Executive Intent

SIX

THE WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM, WASHINGTON, D.C.

THAT SAME TIME

Vice President Kenneth Phoenix, White House Chief of Staff Walter Kordus, and National Security Adviser Conrad Carlyle entered the Situation Room quickly and took seats. Phoenix waved at the other members of the National Security Council in the room, who had been standing anticipating the president’s arrival. “Walter finally convinced the president to get some rest,” Phoenix said. “He’s been watching the news coverage of the Chinese invasion on TV almost continuously, and he’s beat. He’s going to address the American people at seven-ten this morning.” The other officials and military officers shuffled to their seats, most reaching for coffee or energy drinks, all wishing they could get some rest as well. “Let’s do it, Walter.”

“Yes, Mr. Vice President,” Kordus said. He took a sip of coffee, then went on: “This will be our last update until the full staff update at six forty-five A.M., so we can all get at least a few hours’ rest as long as your deputies are fully briefed and in place. Who’s got the latest?”

“Right here, Walter, Mr. Vice President,” Secretary of Defense Miller Turner said. “In a nutshell, sir, we’re seeing a historic, tactically well-orchestrated, and a strategically globe-altering event: the first deployment of Chinese troops across its borders in large numbers since the Korean War, and one of the largest deployments of Chinese air and naval forces in the country’s long history. What we’re seeing, ladies and gentlemen, is the world’s largest standing army from the world’s most populous country doing what the world has feared for two millennia: breaking out of its borders and massing troops elsewhere on the planet.

“To summarize: The People’s Republic of China bombarded and then invaded the main airport and the area known as New Port in Mogadishu, the capital city of Somalia, in the Horn of Africa. The invasion began with air-and sea-launched cruise-missile attacks, followed by unguided gravity-bomb attacks from Chinese H-6 jet bombers and naval gun bombardment from Chinese warships that were part of the antipiracy task force. The bombardment was followed by a land invasion of Chinese marines who came ashore from the naval warships, and then followed by Chinese army regulars who came ashore aboard container vessels initially thought to be humanitarian relief supplies bound for Tanzania. The attacks were specifically planned and executed for maximum destruction and body count.”

“Do we know where those bombers came from?” Phoenix asked. “Did they fly all the way from China?”

“We don’t yet know, sir,” Turner replied. He checked his notes, then said, “The Chinese H-6 is China ’s only long-range bomber. They have only a hundred twenty of them. Unrefueled, they have a range of only one thousand miles. About sixty were updated with aerial refueling probes, and approximately thirty were converted to aerial refueling tankers, so we’re assuming that half of all their airrefuelable bombers and air-refueling tankers were used in this raid. If they are, they could have come all the way from mainland China.”

“The Chiefs think that’s highly unlikely, sir,” General Taylor J. Bain, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, remarked. “ China has the world’s largest air force, but seventy to eighty percent of their planes are old and outdated. General Huffman says China has very little experience with aerial refueling, especially the H-6s. They’re developing more of a capability to refuel tactical jets and carrier-based fighters, but the big bombers were thought to be all but obsolete.”

“Unless you can explain how a plane with only one thousand miles’ range made it a quarter of the way around the planet without air refueling, I’d say your information was totally inaccurate, General,” Phoenix said with undisguised irritation. Bain likewise did not try to hide his displeasure at Phoenix ’s remark. He glanced at Walter Kordus, making an unspoken request, and the president’s chief of staff picked up his telephone.

The vice president waved a hand, then massaged his temples. “I’m sorry, General, I apologize,” he said wearily. “I’m tired. It’s been a really long day.” Bain nodded, once and perfunctorily, and said nothing. The vice president turned to the rest of those in the Situation Room. “Ladies and gentlemen, as Secretary Turner said, what we’re seeing is something completely unexpected and unprecedented. Everything we thought we knew about China is wrong, do you understand? Everything we’ve assumed about their capabilities, strategic interests, methodology, and order of battle has to be reevaluated, and fast. It looks to me like we’re going to have to throw out all the game plans regarding China and make up new ones-every week if necessary.”

“That’s exactly what we intend to do, sir,” Carlyle said after he hung up the phone. “But China has always been a secretive, closed, and one-way society-they take all the data we care to give them, and give us very little in return. It’s been like that in the best of years.” Carlyle checked the laptop computer display before him when the terminal beeped, then typed commands into the keyboard. “You have something to contribute here, General Raydon?”

“Yes, sir,” Kai Raydon replied from Armstrong Space Station. “Display number six.” One of the displays on the wall-size array of computer monitors turned dark, followed a moment later by a satellite image of an airfield with a very long single runway. “This is Rajanpur Northwest Airfield, about forty miles northwest of Khanpur in central Pakistan. It happens to have Pakistan ’s longest runway, twelve thousand five hundred feet long. It was built to accommodate Ilyushin-76 airborne early-warning radar aircraft and air-refueling tankers purchased from Ukraine, as well as H-6 bombers purchased from China. Pakistan received four of the AWACS radar planes and twelve tankers, but the sale of H-6s was blocked by the United States after Pakistan ’s nuclear tests in 1998. The Il-76s were later moved to other bases, and Rajanpur Northwest became a reserve forces base and was largely abandoned. This photo was taken about a year ago.”

The photo changed, this time to the same airfield but with several rows of large aircraft parked on the southeast and northeast sides of the runway. “This is Rajanpur four hours ago,” Raydon went on. “We count twelve H-6 bombers, four H-6 tankers, one Il-76 AWACS, several large transports, and some fighter jets. The airfield is choked with planes and personnel. We haven’t been able to identify any personnel or get any other information, but my guess is that this is a massive Chinese air deployment.”

“Our buddies in Pakistan looking out for us…again,” Phoenix commented. “I think Pakistan ’s friendliness toward the United States is as much fiction as the one about China not training for air refueling with its long-range bombers.”

