Sky Masters

10

There was no mistaking its identity or its purpose — few aircraft in the world could fly like this. “Identity confirmed, sir,” the Combat Information Center officer on the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy destroyer Feylin reported. “American subsonic spy plane, bearing zero-six-five, altitude two-three-thousand meters, range ninety-two kilometers and closing. Probably a U-2 or TR-1.”

The commander of the Feylin shook his head in amazement. “Say speed and altitude again?”

“Speed six-five-zero kilometers per hour, altitude… altitude now twenty-three thousand meters.”

The destroyer captain could do nothing but smile in astonishment. Twenty-three thousand meters — that was almost twice the altitude that any Chinese fighter could safely go, and very close to the upper-altitude limit of the Hong Qian-61 surface-to-air missile system on the Chinese frigates stationed in the Philippine Sea. “No response to our warning broadcasts, I assume,” the captain said.

“None, sir. Continuing west as before, on course for Davao.”

“Then we will make good on our promise,” the captain said eagerly. “Have Zhangyhum and Kaifeng moved into position?”

“Yes, sir. Destroyer Zunyi ready as well.”

“Very well. Let us see if we can get ourselves an American spy plane. Range to target?”

“Eighty-three kilometers and closing.”

“Begin engagement procedures at seventy-five kilometers.” The frigates had only the shorter-range HQ-61 SAM system, but four of the five destroyers in the Philippine Sea and eastern Celebes Sea area had the Hong Qian-91 surface-to-air missile, with four times the range of the HQ-61 — and the U-2 was coming within range of Feylin's system right now. Undoubtedly the U-2 would be able to evade the first missile, but two more destroyers, Zhangyhum to the north and Kaifeng to the south, were surrounding the U-2, so that no matter which way it turned, it would be within range of someone’s missile system.

The U-2 was being tracked by another destroyer, Zunyi. This destroyer carried only surface-to-surface missiles, but it had the Sea Eagle radar system, which could direct missile attacks launched from other ships without using the telltale DRBR-51 missile-tracking radars. They would not have to activate target-tracking radars until a few seconds from impact, so the U-2 would have no chance to react.

They were going to make their first kill since October first, which, ironically, was Revolution Day. This would serve as a warning to all other American aircraft: stay away from the Philippines.

“Bomb doors coming open, stand by… bomb doors open.”

This had to be the first time in Patrick McLanahan’s recent memory that he was going to open the bomb doors on his B-2 Black Knight stealth bomber — and not attack something. He and Major Henry Cobb had already flown their B-2 nearly two thousand miles, right into the heart of what seemed like half the Chinese Navy, all to carry two bulbous objects that would not go “boom.”

They were flying at two thousand feet over the dark waters of the Philippine Sea, threading the needle through what appeared to be two long lines of Chinese warships arranged north and south to protect the east coast of Mindanao. Twice now they had opened the dual side-by-side bomb-bay doors and deployed the two pods on their hydraulically operated arms, left them in the slipstream for a few minutes, then retracted them again. And they knew that with each passing minute, every time they lowered those pods they were exposing themselves to incredible danger that would only increase the closer they flew toward Mindanao.

The two pods were not weapons, but reconnaissance systems housed in aerodynamic pods that resembled a fighter’s standard 330-gallon external fuel tanks. In the right bomb bay they had an ATARS pod, which stood for Advanced Tactical Air Reconnaissance System. It housed two electronic charge-coupled device reconnaissance cameras and an infrared line scanner to photograph large sections of the sea in all directions in just a few minutes. In another pod in the left bomb bay, on a longer hydraulic arm that would project it eighteen inches lower than the ATARS pod, was a UPD-9 synthetic aperture radar pod that would take high-resolution radar images for fifty miles in all directions. All of the images were digitized, then transmitted via NIRTSat back to Andersen for analysis. They also had their usual complement of radar warning receivers and countermeasures systems, but on this flight they used high-speed digital data links to transmit the threat information they received back to Andersen.

