Executive Intent

SEVEN

THE WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE

THAT EVENING

President Joseph Gardner had his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie loosened-to the photographers with their long lenses able to peer through the windows of the Oval Office from across the South Lawn, he looked like he was hard at work late in the evening, an image Gardner never tired of projecting. But he still had his Navy coffee mug, with Puerto Rican rum over ice instead of coffee, handy.

“Chinese forces in Somalia number about five thousand now, sir,” White House Chief of Staff Walter Kordus said, reading from the late edition of “The President’s Daily Brief,” which Gardner liked to have read to him before he retired for the day. “They’ve solidified their position at Mogadishu Airport out beyond mortar range of anything except very large emplacements, which are easier to spot from the air and take out with gunships. They’ve brought in more fighter jets and have begun attacking other towns farther north that are known pirate bases.”

“Premier Zhou’s starting to look like a real badass now, isn’t he?” Gardner asked, taking a sip of rum. “He’s doing the dirty job no one else wanted to do, and he’s kicking butt.”

“The images of the aftermath of his bombing raids are pretty horrific.” Kordus shrugged, then nodded and admitted, “But yes, he’s getting full credit for completely stopping pirate activity in the Indian Ocean. Zhou has said that he intends on withdrawing all Chinese forces from Somalia as soon as his transport ships arrive with their escorts. His aircraft carrier the Zhenyuan is en route with its escorts, replenishment ships, cargo ships for their equipment, and a couple chartered cruise liners for the soldiers. They’ll stop in Yemen for refueling and resupply before meeting up with their ships in Somalia.”

“Bust up the capital city for a couple weeks, then just sail away. How nice,” Gardner said. “But it was a gutsy move, I have to admit. I’d never tell Zhou that, of course. It’s funny: Every other nation considered the pirates a nuisance-we set up the antipirate patrols, but piracy only increased. Folks started to think it was the insurance companies’ problem, part of the cost of doing business. In comes the most unlikely player, China, and bombs the hell out of the Somalis. They attacked several other locations, too, didn’t they?”

“Two more north of Mogadishu and two up in Puntland province,” Kordus said after checking the reports. “They’re using a lot of unmanned aircraft for surveillance, picking off pirate mother ships and teams of fighters on the ground with helicopter gunships. They’re doing it all from the air-ground forces are being used to secure Mogadishu Airport and the docks in New Town only. If there’s a warlord or clan leader they want, they just bomb the hell out of his last known location. If the attacks kill hundreds of civilians, that’s too bad.”

“And no one is saying boo about it except a few human-rights organizations,” the president observed. “If the United States did it, we’d be catching hell from half the known universe, including our own press; China does it, and people are either applauding or too scared to squawk about it.” He took another sip of rum and looked at his watch. “What else do we have?”

“ Russia is sending its Vladimir Putin carrier battle group into the Indian Ocean,” Kordus read. “Brand-new carrier, closer in size and number of embarked aircraft to Western carriers, similar to the Chinese carrier-probably built in the same shipyard-along with seven escorts. The Russian Ministry of Defense says they’re going to drill with the Chinese in resupply, joint-communications, vessel-identification, search-and-rescue, and antipiracy operations.”

“It’s going to get crowded,” Gardner said. “I want a briefing from Conrad on what, if anything, the Chiefs want to do-observe only, ask to play, stay out of the way, whatever. Find out if they want us to participate-that’ll shock ’em.” Kordus nodded and made a note. “So how did the vice president sound out in California?”

“He attended the memorial service, made short and nonpolitical remarks, did all the interviews we set up, did the fund-raiser that evening, gave a rousing speech from what I’ve heard, raised a bunch of money, and stuck to the script,” Kordus said. “He was asked several times about his own presidential aspirations and ducked the questions pretty well. He’s a very good campaigner, that’s for sure.”

“Whom did he meet with?”

“Exactly who he said he was going to meet with as he posted on his agenda,” Kordus said, “with the notable exception of four other invited guests to the memorial service: Ann Page; General Raydon from the space station; Noble, who was the other astronaut involved in that satellite explosion; and none other than Patrick McLanahan.”

“McLanahan? Phoenix met with him? Where? When?”

“In the ride from the memorial to the hotel, maybe thirty minutes max,” Kordus said. “McLanahan had been nominated by Page to head up the accident investigation board on the satellite explosion; Conrad asked me about it, and I advised him to find someone else, knowing how much you and McLanahan like each other’s company.”

“You’re damned right. Christ, that guy can’t stay retired. I thought he’d be done after almost getting himself blown up in Iraq. I almost had a cow when I saw him give that presser with Page the other day.” His brows furrowed in deep thought. “ Phoenix and McLanahan, getting together again, all these years after Iraq? What in hell are they up to?”

“The vice president is interested in military space stuff; he was surrounded by four of the most knowledgeable persons on that very subject,” Kordus said. “You think it’s more than that? Something political?”

“ Phoenix and Page, obviously,” the president said. “Raydon and Noble, those two rocket jockeys…no way. McLanahan?” He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “He’s an aviator, a bomber puke who turned space nerd when Kevin Martindale gave him an almost unlimited budget after the American Holocaust and let him fly in those spaceplanes.” Gardner took a tiny sip of rum, staring at nothing, then said, “McLanahan…a politician?”

“Generals make lousy politicians unless they’ve just helped win a world war,” Kordus said.

“I think the American Holocaust qualifies,” Gardner said worriedly. He looked at Kordus. “Start checking on him, Walter. You can’t run for county dogcatcher without campaign cash, and if McLanahan has got access to any, I want to know from whom and how much.”

PORT OF MA’ALLA, ADEN, REPUBLIC OF YEMEN

THE NEXT DAY

The Jianghu-2-class frigate Wuxi of the People’s Liberation Army Navy, one of seven escort ships of the aircraft carrier Zhenyuan, was the first of the Chinese flotilla to enter the Port of Ma’alla, a modern and bustling port on the west side of the volcanic peninsula on which the city of Aden was located. The Wuxi, first built in the late 1970s and on its very first voyage away from Chinese home waters, was accompanied by two Yemeni tugboats, which would assist the aging single-screw frigate in berthing at its assigned refueling dolphin. It would refuel and take on water and a few supplies, then depart and go back to escort duty while another warship entered the bay and visited the port.