“I don’t see this necessarily as a betrayal, Mr. Vice President,” the president’s national security adviser, Conrad Carlyle, said. “ Pakistan supporting China ’s efforts to shut down the Somali pirates? We should be thanking them.”

“It’s yet to be proven if that’s what China is up to,” Phoenix said. “We’re friends with China, or at least we’re supposed to be friends-why didn’t they advise us first before this operation? And we’re allies with Pakistan -why didn’t they advise us they were going to support China like this?”

“ Pakistan has all but closed our embassy in Islamabad,” Kordus said, “because of that space attack. We’re going to have to do some major sucking up to get them to trust us again.”

“No one is going to be sucking up to anyone, especially the United States of America, and especially not to Pakistan,” Phoenix retorted. “If it wasn’t for that space attack, we’d probably be watching a nuclear war on the subcontinent right now. Remember that.” He paused for a moment, then spoke: “What’s the latest on your incident up there, General Raydon?”

“The investigation is ongoing, Mr. Vice President,” Kai replied. “We saw absolutely no faults at all when we powered the interceptor garage up. It just…blew.”

“Any guesses?”

“Sir, the system that failed previously was the Trinity interceptor safe-arm circuit, which guarantees that the rocket motors in the interceptors are safe until the system is armed from here in the station, or until the self-protection systems detect a possible incoming threat,” Kai said. “We had the entire satellite shut down except for the maneuvering system, and two circuit boards in that subsystem were just replaced. If the boards were bad or the wrong boards replaced, a faulty safe-arm circuit would have closed the motor ignition circuit. When the garage was powered up, the safe circuit fault could have been interpreted as an arm command, and the motor ignition command set off one of the booster motors. But as I said, we had no indications of any faults after powering up the satellite. We’re checking all systems right now, and we still haven’t found anything.”

“And the astronauts?”

“They’ll be evacuated later on today, sir,” Kai said. “Mr. Noble is in good shape-dehydrated, possibly a broken shoulder, some sunburn on his face, but otherwise well. We’re concerned about radiation exposure-he wasn’t wearing a full space suit-but so far he seems to have weathered that okay.”

“He wasn’t wearing a space suit? How could he survive in space without one?”

“Mr. Noble was wearing what we call an ‘activity suit’-an electronically controlled mechanical pressure suit that allows the wearer a lot more flexibility and freedom, but it doesn’t offer as much radiation protection.”

“It sounds like he’s a very lucky man,” Phoenix observed. “And the other astronaut? His family’s been notified?”

“Yes, sir, his parents and siblings-Lieutenant McCallum was unmarried. Recently graduated top of his class from Stanford. The engineering college there wants to have a public service for him, and the family has accepted.”

“I’d like to be there.”

“I’ll set it up with your office, sir.”

“Thank you. How long was Mr. Noble adrift in space?”

“A total of four and a half hours,” Kai replied. “When the spaceplane caught up with him, he was napping. Scared the hell out of us-we thought he had a concussion.”

“Amazing,” the vice president breathed. “Alone in orbit around Earth, and the guy slept through it. I’d like reports on your investigation as you have them, General.”

“We’ll keep them coming, sir.”

“Thank you.” The vice president spread his hands to the others in the Situation Room. “Okay, back to China and what they’ve got planned in Somalia. It’s got to be more than just a punitive strike against warlords who ordered the pirate attacks, as they claim. I think China has much more in mind. They don’t drop a few thousand troops on the ground just to drop-kick some pirates.”

“The secretary of state is in Beijing right now and is set to meet with the premier and the minister of foreign affairs shortly and will-”

“Secretary Barbeau has been in China so many times in the past few months, we should probably get her a nice apartment across from Tiananmen Square,” Phoenix said. He rubbed his temples again. “And it seems every time she’s sent to Beijing, the Chinese make another move that makes me wonder even more what they have in mind.”

“Diplomacy takes time, Mr. Vice President,” Kordus said without turning toward him. “Do you have any doubts that Secretary Barbeau is doing all she can to find out more about China ’s plans?”

“What I’m saying, Walter, is that we shouldn’t be waiting around for China to state its intentions before we voice our own,” Phoenix said. “We as the president’s senior advisers should draft a statement for the president, recommending he strongly condemn Beijing ’s actions, demand a halt to the bombings and shellings and an immediate withdrawal from the area except for forces involved in the joint antipiracy task force.”

“I don’t think that’s warranted at this time, Mr. Vice President,” David C. Keeley, deputy secretary of state, representing the Department of State while Secretary Barbeau was traveling. “The Somali pirates have been terrorizing the Horn of Africa for years now, and the international community has done very little proactively to stop them. China finally does something about the problem. Why do we want to lash out at China? They did the dirty work everybody else wanted done.”

“Because there’s a clear pattern of aggressiveness that’s very troubling, Mr. Keeley,” Phoenix said. “ China places antiship and antisatellite weapons all around the world. Our response: announce we will unilaterally decommission our antisatellite weapons, and call on the rest of the world to do likewise. Then, when China runs out of friendly nations to place a missile site, they decide to invade an unfriendly one. Who’s next-the Philippines, Taiwan, Thailand, Cuba? And what will our response be?”

“The president’s statement this evening reflects his views and those of the National Security Council: The United States is very concerned about China ’s actions, and we call upon Beijing to do more to minimize civilian casualties,” Kordus said. “You contributed to drafting that statement, sir.”

“As an initial reaction to events of which we had very little concrete information, the statement was acceptable to me, Walter,” Phoenix said. “That was eight hours ago, before China started bringing planeloads of troops and supplies into Mogadishu and started bedding down what looks to me like an occupation force. I’m saying we need a stronger statement. We should-”

“Do what, Ken?” President Joseph Gardner asked. He had silently appeared in the doorway of the Situation Room, completely unannounced. Everyone in the room stood; the president ignored them, instead fixing his gaze on his vice president. “What is it you want me to say to Beijing now?”

