Tipping Point: The War With China - the First Salvo (Dan Lenson Novels) (6 page)

At last Niles clicked back to the CNO logo. The next slides were Joint Staff marked, not Navy. They were classified top secret SPECAT, and bore the code names Satchel Advantage/Iron Noose.

“Okay, we’ve gamed this to death up at Newport. If the worst comes to the worst, we expect any breakthrough attempt to take place via Taiwan. That’s where they have the best claim, and holding the center of the chain gives them access to the whole Pacific.”

“The Army’s not gonna be in this fight,” Rongstad said. “Us and the Air Force, along with the Taiwanese and possibly Japanese sea and air forces, will try to hold them off the island. At the same time, we extend the war horizontally by a complete energy and raw-materials blockade. Another possible step will be conventional strikes on the seaports and missile launching points along the coast opposite Taiwan. We hope to limit the conflict, keep it a naval-slash-air war.”

“We couldn’t win a land war with China in 1953. We sure can’t win one now,” Niles murmured.

Dan wondered how thoroughly they’d gamed the Red Team portion of the exercise, and whether they expected a nation with a nuclear deterrent to take strikes on its homeland lying down. “But what if—I mean, suppose the Chinese decide to, um, extend the war horizontally too? Maybe by letting the North Koreans off the leash?”

Neither senior officer answered. “Then we’ll be looking at a protracted war,” Rongstad said at last.

They all contemplated that for a few quiet seconds as the thunderclouds rolled outside, and lightning flashed, far off, over the alabaster needle of the Washington Monument. Then Niles wished him well on the murder board; and Rongstad swept his papers back into his briefcase; and Dan realized he’d been dismissed.

4

Capitol Hill

WEDNESDAY
morning it was still raining. His head was stuffy, and as usual before any kind of trial or hearing, he hadn’t gotten much sleep. He and Blair seemed to be getting along better, though. Dinner at a Thai restaurant in Georgetown the night before had helped. They’d talked about fallbacks. Hers, if her run for Congress didn’t pan out. His, if the hearing went badly. They’d agreed to sell the house in town and move to Maryland. She’d go back to work until something opened up in the next administration, then try to get a position for him, too. Meanwhile, they could build up the exchequer a little.

But right now his head felt like it was going to explode. His neck and upper spine hurt from the old injuries. He dry-bolted three Aleves. Shaved. Got his uniform together. Checked the clock again. Still early.

Suddenly he remembered: if it was seven here, it was noon back in the east Med. He’d meant to call for the last two days, but kept missing the window.

Sitting on the commode in the bathroom, he hit the number. Rather to his surprise, Cheryl Staurulakis answered on the second ring. “Hey, Exec,” he said, keeping his voice low, as if calling a mistress. “It’s me.”

“Captain. That you? Where are you? Sound pretty faint.”

“Long as you can hear me. I’m in DC. Where are you guys?”

“Lucky you caught me, I’m out on the bridge wing. We just got under way.”

He could hear the wind blowing, the whine of the turbines. Under way, without him … He cleared his throat. “All the repairs done?”

“Repairs and rearm complete, Tiger Team offloaded, and everybody got one night’s Cinderella liberty. And get this, everybody’s back aboard.”

“Even the Troll? And Rit Carpenter?”

“Even Carpenter. Yes sir.” She chuckled, about the first time he’d ever heard her laugh aloud. “I had him escorted. Buddy system.”

“Probably wise. Um, how’s everything going with the interim guy?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say “CO” or “skipper.”

“Captain Racker? He’s great. A real charmer. Seems to have a lot of pull with the logisticians. We got every part we needed, and Hermelinda ordered a truckload. Building up depth, in case we get caught short again.”

Dan grimaced. He’d wanted to hear they were all right, but not that his replacement was hot stuff. “Uh-huh. So, where we headed now?”

Staurulakis’s voice became guarded, official. “We’re on a cell, Captain. I can’t pass operational details.”

He thought of asking for a hint, but dismissed that. “Uh, all right, I understand.”

A tap at the door. Blair’s voice. “Who’re you talking to in there?”

“Just on the phone. Sorry,” he called.

Staurulakis asked, all but overlaid by the blustering wind: “Are you coming back to us, Captain? Will they let you return?”

