Warriors

CHAPTER 27

The president will see you now.”

“Thank you.”

“Right this way.”

Lieutenant Moose Taylor saluted the two ramrod-stiff marine sentries outside the Oval as he entered the world’s most famous room. He’d met the man who occupied it before on a visit to the Hill. He’d been a young cadet at Annapolis. He’d met Rosow only because he’d been in the company of his father, an admiral, and an old classmate of the new president’s at Annapolis. David Rosow had been the up-and-coming senator from Connecticut in those days.

“Mr. President,” the young lieutenant said, saluting the commander in chief, who stood up to shake his hand.

Rosow wore the mantle well, he thought. He had the POTUS uniform (navy blue suit, starched white shirt, red-and-blue tie) down pat, and he looked healthy and very fit. He had thick wavy hair, still chestnut brown tinged with grey, and strong blue eyes. He also had a deepwater tan. He spent a lot of his limited free time out on the Potomac or on the Chesapeake Bay sailing his beloved gaff-rigged cutter, the Jeanne.

“Lieutenant Taylor,” Rosow said with a broad grin. “Still the spitting image of the old man, minus a few years, of course.”

“Yes,” Taylor said, laughing. “Yes, sir. And proud of it.”

“You should be, you should be,” the president said. “The look of eagles, your old man used to call it. Please, let’s have a seat over there, shall we? Would you care for some coffee, tea? Grog?”

Moose smiled. “No thanks, Mr. President. I’m good.”

They sat opposite each other on the two pale blue sofas. Rosow gave the sole remaining marine sentry a nod, clearly a signal to everyone else in the room that he wished to be alone with present company. They all filed out discreetly.

“Your father was a fine man, Lieutenant,” the president said. “A great warrior. A great American. I miss him to this day.”

“Thank you, sir. He always said the same of you.”

“I always wondered: Why in hell did he nickname you ‘Moose’?”

“I couldn’t rightly say, sir. Brain size?”

Rosow laughed and said, “You got his humor. Thank God someone did.”

“He had plenty to spare, Mr. President.”

“Pass that on to a son someday, will you?”

“I will, sir.”

“Well. You know why you’re here, of course. I’ve seen all the Dauntless reports and photographs of that sub that your skipper filed. All highly classified as you can imagine. Before I take any further action, I thought I’d ask you here to tell me firsthand precisely what you saw and, second, what you think about what happened out there.”

“I understand, sir.”

“First of all, I’m sorry for the loss of your crewman aboard that thing. A good friend, I understand.”

“Yes, sir. Will Pullman. A fine sailor.”

“Upon learning of his death I yesterday ordered the secretary of the navy to award a posthumous Navy Cross for valor to Ensign Pullman.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. I can’t possibly tell you how much that will mean to his family down in Texas. I just returned from visiting with them, sir. His mom’s taking it pretty hard. The whole town is, to be honest, sir.”

“I plan to invite his family and friends here to the White House for the ceremony. I’d like you to be here as well.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

Rosow paused and looked at the framed portrait of John Paul Jones hanging on the wall beside his desk for a long moment. Whatever he was thinking, he shook it off.

“You went down and took a look at it? What remained? After SS Devilfish torpedoed it?”

“I did.”

“Anything left?”

“Nothing much bigger than a teacup. Massive debris field. All forty of those missiles blew, sir. Created a sizable tsunami, but nothing reached landfall.”

“Right. We had NOAA put out an undersea earthquake alert. One more thing. Why the hell do you think it surfaced? Within sight of one of our destroyers?”

“I think it was a control systems malfunction. Or possibly human error. The controller back in Beijing or wherever screwed up. Blew her ballast tanks by mistake and she rocketed vertically to the surface. Nothing else makes much sense.”

“You think that controller half a world away had any way of knowing a U.S. Navy vessel was in the vicinity? Had personnel aboard at the time? Did you guys trigger any alarms?”

“None, sir. I think what happened is he lost her, finally regained control while we were aboard, and was simply taking her deep, down to her hidey-hole on the bottom. Zero knowledge that U.S. Navy personnel were on board when he initiated that crash dive.”

“You saw no evidence of security cameras aboard?”

“Not one, sir. What would be the point? These things are designed to sit on the bottom for a lifetime without being observed.”

“Good. Let’s start with the vessel itself, Moose. Tell me the — what did you name that thing again? They tell me you came up with it yourself.”

“USV, sir. Unmanned submersible vessel.”

“Right. USV. Good for you. Your own personal acronym. You found a manufacturer’s plate screwed into a bulkhead in the control room. Had it translated from the Chinese by one of your detail. Is that correct?”

“I did.”

“Gaius Augustus. Quite an odd name for a Chinese naval vessel, wouldn’t you agree, son?”

“Yes, sir. We all thought it was strange.”