Because of security concerns, they would refuel only during the day, and the flotilla would remain a few miles offshore in the Gulf of Aden; the Zhenyuan itself would not come in for refueling, but would take on fuel and supplies from its two replenishment ships, practicing underway refueling. Resupply helicopters made a steady stream of trips out to the Zhenyuan and other ships that had helicopter decks with food, spare parts, munitions, and mail slung underneath, and returned to Aden International Airport and other supply bases in the port city with garbage, unrepairable equipment, and outgoing mail. Shuttle vessels sailed back and forth between the flotilla and the port, carrying more supplies and equipment as well as a few sailors allowed to visit the city and a few visitors allowed to go out to the ships for meetings.

The Wuxi was almost complete with refueling when a Yemeni patrol boat with the words NAVY PORT PATROL painted on the sides in English and Arabic left a berth on the north side of the harbor and sailed toward the Wuxi at a moderate speed. “Watch, this is Watch Four,” the starboard stern lookout on the Wuxi, accompanying a gunner manning a 12.7-millimeter twin-barreled machine gun, radioed. “Visual contact, Yemeni patrol boat heading south toward us, speed approximately twenty kilometers per minute, range four hundred meters.”

The watch commander stepped out of the bridge to the starboard overhanging deck and got a visual contact on the approaching patrol boat himself through his binoculars. “Acknowledged,” he radioed back. “Report to briefed location.” He made sure the watch stander and machine gunner left their station, then went back into the bridge and said so all could hear, “Officer of the Deck, this is the watch, approaching Yemeni patrol vessel on the starboard stern, four hundred meters, closing at approximately twenty kilometers per hour.”

“I acknowledge, Watch,” the officer of the deck responded. He picked up the VHF radio assigned to the Yemeni navy’s harbor patrol frequency. “Port Patrol, Port Patrol, Port Patrol, this is the Wuxi on channel one-nine,” he said in English, “requesting information on approaching patrol vessel, say your intentions, over.”

There was a rather uncomfortable delay in the response; then: “ Wuxi, Wuxi, Wuxi, this is the Yemeni Navy Port Patrol on channel one-nine, say again, over.”

“I say again, Port Patrol, you have a patrol vessel approaching the Wuxi. Say intentions, over.” The officer of the deck then said, “Watch, where is that patrol boat now?”

The watch officer went back outside and spotted the Yemeni patrol boat again. “Still closing, perhaps two hundred meters away, one-five-zero-degree bearing.”

“Acknowledged,” the officer of the deck responded. He turned to the boatswain’s mate a few paces from him on the bridge. “Boats, verify that the aft decks are ready.”

“Yes, sir.” The boatswain’s mate made two telephone calls, then reported, “Stern decks are ready as briefed, sir.”

“Very well.”

At that moment he heard, “ Wuxi, this is Port Patrol Boat Three, I am inbound with the pilot for your departure. Many apologies for not contacting you sooner, sir. May we approach? Over.”

“Patrol Boat Three, this is the Wuxi,” the officer of the deck radioed, finally reciting his well-rehearsed speech, “please do not approach, I will request verification. Stand by, please.” The captain was observing the refueling and resupply and was not on the bridge, so he picked up another radio: “Captain, this is the officer of the deck.”

“Go ahead,” came the captain’s reply from his portable radio.

“The patrol boat is inbound to the ship.”

“Acknowledged,” the captain said. “Is everything else in place?”

“Affirmative.”

“Very well,” the captain said. “Continue. Let’s hope the old sow stays afloat long enough to get the rest of the crew off.”

“Acknowledged,” the officer of the deck responded. He switched his radio to a second channel and keyed the microphone several times.

“Bridge, Watch!” the watch officer suddenly shouted. “Inbound patrol vessel has increased speed, heading straight for us!”

“Captain, patrol boat has picked up speed and is heading for us!” the officer of the deck shouted into his radio.

“Repel, sound battle stations, sound collision!” the captain ordered. He and the ship’s chief boatswain’s mate, who was with the captain supervising the refueling and resupply, began to wave crewmembers away from the stern and off the helicopter landing platform.

“Sound battle stations, sound collision!” the officer of the deck shouted to the boatswain’s mate on the bridge. “Watch, repel all attackers, repeat, repel all attackers!”

The boatswain’s mate reached up on the overhead communications panel and hit two large red buttons, and the earsplitting sound of horns and bells seemed to rattle every surface of the warship. He then pulled the shipwide intercom microphone up and shouted, “All hands, battle stations, all hands, battle stations, all hands, collision, collision, collision, brace for impact, starboard side!”

The officer of the deck grabbed his life vest and helmet and rushed out to the starboard overhanging deck as damage control teams and backup duty personnel started rushing into the bridge. He followed the watch officer’s binoculars and spotted the incoming patrol boat just as the number four machine gunner opened fire. There was a helicopter with a load of supplies slung underneath still hovering over the landing pad. “Boats, wave off that chopper!” he shouted inside the bridge.

But it was too late. At that instant the Yemeni patrol boat slammed into the side of the Wuxi. At first it appeared to just bounce away, heeling sharply over to starboard and scraping along the side of the warship…

…but then the three thousand pounds of explosives packed inside the patrol boat detonated, and a massive fireball obscured the destroyer’s entire stern. The Wuxi seemed to jump ten feet straight out of the water before being shoved violently to port. As the vessel came down, the entire stern dove beneath the churning waves, then bobbed back up…until the flaming wreckage of the stricken resupply helicopter, instantly engulfed in flames from the fireball, slammed down into the landing platform. The Wuxi was pushed into the refueling dolphin, severing fuel lines that ignited and fed even more flaming devastation on the Chinese warship.

In seconds, the entire aft half of the vessel was afire. It began to take on water from the huge hole in its aft port side and sink by the stern. An area of almost a half square mile of burning oil surrounded the Wuxi, dooming any sailors who decided to abandon ship or who had been thrown into the harbor by the force of the explosions. Ammunition began cooking off, followed moments later by exploding antiship missiles and their warheads, which leveled entire sections of superstructure.

CHINESE AIRCRAFT CARRIER ZHENYUAN, 10 MILES OFF THE COAST OF YEMEN

THAT SAME TIME

“Sir, the frigate Wuxi has been hit,” the communications officer reported in a remarkably calm, almost nonchalant tone. “She is on fire and is sinking by the stern. We are not in contact with the captain.”

