What he got in return was a full artillery barrage. “Your government is worried about Singapore,” Zou corrected. “Fortunately for the peace-loving peoples of Asia, it is beyond your control.”
Serick was stunned. Belligerents talked this way to the press and on TV, and then it was for home consumption. He pulled off one diplomatic glove. “Mr. Ambassador, you have traveled too far to recite propaganda. I was hoping for a more productive conversation.”
“Please tell your president that we will have many things of mutual interest to discuss in a few days. That is why I’m here.”
Serick pulled off the other glove. “You’re wagering you can capture Singapore before we can respond.”
Zou was a gambler at heart and liked the analogy. “Our friends in the Middle East have given us the race.” He smiled contentedly.
“When you back the wrong horse,” Serick replied, “don’t blame the horse.”
“It won’t even be a photo finish,” Zou told him. “As your president will shortly learn.”
Serick tried a different tack, determined to at least send a message. He did it in terms even an adolescent could understand. “There will be a price to be paid.”
“There is a new economic order emerging. I suggest you seek ways to make an accommodation before it is too late.” Zou stood, bringing the meeting to an end. “Please tell your president there is always a price to be paid for being in the wrong place. Which we are explaining to her General Pontowski.” He gave a little bow and left.
Serick was in a state of shock and didn’t move. His eyes narrowed as he considered what he should do next. But all his options were gone. There was nothing left except fighting, death, and destruction. “Well, so be it,” he murmured, accepting failure. He reached for his cane and stood up. Suddenly he felt very old. His hostess was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. She keyed off Zou’s abrupt departure and looked very concerned. “Thank you so much,” he told her.
“It was my pleasure, Mr. Secretary. I’ll always remember meeting Miss Jin. What an adorable lady. And her English is exquisite.”
“Jin Chu was here? The fortune-teller?”
“Why, yes. I thought you knew.”
“What did she say?”
“We talked about the weather, of course.” She thought for a moment. “The conversation took a most unusual turn. She mentioned the Chinese love of gambling.” Serick’s shaggy eyebrows shot up, an unspoken command to repeat exactly what was said. The hostess caught it. “She said, ‘Not even the gods wager on horse races.’”
Serick kissed her hand, still the gracious Old World courtier. “Madam, you have done your country a rare service.” He hobbled down the steps, surprising her with his speed.
Turner tapped her fingers together as a heavy silence ruled the Oval Office. “That was a diplomatic slap in the face,” she finally said.
“Actually,” Serick allowed, “it was a bludgeoning.”
She made no effort to hide her anger. “If he thinks he’s here to dictate surrender terms, he’s going to die an old man waiting.” She stood up and looked out the windows, her back to her advisers. “They’re deluding themselves if they think they can blackmail me into an agreement.”
Mazie and Butler exchanged glances, both certain she was talking about Matt Pontowski. “Madam President,” Butler said, “regardless of what Zou said, we can’t be sure they have captured the general. I keep asking myself why he brought the woman with him. Very bizarre, to say the least.”
“Madam President,” Mazie said, “we’re on a Chinese roundabout. I think we’re getting two messages here.”
Turner turned and faced them, deadly calm. “Then it’s time to send them a message they’ll have no trouble understanding. General Wilding, how long before we can reinforce SEAC?”
Wilding thought out loud. “The problem is airlift. Everything we’ve got has been dedicated to the Gulf and the buildup for Operation Anvil — which commences in five hours. With sealift finally open, I can start redirecting aircraft on return flights out of the Gulf.”
“Redirect,” the president ordered.
“I’m hesitant to commit forces piecemeal, Madam President. I want to go in with at least a division. I’m thinking the Third Marine Division in Okinawa. We can deploy it at less than full strength and have it in place in…” He hesitated, not sure of the numbers. It was a complicated calculation dependent on so many factors. He committed. “We can have a vanguard regiment in place, ready to fight, in seventy-two hours.” Every instinct warned him to hedge for time, but the look on Turner’s face was ample warning not to do it.
“Seventy-two hours,” Turner repeated. She crossed her arms in defiance, her eyes hard. “I will not allow Singapore to fall. Tell SEAC to hold. Help is on the way.”
Jessica felt like a dwarf as she stood behind Paul Travis and Jake Osburn in the Base Defense Operations Center. She shouldered her way through and moved to the front of the chart table. She wasn’t about to be left out because of Travis and Jake. “It’s 0215 in five seconds,” Rockne said. “Three, two, one, hack.” The nine security cops set their watches. Rockne studied his team, taking their measure. Satisfied that he had the right people, he circled a railroad junction eleven miles south of Alpha. “Our source claims that General Pontowski is being held in this area by no more than three or four soldiers. We know the PLA has long-range patrols operating in the area. If they are PLA, and if the general is wounded, they’re probably waiting for a pickup. Our mission is to rescue him before that happens, while we’ve still got surprise on our side. The bad news is that the roads are flooded with refugees and we can’t move by vehicle.”
“What about the First SOS?” Jessica asked. “They’ve got helicopters.”
Rockne’s face matched his name. “We called, but all their choppers are on other missions and only the command element is here. So we’re going in by foot. The good news is that we’ve got a guide who knows a back way.”
“How reliable is this guy?” Paul Travis asked.
“He’s Colonel Clark’s driver and seems pretty loyal to her,” Rockne replied. “I want to be in and out before sunrise. That means an eleven-mile slog in three hours. I’m betting there’s so much confusion out there that no one will want to mess with us and we can blow right by them. With a little luck, we can do it. Regardless of what happens, we got to try. Any questions?”
“This is not a hell of a lot to go on,” Jake Osburn said. “Where do we rendezvous if this turns to shit?” Rockne pointed out their rendezvous, and they punched the coordinates into their GPSs.
“Chief,” Jessica said, “Boyca’s real good at picking up a scent.”
“That’s why she’s coming,” Rockne replied. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Jake Osburn set the pace for the team as they moved silently along the path that led between two kampongs. Clark’s driver was carrying only two canteens and had no trouble keeping up, but the others were struggling under their combat loads. Rockne checked his watch. They were making good time, and he called a break. “Five minutes,” he told them. Jessica collapsed to the ground and pulled out a canteen. She sloshed some water into a small plastic pan for Boyca before drinking any herself. Then they were up and moving as Jake lived up to his reputation as an animal.
Their pace slowed as they neared the railroad junction and ran into refugees. Rather than take a chance, they went to cover while the driver went ahead to clear their way. Then they were moving again, reaching the railroad junction while it was still dark. Clark’s driver pointed to the compound. “There” was all he said.