U.S.S. Seawolf (19 page)

The weary Americans dragged themselves up, and the guard screamed again, “YOU WILL SALUTE THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF! YOU WILL SHOW THE UTMOST RESPECT WHILE YOU ARE HERE! STAND UP AND SALUTE! YOU ARE CRIMINALS IN A PEACEFUL COUNTRY!”

“Captain Crocker,” said Admiral Zhang in fluent En
glish. “Remember, there is no one in this world who can help you. You have been caught red-handed, apparently preparing for an act of war in our Chinese waters. There is nothing your country can do for you. Oh, I realize that mighty Uncle Sam could hurl a nuclear missile at the city of Canton and probably obliterate it, killing two million of my innocent countrymen. But it would not concern us overly. We would still have almost one and a quarter billion people left. War has always meant attrition to us. We can stand losses perhaps as no nation has ever done.”

He walked to the end of the line, glaring at each man. And then he walked back, and as he did so he intoned, “In any event, the USA is not going to hit Canton, because they most certainly want their submarine back, and they probably do not want to kill all of you, so they are not going to start bombing us.

“Neither are they going to launch some kind of an invasion against a country as big as ours. Which brings me back to my original point. In the end the U.S. government will do nothing for you. You are entirely in our power, and I advise you most strongly to cooperate to the full.”

The American captain stared at him, and said firmly, “Under the terms of the Geneva Convention, neither I nor any of my men are obliged to tell you one thing.”

This had the effect of infuriating the lieutenant beyond reasonable control. Either that or he was going for the Chinese equivalent of an Oscar.

“YOU!” he yelled. “YOU! YOU WILL NOT ADDRESS THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF UNLESS YOU ARE GIVEN PERMISSION.”

“Why don’t you fucking zip it, asshole,” growled the unshaven Brad Stockton, whose hard-muscled athletic build had been known to strike terror in the lower decks of various submarines.

“Yeah, why don’t you,” added Shawn Pearson. “Anyway, I’ve met you before…didn’t you used to work in
Wing Fat’s Chop Suey House down by the docks in Norfolk?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you in there,” said Master Chief Stockton. “Cheap little joint run by cheap little Chinese assholes.”

“SILENCE!” roared Admiral Zhang. And then, his voice instantly softening, “Captain Crocker, you will now inform your fellow officers that they will speak only when they are spoken to…perhaps you would do that before we continue our little talk.”

“Admiral Zhang, might I suggest,” said Judd politely, “in an ancient and honorable American tradition, that you take that stupid little stick you’re carrying and go fuck yourself, and possibly your mad sidekick at the same time.”

The C-in-C, who spoke excellent but formal English learned strictly from textbooks, looked faintly bewildered at this outburst of colloquialism. But his lieutenant, who had lived for a few months as a student in California, understood perfectly, and once more went into a frenzy.

“YOU ARE PRISONERS OF THE PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA!” he screamed. “YOU WILL NOT BE INSUBORDINATE OR I WILL HAVE YOU PUNISHED IN A WAY YOU WILL NOT FORGET! NOW SILENCE!”

“Hey, Zhang, who is this fucking little creep you hang out with?” asked Shawn. “Remember ancient Amellican proverb, you judge a man by Iris friends, and right now I’m seeing twin assholes.”

The admiral’s face was thunderous. He had come into this corridor to intimidate, to frighten his prisoners. And right now he was considering having at least two of them shot. But he was a man of clear purpose, and he snatched from the lieutenant a document that listed the names, ranks and serial numbers of the Americans.

Angry though he was at their insolence, he saw no advantage in putting to death the Master Chief of the
entire boat, plus the tall young Navigation Officer, who probably knew more about certain electronic systems than anyone in the entire Chinese Navy.

“Your attitudes,” he said gently, “will get you precisely nowhere. At the same time, my well-meaning requests are being rejected. I will thus leave you now until the morning. You will be given a bowl of plain rice and water…and Captain Crocker, try to bear in mind, there is NO ONE on this earth who is going to do one thing for you. Your government is in the process of abandoning you completely, which leaves the field of submarine research open for me to conduct as I wish.”