“Acknowledged,” the admiral in command of the Zhenyuan battle group replied. He turned to the carrier’s captain. “Sound battle stations, Captain.” As the horns and Klaxons blared, he then ordered, “Commence launch, Captain.”

On the Zhenyuan’s flight deck, two Jian Hong-37N fighter-bombers, already in place on the forward and waist catapults, lit their afterburners and blasted off into the late afternoon sky. Lined up behind them were six more JH-37s, their wings bristling with bombs and missiles. Every ninety seconds, two more JH-37s were catapulted skyward. They did not climb high, but stayed less than five hundred feet above the Gulf of Aden, speeding northward.

The first two JH-37s were each loaded with four Ying Ji-91 antiradiation missiles, which were versions of the Russian Kh-31 air-to-surface missile. Capable of speeds well over three times the speed of sound, the missiles had been programmed to destroy particular radars protecting the area around the city of Aden. Missiles targeted the air-surveillance and height-finding radars at Aden International Airport, air-surveillance and marine radars at the naval base, the air defense radars also at the airport, and coastal surveillance radars east and west of the peninsula.

The second wave of fighter-bombers each carried four Kh-29T TV-guided missiles. They climbed a bit higher than the first wave, both because the air defense radars had already been neutralized and because they needed to get a better look at their targets before attacking. The JH-37 pilots flew precise attack courses and used time and preplanned acquisition waypoints that would guarantee they could spot their targets-air and coastal defense gun and missile sites. Once the sites were spotted, the pilots quickly locked each Kh-29 electro-optical sensor on target and released the missiles, which flew at almost the speed of sound and destroyed them in seconds.

Each of the JH-37Ns in the third and fourth waves carried just two weapons instead of four, but they were even more devastating than their brothers: KAB-1500KR guided two-thousand-pound armor-piercing bombs. They used low-light TV sensors in the nose to home in on the central telecommunications facility in the city, the TV and radio broadcasting center, and the Yemeni army and navy headquarters, allocating two of the massive bombs on each target to assure complete obliteration. Their armored structure allowed them to penetrate even hardened roofs with ease, and their fuses had been set to allow the weapons to penetrate a specific number of floors in each assigned target and then explode in precisely the floor they wanted, mostly in the power-distribution and data-storage rooms, control rooms, or subfloor command posts.

In minutes, the Yemeni civilian and military infrastructure in the city of Aden was rendered deaf, dumb, and blind, followed shortly thereafter by totally decimation.

ARMSTRONG SPACE STATION

THAT SAME TIME

A warning tone sounded in the command module, which immediately got everyone’s attention. “SBIRS-High recording a thermal blossom, sir,” Senior Master Sergeant Valerie “Seeker” Lukas reported. She typed some instructions into her computer and carefully read the response. “Looks like it’s in the harbor at Aden, Yemen.”

“Okay,” the station commander, U.S. Army Colonel Alan Camerota, weakly responded. Camerota, just forty years old and looking even younger, was Kai Raydon’s replacement while the general was on scheduled rest and reacclimation back on Earth. An Army strategic air defense engineer and weapons designer, Camerota had trained as a Shuttle and Orion mission specialist for three years but had never been selected for a mission. As one of the experts on the Trinity interceptor vehicle, he had supervised the deployment of the Kingfisher weapon garages, but always from Earth, not from space-but now, with Raydon grounded for at least a month, he had been selected to command Armstrong Space Station as his first and long-awaited time in orbit.

As the old saying goes: Be careful what you wish for-you might get it. Despite years of training and rigorous physical conditioning, weeks in the neutral buoyancy tank at NASA, many hours in the “Vomit Comet” zero-g training aircraft, and a careful diet, Camerota found to his great disappointment that zero-g did not agree with him-and that was putting it mildly. He was using anti-airsickness drugs, both chemical and herbal, and he also used acupressure wristbands and blood-cooling patches on the neck, but after two days in space he was still battling airsickness-his stomach would just not settle down. It was getting to the point where his performance might be affected. He was determined to overcome it, but for now his body was calling the shots.

“Can we get a look at it, Master Sergeant?” Camerota asked.

“We have Kingfisher-Six overhead in nine minutes and Kingfisher-Two within oblique view in seventeen minutes,” Seeker replied. She looked at Camerota and noticed his “barf bag”-a specially designed receptacle with a one-way valve that prevented emesis from flying back out in zero-g-was out and at the ready. “You okay, sir?”

“I’m fine,” Camerota said, but he looked anything but fine.

“I can get Major Faulkner up here.” Former Marine Corps F-35 pilot Major Jessica “Gonzo” Faulkner was the senior spaceplane pilot on the station while Hunter Noble was back on Earth, and she had been training at the commander’s console when not flying or training other pilots-she was, in Seeker’s opinion, by far the best-qualified station commander if Camerota couldn’t continue.

“I said I’m fine, Master Sergeant,” Camerota said as convincingly as he could. “Notify me when Six is in range. What does SBIRS say it is?”

“Stationary dot, very hot burst but cooling off quickly-most likely a large explosion,” Lukas said. “Could be a missile launch, but SBIRS didn’t detect a track.”

“Notify Space Command and STRATCOM,” Camerota said. “I also want to…” And then he paused, gurgled a bit, then threw up in the barf bag.

“Sir…?”

“I said I’m okay, Master Sergeant,” Camerota said irritably, wiping his face with a towel. “Do we have any naval sensors we can tap into, or any local news coverage, some other way we can…” He gurgled again, fighting off another wave of nausea; he seemed to be having a great deal of trouble orienting himself, as if his seat were slowly spinning. “Dammit, if I can just hold myself steady here, I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll try for both, sir,” Seeker said. “Six should be in range in a few minutes.” She tried scanning for radio or TV broadcasts, but there was nothing but static from all of the known channels. “Nothing on the civil broadcast frequencies. That’s odd. You know, sir, we couldn’t receive any UAV imagery from around Mogadishu or even fly UAVs out there because the Chinese were jamming all the frequencies.” She turned to Camerota. “The Chinese task force reinforcing their ships in the Indian Ocean was supposed to be taking on supplies earlier today in Aden. Maybe we should…”

…and as she turned, she saw Camerota floating before her, belly up, his mouth open, hands on his throat in the classic “I’m choking!” signal, with a haze of vomit encircling his head and his face turning deep blue. She stabbed the “ALL-CALL” intercom button: “Medics to the command module immediately, emergency. Major Faulkner, to the command module immediately.” She then detached herself from her console and propelled herself over to Camerota. His mouth and throat were packed tightly with nearly solid vomit. The barf bag was open and the contents were coming out-the one-way valve must have failed, and Camerota must have inhaled a throatful of vomit and passed out.

