Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan Books 7-12 (91 page)

“Agreed,” NASDAQ said for the rest.

“We need to rethink those things anyway,” Merrill Lynch announced thoughtfully.

“We will coordinate through this office. Think things through,” the Fed Chairman told them. “If you have ideas on how to make the transition go more smoothly, we want to know about it. We will reconvene at six. Ladies and gentlemen, we are in this together. For the next week or so we are not competitors. We are team members.”

“I have about a million individual investors depending on my house,” Winston reminded them. “Some of you have more. Let’s not forget that.” There was nothing like an appeal to honor. It was a virtue that all craved, even those who lacked it. Fundamentally, honor was itself a debt, a code of behavior, a promise, something inside yourself that you owed to the others who saw it in you. Everyone in this room wanted all the others to look and see a person worthy of respect and trust, and honor. An altogether useful concept, Winston thought, most particularly in time of trouble.

And then there was one,
Ryan thought. The way it always seemed to work at this level, you took care of the simple jobs first and saved the really tough ones for last.

The mission now was more to prevent war than to execute it, but the latter would be part of the former.

The control of Eastern Siberia by Japan and China would have the effect of creating a new—what? Axis? Probably not that. Certainly a new world economic powerhouse, a rival to America in all categories of power. It would give Japan and China a huge competitive advantage in economic terms.

That in and of itself was not an evil ambition. But the methods were. The world had once operated by rules as simple as those of any jungle. If you got it first, it was yours—but only if you had the strength to hold it. Not terribly elegant, nor especially fair by contemporary standards, but the rules had been accepted because the stronger nations generally gave citizens political stability in return for loyalty, and that was usually the first step in the growth of a nation. After a while, however, the human need for peace and security had grown into something else—a desire for a stake in the governance of their country. From 1789, the year that America had ratified its Constitution, to 1989, the year that Eastern Europe had fallen, a mere two centuries, something new had come into the collective mind of mankind. It was called by many names—democracy, human rights, self-determination—but it was fundamentally a recognition that the human will had its own force, and mainly for good.

The Japanese plan sought to deny that force. But the time for the old rules was past, Jack told himself. The men in this room would have to see to it.

“So,” his briefing concluded, “that’s the overall situation in the Pacific.”

The Cabinet Room was full, except for the seat of the Secretary of the Treasury, whose senior deputy was sitting in. Around the roughly diamond-shaped table were the heads of the various departments of the Executive Branch. Senior members of Congress and the military had seats against the four walls.

The Secretary of Defense was supposed to speak next. Instead of rising to the lectern as Ryan went back to his place, however, he flipped open his leather folder of notes and scarcely looked up from them.

“I don’t know that we can do this,” SecDef began, and with those words the men and women of the President’s Cabinet shifted uneasily in their chairs.

“The problem is as much technical as anything. We cannot project sufficient power to—”

“Wait a minute,” Ryan interrupted. “1 want to make a few items clear for everyone, okay?” There were no objections. Even the Defense Secretary seemed relieved that he didn’t have to speak.

“Guam is U.S. Territory, has been for almost a century. The people there are our citizens. Japan took the island away from us in 1941, and in 1944 we took it back. People died to do that.”

“We think we can get Guam back through negotiations,” Secretary Hanson said.

“Glad to hear that,” Ryan replied. “What about the rest of the Marianas?”

“My people think it’s unlikely that we will get them back through diplomatic means. We’ll work on it, of course, but—”

“But
what?”
Jack demanded. There was no immediate answer. “All right, let’s make another thing clear. The Northern Marianas were
never
a legal possession of Japan, despite what their ambassador told us. They were a Trust Territory under the League of Nations, and so they were
not
war booty to us when we took them in 1944 along with Guam. In 1947 the United Nations declared them a Trust Territory under the protection of the United States. In 1952 Japan officially renounced all claims to sovereignty to the islands. In 1978, the
people
of the Northern Marianas opted to become a Commonwealth, politically unified with the United States, and they elected their first governor—we took long enough to let them do that, but they did. In 1986 the U.N. decided that we had faithfully fulfilled our responsibilities to those people, and in the same year the people of those islands all got U.S. citizenship. In 1990 the U.N. Security Council closed out the trusteeship for good.