Phoenix paused for a few heartbeats. He glanced at Kordus, realizing now that the president’s chief of staff had called the president and warned him that his vice president was taking control of the meeting; then turned squarely back to the president and replied, “Sir, I think we should tell Premier Zhou that the invasion is a violation of the rights of a sovereign nation; the United States condemns China’s unilateral, surprise, and horribly violent attacks against innocent Somalis; that we demand that Zhou orders an immediate cease-fire and removes all ground forces offshore to their own vessels; and that all naval forces return to antipiracy-task-force operations under United Nations and NATO supervision.”

“And if they refuse?” the president asked.

“Then the United States will file a protest with the United Nations and ask for an emergency meeting of the Security Council to issue a resolution condemning Chinese activities in Somalia and ordering an immediate withdrawal.”

“ China will certainly veto such a resolution. What then?”

“We will then ask that the full membership issue a statement condemning Chinese actions and demand an immediate withdrawal.”

“ China can still refuse, or simply ignore the order. What then?”

“The United States removes China from the antipiracy Combined Task Force and notifies the world that any PRC warships en route to or from Somalia will be considered hostile combatants en route to an illegal combat zone,” Phoenix said. “This action prohibits Chinese warships or support vessels from utilizing certain ports that are also in use by the United States or its allies. If any nations continue to support Chinese warships, we place sanctions on those countries. This will stretch out China ’s supply lines and make it more difficult if not impossible to support blue-water naval operations. We then make it clear to Beijing that even tougher sanctions will follow if they don’t comply.”

The president nodded, looked Phoenix up and down as if meeting him for the first time, then nodded again. “You’ve given this quite a bit of thought, I see,” he said in a quiet voice. Phoenix had no response. “So you want to play hardball with China, Mr. Phoenix, is that right?”

“I want to make it clear that we don’t like any country bombing another country and killing innocent civilians in an area of the world under active patrol by the United States and its allies,” Phoenix said. “I want them to understand that we’ll act if our wishes are not met.”

“And you don’t think I’ve been clear, Mr. Phoenix?”

The vice president hesitated just for a moment-now it was getting personal. But then he replied, “In my opinion, sir, I think your last public statement regarding China was ambiguous.”

“Ambiguous?”

“Yes, sir, ambiguous,” Phoenix said. “You didn’t say whether or not you condemned or even disagreed with China ’s invasion. You expressed concern, that’s all. In my opinion, sir, that wasn’t enough.”

“And you thought you’d convey your thoughts to the National Security Council before running them by me, Mr. Phoenix?” the president asked.

“It seemed like a good time to do so, Mr. President.”

“I assure you, Mr. Phoenix, it was not,” the president said calmly. He looked at his watch, then at his vice president. “You’re dismissed, Mr. Phoenix.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Phoenix said, and he left the Situation Room without glancing at anyone else.

The president looked directly into the eyes of the others in the Situation Room. They were all still on their feet-they had not yet been given permission to sit. “Does anyone else think I’ve been too ambiguous in expressing my thoughts to China or anyone else?” he asked. The reply was a quiet-voiced but immediate chorus of “No, Mr. President.” “Oh-six-thirty will come soon, ladies and gentlemen,” the president said. “Get some rest.” The National Security Council members scattered as quickly but as calmly as they could.

“Well?” the president asked his chief of staff after everyone had departed. “Insubordination? Treason? Or just popping off again?”

“I wouldn’t have gotten you out of bed if it was just popping off, Joe,” Kordus said. “He dressed down Bain like he was the commander in chief, then proceeded to lecture the NSC on how backward we were and how we should be thinking about China from now on. He apologized afterward and said he was tired, but he stepped way over the line.”

“Was he right?”

Kordus hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, Joe. Phoenix is out of control, and he could take some members of the cabinet down if he continues to plant seeds of doubt in some minds about your leadership or the Pentagon’s preparedness.”

The president nodded, thinking hard. “In the original Constitution,” he said after a few moments, “the second-place finisher in the presidential elections became vice president. He was given the meaningless job of president of the Senate in order to keep him busy enough so he didn’t spend all of his time plotting to overthrow the president.” He paused, longing for a cigarette and a shot or two of rum to clear his head. “I know how those early presidents felt now.” He thought for a moment more; then: “I’ll deal with Phoenix after I get some rest.”

“He wants to go to that young astronaut’s memorial service in California day after tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine,” the president said wearily. “Schedule some campaign stops for him and see if he squawks about doing them, and let me know who he meets with-as in any of his so-called secret presidential campaign advisers. He just might be doing more than just sounding like the commander in chief.”

NATIONAL SPACE MEDICAL CENTER, JOHNSON SPACE CENTER, HOUSTON, TEXAS

TWO DAYS LATER

Patrick McLanahan and Deputy Undersecretary of the Air Force for Space Ann Page stepped up to the large cluster of microphones outside the entrance to the National Space Medical Center at the Johnson Space Center in Houston. Speaking without prepared notes-at least not any that the dozens of reporters could see-Patrick said, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Patrick McLanahan, retired U.S. Air Force lieutenant general. With me today is deputy undersecretary of the Air Force for space, aerospace engineer, astronaut, and former U.S. senator from California, Dr. Ann Page.

“We’re going to visit with astronaut Hunter Noble, who was involved in the accident in Earth orbit when an interceptor weapon-launcher module apparently exploded after being serviced by Mr. Noble and his partner, spacecraft electronics technician First Lieutenant Jeffrey McCallum. Lieutenant McCallum was killed in the aftermath of the explosion, and Mr. Noble was forced to abandon his spaceplane and was adrift in space for several hours holding the body of Lieutenant McCallum until another spaceplane crew rescued them.