Alarms and warning beeps began sounding one after another, but Seeker ignored them as she maneuvered herself to help Camerota. As she began scooping out vomit from his throat, Jessica Faulkner floated into the command module, followed by the crewman on medical detail. “Jesus, Seeker, what happened?” Faulkner shouted as the medic took over for Lukas and got busy inserting a resuscitator tube into Camerota’s throat.

“He choked on some vomit, I think,” Lukas said. “My God, he’s passed out. I’ll help Crawford. Ma’am, get on the console and find out what all the alerts are about.” She had to maneuver Camerota against the lower bulkhead and restrain him with both of their bodies Velcroed down to be able to do cardiopulmonary respiration on him.

“What in the hell is going on here?” Faulkner asked as she scanned the monitors. “A possible missile launch and explosions all around…where is this? Somalia again?”

“ Aden, Yemen,” Seeker said. “We detected a big thermal event in the harbor. Kingfisher-Six should be overhead soon.”

“I got it,” Faulkner said. The interceptor platform was already above the target’s horizon, so Faulkner entered commands to slew the garage’s imaging infrared and telescopic electro-optical sensors on the initial explosion and zoom in. “Holy cow, it’s a warship!” she exclaimed. “Looks like it’s sinking by the stern.”

“Where is it?”

“Looks like a frigate, moored on a refueling platform in the harbor.”

“I hope it’s not one of the Chinese ships that were supposed to refuel at Aden,” Seeker said. “What about the other events?”

“Checking.” Faulkner entered commands to zoom in on the other alarms. “More explosions. Looks like at an airport. It looks like…whoa, holy cow, I just saw another explosion, and a jet just zoomed by the picture! I think it’s an air raid!” She zoomed out again, then focused in on other targets. “Lots of pretty localized explosions.” She looked over her shoulder at Camerota. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s breathing,” Seeker said. Camerota’s eyes were open, but they were spinning dazedly; he was badly disoriented. Other crewmembers floated over to help, so Lukas detached herself from the bulkhead and reattached herself to her seat at the sensor console. She took a few moments to study the entire area around the city, then punched in instructions on her console. An intelligence map of the city superimposed itself on the frozen sensor image, with various buildings and places identified.

Seeker adjusted the map’s size until it perfectly matched the image. “I think it’s definitely an air raid, ma’am,” she told Faulkner. “This is a coastal defense gun and missile emplacement; this is an air defense missile site; this is where the local broadcast center is. Whoever hit these places wanted to take out all of the area defenses and shut down communications.”

“And I’ll bet I know who did it,” Faulkner said. She used the commander’s console to zoom the image out until the Chinese flotilla was in sight, then zoomed in. Taken just moments before, the image showed fighters lined up on the catapults waiting to launch and even fighters still on the arresting cables waiting to taxi clear. “Pretty freakin’ incredible,” she said, shaking her head. “First Somalia, and now Yemen?”

“I’ll bet that ship burning in the harbor is a Chinese warship,” Seeker offered, “so this might be retaliation for a suicide attack. The Chinese went after air and coastal defenses and command-and-control centers…”

“Softening them up for another land invasion?”

“That would be my guess, ma’am,” Seeker said. “I’d better make sure SPACECOM and STRATCOM have these images.”

“I need to talk with the boss,” Faulkner said. She donned a headset and entered instructions into her computer to activate an encrypted voice link, then spoke: “Armstrong to Raydon, secure.”

21 ST SPACE OPERATIONS SQUADRON, ONIZUKA AIR FORCE STATION, SUNNYVALE, CALIFORNIA

THAT SAME TIME

“Raydon here, secure,” Kai answered a few moments later, after being led to a communications room by the senior master sergeant in charge. Raydon, along with Patrick McLanahan and Hunter Noble, was in a secure laboratory at the 21st Space Operations Squadron at Onizuka Air Force Station near San Jose. They had requested access to a secure facility to examine the classified-data downloads from Armstrong Space Station in the hours prior to the destruction of the Kingfisher-8 weapon garage. The Twenty-first, located in the large windowless light blue-colored building near Moffett Federal Airfield known as the “Blue Cube,” maintained the Air Force’s network of satellite control centers and provided satellite communications between both terrestrial and in-orbit users. Originally slated for closure in 2011, Onizuka Air Force Station-named after Lieutenant Colonel Ellison Onizuka, one of the seven crewmembers killed in the Challenger Shuttle disaster in 1986-was kept open to properly service and support the growing U.S. Space Defense Force satellite infrastructure.

“Faulkner, secure.”

“Hi, Gonzo.” Patrick was immediately on alert-Kai’s face told him this was not a routine call. “What’s going on?”

“The Chinese appear to be at it again, sir,” Faulkner said. “This time in Aden, Yemen.”

“What?”

“It’s happening right now, sir. Looks like they launched bombers from their aircraft carrier off the coast of Aden and bombed defensive sites and command-and-control sites around the city. It might be retaliation for an attack on one of their warships in the harbor.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kai exclaimed. He turned to Patrick. “The Chinese are attacking Aden, Yemen.” Patrick immediately picked up a secure phone. “Everyone’s been notified?”

“Seeker is double-checking that SPACECOM and STRATCOM got the message.”

“Good. Where’s Camerota?”

“He’s down, sir.”

“‘Down’? What do you mean, ‘down’? What happened?”

“Chronic space sickness ever since he got here, apparently passed out with a throatful of vomit,” Faulkner explained. “He’s breathing again but still loopy. Crawford is with him.”

“You take command of the station.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your status?”

“The station is Code One,” she replied. “I haven’t checked all the garages yet.” She scanned her monitors and studied the one Lukas was pointing to. “Seeker just put it up: Three and Seven show some kind of fault.”

“Are you up, Seeker?”

“Yes, sir,” Lukas responded.

“The faults on Three and Seven: Are they similar to what happened to Eight?”

“The safe and continuity circuit faults? Stand by.” She called up a more detailed readout of Kingfisher-3’s fault. “Yes, sir, same fault on Three.”