Judd Crocker, with a sidelong glance through the grill to the next cell, which contained Lt. Commander Bruce Lucas, just nodded and murmured, “I’m not sure I’d count on that, Zhang old buddy, not if I were you…”

0140. Friday, July 7
.
Office of the National Security Adviser
.
The White House
.

“I mean, Jesus Christ, Joe, this has been going on for thirty-six hours. How come it’s taken so long to get me informed? What the hell’s the matter with you guys?”

“Arnie,” said Admiral Joe Mulligan, “the Chinese have been playing this down right from the start. Look at it from our point of view…SUBPAC gets a signal that
Seawolf
is immobile on the surface one hundred miles offshore in the South China Sea. That’s not good, but it sure ain’t life-threatening. We open up the lines to the Chinese Navy, which tells us they’ve had a request from the American captain for assistance, which they are providing…now NONE of that is life-threatening.”

“I wouldn’t believe those little pricks in a thousand years, Joe. Neither should you.”

“I understand. But all parties, including SUBPAC, have been playing it down, trying to work out a way to
get the submarine free, and subsequently part on good terms with the Chinese. Arnie, it’s called diplomacy, and sometimes you gotta have it.”

“And some other times it’s called bullshit.”

Admiral Mulligan smiled despite himself. “Arnie,” he said, “can someone get me a cup of coffee?”

Admiral Morgan ignored him, and continued griping and moaning. “And then, having been given a total fucking runaround by Beijing for the biggest part of a day and a half, you phone me at midnight and tell me to get my ass into the office because you have something big to impart. Christ, Joe! You’ve had all day.”

“Arnie, how long have you known me?”

“Too long, asshole. I’m supposed to be asleep.”

“You’re not going soft on me, are you? Where’s the steely submarine CO I once knew?”

“Joe, you have raised me from my bed. We are the only two people in the West Wing of the White House in the small hours of the morning, and I am in deep shock at the general failure of the U.S. Navy to get this situation onto a fast track.”

“Arnie, I haven’t finished.”

“Oh…well, go on. It can’t get much worse, can it?”

“Yes, it can.
Seawolf
’s XO was Linus Clarke.”

The blood drained from the craggy face of Arnold Morgan. His mouth went dry, and “deep within him he felt a slow trembling sensation. He walked to his desk and sat down, folding his hands together in front of him. For a moment he. was literally speechless, struck dumb by the enormity of the CNO’s words.

After what seemed five minutes, he just said, “Does the President know?”

“No.”

“Do we yet know if they are off the ship?”

“Our information is that the ship is alongside in Canton, and that the crew has been taken off and incarcerated.”

“Holy shit,” breathed the President’s principal military adviser.

For a few more moments, neither man spoke. And then Admiral Morgan asked, “Do the Chinese know the identity of Linus?”

“No. We’ve always had procedures about what to do in this kind of emergency. Like get rid of all evidence, his papers, passport, etc. And provide him with new stuff that was kept sealed away throughout the voyage. I have checked, and the procedures have gone into effect. Linus has become Lieutenant Commander Bruce Lucas of Houston, Texas. The Chinese have no idea.”

“Well, I guess that’s something.…Okay, Joe. Let me just walk through the situation with you once again. I want to take a few notes.”

“No problem. Take your time.”

“Right. Now
Seawolf
is on patrol in the South China Sea, where she’s been for the best part of a couple of weeks. Out of Pearl, right? Under the command of the very capable Captain Judd Crocker, whose father served with me.”

“Correct.”

“We do not yet know the result of the mission, but knowing that particular CO it was probably going well.”

“Right.”

“Then, in the middle of the goddamned night,
Seawolf
apparently runs across the stern of China’s new guided-missile destroyer, and gets wound up in its towed array.”

“That’s what we’re seeing on the satellite pictures.”

“Right. Now why did Judd Crocker not just send a team over the side and cut the sonofabitch free? He would have had all the right gear on board.”

“Small-arms fire, sir.”

“You mean the slit-eyed Orientals opened fire on the team and stopped them?”

“Looks like it. Judd’s signal did not make clear whether there were bullets flying, or merely threats.”

“No reason to think Judd Crocker’s gone soft?”

“Negative. He’s probably the best submarine CO in the U.S. Navy.”

