President Andrew Carr stood behind his desk in the Oval Office, looking out across the perfectly manicured lawn of the White House. Groundskeepers were gathering up tools, pausing to take drinks from thermos bottles. Another hot, steamy day had descended on D.C.
Carr noticed his own reflection in the glass. He was still only into his first term as President, but he suddenly looked older than his sixty-five years. His gray hair seemed to be thinner, but his 6’4” height had not changed. He stood tall, considering the “weight” he carried on his shoulders.
Now, a serious situation had caused him deep concern. Not only were two Americans missing, but the defection of a Chinese Army officer could wreak havoc on the proposed upcoming visit to China by the Vice President.
The U.S. had come to an agreement with China. There was only one China, and Taiwan was part of China. The U.S. transferred diplomatic recognition from Taipei, Taiwan to Beijing. The U.S. and China had formally established diplomatic relations.
A knock on the Oval Office door caused the President to turn away from the window. “Yes?”
Red-haired Theresa Randolph opened the door, then took a step into the Oval office. “Mr. President, General Prescott is here.”
“Have him come in.” Carr sat down in his swivel chair, then immediately said, “Oh, and Theresa, as soon as Director Bancroft arrives, send him right in.” Henry “Hank” Bancroft was the current Director of the CIA.
“Yes, Mr. President,” the secretary answered. She nodded toward Prescott, then closed the door behind him.
General Trevor Prescott, Director of the NSA, was wearing his Army green service uniform. His cap was tucked under his left arm. “Good afternoon, Mr. President.”
“Afternoon, Trevor. Have a seat,” Carr said motioning to a chair in front of his desk.
Prescott hung his cap on a brass clothes tree by the door, then smoothed back his gray hair. Walking toward the President’s desk, he shifted his briefcase to his left hand, as he moved a chair closer to the desk. He sat down then opened the briefcase, removed a folder, then put the briefcase on the floor.
The President folded his hands on the desk. “I got off the phone just a short while ago with Secretary Daniels (SecDef). General Zhu was brought aboard the carrier at approximately 0430 Pacific time.”
“I know you’re relieved, Mr. President. What’s the earliest timeframe for him to arrive here?” Prescott inquired.
“I gave the go ahead for him to be put on a flight to Andrews as soon as possible. Secretary Daniels will notify me when that happens.”
There was a knock at the door. “Yes?” Carr responded.
CIA Director Bancroft entered. “Mr. President.”
“Come on in, Hank.”
Bancroft closed the door and approached the desk. “Sorry I’m late, sir.” He unbuttoned the jacket of his dark gray suit, then sat down, as he acknowledged Prescott. “General.”
Carr leaned back, then brought Bancroft up to speed about Zhu being safe aboard the carrier. He rubbed a hand back and forth across his brow, as he said, “Secretary Daniels informed me that two of the men on that operation are missing.”
“No, Mr. President, they aren’t missing,” Prescott said.
Carr was silent for a moment, as he stared at the general. He finally said, “Please tell me they aren’t dead, Trevor.”
“No, sir. Not dead. Captured.”
Carr was relieved on one hand, but troubled when hearing the men were now prisoners. This was the second time during his Presidency when he’d have to deal with captured Americans.
“All right, Trevor, Hank. Both of you give me what you have, and from the beginning.”
The NSA Director deferred to Bancroft to begin. Bancroft adjusted a pair of wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, then opened a black leather-bound notebook. “Mr. President, our listening post in Manila started picking up a lot of ‘chatter’ not long after Zhu escaped.”
Carr asked, “Did you pick up anything prior to the escape indicating the Chinese were aware this was going to go down?”
Bancroft shook his head. “No, sir. All was quiet except for the usual chatter. Let me rephrase that. A couple of days before Zhu arrived in Shanghai there were conversations concerning his visit, but nothing to indicate they had any inkling he was preparing to escape.”
Carr reached for a glass of water. “Then what alerted them, Hank? How’d they find out?”
“Well, Mr. President, it was timing, unfortunately.”
“Timing?”
“Yes, sir. We started picking up a flurry of transmissions from the site where Zhu reported for his temporary assignment. It’s an army garrison, as you know. Because he was a high-ranking officer, we can only assume the officials wanted to make an impression on him. Preparations were being made for a ceremony. But the evening it was to have taken place, Zhu was nowhere to be found.”
“They went on alert,” the President commented.
“Yes, sir. An officer who’s part of security at a nuclear sub shipyard doesn’t just disappear, Mr. President. They panicked.”
Prescott opened the folder and took over the conversation. “They combed the area, then scrambled a couple of jets out of Shanghai Dachang Airbase. Those pilots were given orders to intimidate only. The pilots transmitted back saying they sighted an American helicopter just beyond their waters. That’s when they apparently put two and two together.
“A gunboat was ordered to investigate and search. It radioed back a rubber boat was spotted heading for international waters. Their orders were to take prisoners, Mr. President.”
President Carr mumbled softly. “Prisoners. Propaganda.” He rolled his chair back, stood, then went to the window, staring out across the White House grounds. He rested a hand against the window frame and asked, “Do you know where they’re being held?”
“They were taken to a place in… ” Bancroft flipped a page over, reviewing his notes. “It’s in Shanghai, located onNorth Szechuen Road. It’s called the ‘Bridge House.’”
Prescott interrupted. “I know that place. It was used as a Japanese POW camp during World War II.”
Carr swung around, and asked with surprise, “A POW camp?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“‘Bridge House,’” Carr repeated.
“Yes, sir. It was an apartment house before the JapaneseKempeitai took it over after the Battle of Shanghai. The Kempeitai were Japan’s military police who were labeled the Japanese ‘Gestapo.’
“They used the building as one of their headquarters and interrogation centers. That was where Jimmy Doolittle and some of his airmen were held. The Chinese let it go downhill except for a few of the prisoners’ cells.”
“Oh my God! We can’t lose track of those men.”
“We won’t, sir,” Bancroft answered.
General Prescott tried to reassure Carr. “Mr. President, besides our listening sites, our Rhyolites are ‘primed and ready,’” he said with a slight smile, as he pointed overhead.
The Rhyolites are a series of spy satellites, SIGINT (signals intelligence). They’re divided into three sub-fields: communications intelligence (COMINT, the interception of messages), electronics intelligence (ELINT, the gathering of information about radar, radar jammers, and the like), and telemetry intelligence (TELINT). The primary mission of the Rhyolites is collection of TELINT and COMINT. In order to pick up transmissions continuously, they’re each “parked” in a geosynchronous orbit, approximately twenty-two thousand miles above Earth. Even at that height, the satellites can pick up walkie-talkie transmissions.
Carr looked at Bancroft, asking with concern, “Hank, do you know if your operative is safe?”