“Undersecretary Page will tell you that the official investigation will soon be under way and, like most aviation accident investigations, the results probably won’t be released for several months,” Patrick went on. “As the former commander of the nascent U.S. Space Defense Force and a frequent traveler to Armstrong Space Station, I am very concerned about the incident and the smooth progress of the investigation, and so I volunteered my services to Undersecretary Page at the Pentagon to assist in the investigation in any way they see fit.

“I am also very concerned about the future of the space defense program, especially in the aftermath of this tragedy. With rumors circulating in the press about the cancellation or severe downsizing of the space defense program, I would like to ensure that the truth is accurately reported in a timely manner, and as a private citizen with extensive knowledge of the Space Defense Force program, I feel I’m well qualified to help. The space defense program is the cornerstone of the future of not only national defense but also global defense, and understanding and learning from tragic accidents like this are crucial for the program’s success. Thank you.”

Patrick stepped away from the microphones, and Ann stepped forward. “Thank you, General McLanahan,” she began. “I thank you for your service to our country, and I thank you for stepping forward out of retirement with your generous offer of support, expert analysis, and leadership. I have recommended to secretary of the Air Force Salazar Banderas that he nominate General McLanahan to chair the accident investigation board on the Kingfisher-Eight incident, and we are awaiting the final decision by Defense Secretary Turner, which we expect very soon. The formal inquiry into the incident will begin when the chairman is appointed and his or her accident investigation board is chosen, sworn in, and seated.

“As the senior civilian administrator of the Air Force’s military space programs, my job is to assist the Secretary of the Air Force in ensuring that we have the best equipped and trained space force in the world,” Ann went on. “The constellation of Kingfisher interceptor modules in orbit have proven extremely reliable so far in their short tour of duty, and to me this incident is suspicious and troubling. I’ll be following the investigation very carefully over the next several months. Most of the findings will be classified, I’m sure, but as much as I’m permitted, I’ll report back to you on the board’s progress.” She and McLanahan fielded several questions from the few members of the press who attended the remarks, and then went inside to Hunter Noble’s room.

They were surprised to see him up and moving about. His right shoulder was heavily bandaged, he wore a neck brace, and his face was shiny from the sunburn cream that had been applied, but otherwise he looked remarkably good for a guy who had been rescued from Earth orbit. “Saw the presser on TV, General,” he said. “You looked good, if I may say so. Ever think about politics?”

“Yes-and then I slap myself,” Patrick responded. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Went to find that nurse who put this goop on my face,” Boomer said with a smile.

“How do you feel?” Ann asked.

“A little wobbly, ma’am-I’m not as much of an exercise freak as General Raydon, so I think the zero-g and then Earth-g hit me harder.”

“Not to mention your spaceplane being blasted by a weapon garage and then being forced to evacuate it.”

“That, too.”

“So you feel like talking a little?” Patrick asked, closing the door behind him. Ann Page looked at Patrick-she knew he knew he hadn’t yet been approved to serve on the accident investigation board, so he wasn’t authorized to ask any questions-but she stayed silent.

“Sure-it’s better than playing with that lung-exerciser thingy they gave me,” Boomer said, motioning to the spirometer on the table next to the bed. He sat on the side of the bed. “Shoot.”

“Did Lieutenant McCallum have any problems with the repairs that you’re aware of?” Patrick asked.

“None,” Boomer said. “Went very smoothly.”

“Was he nervous about doing the space walk?”

“I think so,” Boomer admitted. “But I told him it was natural, and that I get a little illyngophobia every now and then.”

“A little what?” Ann asked.

“Illyngophobia-the fear of getting vertigo.”

“You mean acrophobia.”

“No, that’s the fear of heights. I don’t have a problem with heights. I’m just afraid I might get vertigo. Pretty much the same, but different.” Ann looked at him skeptically. “I’m generally a font of useless information, Madam Undersecretary,” he said with a smile.

“‘A difference that makes no difference is no difference,’” Ann said.

“William James, the ultimate verificationist,” Boomer said. “My man.”

While they were prattling on, Patrick stepped away from Boomer’s bed and touched his left hand to his left ear, a signal that he was not taking part in their conversation. “Maddie?”

“Yes, General McLanahan,” the voice of Sky Masters Inc.’s virtual assistant replied a moment later, heard through the resonations transmitted through his skull to his middle ear.

“Connect me to General Raydon on Armstrong Space Station.”

“Stand by, General McLanahan,” Maddie replied. A few moments later: “General Raydon, this is Maddie from Sky Masters Incorporated calling for General McLanahan, not secure.”

“Is that your Duty Officer calling for you again, General?” Kai asked.

“Same operation; different names,” Patrick said. “Verificationism.” That got Ann and Boomer’s attention.

“Say again?”

“Disregard. How are you?”

“Tired. Yourself, sir?”

“Good. Undersecretary Page and I are here with Boomer.”

“How is he?”

“Up and about.”

“He’s a tough bugger, that’s for sure.”

“I’m very sorry about Lieutenant McCallum.”

“Thanks. He was a great engineer and crewman. I’ll be heading down for his service in a few hours.”

“I’ll see you there. Any more news on the accident, Kai?”

“We’re not secure, General.”

“I know.”

There was a slight pause; then: “Are you heading up the accident investigation board, sir?”

“It hasn’t been confirmed yet.”

“As soon as I get the word that you’re chairing the board, General, I’ll pass along all the information on the entire incident,” Kai said. At that same moment, Patrick received a secure instant message that scrolled across the bottom of his field of vision, thanks to the tiny electronic intraocular lens implant in his left eye. The message read: LET ME KNOW WHERE TO SEND THE FILES.

“Understood, Kai,” Patrick said. “I’ll drop you a line when I get the okay.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“I’ll see you in Palo Alto for McCallum’s service. Fly safe.”

“Will do. Good to talk with you again, General.” And he broke the connection.

“Raydon?” Ann asked, silently reminding Patrick that he was not yet part of any investigation.