“Do we all have that? The citizens of those islands are
American
citizens, with U.S. passports—not because we made them do it, but because they freely chose to be. That’s called self-determination. We brought the idea to those rocks, and the people there must have thought that we were serious about it.”

“You can’t do what you can’t do,” Hanson said. “We can negotiate—”

“Negotiate, hell!” Jack snarled back. “Who says we can’t?”

SecDef looked up from his notes. “Jack, it could take years to rebuild ... the things we’ve deactivated. If you want to blame someone, well, blame me.”

“If we can’t do it—what’s it going to cost?” the Secretary of Health and Human Services asked. “We have things we have to do
here!”

“So we let a foreign country strip the citizenship rights of Americans because it’s
too hard
to defend them?” Ryan asked more quietly. “Then what? What about the next time it happens? Tell me, when did we stop being the United States of America? It’s a matter of political will, that’s all,” the National Security Advisor went on. “Do we have any?”

“Dr. Ryan, we live in a real world,” the Secretary of the Interior pointed out. “All those people on those islands, can we put their lives at risk?”

“We used to say that freedom had a greater value than life. We used to say the same thing about our political principles,” Ryan replied. “And the result is the world which those principles built. The things we call rights—nobody just
gave
them to us. No, sir. Those ideas are things we fought for. Those are things people died for. The people on those islands are American citizens. Do we owe them anything?”

Secretary Hanson was uncomfortable with this line of thought. So were others, but they deferred to him, grateful to be able to do so. “We can negotiate from a position of strength—but we have to go carefully.”

“How carefully?” Ryan asked quietly.

“Damn it, Ryan, we can’t risk nuclear attack over a few thousand—”

“Mr. Secretary, what’s the magic number, then? A million? Our place in the world is based on a few very simple ideas—and a lot of people lost their lives for those ideas.”

“You’re talking philosophy,” Hanson shot back. “Look, I have my negotiating team together. We’ll get Guam back.”

“No, sir, we’re going to get them
all
back. And I’ll tell you why.” Ryan leaned forward, looking up and down the table. “If we don’t, then we cannot prevent a war between Russia on one side and Japan and China on the other. I think I know the Russians. They will fight for Siberia. They have to. The resources there are their best chance for bootstrapping their country into the next century. That war could go nuclear. Japan and China probably don’t think it’ll go that far, people, but I’m telling you it will. You know why?

“If we cannot deal with this situation effectively, then who can? The Russians will think they’re alone. Our influence with them will be zero, they’ll have their backs against a wall, and they’ll lash out the only way they can, and the butcher’s bill will be like nothing the world has ever seen, and I’m not ready for another dark age.

“So we don’t have a choice. You can name any reason you want, but it all comes down to the same thing: we have a debt of honor to the people on those islands who decided that they wanted to be Americans. If we don’t defend that principle, we don’t defend anything. And nobody will trust us, and nobody will respect us, not even ourselves. If we turn our back on them, then we are not the people we say we are, and everything we’ve ever done is a lie.”

Through it all, President Durling sat quietly in his place, scanning faces, most especially his Secretary of Defense, and behind him, against the wall, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the man SecDef had picked to assist him in the dismantlement of the American military. Both men were looking down, and it was clear that both men were unworthy of the moment. It was also clear that their country could not afford to be.

“How can we do it, Jack?” Roger Durling asked.

“Mr. President, I don’t know yet. Before we try, we have to decide if we are going to or not, and that, sir, is your call.”