Although the pods were incredibly effective and relatively small, they had one major drawback — they had a radar signature thousands of times larger than the B-2 carrying them. Every time they were lowered out of the bomb bay, Cobb and McLanahan lost all their stealth capabilities — and it was time to do it again. “Stand by for pod deploy…”

Suddenly, a huge yellow dome appeared on McLanahan’s Super Multi Function Display, not very far to the north of them — the dome nearly touched the B-2 icon, meaning they were very close to being within detection range of the radar. “Charlie-band radar… Sea Eagle air-search radar, either on a frigate or destroyer,” McLanahan reported. “We may be inside detection range now — if we lower the pods, we’ll definitely be in range.”

“Then let’s get it over with,” Cobb said. It was one of the few words he had said throughout the entire flight — obviously he wished he were someplace else right now.

“Rog. Pods coming down…”

True to his word, the second the two pods were deployed, the computer re-evaluated their new radar cross-section, remeasured the Sea Eagle radar’s output power, and redrew the radar’s effective detection range “dome” — this time placing it squarely over the B-2 icon at the lower center part of the SMFD. The radar cross-section of the two pods was so large that Patrick estimated they’d have to fly at least forty miles to get out of enemy radar coverage. “Air-search radar got us, three o’clock, range… range forty miles.”

As the UPD-9 pod finished its first circular sweep, more details of the area surrounding them appeared — including one very unwelcome one. “Surface target, nine o’clock, ten miles, no radar emissions, looks like a patrol boat… shit, we got another patrol boat at twelve miles, two o’clock position. Jesus, we’re surrounded by Chinese patrol boats…” McLanahan commanded the pods to retract immediately before any one of them got a lock on the B-2.

“Air target warning! Bearing one-eight-eight degrees, range seventy-four kilometers… no speed or altitude reading available… search radar active…”

“What? Are you sure? Get a track on that last contact!” the skipper of the Feylin shouted.

“Negative track… target disappeared, sir. Lost contact.” The new radar contact puzzled the destroyer commander, but it was obviously an anomaly or a very small target, like a flock of birds. The real quarry was still driving closer. “Status of the U-2.”

“Range approaching seventy-five kilometers… now.”

“Very well. Combat, bridge, commit forward HQ-91 system, stand by on DRBR-51 missile-guidance radar… now. Order Kaifeng and Zhangyhum to prepare to engage.”

At that order, two HQ-91 missiles were fired from the forward twin launchers of the destroyer Feylin at the U-2 spy plane, lighting up the deck with brilliant flashes of light and a long tongue of flame as the missiles shot skyward. The big supersonic missiles reached full speed in seconds, exceeding twenty-five kilometers per minute in the blink of an eye.

There was no other radar that came up, but even at a range of forty miles the sudden glare of the HQ-91 missile’s rocket motor streaking off into space could clearly be seen. The Chinese patrols were going after the U-2 spy plane. The forty-year-old U-2 used a new aerial camera, the CA-990, which could take high-resolution pictures from long standoff distances, but to get pictures of Davao, the U-2 had to fly as close as possible to the Mindanao coast — very close to the Chinese warships.

McLanahan risked it: he deployed the reconnaissance pods again to get more photographs — and perhaps to divert the Chinese warship’s attention away from the vulnerable U-2, although he realized that was a real long shot — and at the same time hit the “Transmit” switch on his scrambled command radio: “Kelly, this is Shadow, Giant Zero, Giant Zero. Out.”

“Giant Zero” was a standard code name to warn an aircraft of a missile launch without an associated missile-guidance radar appearing first. McLanahan let the pods out for two spherical radar scans, about fifteen seconds, then quickly retracted them once again…

But even as he did, the yellow dome surrounding them turned briefly to red, with riblike lines through if. “Sea Eagle radar switching to target acquisition mode… they may have found us. Pods retracted, bomb doors closed…”

Suddenly, more radar domes appeared north and south of the B-2. “Air-search radars from those patrol boats!” McLanahan shouted. He looked on in horror as the southernmost radar dome engulfed them, then changed from yellow to red. “Target-acquisition radar got us, bearing one-six-three, range eleven miles. No missile-tracking radars yet, but he might be radioing our position to his big sister out there. Henry, take us down to two hundred feet, and let’s hope these bozos can’t lock onto us…”

“New radar contact aircraft, bearing from destroyer Zunyi, two-zero-zero, range seventy-four kilometers, speed nine-three-zero kilometers per hour, altitude six hundred meters.”