“Um, I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he murmured, and shortly thereafter, ended the call.

*   *   *

“WANT
me to drive?” Blair was examining herself in a full-length mirror. She’d come out of the bedroom in a gray belted jacket and a skirt with pleats and black heels. Hair brushed back, and already made up. He’d never understood how she could do full makeup in less time than it took him to shave. In the morning light he noted crow’s-feet starting around her eyes, the faint, sad signs of passing time. Her hair was swept to one side, to cover the withered, reddened bud of her reconstructed ear.

“Yeah, that’d be nice. Uh—thanks for appearing with me.”

She came up close and fiddled with his ribbons. Flicked something off his lapel. “I’m not
with
you. That wouldn’t be smart for either of us, Dan. We’ll go in separately. I’ll be third row back in the audience.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and an air hug. “But I’ll be rooting for you. Good luck. I mean that. What we were talking about last night?”

“Yeah?”

“That was worst case. I hope they give you your cruiser back. I really do. But after that, we’ve got to have that serious talk you keep promising me.”

As she drove him in along Lee Highway he paged through the briefing cards from the murder board the day before. The general and his assistant, both retired marines, had set up the scene at the hearing, led him through the opening formalities, and helped him prepare a brief statement. Then they’d cross-examined him like not one but two bad cops. He’d come out sopping with sweat, but with these points memorized:

1. Don’t say anything unless they ask you.

2. Don’t argue back if they start pontificating for the cameras.

3. Don’t show off.

4. Don’t make news.

5. Don’t advocate anything different from what the Navy’s currently doing.

6. Don’t act as if you know how the hearing will turn out.

“But above all, once you’ve answered the question,
shut up,
” the general had said. “Just answer what they ask, in the simplest terms possible. Demonstrate knowledge of the issues, act happy to explain so they understand too, but don’t get lost down in the weeds. Especially, beware of yes-or-no questions. They’re usually setups, to make you look like an idiot. How does a fish get caught?”

“Um … what’s that?” Dan had asked with a frown.

“He opens his mouth. Old Russian proverb. The longer yours stays open, the better the chance you’ll come out with something asinine. Especially, Nick says, in your case. And he apparently has plans, or he wouldn’t be going to the trouble of asking me to prep you. So write that on your hand if you have to. Let’s hear it again.”

“How does a fish get caught?” hissed the major.

“He opens his mouth,” Dan muttered. Clenching his teeth, he visualized them laced shut with stainless wire.

*   *   *

THE
Intelligence, Emerging Threats and Capabilities Subcommittee met in the Sam Rayburn House Office Building. He’d been in this marble mausoleum before, during a hearing on Tomahawk appropriations. But it didn’t feel welcoming. More than one military officer had torn his bottom out on these reefs. There wasn’t really any visitor parking, but Blair had called in a favor from someone on the Armed Services staff, and they had a space for the day in the parking garage.

But first the car had to be searched. Standing there watching the cops wand its trunk, Dan wondered how many millions of man-hours the 9/11 terrorists had cost the taxpayer. He marveled at how thoroughly a few fanatics had transformed an America that had prided itself on its openness, its trust.

Blair pulled through and found the space, in a corner. They were headed for the elevator when a Hungarian-accented voice echoed. “Mr. Lenson.”

Dan turned. Three civilians were strolling toward them between the concrete pillars. “Dr. Szerenci,” he said.

His old professor was in a gray suit and a pale blue tie, with the American flag pin in the lapel that had become de rigueur for every right-thinking official, as if to dispel any doubts. His hair had platinumed at the temples; aside from that, he looked as he had in Defense Analysis class at George Washington. Hawklike. Intent. And short. He also wore glasses now—retro, intellectual-looking horn-rims. The men with him stopped several steps back, gazes roving the garage. Szerenci inclined his head to Blair. “Ms. Titus. Good to see you again. Understand you’re running this fall? You’re here in support of your husband?”

“Hello, Ed. Nice to see you, too.” Her tone was cool. “I’m just here as a spouse. Dan can stand up for himself.”

“Of course.” Szerenci turned to him. “Sorry we had to meet like this.” They shook hands. “Congratulations, by the way, on winning the Medal.”

