Shadow of the Dragon

63

In the control room of the Indiana, Captain Condiff watched over Petty Officer Markette’s shoulder at the green “waterfall” on his screen that turned sounds into pictures that only sonar technicians could read.

The Indiana was at full stop, rigged for ultraquiet. The loudest pumps had been taken off-line, even if they were slightly more efficient than the quieter ones. Everyone not on station was in their bunk, to keep accidents from happening. Everyone spoke in whispers, not so much because the other sub would be able to hear them, but because it reminded them of their condition.

A half-hour earlier, Markette had “spotted” the new contact — another sub — diesel-electric probably, quieter than a nuke, but for a squeaky bearing in one of the pumps.

“Bearing two-seven-zero,” Markette said. “Two thousand meters. She’s going back and forth, hunting.”

“Captain,” the USS Indiana’s communications tech said. “Incoming on Deep Siren.”

The lead F-35 pilot’s voice squawked over the radio in the Healy’s control room.

“I think your company’s decided to RTB. We’ll be on station for a bit if you need us.”

Captain Rapoza chuckled. It wasn’t surprising that the Chinese icebreaker’s little Z-9 helicopter had decided to return to base with two American fighter jets paying the Healy a social call.

The Healy and the Xue Long found themselves in a standoff of sorts, both hove-to, facing each other, literally on thin ice. Open leads webbed the surface all around them. Drifting bergs bumped their hulls. A stiff wind blew in from the north, forcing both ships to work hard to keep from being pushed steadily southward with the broken pads of ice.

A second-class petty officer named Lilly came across the radio from the afterdeck. He was from outside New Orleans, and to Rapoza, he always sounded like he had a mouthful of food when he spoke.

“Communication buoy on the surface, Captain,” he said.

The Healy had contacted Indiana via Deep Siren, the Raytheon low frequency tactical underwater paging system. Though not deployed fleet-wide, even on Navy vessels, it made sense to station such a device aboard one of the only ships in the U.S. inventory that ventured out on the ice where submarines lurked below. If the Indiana was down there, as Pacific Command said she would be, then he’d get the message and respond. He’d done just that, deploying a tethered device called an X-SUB Communication Buoy that allowed for two-way communication. The Indiana, knowing much more about Healy’s position than she knew about the sub’s, sent the buoy up twenty yards to port off the afterdeck. It was barely visible above the water.

“Very well,” Rapoza said, nodding at his XO. “Let’s get Captain Condiff on the line.”

The petty officer nodded. “Go ahead, Skipper.”

“Captain Condiff,” Rapoza said. “I am instructed to ask you to stand by for a call from the President of the United States.”

“President Zhao,” Jack Ryan said. “May I speak freely?”

Silence on the line as an interpreter repeated everything in Mandarin.

“Of course, Mr. President,” Zhao answered in perfect Oxford English.

The two men had a history, albeit a fiery one. It would cause Zhao to lose face if he admitted it, but Ryan and his people had averted a nearly successful assassination attempt on Zhao’s life. Ryan did not bring it up. A Chinese leader without face was no leader at all. As the previous president had demonstrated when he took his own life. Zhao was proving to be increasingly belligerent as he consolidated his power, but the two men could still talk — so far at least. The czar you know…

“Mr. President,” Ryan said. “I would appreciate it if you and I could speak… how shall I put this, off the record.”

More translation, which, Ryan knew full well, was in place to give Zhao time to compose himself between each of Ryan’s questions or statements. He had no trouble with the language.

“There are things,” Ryan said, appealing to the man’s ego, “that are not for the ears of underlings. I give you my word that I will send my people out of the room and speak to you alone. I ask you to do the same. It will keep me from making an error in front of someone and losing face. We can speak as men and keep our honor.”

Ryan knew Zhao was already thinking through the request while the interpreter translated.

Zhao was smart enough to know that Ryan was giving him an out, to keep from losing face himself. Face, in China, was paramount. And ethics tended to hinge more on if one got caught than whether or not the original deed was right or wrong. If Zhao and Ryan spoke in private, neither man could be “caught” and both could retain their face.

“As you wish,” Zhao said at length.

Ryan kept his end of the bargain and shooed everyone out of the Oval, including Mary Pat. Subterfuge was one thing, but his word meant something.

“I am alone,” Zhao said two minutes later.

“Thank you for this, Mr. President,” Ryan said. “Again, I ask your permission to speak freely.”

“By all means.”

Ryan spent the next five minutes going over what he knew about the submarine, conveniently leaving out any mention of Professor Liu. He commended the brave actions of Commander Wan, executive officer of the 880—and the brave men who remained at the bottom of the sea.

“May I ask how you discovered them?” Zhao said. “As you know, my people were searching an area many miles from there.”

“A fluke,” Ryan said. “A science vessel dropped a test buoy almost on top of them and picked up noises of the accident.”

“A fluke indeed,” Zhao said. “So you were not shadowing the 880 with one of your Virginia-class fast-attacks? As you have said, it seems one was able to respond from quite close.”

“No,” Ryan said. “I wish we had been. We could have started a rescue much sooner.”

“We will handle any rescue,” Zhao said, an air of hostility creeping in, then fading just as quickly.

“And that is the reason I wanted to speak privately,” Ryan said. “My people believe we should try to work with you to rescue your men in hopes of learning more about your technology.”

“That cannot happen—”

“Please,” Ryan said, “hear me out. You have been very open about the advancement in your quiet propulsion systems. I have a copy of your address to the Central Committee on my desk as we speak. Impressive. Seriously. The thing is, Mr. President, I know you want to save your men. I want you to save your men. But I also know that if I try to step in, you will be forced to protect your military secrets. Leaders must make these tough decisions.”

“Mr. President,” Zhao said. “I believe you may be stalling. For all I know, you are even now sending your Navy SEALs to board the 880.”

“Let me be blunt,” Ryan said. “Having access to your ring propulsion drive would be nice, but it is not an imperative. Of course, we are always refining, learning, investing in new designs, but our submarines are already among the quietest and most deadly in the world. You had no idea our vessel was even there until I told you. In short, Mr. President, I wish you didn’t have this propulsion system, but I don’t need it. And it’s certainly not worth the lives of all your brave submariners to keep it out of our hands.”

“And Commander Wan?”

“We are happy to afford him medical care until he is ready to fly.”

“I would prefer he come aboard the Xue Long as soon as possible.”

“As you wish,” Ryan said. “I want you to be free to rescue your men. To that end, I am pulling my assets out of the area as soon as the commander is safely aboard your vessel.”

“Just like that?” Zhao said.

“Just like that,” Ryan said. “And you may even tell your people you forced me into it. God forbid there is ever a sea battle between our great nations, because many of our finest would die. This is not that time. The men on the 880 have taken no hostile action toward my country. So save them. Please.”