Curse it! the skipper of the destroyer Feylin thought furiously. An aircraft somehow managed to sneak past their gauntlets. “Order all patrol boats to begin air search immediately…”

“Sir, target number one turning north, appears to be disengaging… altitude of target one increasing to twenty-four thousand meters, speed increasing to eight hundred.”

“Activate DRBR-51 missile-tracking radars. Do not let the U-2 get away.”

“Sir, patrol boat 124 reports radar contact on air target.” The technicians at the vertical-plot board on the bridge of the destroyer Feylin drew in the location of the contact — it was between two patrol boats, heading northwest, near the Indonesian archipelago called Nenusa.

“Sir! Destroyer Zhangyhum reports radar contact north of his position, intermittent contact, low altitude. He suspects an American stealth aircraft.”

That was it! Stealth aircraft, probably stealth bombers launched from Guam. Obviously they were on reconnaissance runs, because if they were carrying antiship missiles they would have sunk a half-dozen vessels by now. So… a U-2 and a stealth bomber…

“Alert all task force vessels, inbound stealth bombers, suspect at least two inbound toward Davao Gulf. No weapons fired at outer gauntlet vessels, but suspect an attack against inner defenses. Warn all patrol aircraft to search the area north and northwest of Nenusa Archipelago for low-altitude bombers.”

“Sir! Destroyer Zhangyhum reports engaging with HQ-91 missiles… they may have hit the U-2. Dispatching a frigate and patrol boat to investigate.”

“One down,” the destroyer commander said with a quiet smile — “two more to go…”

“Mayday, Mayday, Kelly is hit, heading east, no—” The radio transmission from the U-2 went dead.

“Fuck,” was all Cobb could say. “Patrick, let’s get out of here.”

“Few more seconds and we should get all the ships near Davao Gulf,” McLanahan replied. They had flown over a hundred miles farther west than they had planned, within thirty miles of the mouth of Davao Gulf itself. The closer they got to Mindanao, the more ships they saw — ranging in size from huge destroyers, frigates, and amphibious assault craft, to small liaison and patrol craft — even a return that the UPD-9 pod classified as a submarine periscope could be seen.

One more radar sweep, two minutes, and they had all the data they needed. As Cobb began a turn south to head toward the relative safety of the radar clutter around the Nenusa and Talaud islands, the Super Multi Function Display seemed to light up like an old-style switchboard, with radar domes popping up everywhere. It was as if every vessel with a transmitter had flipped it on. “Christ almighty… Charlie-band search radar at our twelve o’clock… another one at our two o’clock… now I’ve got X-band fire-control radars at our ten o’clock position. You’re going to have to take us right over Talaud Island, Henry. We’re surrounded.”

“Fuck,” Cobb muttered. On this trip, that seemed to be the veteran pilot’s favorite reply.

“Fifty miles to Talaud,” McLanahan said. With the reconnaissance pods stowed, the radar dome belonging to the vessel to the northeast no longer reached them, but they could still watch it as it changed modes. It had changed from target acquisition mode, to air search, and now back to rapid-scan air search, which was displayed as a yellow-striped dome now. “Fast PRF scan on that Charlie-band radar,” McLanahan reported. “They might be vectoring a fighter in.”

“Fuck…”

The miles seemed to crawl by. More ships had their search radars on to the west, well inside Indonesian waters but still broadcasting Chinese radar signals. A few vessels even activated fire-control radars — Patrick guessed they might have been mistakenly fired on by their own fighter! “Twenty miles. Nenusa Archipelago is on the left, Talaud is right of—”

Suddenly a yellow radar dome appeared right in front of the B-2 icon on the SMFD. The dome instantly turned red, and the two crewmen could see gunfire popping on the horizon directly in front of them. “Break right!” Patrick shouted as he hammered the “Chaff” button for the left ejector racks; the electronic countermeasures jammers activated automatically. “Descend!” Cobb threw the big bomber into a 45-degree bank turn, letting the sudden loss of lift over the wings pull the nose down. He rolled wings-level at one hundred feet above the sea — just one wingspan above the dark waters below. Patrick could see tracers lashing out into the darkness, firing at the chaff blob that he had just released. “Where the hell did he come from?”