“We’re looking at data readouts for the Kingfisher constellation for the past few days before the incident on Eight,” Kai said, “and we’re starting to pick up a pattern: The satellites develop an error in the continuity circuits over just about the same location on Earth each time, give or take five hundred miles.”

“That’s almost a pinpoint in orbital terms.”

“Exactly. We notice the failures at different times, and they’re not exactly the same type of fault, but it’s close enough to get our attention. We’re trying to get tasking to set up reconnaissance over Venezuela. The Russians have two signals intelligence sites in Venezuela: Caracas and El Tigre. They’re doing more than just listening at one of those sites.”

“So you think the Russians are using SIGINT sites to hack into the Kingfisher safe and continuity circuits and fault them so we’re forced to shut them down?” Faulkner asked.

“Exactly.”

“Could they have caused Eight to blow itself up?”

“We might have a different reason for that,” Kai said. “Something I remembered about the moments before the accident. Remember that industrial fire we detected right about the same time, Seeker?”

“Yes, sir. We verified it: A Myanmar natural-gas processing facility caught fire. We photographed it afterward.”

“But if you take the typical attack profile of a Chinese DF-21 missile and place the origin of that profile at that spot, the missile would have hit Kingfisher-Eight,” Kai said. “I think the Chinese set an explosion at that natural-gas plant to hide a DF-21 launch.”

“But no other sensors detected a missile launch, sir.”

“No other sensors had the capability,” Kai said. “DSP and SBIRS-High did exactly what they were supposed to do: detect the thermal bloom. On a typical DF-21 attack, the missile rises almost straight up to its intercept point, which means no track develops, or the track was still obscured by the ground fire. Only SBIRS-Low or Kingfisher-Eight could have tracked a DF-21.”

“Still not exactly evidence the Chinese attacked one of our satellites, sir.”

“We found another piece of the puzzle, Seeker,” Kai said. “We assumed that the safe and continuity circuits that McCallum replaced on Eight were faulty and caused a Trinity interceptor to explode. It turns out the safe and continuity circuits were working just fine…because Eight went into self-defense mode almost immediately after we powered it up.”

“What?”

“Kingfisher-Eight had activated its self-defense mode,” Kai said almost breathlessly. “It wasn’t a fault: It was real, because Eight detected the incoming Chinese DF-21 and was trying to reposition itself to launch an interceptor when it was hit. We were looking at the data but coming to completely wrong conclusions. We assumed the satellite was still bad even after Jeffrey changed the boards, but it wasn’t. Eight was trying to protect itself from a Chinese DF-21 attack.”

“That’s unbelievable!” Faulkner exclaimed. “The Russians damage Eight, and the Chinese attack it. Incredible!”

“But we still can’t exactly prove that the Russians attacked it or the Chinese DF-21 hit it, sir,” Seeker said.

“It’s more than enough proof for me, Master Sergeant,” Kai said. “This is starting to look like a Russian-Chinese conspiracy to saturate or shut down the Space Defense Force. Secretary Page is going to set up a meeting with SECDEF and PNSA and present all this information. We might not have proof positive, but it’ll be enough for the White House to stop any plans of shutting down the program or banning antisatellite weapons.”

UNITED NATIONS SECURITY COUNCIL CHAMBERS, NEW YORK CITY

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING

“This emergency meeting of the United Nations Security Council will come to order,” the rotating chairman of the council, Ernesto Nascimento, said, tapping a gavel on the stone sound block before him. “The meeting has been called by the request of the delegation from the United States, with Great Britain seconding the request for an emergency meeting. The chair recognizes the ambassador from the United States.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman,” Marcus Colby said. Colby was a successful and well-respected attorney, senior partner of a political consulting group, and professor of international affairs. Although not a part of President Joseph Gardner’s true inner circle, the tall, gray-haired, and scholarly-looking gentleman was known to have full access to the president and therefore carried considerable power to the Security Council chamber. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Security Council, thank you all for agreeing to this emergency session. I know the hour is early, but a grave situation has arisen that requires our attention.

“The matter of the People’s Republic of China’s invasion of Somalia has already been discussed by the council, and although no consensus had been reached by this body, it was generally accepted that China had been sufficiently provoked by freighter crewmembers being executed by Somali pirates into taking direct military action against the pirates’ bases of operation in and around Mogadishu. However, last night’s air attacks in and around the harbor at Aden in Yemen is a clear violation of a nation’s sovereignty and is a serious act of aggression. The United States demands that-”

“I object, Mr. Chairman!” Ambassador Li Jianzhu, the delegate from the People’s Republic of China, interrupted. “The attacks in Aden earlier were purely and simply defensive in nature. Our entire task force, which had been granted permission to anchor in Yemeni waters and use Aden ’s harbor, port, and shore facilities, was in danger by Islamist insurgents, obviously in retaliation for our punitive actions in Somalia. The vessel that attacked and severely damaged our destroyer and killed a dozen sailors was part of the Republic of Yemen ’s marine patrol police, which is headed by the navy. That means the conspiracy to attack Chinese warships had to have been made by Yemen ’s defense forces. That is why defense sites were attacked by our naval air forces.”

“They were indeed attacked, Mr. Ambassador-attacked within mere minutes of the attack on your warship,” Colby said.

“That is certainly suspicious. Why did you have so many planes so heavily loaded with munitions obviously carefully selected for a specific set of targets?”

“I do not know, Mr. Colby,” Li responded. “The Ministry of National Defense is occupied with rescue-and-recovery operations for its heavily damaged warship. I do know that the Zhenyuan was dispatched to the region to escort the Somali task force back home to China and to participate in exercises with the Russian navy; I also know that the carrier conducts many drills in preparation for diverse combat operations. And since the group was sailing into a known hostile area-”

“Indeed-a hostile area created by China!” Colby interjected.

“-I am sure they had an array of aircraft standing by on ready alert to respond to a wide array of threats,” Li went on, ignoring the outburst. He turned to the council chairman. “Why is China being portrayed as the aggressor here, Mr. Chairman? Why is China under such examination?”

“The reason is obvious, Mr. Ambassador-Chinese forces suddenly and without warning attacked the Republic of Yemen in an undeclared act of aggression,” Nascimento said. “The question before this council is whether your actions constituted a reasonable response to an apparent act of aggression against your forces, and was the act of aggression orchestrated by extremists or by the Yemeni government, against whom Chinese forces acted.”

