“Arnie, you know what I think…just from talking to him…when he heard there was a possibility of torture, he fixed in his mind a picture of sweet freckle-faced Linus as a little boy back home in Oklahoma. And whenever he though of torture — red-hot pokers up your butt or whatever — he thought of the desecration of that little boy. There’s a psychologist’s name for it — kind of worst-case-scenario in terms of the psyche. And I think he still has that picture in his mind, which is clouding his judgment on all matters. All he wants is to put his arms around his little boy.”
“Kathy, I don’t know if that’s right. But it sure does fit…that’s what I’m hearing from him. Even after I laid on him the calamitous consequences of going to Pearl, he still just asked me to try to find a way to make it possible for him to see Linus again, the minute they dock in Hawaii…and I’m not going to be able to do that…and he’s gonna be real disappointed.”
He and Kathy had lunch together, sharing one medium-sized tuna fish sandwich, which caused the boss to wonder if she was expecting a kitten for lunch. But he ate it in a couple of bites, and gulped down a glass of mineral water and prepared to talk again to the President.
“Two things are now for certain in this uncertain place,” he growled. “The Chief ain’t gonna like what I’m telling him, and tonight we ate going to find some proper food…steak magnifico, with fries and spinach…and wine from the great vineyards of Bordeaux, left bank of the Gironde…Pauillac, home of the snorto de luxe.”
Kathy wanted to tell him it was Friday and that she was supposed to be having fish, as she always had since childhood, but she was laughing too much to speak coherently, and just shook her head as the President’s NSA strode purposefully back to the Oval Office.
“Sir,” he told the boss, “you cannot go. It’s too public, too dangerous, we’re too vulnerable, and you’d end up getting the sack or being impeached, and the Democrats would be back in power…the most I can offer you is to fly a half-dozen of Seawolf’s officers in direct from Hawaii on some pretense. Also, maybe the top SEALs, all to San Diego. Then maybe Linus and one or two significant other personnel could fly on to Washington, and we can pick him up and deliver him wherever in secret. That’s the most. Hawaii is out, out, out. Mr. President, you’re staying in, in, in.”
Even President Clarke was obliged to chuckle. “Are you sure you’re not overreacting to all this, Arnie? I just want to meet his ship, like any other dad.”
“What you are not, sir, is any other dad. The U.S. made mistakes on this. Do you really want all of that to come out? Don’t answer. You don’t. Trust me. I’m leaving you with just one thought. This afternoon I’m bringing Who Flung Dung in for a chat. By seventeen-hundred the recent events that took place in the China Sea NEVER HAPPENED. Both our governments will agree for different but equally subversive reasons, all to do with total embarrassment.”
And he stood, preparing to leave, saying very simply, “You want me to get Linus home, by air, in secret, as fast as possible?”
“Arnold, thank you. I’d be more grateful than you’ll ever know.”
“Joe, I’m telling you, we have a real problem here. The President’s lost the plot.”
“What do you mean, he’s lost the plot? Come on, Arnie, this is the best President the military has ever had.”
“That may be so. But right now, he’s a goddamned time bomb. The only thing in his mind is his son Linus: He actually wanted to go to Hawaii and meet the kid, complete with the omnipotent Washington press corps. All two hundred of them, all asking every sailor in Pearl Harbor precisely what happened in the South China Sea.”
Admiral Mulligan sucked in his breath. “Jesus Christ, Arnie, are you kidding?”
“Kidding! Yeah, right. Just a little joke to give us both heart attacks. Joe, if the full length and breadth of this whole scenario ever got out, that we actually started a shooting war with China to save the ass of the President’s son, there’d be a change in administration, and we’d all be out of here in disgrace. And that includes the President.”
“Does he understand that?”
“Barely. I’ve tried to tell him that his only chance is secrecy. But he doesn’t care. He only wants to see his son as soon as possible.”
“And do you think secrecy is possible?”
“Not total secrecy. But we don’t want total secrecy. We have to come clean about the loss of the submarine, and how it happened, and who, if anyone, was to blame. That’s gotta be hard, regular U.S. Navy routine. But we do not want anything released about its mission, nor the actual…er…demise of the ship.”
“How about the SEALs and the release of the prisoners?”
“Nothing. We cannot admit there ever were any prisoners, certainly not that we effectively went to war over them without telling anybody.”
“Think we’d have done it if Linus hadn’t been there?”
“Nah. Not a chance. We’d have tried to negotiate them out, failed, and then had to threaten massive economic retribution. Which may have worked, over time, maybe, six months.”
“You really think we could keep this whole thing secret?”
“For one reason only…the Chinese also want it kept secret.”
“You know that?”
“Absolutely. I had Who Flung Dung on the phone an hour ago…for once we’re in step.”
“WHO FLUNG WHAT?”
“Oh, that’s just my nickname for Ambassador Ling Guofeng…slippery little prick, like all the rest of ’em. But smart. He knows what a disaster this would be if it got out. His government is more worried than we are. There’s a press clampdown in Beijing and Canton.”
“What worries them so much?”
“Well, not that they kidnapped the submarine and its crew in international waters. They’d just lie and lie about that. Much more, that they were unable to hold on to the hundred-man crew, that their jail was stormed and breached, that they lost a patrol ship and two hugely expensive helicopters, not to mention a destroyer plus some three hundred naval personnel. The Navy C-in-C, according to the ambassador, may not survive it. To the Chinese it all represents the most awful loss of face. In fact, it represents total incompetence. Let’s face it, old pal, they think they’re tough and militarily proficient. We made ’em look like fucking children.”
“Guess so, Arnie…but what you’re telling me is that both the governments of the USA and China wish nothing more to be learned about this confrontation beyond the loss of the submarine, in an accident, and the safe return home of the crew with maximum goodwill on both sides.”
“You gottit, CNO. And that’s fine with me, just so long as the little pricks understand that NO ONE fucks around with our navy. NO ONE. And should anyone try anything on, they will live to regret it.”
“Guess our old friend Admiral Zhang Yushu is feeling kinda sorry for himself right now?”
“Hope so. Cheeky fucker.”
“Which I guess brings us to the next real problem. How, Arnie, does the Navy deal with the total loss of the top submarine in the fleet?”
“In the regular way. There was an accident in the South China Sea. Something in the reactor room, and this loss of power caused some kind of collision with a close-by destroyer. That much is already known. The Chinese answered a call for help, towed Seawolf back into Canton, and while they were helping to get the submarine going again, there was a further problem, and the reactor failed completely. The Chinese deeply regret any part they may have had in the final damage to the submarine, and we express our gratitude for their attempts to help us out. That’s all there is. That’s all the press are getting. From either side of the Pacific.”