“Fuck…”

The terrain-following computer began to command a climb to clear the tall, spirelike mountains ahead, and the two crewmen could start to see the island on the forward-looking infrared scanner. The largest island in the Talaud archipelago, Karakelong Island, was a lush green island with gently rolling hills through the middle, but the central hills were studded with two tall rock spires, one that towered seven hundred feet above the forest and the other that rose an incredible twelve hundred feet above the ridge.

The tracers swung farther to the west as the chaff blob cleared and the Chinese patrol boat reacquired the B-2. “Can’t go too much farther west,” Patrick said. “There’s another group of ships just forty miles west of this island.”

“They were waiting for someone to try to sneak in over these hills,” Cobb said. “They knew we’d try it, even though these islands are in Indonesia. That means—”

“Shit. That means we don’t want to fly over these islands…!”

As if someone on Karakelong Island heard him, just then on the infrared scanner they could see a sharp flare of light, and a missile arced skyward, then heeled over and headed straight for them. “I see it!” Cobb cried out. “Stand by on flares right!” They had a little room to try a hard break, so Cobb began pushing and pulling the control stick, beginning a fifty-to-one-hundred-foot vertical oscillation. The closer the missile got, the more they could see it mimicking that oscillation.

As soon as the motor on the missile winked out, Cobb yelled, “Now!” then threw the B-2 into a hard turn to the left. Simultaneously, Patrick pumped out flares from the right ejector, keeping his finger on the button.

The missile passed directly over the cockpit, missing the Black Knight by just a few scant yards. Luckily, there was no explosion — either the missile failed to fuze or was still locked on the flare decoys.

“Altitude!” Patrick shouted. “Climb!” The bomber had entered initial buffet to a stall in the steep turn and had lost precious altitude — the radar altimeter, which measured exact distance below the bomber’s belly, was faulted because the distance was less than fifty feet. Cobb rolled wings-level, let the airspeed build up, then gently pulled back on the sidestick controller, careful not to throw the bomber into a full stall by pulling back too fast.

“Screw this,” Cobb muttered. As soon as he had his airspeed back, he pulled back on the controller, starting a steep climb. “I’m getting out of here.”

The Super Multi Function Display was alive with radar domes — one was right ahead of them, a Sea Eagle search radar was highlighting them from the right, and far to the north another Sea Eagle radar was about to envelop them. “Descend, Henry, we’ve got radars all around us…

“Let ’em try to get us,” Cobb said.

Tracers lit up the sky ahead of them as they drove through the red-colored radar dome ahead of them. Cobb kept the bomber climbing at full military power — the nose was higher than Patrick could ever remember it as Cobb traded every knot of available airspeed for altitude. He made a few hard turns, no more than 20 degrees at a time. Antiaircraft artillery shells began exploding all around them, and several were close enough to pummel the B-2. “Airspeed, Henry!” Patrick shouted. “Watch the stall…!”

But Cobb held the nose up, kept the airspeed right on the edge of initial buffet to stall, and kept the climb going. Moments later, Patrick noticed that the shells were exploding well below them. As he looked down, he could see a blanket of fireworks below them as tracers and exploding shells lit up the night sky. Cobb began to decrease his climb rate at twenty thousand feet, but he kept the throttle in full military power and kept climbing at five thousand feet per minute until they passed forty thousand feet. The destroyer to the south of them tried one missile launch on them, but the B-2’s jammers and laser countermeasures system reported that the missile never approached within lethal range. As they climbed, the red radar dome shrunk until it was a tiny inverted teacup well behind them.

Patrick looked over at his aircraft commander. Cobb had returned to his typical flying position — oxygen mask on, hands on stick and throttles, staring straight ahead, unmoving as a rock. Patrick turned the cockpit lights up a bit so he could do a careful cockpit check to investigate for damage — except for a few popped circuit breakers, he found nothing.

As he swept his tiny red-lens flashlight across his partner, he could see that the only evidence there was that Henry Cobb had just saved their butts from crashing in a huge fireball in the Philippine Sea was a tiny trickle of sweat dripping from the edge of his oxygen mask. But save them he did.

“Cabin check complete,” Patrick reported. Then: “Thanks, Henry.” The only acknowledgment he got was two clicks on the interphone button.