“I know he is. Which means there must have been bullets…But anyway, we now have
Seawolf
wallowing around with no propulsion, attached to the Chinese destroyer. So they make her fast, and we get a signal in from Judd that the submarine is being towed into the port of Canton. He did not clarify whether at that stage he considered his crew were prisoners.”

“Probably because he was uncertain himself.”

“Right. Now anyway, you guys open up the lines to the Chinese Navy, which informs you they have had a request from the American captain for assistance, and they are now giving that assistance, correct?”

“That’s what they said.”

“So the situation is now slightly confused. Crocker’s not protesting strenuously that he has been arrested in international waters, and the Chinks are just saying they are doing their best to help.”

“That’s it.”

“Well, then what?”

“Arnie, it gets a bit hazy from here. We alerted Langley immediately and they came in with a signal that a big company of Navy guards has been flown into Canton. Then Fort Meade adjusts the satellite and comes up with a picture of huge activity on the submarine jetty. It looks as if the crew has been taken off…then a coupla hours later the CIA hear from one of their field officers that almost a hundred American crewmen have been transported in Navy trucks to a civilian jail up in the northeast of the city, near that famous Canton landmark…what’s it called? The Mausoleum of the Seventy-two Martyrs.”

“Better make sure they don’t have to rename it for the One Hundred and Seventy-two Martyrs.”

“Anyway, that’s where we are. China is saying how peaceful they are and they will try to get our submarine working and back to sea. The crew are guests of the People’s Republic, and everyone hopes this incident will soon be over and forgotten.”

“Do you believe them, Joe?”

“Some. How about you?”

“None.”

“Hmmm. Okay, Arnie. I hear you” But let’s not lose sight of one thing: It’s not really in their interests to move to the brink of a serious confrontation with the U.S. And neither will they want to receive worldwide condemnation for rubbing out an entire American submarine crew. I am thus drawn to the conclusion that they may make some propaganda out of this. You know, poor peaceful Chinese with mad-dog American gangsters in their back-yard. But in the end they will wish to stay friends, and they will probably hand back our ship and her company. Perhaps with some kind of trade sweetener.”

“And a contribution to the Democratic Party’s election campaign.”

“Arnie, I am just trying to show you our mindset for the past twenty-four hours.”

“You want my advice?”

“Sure.”

“Shove your goddamned mindset straight down the tubes. And get a new one.”

“Huh?”

“Joe, seriously, lemme say this to you. The job of Chief of Naval Operations is very time-consuming. You have overall responsibility for running the biggest, most advanced operational fleet in the entire history of the world. You have an enormous day-to-day, hour-to-hour responsibility.

“My task in this world is different. I am here to
think
. To sit right here, in this room, and ponder the military activities currently happening on planet Earth. I spend all day reading, discussing, assessing and planning, trying to seek out weak spots, trying to second-guess our goddamned enemies. Which is why I am about to pontificate to you, right here in the West Wing at damned near two o’clock in the goddamned morning, what I consider the precise mindset of the Chinese.”

“Okay, old pal, I’m ready…by the way, can anyone around here bring us some coffee?”

“Joe, you can get anything around here if you want it badly enough. ’Cept for goddamned peace and quiet.”

He picked up the telephone and was instantly connected to the 40,000-calls-a-day White House switchboard. And Joe heard the outlaw-sweet tones of the most feared man in international military relations.

“Hello, this is Admiral Arnold Morgan. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking this evening? Maryanne? Perfect. Nice name. Now, Maryanne, I am sitting here in company with Admiral Joseph Mulligan, the professional head of the entire United States Navy. And what we seek is not too complicated…one pot of coffee, and one plate of cookies.…Now I realize this is not in your job description…but I want you to find someone to achieve those two objectives…coffee and cookies. You may use my name, quote my wishes shamelessly to any underling you may find…you may cajole and threaten.

“I know, Maryanne, that the hour is late, but my problems are many, and my needs are simple…and it is because of these particularly stressful tasks that very clever young ladies such as yourself are employed…thank you for your indulgence…’bye.”

“Jesus, you old smoothie.”

“Even I can’t yell at people at this late hour and expect ’em to function…but I have faith in Miss Maryanne.”