“ China has a right to protect itself at all times,” the Chinese ambassador said loudly. “I hear no one asserting or defending this plain and simple fact!”

“That is not in question here,” Nascimento said.

“ China refuses to prattle about cause and effect while Chinese sailors are still submerged and trapped in the wreckage of a severely damaged warship, as if we were philosophically discussing the nature of genocide in the midst of a bloodbath,” the Chinese ambassador said angrily. “There are a dozen dead crewmembers still on the deck of the Wuxi. The outrage belongs with China, not the United States. This emergency meeting is useless and a complete waste of time. No one here has offered China any assistance in rescuing its sailors or investigating those responsible for attacking our warship.”

“Why should we risk putting rescue workers or investigators on the ground while Chinese warplanes are bombarding Aden?” Colby asked.

“Perhaps that is what we should be discussing: the withdrawal of Chinese forces from the region,” the ambassador from the Russian Federation, Boris Tarzov, a reserved and gentle-voiced young diplomat, suggested.

“Withdrawal?” Ambassador Li asked incredulously. “You mean, take our stricken vessel and our dead and just sail away? If China withdraws, the perpetrators will withdraw as well, and the dead will curse us for our lack of resolve. That is unacceptable.”

“And having Chinese warplanes still attacking the city of Aden and buzzing over commercial and military ships in the Gulf of Aden is also not acceptable,” Ambassador Colby said. “The United States wants to know who hit the hornet’s nest with a stick, sir, but we will not sit idly by while the hornets continue to swarm around the place and sting everyone in sight.”

“I shall be sure to let the families of our dead know of your clever analogy, Mr. Colby,” Ambassador Li said acidly. “And then I will assure them, as I do you now, that China will not leave until the perpetrators of this dastardly act are brought to justice…Chinese justice.”

“How very convenient: Chinese naval forces on both the north and south sides of the Gulf of Aden,” Colby observed, “all because of supposed extremist Islamist attacks on its people and ships? If I didn’t know better, Mr. Ambassador, I would say that China is inventing crises to support an imperialistic agenda in that region of the world, a vital choke point to sea traffic for the rest of the world. China has built itself a blue-water navy along with its one-hundred-million-man army, and now it intends to deploy that force wherever it pleases.”

“The United States certainly knows a thing or two about imperialism, instigating violence and death, and inserting military forces in critical areas with the objective of controlling them and closing them off to any power it sees as a threat to its own national interests,” Li said. “Do not seek to lecture the People’s Republic of China about secret agendas and military domination-one needs to do nothing but go outside on a clear night and watch your big bright space station fly overhead to understand that the United States wants nothing more than absolute world control.”

“This argument is getting us nowhere, gentlemen,” Ambassador Tarzov said, his voice calm but his tone surprisingly insistent. “The matter before us is simple: We need to ensure the safety and security of the Chinese navy while they are doing rescue-and-recovery efforts, and we need to launch an investigation as to who did this monstrous deed: Was it Islamist vengeance for attacks in Somalia, as it appears, or was it some other sort of attack?”

“And China needs to ground all those warplanes before any more innocent men, women, and children are killed!” Colby interjected.

“And leave our sailors and rescue workers exposed to yet more attacks?” Li retorted. “Whom can China trust? The Yemeni army? Has the Yemeni navy and harbor police been infiltrated by jihadists? China demands that some sort of international security force be brought in to keep our sailors safe while we continue rescue-and-recovery activities. Otherwise, our armed patrols will continue.”

“That is not acceptable!” Colby insisted. “ China cannot continue attacks over Aden. It is one of the most valuable and strategic ports in the entire Middle East. Insurance rates for ships transiting the area, which is almost one-fourth of all vessels on the high seas, are skyrocketing, as are oil prices. The air raids are terrifying the local residents and are fueling angry protests.”

“There can be no cessation of defensive air operations around Aden until the security situation is improved enough for rescue-and-recovery forces to enter the harbor and surrounding areas,” Li insisted. “I do not care about such things as insurance rates while brave Chinese sailors lie dead and injured in hostile waters. The United States will never-”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please,” Boris Tarzov said, holding up hands both to the Chinese and American representatives, his voice even more insistent this time. “Obviously something must be done to assure Chinese rescue forces can operate safely in the harbor. The Vladimir Putin carrier task force is just a day or two from the area, and they have a light infantry force, approximately two marine companies, I believe, embarked. May I propose that Russian marines be allowed to land ashore and secure the harbor area so Chinese rescue-and-recovery units can operate safely?”

“Exchange Russian marines for Chinese fighter-bombers?” Colby remarked. “What kind of deal is that?”

“What exactly are you implying, Mr. Ambassador?” Tarzov asked. “Are you suggesting that our marines would form some sort of invasion force? American Marines come ashore all over the world for all sorts of humanitarian, peacekeeping, and security missions, and no one suggests they are an invasion force. This would strictly be a security operation, with no more than five hundred or so marines and a few transport helicopters involved, which I feel should be more than sufficient to suppress any more acts of violence. Russia built the airfield and most of the modern harbor facilities in Aden, so I believe we are very well familiar with the layout of the area.” Ambassadors Li and Colby glared at each other. “Then I hereby move that the Russian naval task-force commander approaching Yemen be placed in charge of an operation to provide security for Chinese rescue-and-recovery forces operating in the harbor at Aden.”

“A motion has been made,” Nascimento said. “Second?”

“And all Chinese so-called defensive operations cease immediately?” Colby asked.

“Cease upon arrival of Russian marines in the harbor,” Li said.

“My motion is amended to include the order that all Chinese defensive and offensive operations of all kind cease upon arrival of Russian marines in the Aden harbor,” Tarzov said.

“May I have a second?” Nascimento repeated.

“And China will receive assistance in conducting an investigation of the bombing of our warship?” Li asked.

“As soon as Russian marines have secured the area, Chinese forensic and military investigators may enter-”

“Multinational investigators, including U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation and Naval Criminal Investigative Service agents, may actively participate in any investigation,” Colby interjected.

“This will be a Chinese investigation, Mr. Colby!” Ambassador Li retorted.

“The fox investigating the missing chickens, Mr. Li?”

“How dare you…!”