“You know I’m a bit of a history buff, like your dad. He was Civil War. I’m Ancient Rome.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Gaius Augustus was a centurion of Rome. Some time during the reign of Caesar, 44 B.C. to A.D. 19. Gaius Julius Caesar chose his legion commanders, the centurions, for their intelligence but primarily for bravery in battle. First over the wall, first through the breach was the centurion credo. Safe to say those guys were what your generation commonly refers to these days as ‘badass.’ Caesar’s SEALs, to coin a phrase.”

Taylor had to laugh. “Right, Caesar’s SEALs, good one, sir.”

“So. I’ve been thinking about that, Moose. A lot. Even got out my dog-eared Plutarch and did a little research. Interesting. I’ll tell you about that in a minute. Let me ask you, how the hell do you think that sea monster came by her name? Something just a little out of focus there, right?”

“I’ve pondered that myself. I can honestly tell you that I have no earthly idea. It just doesn’t jibe with anything I know about the Chinese naval tradition, sir.”

“Right. It doesn’t. But somebody named it. In our own navy, as you well know, the chief of naval operations suggests names based on various traditions, for carriers, destroyers, submarines. Then the secretary of the navy makes the final call. That’s how we do it. But how does the People’s Liberation Army Navy do it? Call themselves the Chinese Navy now, but I still like the old name. Like to think about their annual Army-Navy game, y’know. I guess they play themselves?”

Taylor smiled. “Yes, sir, I suppose they do. Go, Army Navy! Beat Army Navy!”

The president laughed out loud and looked at the young lieutenant fondly, seeing his old friend at that tender age.

“Well, I can tell you this much, Moose. The Chinese have got a new guided missile destroyer they named the Luyang I. And a frigate called the Jiangkai II. Now that’s what I think the name of a CN ship ought to sound like. But Gaius Augustus? Tell me. How weird is that, son?”

“Twilight Zone weird, Dad would call it. Sir, one thing I think was missed in the reports—”

“Yes? What?”

“Once we cut our way inside I went aft. I sent Ensign Pullman forward to inspect the missile silos I’d seen topside…”

“Forty of them.”

“No, sir. One of Pullman’s detail contacted me after I filed my report. Just recently in fact, here in Washington. He said something had been bothering him… finally put his finger on it. He said there were twenty tubes to starboard but… only nineteen to port.”

“Meaning?”

“The forward-most starboard tube was different. The sailor, Ensign Rick Hynson, told me there was no hatch cover over it. Whatever weapon was inside that tube was never meant to leave the boat.”

“What do you make of that?”

“I think it was a fail-safe system.”

“Destroy the sub in the event of a malfunction. Or if one fell into enemy hands.”

“That was my thought, sir.”

“I’ll pass that along to the secretary. Good information.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Listen. I’ve got an assignment for you. Highest sensitivity, obviously, so I’m giving you top-secret clearance. I’ve screwed this entire episode down as tight as I can. Since only you, I, and a very small number of our people know anything about this new weapon, I’m asking you to look into something for me. Director Brick Kelly at CIA will provide you with a temporary office at Langley. On his floor. Look at the Chinese Navy’s central command structure. Get bios on anyone high ranking enough to suggest names for newly constructed vessels. Find out their naming process. Maybe fleet admirals suggest names. Get bios on them, too. Or maybe it’s political; look at President Xi Jinping and then down the totem pole from there. You’re looking for someone in their system with a thing for Roman history. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. Consider it done.”

“This remains strictly between you and me. If news of this goddamn death machine leaked? Catastrophic. Panic. You know what I mean? These things are being constructed in a secret location. I need to identify that location so I can take it out.”

“Yes, I certainly do understand, Mr. President.”

“Well. Good. See what you come up with. Anything even remotely smells promising, you call my private number. You still have it? The one your dad used?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Before you go. I mentioned Plutarch earlier. Well, here’s the thing, Lieutenant. Caesar created only a handful of his officers centurion during his lifetime. Six, to be exact.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Gaius Augustus? He was the fifth centurion Caesar named. You draw any conclusions from that fact? As it relates to the sub you found?”

“Yes, sir, I do. Five is not a random number. There may be more than one of those things still out there. Unmanned missile platforms. Lying inert on the bottom in the deepest parts of the world’s oceans. Each one with forty live ICBMs ready to launch. No thermal signatures. No screw signatures, no radio activity. Incommunicado. Utterly and completely undetectable.”

“Exactly. We don’t have a whole lot of time to figure this all out, Moose. Hell, it may already be too late.”

“I hope not, Mr. President. I pray not.”

“Here’s my problem, son. Boys in the Pentagon? The Joint Chiefs? Langley? NSA? They all sit right where you’re sitting and tell me we don’t even have to even start worrying about the Chinese military capability until well into the next decade. That’s the mind-set here in Washington. The White House, on the Hill, wherever. Hear that garbled sound? That’s our best current military thinking talking through their hats you hear.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“We need to find out who built that USV monstrosity, Moose. And we need to find out how many they built. And we need to find out where the hell the rest of them are. When I say ‘we,’ I’m referring, of course, to you. I appreciate your help. Now get to work, sailor. Dismissed.”

“Aye-aye, sir!”