The second explosion lifted them into the air and sent them both over the rail into the water. Wu managed to grab a quick breath of air before he plunged into the cold, black harbor. He found his mind strangely focused not on his own survival but on that of his ship. Had munitions on the deck cooked off? Did a fuel drum under pressure explode from the fire’s heat? Wu didn’t know. After a few seconds, something inside his mind told him to push for the surface, but he realized that he didn’t know where the surface was. His sense of balance told him nothing. He opened his eyes and managed to turn his head until he saw the dim light of the fire above the water. He tried to push up for that. His clothes were heavy with water and his broken bones made him want to pass out when he moved, but he finally managed to push his head above the surface.
Ma Kong’s entire aft section was burning. The Sikorsky helicopter was a flaming wreck and everything else on the deck was engulfed. Wu saw that the men on the bow were throwing lines to the wounded in the water.
Wu’s head slipped under the water for a moment and he kicked his one good leg to surface. He managed to wave an arm and he saw one of the crew point in his direction. Then he went under a third time and found he didn’t have the strength to rise above the water again.
I’m going to drown.
A hand plunged into the water and grabbed his arm. Captain Wu Tai-cheng of the now-dead ROCS Ma Kong broke the surface of Tso Ying harbor and sucked in the cold salt air. His first thought was to question whether President Liang had another reason to be afraid of the Chinese that he hadn’t shared.
CHAPTER 9
Truman called the Oval Office the “crown jewel of the American prison system,” but unlike most federal inmates, every president of the United States is allowed to decorate his cell to his personal tastes at the considerable expense of the taxpayers. Harry Stuart had been more frugal than most in that regard. The office now satisfied the colonial tastes that stemmed from his heritage as the eighth president from Virginia, but a few pieces were constants that carried over through administrations. The Resolute desk sat in its usual place at the room’s south end, flanked by Old Glory and a Seal of the President flag with gold curtains behind framing the window to the South Lawn. Stuart had raided the Smithsonian for Lincoln and Washington portraits and a Churchill bust. Any piece of artwork in the office would have fetched hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, on the open market. The furniture could have paid for the BMW Cooke almost never got to drive. The room was a fine museum of American history in its own right. The CIA director would have liked more time to study the pieces, but the commander in chief had given her less than five minutes before ordering his staff to place a call to the president of the People’s Republic of China.
“This attack is not in the best interests of your people, Mr. President.” Stuart was not given to fits of temper, but he was a man who did not enjoy surprises. No president did. Those who sat in the Oval Office all prayed for an orderly world, even the ones who were not religious despite their public image, and they rarely got it. Surprise was one of the few constants of the job and the PLA attack on Kinmen had set the new standard for it. That particular patch of soil in the South China Sea was so small that it wasn’t labeled on most maps, but it now had the undivided attention of the United States’ commander in chief.
“Mr. President, is it not the policy of the United States that Taiwan and all her territories are part of China?” Tian’s voice was smooth over the speakerphone. Cooke knew that Tian Kai had been a government functionary his entire adult life, but the man was debating like a trained lawyer. He certainly was smart enough never to ask a question for which he didn’t already know the answer.
“It is our policy that we oppose any unilateral change in the relations between China and Taiwan.” Stuart was on the defensive. “Your attack on Kinmen is just such a change. Your attack on the Ma Kong is just such a change—”
“And what evidence do you have that we sank the Ma Kong?” Tian interrupted.
Stuart stopped short, surprised that Tian would ask such a question under the circumstances. He looked over to Cooke, who shook her head. It was a request — she couldn’t give orders to this man — not to reveal classified information to his Chinese counterpart. “Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t sink it?” Stuart asked.
Good, Cooke thought. Deflect a question with a question.
“I question the separatists’ ability to maintain the military equipment that you have been selling them,” Tian said. A nonanswer.
“Yes, Mr. President, we built those Kidd-class destroyers, so I can promise you that they don’t just spontaneously explode anchored at the dock, good maintenance or not.” Ingalls Shipbuilding of Pascagoula, Mississippi, did fine work, he was sure.
Tian didn’t respond and Stuart let that silence hang pregnant in the air for a few moments before continuing. “Your government made certain decisions without any prior consultation, no bilateral or multilateral negotiations of any kind, or any effort to resolve your dispute through the UN Security Council. We object to that.” It was a hard thrust back at the Chinese president to regain the initiative.
“Mr. President, the UN has no role here,” Tian answered in a blunt parry. “We are suppressing a potential rebellion, as your President Lincoln did when your southern states tried to secede. I ask you to respect our sovereign right to maintain the ‘domestic tranquility,’ as you call it, of our union.” Tian’s English was perfect, if accented, his grammar and diction exact, and Cooke found it unnerving to hear the shades of a British accent coming from the mouth of a Beijing-born oligarch.
“Mr. President, it seems to me that it’s the PLA who’s disturbing your domestic tranquility at the moment, not the Taiwanese,” Stuart said, his frustration starting to show.
“Not so,” Tian answered. “Liang is trying to save his political career by fomenting insurrection in the province. We cannot allow him to succeed. China’s long-standing position is that Taiwan will not be allowed to declare independence.”
“The United States respectfully disagrees with your assessment of President Liang’s intentions.” It was a weak rebuttal and Stuart knew it.
“You are entitled to your own interpretation of events,” Tian said. “However, as this is an internal security matter, it is our interpretation that matters here, sir. Liang would not have set himself on this present course if he did not believe the United States would intervene. And so the People’s Republic of China formally asks the United States not to interfere in our domestic affairs. There are no American interests at stake and our military action has been quite restrained.”
Restrained? Cooke thought. Hardly.
“Mr. President, restrained is not the word I would choose,” Stuart said, echoing the CIA director’s thought. He leaned in toward the telephone mic. “Your attacks were unprovoked. The senior military officer on Kinmen and his wife were shot in their home. Yes, we know about that, and don’t bother asking me how because I won’t tell you. The power grid is wrecked. The airport is a smoking ruin. The Ma Kong was cut in half, sitting at the bottom of her dock, and a number of her crew went down with her. None of that, by definition, is restrained. But in case there was any question, peace and stability along the Pacific Rim have always been and continue to be American interests, even if they are no longer yours.”