“Gentlemen, please,” Boris Tarzov interjected, spitting out the word please with extra emphasis. “Lives are at stake here!” Colby and Li went back to glaring at each other. “The participation of equal numbers of multinational investigators is a reasonable request, to be led by a Chinese official,” Tarzov went on, “and I hereby amend my motion to include it, as long as all findings made by each team of investigators shall be shared by all other investigation teams, by all participating nations including Yemen, and the Security Council. Are there any other proposed amendments?”

There were none, so Nascimento asked, “May I have a second, please?” The delegate from France raised his hand. “Thank you, I have a second to the motion. As this is an emergency session of the Security Council, I ask that each delegation contact their respective ministries by secure telephone from their seats. I shall call for a vote in fifteen minutes. Thank you.”

“This is not good,” Colby whispered to his deputy as he picked up the telephone.

THE WHITE HOUSE

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Despite the early hour, the residence of the president in the White House was already abuzz in activity. White House Chief of Staff Walter Kordus found President Gardner in his bedroom, throwing clothes into a suitcase. “Mr. President, I told you I’d have Mrs. Line do that for you,” he said. He held up a cordless phone. “The Security Council is meeting right now, and Marcus Colby is asking about the vote. Where’s Mrs. Line?”

“The first lady is out of town, I can’t find my lightweight suit for Arizona, and Mrs. Line doesn’t know the difference between golf shoes and scuba flippers,” Gardner complained. “I sent her to get me some coffee. What’s the deal with the Security Council?”

“They’re discussing Yemen and China,” Kordus said. “The motion before them right now is about letting Russian marines set up security around Aden so China can get their men and ship out of the harbor.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Gardner swore. “Russian marines in Yemen? How many?”

“A few hundred.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me,” the president said distractedly, throwing clothes into the suitcase, then throwing them back on the bed. “What does Stacy say?”

“Her secure phone isn’t working in Beijing. We’re working on an alternate hookup. She might have to go to the embassy.”

“Great. Perfect.” Gardner was about to pick up another rolled-up pair of socks, then gave up and motioned for the phone.

“Marcus?” He glared at the phone. “It’s dead. Great. All the phones are on the fritz.” Kordus took the phone back, hit the “HOLD” button, and gave it back to Gardner. The president scowled at him before speaking: “Marcus?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“What’s going on?”

“The motion offered by the Russians is to allow Russian marines into the port of Aden to secure it,” the United Nations ambassador responded. “ China is to stop all offensive and defensive operations as soon as the Russians arrive. Russia suggests a force of five hundred marines, about half of what they bring in their carrier battle group. The U.S., Russia, China, and Yemen can send an equal number of investigators to find out who attacked the Chinese destroyer, to be led by a Chinese official, and everyone has to share information with the others and with the council. France seconded.”

“What do you think?”

“It’ll stop the Chinese from bombarding the city,” Colby said. “That’s a start.”

Gardner looked over to Kordus, who was on the house line, motioning to him. “Hold on, Marcus.” He covered the mouthpiece and nodded at Kordus. “What?”

“The vice president is in the Situation Room and wants to know if you want him to come up.”

“Doesn’t that guy ever sleep?” the president asked. He thought hard for a moment; then: “Tell him I’ll talk with him in the Oval Office before I leave.” On his phone he said, “Marcus, I’m getting ready to leave for a campaign swing out west. What’s the bottom line here?”

“Five hundred Russians on the ground in Yemen backed up by a carrier task force, together with a Chinese carrier task force, all within a few miles of each other in one of the world’s most strategic sea choke points,” Colby said. “Our closest carrier battle group is about five hundred miles east; we have components of an amphibious ready group in Djibouti, just a hundred miles away or so. The upside: China stops bombing Yemen.”

“That’s it?”

“They took us by surprise, sir.”

“That seems to be the norm around here these days,” the president muttered, directing his remark sideways at Kordus. “What’s the council looking like?”

“ China is definitely the victim here so far, sir,” Colby said. “Everyone believes it was Islamist retaliation for the Chinese attacks against the pirates in Somalia. They’re surprised and maybe dismayed at the Chinese air attacks in the city, but I think everyone will give China the benefit of the doubt as long as the attacks cease right away. The Russian ambassador is popular and seen as a neutral arbiter.”

“What’s the bottom line, Marcus?” the president asked impatiently.

“You’ll have to veto to defeat the measure, sir,” Colby said. “Everyone else except Great Britain will vote in favor, and I don’t think they will veto. You can abstain or vote no, but if it passes it’ll look bad that the measure passed without the United States ’ concurrence.”

“Swell.” The president caught Kordus looking at his watch-he had to leave right away to keep to the campaign schedule. “Okay, Marcus, go ahead and vote in favor. I’ll be airborne in thirty minutes-you can update me then.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Gardner tossed the phone back to Kordus. “I told Marcus to vote in favor. As long as China stops their little hissy fit, I don’t care if a few Russian marines look tough in Yemen.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll brief Secretary Barbeau and Conrad on the way to Andrews. The vice president is in the Oval Office.”

“Let’s go.” The president made sure his golf clothes were in the suitcase, closed it up, and strode out-the staff would bring anything else he needed for the other events, but as long as he was ready for a half round of golf with the Arizona candidates and the photo ops that followed, he was satisfied.

Vice President Ken Phoenix met him in the hallway outside the Oval Office. “Good morning, Mr. President,” he said, looking far too chipper for Gardner ’s mood. He followed the president into the Oval Office. “The Security Council meeting…?”

“The Council moved to allow Russian marines to set up security in the city to allow China to get their ship and casualties out,” Gardner said, checking messages on his PDA, leaving a few messages for his secretary, then straightening his tie in preparation for greeting onlookers before heading for the South Lawn to board Marine One. “I told Colby to vote in favor.”

“In favor of allowing armed Russian marines in Yemen?” Phoenix asked incredulously.

“In favor of getting China to stop bombing the city, getting their sailors out, and putting everything back to normal,” the president said impatiently. “The council was pretty solid for the measure.”

“The Russian marines are from that Putin carrier task force in the Gulf of Aden?”

“I guess.”

“So the Russians and Chinese will have carriers in the Gulf of Aden, with troops on the ground in both Somalia and Yemen, and the closest counterforce we have is in the Arabian Sea?”

“The chopper’s waiting, Ken. What’s the problem?”

“We could have stalled the vote until we moved the Reagan carrier group closer,” Phoenix said.

