Deep Fathom

The senator from Arizona opened his mouth as if to complain, but Nafe stared him down. If Jacobson wanted his support in next year’s election for the Arizona seat, he had better tow the line. On this bill, he would brook no defectors in his own party’s ranks. The man closed his mouth. The others mumbled their thanks and departed with his aide.

Nafe turned his attention to his Chief of Staff. “What is it, Bill?”

Wellington spoke formally, strained. “Mr. President, you’re needed in the Situation Room.”

“What’s happened?”

“The Chinese, sir. Their air and naval forces have made a strike against Taiwan.”

Nafe almost fell back into his chair. “What? When? It’s the goddamn middle of the night.”

“It’s midday in the Far East. They struck just before noon Taiwan time.”

Nafe was stunned. He had not thought the Chinese would be so bold. Nicolas Ruzickov had assured him that the Chinese Premier would bow to Washington’s accusations, paving the way to garner stiffer concessions from the People’s Republic. Nafe wanted answers for this mistake. “Where’s Nick Ruzickov?”

“In the Situation Room. The National Security Council and Cabinet are already gathering.” William Wellington backed toward the door. “Sir, we must get going. An immediate response will be necessary.”

Nafe nodded and headed toward the door. The Joint Chiefs had better have a contingency plan in place. With the Chief of Staff at his side, he strode through the West Wing, trailed by his Secret Service men. In short order, Nafe pushed angrily into the White House’s inner sanctum.

The agitation and noise in the Situation Room quieted at his entrance.

Around the long table, a score of uniformed men and women stood at his arrival: the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the Secretary of the Navy, the U.S. Army Chief of Staff, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and other military heads. Nafe’s own Cabinet members stood to either side of the table.

On the far side of the room a wall-sized monitor displayed a complicated map of the Philippine Sea. Forces were highlighted in blues, reds, and yellows.

Scowling, Nafe crossed to the head of the table. He would make sure the U.S. answered this display of Chinese aggression. There would be no diplomacy. If necessary, he would wipe the Chinese navy from the seas.

He sat down. Those members who had seats returned to their own chairs. The others remained standing.

“So where are we?” Nafe asked.

No one spoke. No one would even meet his gaze.

“I want answers and a plan for an aggressive response,” Nafe said angrily.

Nicolas Ruzickov stood. “Mr. President, it’s too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“The fighting is already over. Taiwan conceded.”

Nafe struggled to understand. “How could that be? Are you saying during the time it took me to cross from the Oval Office, the Chinese have taken Taiwan?”

Ruzickov bowed his head. “With their island in shambles from the recent quakes, the Taiwanese could offer no resistance. Before we could respond, their government had agreed to rescind their independence, accepting Chinese hegemony in exchange for both aid and an end to hostilities. Chinese forces have already landed. Taiwan is once again a Chinese province.”

Nafe was too stunned to speak. It had happened so fast.

The Secretary of Defense spoke up. “We can’t just accept this. We have forces on the island…in the area.”

The Chief of Naval Operations answered, “We cannot act without a request from the Taiwanese government. And we won’t get it. We’ve been in touch with their embassy. They do not want to be caught between our two warring forces, fearing in their current state that it would lead to the annihilation of their island. In fact, we’ve just received word that their government has demanded that our forces evacuate their waters.”

Nafe felt the heat rising in his face. Less than two weeks in office, and he was losing Taiwan to the Chinese. He clenched his fists. “I do not accept this. I will not see the spread of communism while I’m in charge.”

“Sir—” Ruzickov cautioned.

Nafe slammed his fist against the table. “It’s time to stop coddling China. It will stop here. Now.”

“Sir, what do you propose?”

“With the cowardly assassination of President Bishop and this newest aggression, I see no other choice.” Nafe stared down the heads of the United States fighting forces. “I will demand a declaration of war from Congress.”

2:40 P.M., Naha City, Okinawa Prefecture, Japan

Forgetting how much he hated airline travel—the stale air, the cramped seats, the crying children—Jack was glad when the jet’s tires finally touched down and he was freed from the belly of this beast. Though, in truth, his annoyance did not entirely arise from the usual discomforts of flight, but from his memory of Air Force One’s crash. The flight here had been in the same class of jet, a Boeing 747. Jack had spent much of the journey staring out the window, studying every wing seam, bolt, and flap.

But after three days since making the decision to travel here, he had finally reached Okinawa. The journey had taken so long because the closest airport was on Kwajalein Atoll, a day’s sail in the Deep Fathom. And once there, he had been forced to fly standby, killing another half day waiting for a seat to open up. But at least the journey was finally over.

Free of the plane now, Jack crossed through the con-course to the customs area. His only luggage, a single backpack, was hooked over his shoulders. He stepped up to the Japanese customs agent and slapped down his passport. The officer gestured him to open his bag.

As Jack obeyed, the man studied his passport and spoke to him in English. “Welcome to Okinawa, Mr. Kirkland. If you’ll step over to the right.”

Jack turned and saw a second agent carrying a metal-detecting wand.

The first man spoke as he sifted through Jack’s backpack, picking through his underwear and toiletries. “Extra security,” the officer explained, “because of China’s attack.”

Jack nodded. Over the plane’s intercom, the pilot had described the short skirmish and Taiwan’s concession. The strong were always eating the weak.

Jack stepped over to the second agent, who waved a metal detector over his legs and up his body. The detector buzzed at his wrist. He pulled back his sleeve to expose his watch. The officer continued his sweep. The detector sang out again as it passed over his heart. The officer looked up at him.