in the West Wing,” Elliott said resignedly. “He called me, and that’s the goddamn truth. He knew, or guessed, everything we were about to do. He told me about Taiwan’s plans to block the Chinese fleet. He told me about the intelligence they received about China putting nuclear warheads on its land attack and anti-ship missiles. And then he asked for my help. What in hell was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to hang up and report the foreign contact to the security department at Sky Masters, Inc.,” McLanahan said, “and sure as hell, you weren’t supposed to confirm any information or reveal any information to him, like the synchronizer codes! Jesus, Brad, if Balboa ever finds out — no, I should say, when Balboa finds out! — he’s going to throw all of us in prison for twenty years! It’s a clear violation.”
“Balboa’s too stupid to find out, and besides, I think the ROCs will cover their trail and explain away the rest,” Elliott said confidently. “Don’t worry about it.”
It was no use arguing with Elliott over this, McLanahan decided — as usual, he felt he was invincible, not just above the law but somehow blessed by God and given full authority to stretch the law and the truth with impunity. He continued to study his friend and mentor, watching him sip coffee; then: “You okay, Brad?”
Elliott seemed startled, then annoyed, that anyone was watching him. He scowled over the rim of his coffee mug. “I’m fine, Mack. Why?”
“How’s the chest pains?”
“Chest pains? What chest pains?”
“You complained of chest pains on the plane.”
“I just got blasted half out of my seat by an imploding one-hundred-pound sheet of Lexan,” Elliott responded. “You’d be in pain too.”
“Nothing else? Shortness of breath, numbness in the arms, blurred vision, feelings like indigestion, headaches?”
“Hey, Dr. Pat, I did not, nor am I now, having a heart attack or stroke,” Elliott retorted. “Sure, I got rattled when that windscreen blew out in my face. Yeah, I could use about twenty-four hours of sleep — in fact, that’s where I’m headed right now. You want to waste time hooking me up to monitors and making me walk a treadmill, go ahead — I challenge you to keep up with me! In the meantime, Balboa will be chopping up your planes right there in the hangar and trying like hell to toss our company into the crapper. You make the decision, mission commander. I’m going to hit the rack. ”
On his way out, Elliott bumped into none other than Wendy McLanahan. Without one bit of surprise at her being on Guam, he gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Congratulations, gorgeous,” he said simply, then walked away toward the exit.
“Brad? Hey, General, how about…?” But he was off, leaving Wendy confused.
“Wendy!” Patrick exclaimed, taking his wife into his arms. They kissed tenderly, enjoying a long, warm embrace. “What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, still in her embrace.
“Jon needed help, and I volunteered,” she said. “I was en route when I found out about the mission, about Emil. I’m so sorry, Patrick.”
“Thanks, sweetie, but I’m worried about you, about the baby.”
“I’m working on the computer and the phone, nothing else,” Wendy said. “I flew first-class commercial on United and Cathay Pacific, not on the NIRTSat booster launch plane or the tankers. I’ll be fine.” Wendy accepted a hug and another round of congratulations, first from Nancy Cheshire, then from a few of the other crew members and specialists in the hangar. “It looks like the cat’s out of the bag.”
“Brad guessed,” Patrick said. “Of course, he threw it in my face.” “He did what?”
“I’ll explain everything, sweetie,” McLanahan said, “but it’s not a fun story.”
“CINCPAC, are you still up?” Admiral Balboa called.
“CINCPAC’s up, along with General Samson,” Admiral William Allen responded. The videoconference between Hawaii and the Pentagon was still active.
“I’ve got orders for you too, General,” Balboa said. “Apparently the President still thinks highly of your judgment. You will report immediately to Admiral Henry Danforth at STRATCOM to stand up CTF Three. ”
“Yes, sir,” Samson responded. He wasn’t stunned at the news that STRATCOM was standing up, or forming, the CTFs, considering all that had just happened in the Formosa Strait — he was stunned at being chosen to command one of them, after the day’s debacle.