Firestorm

29

Don Stroh had long ago stripped off his tie and discarded his suit coat. He had been talking to CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. They had exchanged more than a dozen encrypted rapid-burst transmissions via the satellite. He had forgotten what time it was in D.C., but it didn't matter. Nobody slept or ate when a crisis like this was underfoot. His last message came through from the director:

Don Stroh read the message again. He'd been staring at it for ten minutes. What the hell. He'd have to call on every favor he ever built up in Taiwan when he was stationed there for three years.

First he used the cellular ability of the electronics on board the carrier and called the top Agency man in Taipei. Tom Morton was not pleased to be roused out of bed before noon. Tom knew about the invasion plans for Taiwan, and had talked with the President of Taiwan, Lee Teng-hui. Both of them were up to date on the invasion plans and the U.S. attempt to thwart them.

"Tom, it's done. The invasion is stopped cold. Now we need some help to get our team out of China."

"How in hell can I help do that?"

"Talk to Lee. We need some Taiwan air support and a chopper pickup for our thirteen SEALS. They've been in freights in there for the last ten hours."

"Whoa. You want Lee to attack Mother China with his jets to save the skin of thirteen men? He'd laugh at you. Thirteen men are nothing. He has millions of men."

"That's your job, Tom. Convince him that these thirteen men have saved his island more than ten million dead and a sure takeover by China. Show him that he would have been dead by now of poison gas if these SEALS hadn't attacked the missile sites, the bombers, the destroyers, even the atomic center up north. He damn well owes these men."

"Oh, damn. I hate it when you get logical and emotional. I'll call and try to get to see him this morning. No promise."

"Too late to do a rescue today. We'll try to get them out to the coast tonight. We'd need his jets for close ground support and maybe some choppers to go in and get the men after dark. We don't know where they'll be by that time. They might even make it to the strait where our people can pick them up. You've got to try."

"I'll try, I'll try."

"So wake up and make some phone calls. It could take a day to set up everything. We only have about fourteen hours."

Don Stroh hung up the phone. He was sweating. He hated it when he did that. He used to sweat every time he did something wrong or made a mistake. Now he sweated when he got excited or emotional about some issue or project. He hated that too.

He sent another message, this one to Langley about his move to get to the Taiwanese Air Force to help. He hoped it worked.

He sent a short-burst message to Murdock telling him what he was working on. No way to know if Murdock got the message or not. He might have left the SATCOM on receive only, maybe not. Murdock had probably turned off the radio. Damn.

"Chief, call me immediately if you get any transmissions from Murdock or from Tom Morton," Stroh told the enlisted man in charge of the radio room.

Stroh waited. It was nearly two hours before Morton called back. Both ends of the conversation were encrypted, then turned back into regular speech.

"You trying to get me killed, Stroh? I brought up the idea of using a pair of jet fighters and a chopper to go in and rescue the guys who saved their whole damn country, and President Lee blew his stack. He said that would be risking war with China. I pointed out that China had already declared war on Taiwan, had actively tried to murder ten million of his people. He threw me out of the place. Had his guards lift me up and carry me out to the fucking street."

"Lee is a show-off. Go right back in there and remind him of the plans he's seen for the invasion of Taiwan. Remind him that sixteen U.S. Navy SEALS have saved his fucking ass. Then tell him he owes us this much. Three aircraft against ten million of his people? Sounds like a damn good business deal to me. Get back in there and make him understand."

Morton swore for two minutes, then gave up. "Okay, okay. I'll give it another try. I can't promise anything. I did give him golf lessons for two months. Every fucking morning. Maybe I can play on that somehow. You never know what's going to work with these goddamned presidents."

Don Stroh told him good-bye and hung up the hand set. Stroh paced the commo room. He stared at the radios and all the communications gear. None of it did him any good unless it talked to him. He had been thinking about asking the U.S. President to call Lee Teng-hui. Chat with him President-to-President.

Stroh pounded his fist into his palm. Nothing to lose.

Give it a try.

He sent an encrypted message through directly to the President requesting an urgent talk about the Taiwan situation. He had no way of knowing if the President would respond or not. He checked the time. It was 930 A.M. in Taiwan. D.C. was thirteen hours behind them. That would make it 830 P.m. yesterday in the Capital. At least it wasn't the middle of the night.

Now all he had to do was sit around and hope that the President thought this incident important enough to call him back about it.