“Why would we do that? There’s already too many freakin’ carriers in the Gulf of Aden already.”

“The United States controls the world’s oceans, sir-you’ve said that a thousand times,” Phoenix argued. “But right now there are two foreign aircraft-carrier battle groups in a very strategic location, and we have none. We’ve lost the advantage out there.”

“We haven’t lost anything, Ken. What we did was stop China from bombing Aden.”

“ China was running out of legitimate targets with their fighter-bombers anyway-they were going to have to stop on their own,” Phoenix said. “We could have vetoed-”

“I don’t like overusing the veto, Ken. You know that.”

“At the very least we could have voted no and registered our disapproval.”

“But I don’t disapprove,” the president said. “It’s a couple hundred Russians-hell, they were probably going to be in Aden anyway on shore leave.”

“Except now they’ll have guns and a mandate from the United Nations Security Council!”

“I don’t see a problem, Ken,” Gardner insisted. “We’ll keep an eye on them, and if they step out of line, we’ll slam them.”

“Perhaps sending some other forces out there would show everyone we’re watching,” Phoenix said. “Maybe an Air Force bomber to overfly the Russian and Chinese fleets, take a few pictures, show the flag?”

“Like that mysterious B-1 bomber squadron that attacked that base in Turkey?”

“Mysterious? I understood you ordered the attack on Diyarbakir; I briefed you on the mission myself. Next thing I knew, it was over.”

The president didn’t want to tell Phoenix that he ended up taking responsibility for the mission, even though he did not order it-another end run around the law and the chain of command performed by none other than Patrick McLanahan, with help by his secret mentor, former president Kevin Martindale. “Never mind. Yes, that squadron. I’ll ask Conrad and Miller to make some suggestions. What else is going on?”

“We’ll have a draft of the new space policy drawn up by the end of the day,” the vice president replied. “I’m still not for a unilateral ban on antisatellite weapons, but all the other provisions you were looking for are in there.”

“Excellent. Fast work,” the president said. “I’m willing to discuss the unilateral ban, but I think it’ll send the right message to other space-faring nations- America is not out to control space.” He noticed Kordus nodding at him, motioning toward the door. “I’ve got to go, Ken. I’ll talk to you on the staff conference call.” He shook hands with Phoenix, turned on a heel, and departed without another word.

On board Marine One, the helicopter that would take him from the White House South Lawn to Andrews Air Force Base, the president fastened his seat belt, then checked his secure PDA again for any messages. As they lifted off, Chief of Staff Kordus held up a note. “We found something.”

“On what or whom?”

“McLanahan,” Kordus said. “We knew that McLanahan was a director for a nonprofit think tank and education foundation called Progress for Space and Military Future Policy. McLanahan has given several unpaid speeches around the country to industry and civil-military advocacy groups on behalf of this group, touting increased awareness and funding for military space programs, acceleration of military space development, blah blah.”

“So?”

“One of my clever staffers noticed that the initials of the organization could stand for ‘Patrick S. McLanahan for President.’” Gardner rolled his eyes and gave a short chuckle. “I know, I know: pretty thin. So I checked some more on the organization. Turns out they aren’t a nonprofit-they’re more like a not-for-profit.”

“They’re the same thing.”

“True, but they never registered as a charitable or educational organization.”

“So monies they take in aren’t distributed to shareholders but stay in the organization, like an-”

“Exploratory committee,” Kordus finished for him. “So we took a peek at the group’s bank-account balance…and it’s huge. We then looked at their filed list of officers and directors. All the big-time military and political players of the last decade, including Page, Goff, Venti, Morgan, Busick; even Thomas Thorn is on there, the list goes on and on.”

“Sounds like a new Trilateral Commission.”

“You bet it does. At the very end of the list-”

“ Phoenix?”

“No. He would have had to disclose that and resign from it, but he never belonged as far as we know. The big name on there: Martindale.”

“Kevin Martindale?”

“The one and only,” Kordus said. “The guy is a Washington institution-two-term vice president, two-term president, connected up the ying-yang. You can’t have a more powerful ally. It’s practically a ready-made cabinet.”

McLanahan and Martindale’s names were popping up more and more in the White House these days, Gardner thought-way too much for comfort. “You said Ann Page is on there?” Kordus nodded. “Did she report that on her prenomination questionnaire?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Check. If she didn’t, it’s cause to terminate her, if we need to.” Kordus nodded and made a note to himself on his ever-present PDA. “So Patrick McLanahan is turning to politics, huh?”

“If he is, he’s showing how amateurish he is,” Kordus said. “There’s only six months to their party’s nominating convention. He hasn’t campaigned at all except for a few speeches and pressers here and there. I’m not even positive what political party he belongs to, or if he intends on running as an independent, like Thomas Thorn.”

“He doesn’t need to build up national name recognition like senators and governors do-he’s already got plenty,” Gardner said. “All he has to do is show up with a slick well-oiled organization behind him, and he’ll wow the delegates. If he’s been talking with the other candidates, he might be able to avoid a floor fight and snatch the nomination.”

“What do you want to do, Joe?”

“Start building a file on candidate Patrick S. McLanahan,” Gardner said. “Start digging for dirt. That shouldn’t be too hard-the guy’s been tossed out of the Air Force twice.”

“I wish we could tell all the stories we know about the guy,” Kordus said.

Gardner shook his head. “The information would sink me and a lot of other folks as well, and McLanahan might not even take any heat himself-he’s definitely a loose cannon, but he gets the job done, and the folks really like that. No, use open-source and verified info only. And start a file on this not-for-profit group, too.”

“Maybe let Treasury take a look at them?”

“Of course-all aboveboard and routine, but let’s see what they forgot to report or filed incorrectly,” the president said. “That’s the problem with not forming an out-and-out exploratory committee-the IRS can look at you and it’s not considered a political attack. And let them take a look to make sure McLanahan paid all his taxes, paid his housekeeper’s payroll taxes, reported income on limo rides, all that stuff.”

“I’m on it.”

“I don’t want to body-slam the guy, unless he’s really doing something criminal,” the president said casually. “He’s still Patrick McLanahan, aerial assassin and genuine all-American hero. I just want to give him a taste of what it’s like playing in the D.C. big leagues. He thinks working in the basement of the White House gave him enough exposure-hell, he doesn’t know the half of it.”