“Yep. He couldn’t say anything until the board is seated.” Ann looked relieved, and Patrick noticed that. “You probably shouldn’t say anything else to us either, Boomer.”

“You’re probably right, sir. But I’ll start taking notes on what I remember and pass them along to the board for the record.”

“Good.” He extended a hand, and Boomer shook it with his left hand. “I hope you’ll feel up to attending McCallum’s service.”

“I’ll be there, General.”

“We’ll understand if you’re not. You’ve been through an extraordinary emergency.”

“I’ll be there,” Boomer assured him. Patrick nodded, and he and Ann departed.

Back in his car, Ann said, “I was starting to get worried about you asking questions and then calling Raydon, Patrick. Be careful about contaminating the integrity of the investigation before you get seated.”

“Ann, I would fall over backward in a dead faint if I was appointed chair of that investigation board,” Patrick said, “or any other government position except maybe in charge of beach sandals and boogie boards in Alaska. There’s no way on earth President Gardner would allow Banderas to select me.”

“Why not? You’re by far the highest-ranking astronaut in the world; one of the best-known and well-respected military officers in the nation; you’re available; you know the space systems and the hazards; and you can work for the traditional one-dollar stipend,” Ann said. She looked at Patrick carefully. “I remember all that stuff about the president wanting you pulled off Armstrong after those attacks in Turkey and whatever happened in Nevada. I also remember you suddenly disappeared off the station after convincing everyone you were too sick to stand the stress of reentry, after which suddenly the pressure was off, you were retired, and the space defense program was back on track. What happened after you returned to Earth…or shouldn’t I ask?”

“You shouldn’t ask,” Patrick said evenly. “In fact, you’re probably in pretty deep already, since some would assume I’d already told you everything.”

Ann swallowed apprehensively after hearing that. “Then maybe you should tell me.”

“No, not yet,” Patrick said. “We’ll see how this plays out.”

Ann fell silent for a few moments as Patrick drove; then: “So if you are so sure you won’t get the appointment, why the press conference?”

“To try to put a little pressure on the White House,” Patrick said. “I won’t get the appointment, and folks will wonder why not. Hopefully it’ll focus a little more attention on the investigation so the results won’t be swept under the rug.” Ann Page looked carefully at Patrick, then smiled when he glanced at her. “What?”

“Look at you-you’re starting to sound like a damned political hack,” she said. “You’re talking about putting pressure on the White House like you probably used to talk about planning a bomb run.”

“I worked in the White House for a couple years, Ann-it’s no different than any other ally or adversary,” Patrick said. “Elected officials, appointees, career bureaucrats, employees, consultants, advisers, all the characters who roam around the place-they all have wishes, desires, objectives, fears, and suspicions. They respond to pressure, real or perceived. Nothing wrong with letting them have a little of it.” He glanced at her again. “Would there be a problem of you getting me a copy of the data from Armstrong?”

“If you’re not on the board, I don’t think they’d allow it, Patrick,” Ann replied. “And my head would be on a platter in a New York minute if I leaked it. Sorry.” She paused, smiled at him, and added, “Kind of tough just being a regular civilian again? Can’t just snap your fingers and get classified data anymore-it’s gotta be frustrating.”

“Sure, sometimes,” Patrick said. “I believe in the Space Defense Force and the advancement of military space, just like I believed in the manned bomber years ago, and I’d hate to have politics get in the way of what I believe will be the weapon system of choice in the near future.”

“Good speech, General McLanahan,” Ann said with a chuckle. “Let me know when you plan to deliver it-I want to be there.”

THE BERING SEA, 300 MILES NORTHEAST OF KLYUCHI, KAMCHATKA PENINSULA, EASTERN RUSSIAN FEDERATION

THE NEXT MORNING

The Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force’s Atago-class destroyer Ashigara was in the first month of a three-month-long routine patrol of the Sea of Okhotsk and western Bering Sea. The destroyer was an improved Japanese version of the American Navy’s DDG-51 Arleigh Burke-class destroyer, with Japanese-made defensive weaponry as well as American-made weapons, the AN/SPY-1D Aegis radar system, and fore and aft vertical-launch-system cells with surface-to-air and ASROC rocket-propelled torpedoes; the big difference was its full helicopter hangar along with its landing pad. It was one of the world’s most powerful warships and was well suited for the usually harsh winter weather conditions of the Bering Sea.

The Japanese navy, along with the United States and other Pacific countries, made regular patrols in the area not only to show that they were not shy about operating so close to Russian shores, but to plot and observe all the military activity and listen in to the variety of electronic signals being broadcast in the area. The Russian Pacific Fleet had a major submarine and naval aviation base at Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, about three hundred miles south, with Delta-III nuclear ballistic-missile submarines and Akula attack submarines, Tupolev-142 naval attack bombers, and Mikoyan-Gureyvich-31 long-range interceptors based there. In fact, the Ashigara had made a weeklong port call to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky naval base and had been warmly welcomed by the Russians. But the Ashigara’s objective on this part of the cruise was three hundred miles north of Petropavlosk-Kamchatsky: the Klyuchi Test Range, an isolated part of the northern Kamchatka Peninsula, heavily instrumented and used to record the accuracy of reentry warheads carried aloft by intercontinental ballistic missiles launched from western Russia.

A lot of activity had been observed in and around the Klyuchi Test Range in recent weeks. The United States made regular ship and air patrols of the test range, and the long-range COBRA DANE radar at Eareckson Air Station on Shemya Island also kept watch, but since the Ashigara was already in the area, it was diverted to cruise the area and observe.

Instead of reentry vehicles, the crew of the Ashigara were observing numerous fighter sorties in the Klyuchi Test Range. Yelizovo Airfield at Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky had a regiment of MiG-31 “Foxhound” supersonic fighters, designed to intercept lowflying bombers and cruise missiles hundreds of miles from shore at over twice the speed of sound. The MiGs were not dogfighters, but instead used large, powerful radars to launch advanced radar-guided air-to-air missiles…except the MiGs in the Klyuchi Test Range weren’t practicing attacking bombers, but were simply cruising out to the range, climbing steeply, then heading back to Yelizovo.

