They all stood silently and watched the Commander-in-Chief and his security chief march out of the cell block. And they heard the door bang shut behind them.
They did not, however, hear Zhang’s icy verdict on the exercise. “I told you, Li,” he said. “The West is ultimately soft, and the words of our great leader Mao Zedong must always be recalled…‘Real power comes from the barrel of a gun.’
“And you saw it for yourself. One bullet. That was all it took. One small bullet, and they caved in. One insignificant life in return for the greater glory of China, and all of our people. The future belongs to us, Li. And all these years later we must remember the most pure thoughts of the Chairman.”
“And, sir, one question?”
“Certainly, my faithful Li.”
“Would you really have ordered the execution of fifty men, had it been necessary?”
“Yes, Li. I think I might have. There are few moments in a commander’s life when the end undoubtedly justifies the means. And, regrettably for the Americans, this was, and indeed is, one of them.”
The 13-hour time difference between the South China Sea and the East Coast of the United States was a source of annoyance to Admiral Morgan. He constantly felt that he was a day behind, “trying to play catchup ball.” As he usually put it, “Whatever they do in the normal light hours of a working day, it’s nearly always the middle of the previous goddamned night here. That gives ’em an advantage. Chinese pricks.”
And now he walked particularly briskly down the corridor toward the Oval Office, his gleaming black shoes pounding along the carpet, his jaw set forward, arms swinging, eyes straight ahead. The towering figure of Admiral Joe Mulligan, moving on a longer stride than his five-foot-eight-inch colleague, had to increase his pace just to stay level.
The two Marine guards outside the President’s office scarcely had time to move as the National Security Adviser walked straight between then, rapped twice on the polished wooden door, and went right in, followed by the head of the United States Navy.
The President rose from behind his desk and offered his hand to Admiral Mulligan. “Hello, Joe. Nice to see you again…Arnie and I have given up shaking hands since we see each other about five times a day…but there’s some coffee here…which I’ll pour for you…and I asked ’em to bring in some hot toast…I believe you’ve been here all night?”
“Yessir. We have,” replied Admiral Morgan. “And I’m afraid the news we bring is not good…the Chinese Navy has somehow picked up Seawolf after some kind of a collision in the South China Sea. She’s moored alongside in Canton right now. We think the crew has been incarcerated. And it is with the deepest regret that I must tell you, Linus is her executive officer.”
The President sucked in his breath through his front teeth as the monstrous ramifications of the admiral’s words slammed into his mind. He shook his head erratically, as if to say, No, please, no. Tell me that’s not true. And then he cast his hands outward, and he had to steel himself to say quietly, “Are they in danger? Will we get them back okay?”
“Sir, I think it may be most helpful if Joe ran through the whole incident very quickly. It’ll give you a quick and accurate surface picture…then we can start to work out how we’re gonna wring their fucking necks. Politically speaking, of course.”
Despite himself, the President managed a meager smile, and then he nodded them to begin. He listened closely as Morgan and Mulligan gave their perspectives on the tragic events.
When they finished, the President turned to Morgan, and asked, “You don’t believe they’ll return the men and the ship?”
“They might return the ship when they’ve finished with it, sir. But I doubt it. I think they’ll find a way to say it’s somehow nuclear-contaminated, and they are going to confiscate it to ensure the safety of honorable Chinese assholes, sorry, people.”
“And the crew?”
“Sir, I think we have to assume they are going to try to wring them out for every last scrap of knowledge about the systems in the submarine. That may be hugely unpleasant. And then I think they may stage some kind of public military trial and put them all in the slammer for years and years, for endangering the lives of the peace-loving Chinese people with nuclear weapons. They’ll try to turn it into treason against the Republic, and thus justify world opinion in their favor.”
Just then a waiter came in with three plates of hot buttered toast and the President rose and thanked him, but Arnold noticed he did not eat anything.
Neither did he speak; he just sat and listened to his National Security Adviser outlining the gravity of the situation, reminding him of the zeal with which China had been pursuing the creation of a blue-water navy and especially a top-class submarine service, using any and every method to bring their technology up to speed.
Eventually the three men fell silent. And when the President finally spoke there was an air of terrible resignation in his voice. “Arnold, I accept your version of the Chinese intentions. There is no other reasonable way of looking at it.”
The President stood up and walked across the room, standing by the portrait of General Washington. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I know you both well. And I do not believe you came here to prepare me for the imminent death of my only son. Do we have a plan?”
“Sir, we do not. The implications here are so vast, the options so varied, that we’re going to need a lot of advice. But I have taken the first step by telling the Chinese ambassador and his naval attaché to get their asses in here in the next half hour.”
“Good. That’s a first step we always have to take, even though the ambassador’s going to stand here and feign ignorance, and express his shock that we should think ill of the People’s Liberation Navy…”
“You got that right. Slippery little bastard, whatsisname? Yung Pung Hi or something…but I’ll send him away with a letter expressing our anger at their action of arresting a disabled American warship on the high seas in international waters. We have to let ’em know we expect them to come right back into line…or else.”
“Yes, Arnie. I know you’re especially gifted at that type of letter…but I must say, I have always dreaded the possibility of this day.”
“You mean Linus, sir.”
“I do. Don’t get me wrong. The Navy has done a superb job for him, bringing him up to the brink of a command of his own. And they’ve done a wonderful job keeping the press off his back, allowing him to work away at his chosen career without outside interference, keeping his postings and tours of duty secret, even from me…but, oh my God, I have long dreaded something like this…”
He hesitated for a moment and then said, quite suddenly, “Joe, may I assume the Chinese have no idea who Linus is at this stage?”
“You may, sir. His entire identity has been very professionally altered.”
“Thank God.”
The President was thoughtful, and he returned to his desk as if succumbing to his fate. “Okay, we’ll meet at nine-thirty in the situation room downstairs. I’ll want a full political team with me. I think we should have the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, plus Joe, plus you, maybe plus someone from SUBLANT if there’s anyone senior and close to Washington. We better get the CIA Far Eastern Chief in here as well…then we can go to work.”
Admiral Mulligan led the way to the door, followed by Arnold Morgan and the President, but when the CNO stepped out into the corridor, he found himself alone. Back inside, standing to the left of the half-opened door, the President had his arm around the wide shoulders of his military adviser, and Arnold could see that he was struggling for control.