“We had better start talking about a peaceful settlement to all this, Mr. Ambassador,” Secretary of State Dennis Danahall said, “or things will surely go out of control.”

The Deputy Charge d’affaires of the People’s Republic of China’s embassy, Tang Shou Dian, serenely folded his hands on his lap as he regarded the three American government officials before him: Secretary of State Danahall, National Security Advisor Kellogg, and the President’s Chief of Staff, Paul Cesare, along with interpreters and confidential secretaries. The ambassador had brought an assistant and interpreter as well; because the ambassador’s “assistant” was a known Chinese intelligence operative, Secret Service agents were posted outside the office and in the anteroom to Kellogg’s office.

“I would be pleased to promptly report any requests or proposals to my government, Mr. Danahall,” Tang said without his interpreter. The interpreter would bend forward and speak in Tang’s assistant’s ear as if she were translating for him, but everyone knew he spoke and understood English very well.

“These are not proposals or requests, Mr. Ambassador,” Frank Kellogg said. “These are statements of policy. The United States will regard any further aggressive acts on the island of Mindanao as hostile acts against the United States, and we will respond accordingly to counter the threat, including the use of military force. That is the message we want to convey to your government.”

“That message was made very clear by your President’s television announcement yesterday,” Tang said. “As we indicated in our response, the Teguina government has stated that Jose Samar has no authority to conduct foreign policy or dictate military terms anywhere in the Philippines, including Mindanao or the separate southern state. Therefore, Samar’s words have no meaning and your position is illegal and completely without merit.”

“The Philippine constitution granted Samar’s state the right of self-defense,” Danahall pointed out. “Samar is completely within his powers to delegate that responsibility.”

“That is a matter for the United Nations to decide,” Tang said. “They should be allowed to deliberate the matter.”

“We agree,” Danahall said. “But the survival of the autonomous government of Jose Samar is in the best interest of the United States, and the position and strength of Chinese forces threaten their survival. Will the Chinese military agree to cease all hostile actions and pull its forces back until the matter of Mindanao sovereignty is decided?”

“I think that would be an important consideration,” Tang said, “except for Jose Samar’s rebel forces. President Teguina maintains, and my government agrees, that a ceasefire will only allow the rebels to consolidate their position and stage more and deadlier attacks on innocent citizens. We have tried to negotiate with Samar, with no success — we have even sent envoys to Guam to attempt to talk with Samar there. He will not speak with us. He ties our hands…”

“Your military forces are much more powerful than his,” Kellogg observed. “You have nearly a hundred warships in the south Philippines alone; your forces outnumber his ten to one. It’s reasonable to assume he’s afraid of being crushed to death by the sheer size of your forces.”

“A cease-fire has to be made in the spirit of cooperation and fairness,” Tang said. “We will hold our present positions and stop all new troop additions if Samar agrees to withdraw his forces and come to the bargaining table.”

“You must withdraw your forces from the Philippines first…”

“We are in the Philippines by invitation of the legitimate President,” Tang Said calmly. “We need not deal with rebel leaders such as Samar, or for that matter with the American government…”

“Samar is also a member of the Philippine government,” Danahall said pointedly.

“I understand Samar has been brought up on charges of treason and corruption by the government,” Tang said. “He has been stripped of his authority until his trial — if he ever surrenders himself to justice…”

“The United States does not recognize the Teguina government, because we have no evidence that President Arturo Mikaso is dead,” Cesare said. Tang shifted his interlaced hands slightly, as if gesturing that, yes, Mikaso was really dead. “Can you confirm Mikaso’s present situation? Is he dead?”

“I cannot confirm that, sir…”

“If you cannot confirm it, we will not recognize Teguina’s presidency,” Danahall said. “In which case the constitution is still valid and Samar has equal power and authority as Teguina…”

“Samar appears to be fleeing from justice — he is acting like a common criminal,” Tang said. “He is hiding in the jungles, he refuses to speak with his own government, he is inciting the people to revolt. Stories I have heard say that he has the backing of several Islamic terrorist organizations to help him win the presidency by violence. How can the United States back such a man?”