The Ashigara soon found out what the MiGs were up to. As the captain and combat officers of the Japanese destroyer watched in fascination, one MiG-31 accelerated to over two and a half times the speed of sound, then made a steep climb. The fighter roared to over sixty-five thousand feet at just over the speed of sound, then released a single missile slung under its belly centerline stores station.

The missile was a 50N8 Graza, or “Storm,” long-range surface-to-air missile, modified as an air-launched antisatellite weapon. The Russian antisatellite missile climbed quickly on its first-stage motor for about fifteen seconds, climbing to over 200,000 feet, then coasted for a short period as it dropped its first-stage motor section. The second stage ignited moments later, and the missile quickly climbed to five hundred miles’ altitude before the second stage separated.

Because it did not have enough speed to enter Earth’s orbit, the third stage began to descend. At four hundred miles’ altitude, the third stage separated, leaving the kill vehicle to continue the descent. Using short blasts of hydrazine, it adjusted its course using inertial, GPS, and datalink course guidance; then, as it closed in on its target, it used its own radar for precise terminal guidance. It scored a direct hit on a deactivated Yantar-4K2 target reconnaissance satellite just minutes later.

MEMORIAL CHAPEL, STANFORD UNIVERSITY, PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA

LATER THAT AFTERNOON

“I’d like to conclude with these words,” Vice President Ken Phoenix said. “It was found written on a slip of paper in a trench in Tunisia during the battle of El Agheila during World War Two, but it is just as appropriate here today as we honor the memory and the extraordinary life of First Lieutenant Jeffrey McCallum, U.S. Space Defense Force. It read: ‘Stay with me, God. The night is dark, the night is cold: my little spark of courage dies. The night is long; be with me, God, and make me strong.’ Rest in peace, Lieutenant. Job well done.”

After the service concluded, the vice president followed along with the pastor and family members as the pallbearers wheeled the casket to the front of the chapel, and then the Air Force honor guard carried the casket to the waiting hearse. The family had requested that the burial at Holy Cross Cemetery in Menlo Park be for family only, so the vice president waited at the bottom of the steps as the hearse and cars for the family departed. He greeted hundreds of students, faculty, and other mourners who had attended the service, then was escorted to his armored Cadillac limousine.

Already in the car were Patrick McLanahan in the left forward-facing seat and Ann Page, Kai Raydon, and Hunter Noble in the aft-facing seats. “Thank you for attending the service, Mr. Vice President,” Patrick said once they were all seated and the motorcade headed toward Phoenix ’s hotel in San Jose. “I know the family appreciates your visit very much.”

“Thank you, Patrick,” Phoenix said. He patted Patrick on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you again after Iraq. I had some doubts we’d get out of there alive.”

“Same here, sir.” Patrick had been a private contractor working in Iraq when the Turkish army invaded northern Iraq, and he and the vice president, who was there as part of a cease-fire-negotiating team, were trapped near Mosul as the fighting intensified.

“I’d like to get my hands on whoever leaked the details of the accident and McCallum’s actions to the press,” Ann Page said bitterly. “McCallum was an American astronaut, but the press has been calling him incompetent and cowardly, even before the poor guy was buried.”

“Unfortunately, a lot of the radio transmissions from space were unsecure and easily intercepted,” Kai Raydon said, “so anyone with a big enough dish could have picked them up.”

“The only other people who knew were either in the Pentagon or the White House,” Phoenix said, “and if it was from either of those places, I’ll find out, and then I’ll let you have first crack at them, Secretary Page.” Ann nodded, and her expression left little doubt that she was looking forward to that moment. “General Raydon, what’s the latest on the Kingfisher explosion?”

“Nothing definite yet, sir,” Kai said. “We did find a closed arming circuit, so we’re going over the entire arming system to find out why that circuit was closed. The boards that McCallum replaced initially reported in the green when the garage was powered up, but then the circuits closed and the thing blew.”

“You’ve got to find out what happened, General, as quickly as possible, if you want your program to survive,” Phoenix said. “The president already wants the ground-attack weapons removed from the garages, and he’s thinking about a unilateral moratorium on antisatellite weapons ahead of a global initiative to ban antisatellite weapons completely.”

“Ban all antisatellite weapons? Even defensive ones?”

“Unless we figure out a foolproof way to distinguish defensive from offensive weapons, yes,” Phoenix replied. “We’ve got China, Russia, and other countries like Pakistan complaining about weapons in space, and both China and Russia racing each other to test out a new antisatellite weapon. The Russians fired off an air-launched antisatellite missile earlier today, timed so that it could be observed by a Japanese Aegis warship.”

“The Kamareeniy, or ‘Mosquito,’ sir,” Boomer said. He shuffled uncomfortably under his heavily bandaged right shoulder, but went on: “We first saw it about three years ago; it’s based on our ASM-135 ASAT from twenty-five years ago. The Russians didn’t make a big deal out of it until recently, like the Chinese and their Dong Feng-21s. Fairly mature technology, a lot cheaper than directed-energy antisatellite weapons like lasers or microwaves, and easier to move and conceal. It was supposedly one of General Andrei Darzov’s favorite programs when he was the Russian air force’s chief of staff-the guy is a space superfreak.”

“And now he’s the Russian military chief of staff,” Patrick said. “Truznyev is a powerful president, but Darzov may hold even more sway, especially in the military-soldiers never got along well with spies. I would guess that Darzov would never allow Truznyev to sign a treaty banning space weapons of any kind. Not exactly an opportune time to start talking about eliminating antisatellite weapons.” He looked at the vice president. “Rumor has it that you are going to head up the Space Policy Review panel, sir.”

