After the flotilla made it across the Strait, the Chinese air force would perform a close support role for the amphibious troops as well as a continuous carpet-bombing mission designed to soften up guerrilla resistance in the high mountains that formed Taiwan's backbone.
Inside the command headquarters for the attack, located at the Chinese Combined Military Command Center in Beijing, the Chinese prime minister stared at the ten-bytwenty-foot model of Taiwan, then questioned the head of the army.
"Are you sure you can keep open the supply lines to your troops on the ground?"
"Once the marines have established a beachhead and we have control of the Strait, the navy assures me they can run a continuous convoy of supply ships across the onehundred-mile stretch of open water," the general replied confidently. "However, it is a somewhat moot point, sir. Taiwan is a rich country. Food for our troops will be readily available on the island. In addition, once we start to capture the Taiwanese military stockpiles, we can use their own weapons against them if we need to."
"What if the Americans show up?" the prime minister asked.
"The key is to move rapidly and decisively, sir. Our analysts assure us that once we are ashore in force, the Americans will not wish to risk an all-out war to stop us."
"So the key is rapid deployment," the prime minister noted.
"The first twelve hours are critical, sir," the general agreed. "Those hours are the key to success."
"Then make those first hours count," the prime minister said.
"We see little chance of difficulties," the head of the navy replied.
"Please continue with your work. I will return again tomorrow." The prime minister turned to his left. "Mr. Tao, if we could now meet in my office, I have several matters to discuss."
Tao followed the prime minister from the planning room. After walking the length of the building, he followed the prime minister into his office.
"I am concerned about the Einstein papers, Sun," the prime minister said as he sat down behind his desk. "Has the courier made any attempt to contact us?"
"Not since the last call he made to the embassy in Washington," Tao noted.
"That was three days ago."
"True. But the courier has instructions to proceed to the embassy in San Francisco if he feels that the dropoff point is not secure. Perhaps he detected the Americans were again on to him and he is traveling to the West Coast."
"The Americans proved they are already wise to our recovery of the papers. They proved that when they surrounded the embassy in New York. If the papers are not in our possession prior to the assault on Taiwan, our intended threats against them will be meaningless, and they will know this."
"Not necessarily, sir," Tao said quietly. "You see, they have no way to know we don't possess the papers."
The prime minister leaned back in his chair and sat silently for several minutes. Then he began to chuckle. "That is true, Sun Tao. That is true." Chief Petty Officer Mark Ramsey stared into the sonar scope, then twisted a knob and adjusted the image. "This is like shooting ducks in a pond," he said over his intercom to the pilot of the Navy P-3 Orion that was flying a circular pattern over the Potomac River.
"Like ducks, huh?" the pilot replied.
"Like ducks that are tied together," Ramsey said.
"Control, this is Spotter. We have a positive identification on the target in the river," the pilot said.
"Affirmative, Spotter. Drop pingers, a dye marker, and a depth charge, ASAP."
"Roger that, control," the pilot said.
The pilot switched his headset to intercom. "Hey, Jerry," he said to the weapons system operator, "are you ready?"
"You bet," the WSO said easily. "Once Ramsey tells me, this submarine is toast." Passing fifty feet over the surface of the river, the pilot held a steady course upriver.
"We're getting close," Ramsey said as he stared intently at the sonar screen. "Stand by. Now!"
The WSO flicked a series of switches on the weapons control panel and launched the package. The depth charge flipped over once before splashing into the water and sinking. The pilot of the P-3 slowed the airplane and loitered over the area awaiting further instructions.
Ho Pei heard the first ping on the hull of his submarine only seconds before the depth charge exploded and rocked the submarine onto its back. He just caught the terror in his wounded navigator's face before the lights inside the submarine flickered off. The minisub was tossed from side to side, then did a complete 360-degree roll. A seam in the underbelly of the small craft split and water began to fill the lower deck. The Plexiglas viewing port cracked and pinpoints of water shot inside the hull. Pei twisted a series of knobs to blow off ballast and allow the submarine to surface.
It was every submariners worst nightmare.
Pei felt the warm liquid flowing from his ears where his eardrums had ruptured and he touched his hands to the wetness. He stared in the black void both inside and outside the submarine.
Then very quietly he began to cry.
Two U.S. Navy fast-attack crafts raced up the Potomac from their base at Norfolk. Dispatched from their base an hour earlier, the boats had hit speeds of ninety miles an hour as they raced north. Passing Rock Point, they slowed as they neared the area where the charges had been dropped. Scanning the water with high-powered searchlights, they found the disabled submarine floundering on the surface.
After the submarine was lashed to the side of one of the fast-attack crafts, a line was dragged underneath and hooked to the conning tower. Using the windlass, the line was tightened until the submarine was pulled right side up. A navy officer began to pound on the hatch so it would be opened from inside. Pei couldn't hear the pounding, nor could his dying navigator. The concussion from the depth charge had destroyed their eardrums. Ho Pei would never hear again.
The following morning General Benson was shaving in his office bathroom when the phone rang. Dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt and boxer shorts, he brushed past his uniform, neatly pressed and hanging on the door, and lifted the receiver.
"Benson."
The connection was poor, most likely due to sunspot activity affecting the satellite transmission. "This is Agent Miles, sir. I'm using a secure phone from Israel."
"I can barely hear you, Agent Miles, please speak louder," Benson said loudly.
"Very well, sir," Miles shouted. "Agent Smoot has examined some of the remains from one of the bombs. They were produced using Czechoslovakian Semtex."
"What else did you discover?" Benson asked.
"They used Chinese-manufactured blasting caps as the detonators."
"Very interesting," Benson said. "But that doesn't prove conclusively the Chinese were behind the attack."
"Not that one clue alone, sir. But we just uncovered another clue."
"What is it?" Benson said quickly.
"The threats Israel received were written on a paper that is unavailable in the Middle East," Miles said.
"Where is the nearest source for the paper?"
"Hong Kong," Miles noted.
Benson paused. "Good work, Agent Miles. Please congratulate Agent Smoot." Hanging up the phone, Benson dressed in his uniform and called downstairs to alert his driver he was ready to leave. Squaring his shoulders, he left from his office for the short drive to the White House.
The Carondelet sat bobbing on the water. The agents watching from shore could see no activity on deck. The only light that was burning inside the ship was inside the pilothouse, where a single crewman was on duty. The lone crewman was assigned to monitor the radio in case the mini-sub ran into difficulties. However, since the submarine was not due back for several hours, the rest of the crew was sleeping. All hands would need to be rested by tomorrow when Carondelet made her way out of Chesapeake Bay and into the Atlantic Ocean.