Those rumors about the terrorist groups, unfortunately, were true — several Moslem terrorist groups had pledged themselves to Samar to help him overthrow the Chinese, the Americans, and the Manila government. It was a major source of embarrassment for President Taylor right now. But Danahall replied, “Samar is understandably in fear for his life, especially with Chinese troops in Manila. He is not in hiding; he is en route to Guam under the protection of the U.S. government until this matter can be resolved.

“I think the best option right now is for all foreign troops to get out of the Philippines and leave that government to itself. If we can have reasonable assurances that the will of the people is being done and that peace is being restored, then we will not object to any further Chinese incursions. But the United States regards the current level of Chinese military involvement as an invasion, and we are now in a position to stop it. Will the Chinese pull out of the Philippines?”

Tang made a few notes in a small notebook. “I will deliver your query to my government,” the ambassador said, “along with your earlier statements and concerns.” Tang then closed his notebook, as if signaling an end to their meeting; it had lasted only a few minutes.

“Have you any messages from your government, Mr. Ambassador?” Secretary Danahall asked. “Does your government simply request that the world allow you to occupy the Philippines with large military forces? Or do you want nothing more than to be a willing mercenary for Daniel Teguina’s first coup?”

“We are not seeking conquest, only stability for my country,” Tang said. “We see the unrest in the Philippines as extremely injurious to Chinese trade, foreign relations, and social and political stability in our own country. As you know, gentlemen, the Philippines has many ethnic Chinese in its population, as well as loyal supporters of the world socialist movement, all of whom have suffered in past years. If we fail to support Communist leaders overseas and allow those with common beliefs and heritage to be slain and dominated by others, how would my government appear in the eyes of its own people?”

Danahall, Cesare, and Kellogg refrained from replying or voicing their outrage at Tang’s flamboyant, rhetorical remarks. Finally, after all these weeks of waiting, all these days of threats of military conflict, the Chinese were going to get around to their demands — it would not be useful at this point to interrupt, no matter how offbeat or disagreeable his words were.

“We are also very concerned about other problems in the South China Sea region, namely the dispute over the Spratly Islands and Palawan. China has claimed possession of those islands for hundreds of years; we feel we have the right to develop those islands, all of those islands, as we see fit. The current inequitable division of the Spratly Islands will no doubt cause much bloodshed in the future.

“The Philippine island of Palawan also once belonged to China, as evidenced by the large number of ethnic Chinese living there.” Tang paused knowingly, making eye contact with the Americans before him, and said, “If Chinese claims to the Spratly Islands and Palawan could be resolved in a way favorable to all concerned, perhaps a way might be found to avert disaster and bloodshed.”

So that was it, Danahall thought: China wanted the Spratly Islands and Palawan.

Danahall and his staff had had to do some serious cramming in recent days to reacquaint themselves with those two island chains that China seemed ready to go to war over. And, historically, Tang was right — several hundred years ago, before European explorers ventured to the Orient in large numbers, Chinese merchantmen, fishermen, and refugees did populate most of the islands in the South China Sea, including the Spratlys and most of the Philippines. Like the Spratlys, Palawan had been occupied and claimed by many Asian, Polynesian, and European nations over the centuries. At least a dozen countries had claims for these rugged, dangerous islands.

But all that was rather ancient history. China might have a fairly solid claim to the Spratly Islands — which they had already reportedly traded to Vietnam, at least for the time being — but whether they had any modern claim to Palawan was another thing entirely. What possible use China had for Palawan was a mystery to Danahall. The island was mountainous, sparsely populated, and useless as a shipping or trading port because of its proximity to the “Dangerous Ground,” the shallow waters of the South China Sea, so hazardous to commercial freighters. It might make a strategic air-base location from which to threaten islands and waters belonging to other ASEAN countries, but even that was doubtful. Was this some sort of new manifest destiny for China — or a cover for something else…?

“I think negotiations over these two areas of concern are important and can be implemented immediately, Mr. Ambassador,” Secretary Danahall said. “Of course, other affected nations will have to participate — and an immediate cessation of all hostilities must be declared…”

“If that can include Samar and his Moslem rebel militia, I agree wholeheartedly, Mr. Secretary,” Tang replied.