“Keeping your ear on the rail once again, I see,” Phoenix said. “You always did have your own little spy network running, and I see it hasn’t retired.” He hesitated for a moment, considering whether or not to share the results of a confidential meeting in the White House with outsiders; then decided: “Yes, I was lobbying to head up an industry leaders’ commission on space technology, but it was morphed into redrafting space policy with the direct intent to prove to the rest of the world that the United States doesn’t see space as a sovereign national defense domain, and that we will cooperate with other nations for free access to space.”

“Seems to me we should keep the systems we have in place until we have a treaty ratified.”

“The president is afraid of losing all cooperation with China,” Phoenix explained. “He wants to use diplomacy to get back in their good graces and stop an arms race in space. The rest of the National Security Council is with him.”

Except Phoenix, Patrick noted silently.

The vice president looked out the window, obviously wrestling with a tough dilemma. “I think there’s a connection between the president leaking the formation of the National Space Policy review panel and the invasion of Somalia,” he said finally. “ China feels this is their opportunity, and they’re taking advantage. But there aren’t enough pieces here yet to show the picture.” He looked at each of the others in the limousine with him. “Space is suddenly becoming a very big deal, lady and gentlemen. I hope the president sees it before we lose our edge. I need to know what happened to that weapon garage, Patrick.”

“Unfortunately, the rumor is that Secretary Banderas is going to choose someone else to head the accident investigation board,” Ann Page said.

“Yeah, I heard, too,” Phoenix said. “General Walter Wollensky, former commander of U.S. Space Command.”

“It was not Secretary Banderas’s choice,” Ann said. “Wollensky is a good guy, but he was retired after the American Holocaust because of depression-the guy lost eight thousand airmen from his command in the attacks. He got his security clearance back and was working as a consultant for some aerospace firms. He was never a fan of Armstrong Space Station or the whole U.S. Space Defense Force concept.”

“So you think he’s going to help the president kill the Kingfishers?” Phoenix asked.

Ann shrugged. “I don’t know, sir, but I wish we had a better advocate for the program on that board.”

“You’re going to have to find the answer yourselves,” Phoenix said. “Cooperate with Wollensky, but challenge his conclusions with hard evidence.”

The limousine approached the hotel at which the vice president was staying; a small crowd of onlookers and party officials were waiting for him. “More campaign stops, sir?” Patrick asked.

“Yes.” Phoenix looked weary and a little downcast. “After attending a memorial service, it’s hard sometimes to gear yourself up to do campaigning, be cheerful and upbeat, and say good things about the future.”

“Especially when it’s not necessarily your future, sir?” Patrick asked in a low voice.

Phoenix half turned toward him, but his face was absolutely expressionless. He said tonelessly, “A car will take you back to San Jose. Thank you for meeting with me on the ride over, everyone,” and then shook hands with each of them.

“Good luck, Mr. Vice President,” Patrick said.

“I’ll be in touch, Patrick. Good to see you again.” The motorcade stopped, and at that, as if someone had thrown an invisible power switch, the vice president’s shoulders straightened, a beaming smile emerged, his chin lifted, his eyes twinkled, and suddenly he was in full-blown campaign mode. He was already greeting party officials, dignitaries, and reporters, most of them by name, before he had stepped outside the opened door.

Patrick, Ann, Boomer, and Kai had to listen to several minutes of cheering, questions shouted at the vice president by the reporters arrayed outside, and his campaign-ready answers delivered enthusiastically and sincerely, but soon the motorcade was on the move again. The vice president’s car separated from the others in the detail and went to an area behind the hotel where several unmarked cars, police vehicles, and even an ambulance were prepositioned in case of any threats against the vice president. They transferred to a standard limousine, which drove off toward San Jose International Airport.

They dropped Ann Page off first at her airline ticket counter, then headed around the field to the general aviation area to drop off Patrick. “Did you get the files I sent, General?” Kai asked after Ann had left the car.

“Yes, and Dave Luger and I have been going over them,” Patrick said. “But it’s all on the Kingfisher satellite. I’d like to see a dump of all your sensor data for at least two hours preceding the explosion.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons: I know you guys will be closely examining the Kingfisher, and I don’t really understand it that well anyway; and…well, other than that, I don’t know, except I have a hunch,” Patrick explained. “I don’t believe in coincidences. We’ve got antisatellite weapons flying everywhere; we’ve got China firing missiles, sending troops all over the place, and invading other countries; and in the middle of all that, a very reliable piece of hardware blows up for no apparent reason right after repairs are done.”

“You think China had something to do with Kingfisher-Eight?”

“We won’t know until we see what your sensors saw. Remember anything that happened around that time?”

“We were pretty busy-everything seemed to happen all at once,” Kai admitted, his brow furrowing as he tried hard to remember clearly. “The convoy missing, then discovered heading toward Mogadishu; the Chinese bomber formations we spotted; launching the Stud on short notice to link up with Eight; the repairs; the accident. No, I can’t think of anything else.”

The car pulled into the general aviation terminal and was allowed onto the parking ramp, where a dozen or so bizjets were lined up. Patrick retrieved his luggage from the trunk. “Well, if you think of anything,” he told Kai, “call me anytime.”

“Will do, sir.” He nodded toward the impressive line of jets. “Which one is yours?”

“Not there-over down that way,” Patrick said, motioning way across the ramp to an adjacent parking area. “They don’t park me with the heavy iron, and that’s the way I like it. The blue-and-white twin.”

Kai followed Patrick’s motion and saw a rather small twin-engine propeller plane, sitting by itself along with other smaller planes. “That’s it? The little bug-smasher?”

“It’s small, but I mostly fly solo and I rarely fly with more than two other people, so it’s a good size for me,” Patrick said. “It’s the fastest propeller-driven general aviation plane in the world.”