Durling weighed Ryan’s words, and weighed the desirability of polling his cabinet for their opinions, but the faces told him something he didn’t like. He remembered his time in Vietnam when he’d told his troopers that, yes, it all mattered, even though he knew that it was a lie. He’d never forgotten the looks on their faces, and though it was not widely known, every month or so now, in the dark of night, he’d walk down to the Vietnam Memorial, where he knew the exact location of every name of every man who had died under his command, and he visited those names one by one, to tell them that, yes, it really had mattered somehow, that in the great scheme of events their deaths had contributed to something, and that the world had changed for the better, too late for them, but not too late for their fellow citizens. President Durling thought of one other thing: nobody had ever taken land away from America. Perhaps it all came down to that.

“Brett, you will commence negotiations immediately. Make it clear that the current situation in the Western Pacific is in no way acceptable to the United States government. We will settle for nothing less than a complete restoration of the Mariana Islands to their antebellum condition. Nothing less,” Durling repeated.

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“I want plans and options for the removal of Japanese forces from those islands should negotiations fail,” JUMPER told the Secretary of Defense. The latter nodded but his face told the tale. SecDef didn’t think it could be done.

Admiral Chandraskatta thought it had taken long enough, but he was patient, and he knew that he could afford to be.
What will happen now?
he wondered.

It could have gone more quickly. He’d been a little slow in his methods and plans, trying to learn the thought patterns of his adversary, Rear Admiral Michael Dubro. He was a clever foe, skilled at maneuvering, and because he was clever, he’d been quick to think that his own foe was stupid. It had been obvious for a week that the American formation lay to the southwest, and by moving south, he’d cajoled Dubro into moving north, then east. Had his assessment been wrong, then the American fleet would still have had to go to the same spot, east of Dondra Head, forcing the fleet oilers to cut the corner. Sooner or later they would pass under the eyes of his air patrols, and, finally, they had. Now all he had to do was follow them, and Dubro couldn’t divert them except to the east. And that meant diverting his entire fleet to the east, away from Sri Lanka, opening the way for his navy’s amphibious formation to load its cargo of soldiers and armored vehicles. The only alternative was for the Americans to confront his fleet and offer battle.

But they wouldn’t do that—would they? No. The only sensible thing for America to do was to recall Dubro and his two carriers to Pearl Harbor, there to await the political decision on whether or not to confront Japan. They had divided their fleet, violating the dictum of Alfred Thayer Mahan, which Chandraskatta had learned at the Naval War College at Newport, Rhode Island, along with his classmate, Yusuo Sato, not so many years before, and he remembered the theoretical discussions they’d had on walks along the seawall, watching the yachts and wondering how small navies could defeat big ones.

Arriving at Pearl Harbor, Dubro would confer with the intelligence and operations staffs of his Pacific Fleet command and they would do their sums, and then they would see that it probably could not be done. How angry and frustrated they would be, the Indian Admiral thought.

But first he would teach them a lesson. Now he was hunting them. For all their speed and cleverness, they were tied to a fixed point, and sooner or later you just ran out of maneuvering room. Now he could force them away, and allow his country to take her first imperial step. A small one, almost inconsequential in the great game, but a worthy opening move nonetheless because the Americans would withdraw, allowing his country to move, as Japan had moved. By the time America had built its strength back up, it would be too late to change things. It was all about space and time, really. Both worked against a country crippled by internal difficulties and therefore robbed of her purpose. How clever of the Japanese to see to that.

“It went better than I expected,” Durling said. He’d walked over to Ryan’s office for the chat, a first for both of them.

“You really think so?” Jack asked in surprise.

“Remember, I inherited most of the cabinet from Bob.” The President sat down. “Their focus is domestic. That’s been my problem all along.”

“You need a new SecDef and a new Chairman,” the National Security Advisor observed coldly.

“I know that, but the timing is bad for it.” Durling smiled. “It gives you a slightly wider purview, Jack. But I have a question to ask you first.”