“I think we can be helpful in securing Vice President Samar’s cooperation,” Frank Kellogg said, “but it would be a waste of time to try to begin negotiations without first calling for an immediate cease-fire and a pullback of all forces…”

“If we can receive assurances that your naval and air forces will not try to fortify or assist the Samar rebels, and promise not to attack any Chinese forces at any time, a cease-fire might be possible. But it would be supercilious for us to abandon our agreement with President Teguina and simply leave him alone and unprotected without first guaranteeing that his government will remain intact during our negotiations. Now, if Samar’s rebel forces would give up their hold on the city of Davao and the Samar International Airport, perhaps my government would be more amenable to encouraging a dialogue with the Philippine government.”

This time all the Americans paused. They were afraid this might happen. Promising not to attack Chinese forces was no problem — the President didn’t want to do it in any case — but they knew that Davao was the last pin keeping the Philippines from falling apart. If Samar’s people abandoned the city, the Philippines would fall forever — if not to the Chinese, then to Teguina’s Communists. Samar might be a Moslem, but he also believed in a unified Philippines. It was obvious that Teguina believed in nothing but himself and his power. Tang was asking assistance from the U.S. government to destroy the last obstruction to total domination by the Communists.

“I think that discussion can wait for more detailed negotiations between our representatives,” Danahall said — he didn’t want to encourage him with even a veiled “maybe,” but he didn’t want to indicate that it was out of the question, either. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. Let’s get our respective governments to agree on an immediate cease-fire first…”

But Tang recognized Danahall’s hesitation and had obviously concluded that the Americans would agree to nothing here. “Why do you support this Moslem Samar?” Tang asked. “He is nothing but a rabble-rouser. He is a definite hindrance to peace, Mr. Secretary. He is not deserving of your country’s support.”

“We support a peaceful solution to this crisis, Mr. Ambassador…

“I truly hope so, Mr. Secretary,” Tang said. “It appears to my government, however, that the United States wishes to regain its lost military dominance in the Philippines. You are aligning yourself with a traitor and criminal, blinding your citizens to Samar’s violent and revolutionary past, in an obvious attempt to gain some sort of legitimacy for a military invasion of your own. That is not the way to solve this crisis, sir.”

“There are those who feel that China is trying to exert its influence in the region by the use of force,” Kellogg said, “and that you will stop at nothing to achieve it. They fear China may use another nuclear weapon to obliterate Samar’s militia…

Tang bristled at the mention of the word “nuclear,” and the Americans knew that the meeting was at an end. He rose to his feet, his hands still folded before him; his face was just as impassive and expressionless as ever. “I believe we have discussed all pertinent topics. With your permission, we will deliver your messages to my government with all speed.”

“Include this message, Mr. Ambassador,” Danahall said coldly. “If the United States detects any further activity in the Davao Gulf or on Mindanao to suggest that Chinese troops are moving to take the city of Davao, its airport, or the towns around the northern part of the Davao Gulf or delta, the United States will consider that a hostile act against an ally and will respond appropriately.” Danahall and the others rose. “Good day, Mr. Ambassador.” Danahall kept his fingertips on the table, without extending a hand. Tang gave a short bow, as did his interpreter and assistant, and they departed.

“God, I must be getting old,” Danahall said. He dropped into a chair, letting Kellogg take his desk back. “I can’t sell it like I used to.”

Kellogg’s outer office phone buzzed. “Yes?”

“Staff meeting in five minutes, sir,” his secretary said. Kellogg acknowledged the call and hung up. The message was a simple code to let them all know that the Secret Service wanted to come in to sweep the office, hallways, and anterooms for newly planted listening devices before the men began talking about anything of substance.

“I wanted to avoid giving the man a damned ultimatum, and that’s exactly what I ended up giving him,” Danahall said. “Dumb…”

“I’m sorry I mentioned the ‘N’ word,” Kellogg said. “I guess I’ll never make much of a diplomat.”

“We’re all thinking about it, and he knew it. It had to come out sooner or later.” Danahall paused, then said, “But I think he did leave us a few cracks we can explore — not very big cracks, but at least it’s something to work on.”

“I hope something happens in the next twenty-four hours,” Kellogg said grimly as they stood to allow the Secret Service to begin their work, “because otherwise I think the diplomatic side has just run its course.”