“Propeller-driven?” Boomer commented. “Why don’t you fly a jet, General?”

“Because they cost money, and I don’t fly that often to justify the expense,” Patrick replied. “Got time to take a look?”

Neither Kai nor Boomer would ever turn down a chance to look at airplanes, so they walked down the ramp. “You…worried about expenses?” Kai asked. “I thought you were a rich retired three-star general.”

“Military retirees don’t make that much these days; the private-military-contractor work keeps us busy but is expensive; and Jon Masters pays hardly anything except stock options,” Patrick said. “This is plenty for me when I travel and Jon’s not picking up the tab. Besides, Jon and I have installed a few gizmos in the plane to pick up the performance.”

The airplane resembled a bullet-shaped jet fighter with a pointed nose, very short wings, large, weirdly curved propellers, and a tall vertical stabilizer. Patrick unlocked the door and opened the split clamshell door. The cockpit looked very snug, and at first Boomer couldn’t figure out how to get in the back. Patrick then pushed the pilot’s seat full forward, creating a narrow aisle. “We usually load the front-seat passenger first, then rear passengers, and pilot last. I took out one of the middle seats to allow a passenger to use the worktable and satellite Internet while in flight.”

“What is that smell?” Boomer asked, hunting around for the source. “Dirty socks?”

“Biodiesel,” Patrick said. “The turbine engines on this plane were modified by Jon’s engineers to burn almost any fuel, from unleaded gasoline to synthetics. They crank out five hundred horsepower a side but burn less than twenty gallons an hour. I can get three hundred knots easily and three-fifty at redline, and its range is about fifteen hundred miles, so I can go coast-to-coast most days with one stop. It has an automatic electric deicing system on the wings, tail surfaces, and windshield, but it can go as high as thirty thousand feet and climb at two thousand feet a minute, so I rarely need it.”

The cockpit was simplicity itself, with three ten-inch monitors, some small standby instruments underneath the pilot’s monitor, and a small keyboard under the center monitor above the throttles. “Two primary flight displays and a middle multifunction display; side-stick controllers; computer-controlled propeller pitch; three-axis autopilot with autothrottles,” Patrick said. “Full automatic digital datalink with air-traffic control-everything from receiving clearances to traffic to weather avoidance is digital. I don’t talk to anyone on the radios unless I use uncontrolled airspace.”

Boomer peered into the cabin. “No potty?”

“After flying bombers for so long, I’ve developed a pretty large-capacity bladder,” Patrick said. “Everyone else…well, it’s a general aviation plane, not an airliner. Either hold it or I’ll introduce you to the kitty-litter piddle pack.”

“Your little plane just lost all appeal for me, sir,” Boomer said, retreating from the entry door with a smile and a shake of his head. He shook hands with Patrick. “You and your SAC-trained bladder have a nice flight.”

“Thanks, Boomer.” He shook hands with Raydon. “If you think of anything, Kai, let me know as soon as you can. You know how to reach me.”

“Will do, sir,” Kai said. He and Boomer headed for the limousine, and Patrick headed into the airport office. He paid his fuel bill, made a stop in the restroom, then headed back to the airplane.

The temperature was comfortable enough, but a light fog was beginning to roll in. Patrick powered up the plane’s avionics and started downloading flight-planning information. Weather was good for the route of flight back to Henderson, Nevada, except for the weather at San Jose. Flying direct, the flight would only take an hour and fifteen minutes, but to avoid the Navy’s China Lake restricted military airspace, the FAA’s air-traffic control computers recommended flying southeast to Fresno, south to Bakersfield, and east to Palmdale before heading direct to Henderson, which added another forty-five minutes. He accepted the proffered flight plan, got an acknowledgment, then shut down the system to do a preflight inspection.

The plane had a computerized preflight system, but this was Patrick’s only opportunity to do a personal, visual check of his machine before takeoff, so he grabbed his little preflight kit-flashlight, rag, windshield cleaning kit, and fuel strainer-and got to work. The biggest areas of concern were the tires, landing-gear struts, fluid levels, and freedom of the flight controls. He had to sample a few ounces of the smelly fuel from nine different sumps-not a very pleasant task, but essential to be sure there was no water or contamination in the fuel. Because he personally supervised the fueling of the plane’s four fuel tanks, he knew how much biodiesel had been pumped-more than enough for the flight home, including reserves-but he visually checked the fuel level in each tank anyway. He had to wash his own windows because fixed-base operators, afraid of costly repairs if a linesman accidentally scratched a ten-thousand-dollar heated-glass windshield, didn’t do it anymore.

After completing the walk-around and satisfied that the plane was ready to go, Patrick climbed inside, strapped in, closed and locked both of the clamshell doors, and powered up the plane again. He started engines, checked the engines, flight controls, electrical, autopilot, and hydraulic systems, then tuned in the Automatic Terminal Information System frequency, which instantly datalinked local weather, active runway, and hazard notices to his multifunction display. He then tuned in the clearance delivery channel, which downloaded his air-traffic control clearance-it had changed slightly since filing it, but that was not unusual. He made sure the updated routing was in the flight-data computer, then tuned in the ground control frequency and uplinked a “Ready to Taxi” message.

At that moment he saw a commotion back at the fixed-base operator office…and he noticed none other than Kai Raydon, waving his arms like crazy, and Hunter Noble running out toward him, followed by a security guard and an FBO employee obviously trying to stop them from going out onto the ramp! Patrick immediately shut down the left engine-the one nearest the entry door-sent a “Cancel Taxi” message to ground control, then shut down the avionics power and right engine.

Kai reached the plane just as the left propeller stopped spinning, and Patrick popped the upper half of the clamshell door open. “What the hell are you doing, Kai?” he asked.

“I remembered something, Patrick,” Kai shouted over the spooling-down right engine. He put his hands behind his back and braced for the security guard to grab him from behind. “Something did happen. Dammit, General, you might be right.”