Dan never knew what to say to this. The Medal of Honor wasn’t “won,” but awarded, usually because you’d died performing some heroic act. Or, if not, by all rights should have. In his case, several other people had, and he wore it for them. But it felt graceless to correct a well-wisher, and explaining came across as either evasive or falsely modest. So he just nodded awkwardly. “Bravo Zulu to you, too, Doctor. National security adviser, huh? That’s really something.”

“Come on, Dan. Make it Ed. Actually, you should have seen the other names being considered. The president made the only smart choice.”

Dan glanced toward the elevator, feeling surreal here in the dusty echoing labyrinth. Szerenci smiled at Blair and pressed the Call button. One of his escorts stepped into the elevator, looked around, stepped out. Szerenci turned to Blair again, as if debating asking her to step aside, but she slid past. “You can take the next one,” she told them, and pressed the Close button. “Dan, good luck. See you upstairs.” She blew a kiss off the back of her fist as the doors began to seal.

But the steel tip of Szerenci’s umbrella shot out, and they opened again. “I have no secrets,” he said casually.

The car was large enough that his security team could board too. They took positions at either side of the door and faced it, backs to their principal, expressionless visages dimly reflected in the stainless wall.

Szerenci took off his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief. “First, if there’s any help I can offer today, please turn to me, Dan. Blair and I are on opposite sides of the aisle, but you and I, we’re both executive branch. In fact, if you have no objection, I’d like to sit with you while you testify.”

Dan gave him a quizzical side-glance. What was going on? But having a high figure in the current administration in his corner couldn’t hurt. “I appreciate that … Ed. Thanks.”

“This subcommittee usually oversees counterterrorism initiatives, and works to prevent proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. I’m not sure what they have in mind calling you. But I wanted to lend what support I could.” He lowered his voice, though his words were already almost lost in the hum of the elevator motors. “For old times’ sake. And because, as the CO of
Savo Island,
you’ll be in the front line of any conflict. Frankly, we need an immediate, crash upgrade to our antiballistic capabilities.”

Dan frowned down at him. “I’m hearing—around the building—that we’re looking at an increase in tension. In the Pacific.”

Szerenci shook his head in wonder. “Increase in tension—is that what they’re calling it? We’re on the brink of war. Outside capital’s fleeing the country. But I believe we’re ready.”

Dan looked at the ceiling. It was stainless too, and a blurred image of himself peered back down. First Niles, now Szerenci, and even more direly phrased. “War, huh? I’ve seen some of it, since we were at George Washington. It’s not like the mutual-attrition equations you taught us.”

Szerenci cocked his head, gaze sharp. “Force is always the ultimate arbiter. ‘Only the dead have seen the end of war.’”

“No argument there, sir. And I respect the need for intellectual rigor. But some conflicts are different. Not so-called limited intervention, when we can pull out when we’ve had enough. We fight China, it’ll be like World War I.”

“Your illusions are almost amusing,” Szerenci said coldly. “But very well, let’s take your example. If not for that conflict, Germany would dominate the world. As it was, Britain and France waited too long.”

“Germany chose that war. Not the Allies.”

Szerenci waved a hand tiredly. “Who
chooses
a war? That’s like saying you choose to lose a poker hand. There’s always risk in the great-power game. We have no choice but to play.”

The elevator came to a stop on the main floor. But instead of letting the doors open, Szerenci put that umbrella tip on the Close button. And held it there.

Blair said, “Imperial Germany could’ve been incorporated into a world trade system. If the situation had been handled better, not just from the point of view of each threatened nation. Isn’t that what we should be doing with China?”

Szerenci snorted. “What have we
been
doing, since Nixon? But they’ve got to
want
to be integrated. Instead, the more powerful they get, the bigger their ambitions. And now this new guy—”

“General Zhang,” said Dan.

“Yeah, another Tojo—he’s whipping them up. I’m going to tell you something classified now.”

“I’m not asking for classified information.”

“You’ll understand why.” He lowered his voice still more. “Someone’s been probing us for a massive cyberattack.”

“We’ve heard something about that,” Blair said, though Dan wasn’t sure who “we” was there—SAIC, or her former compatriots at Defense, or the banking community her stepdad was so tight with.