Straits of Power

aircraft would take him the rest of the way. With the damaged Seahawk sitting on the helipad, the new one landed in the parking lot.

The ride to Washington was routine. Jeffrey saw all the usual sights. They put down at the Pentagon. Federal Protective Service agents, brandishing submachine guns, hustled Jeffrey into one of the gigantic building’s entrances.

Jeffrey was surprised to see his squadron commander standing in the lobby, waiting for him. Challenger was home-ported at the New London Naval Submarine Base, on the Thames River in Groton, Connecticut. The ship belonged to Submarine Development Squadron TWELVE. Captain Wilson — a full captain by rank, not by job description like Jeffrey — as the squadron’s commander was addressed as “Commodore.”

Wilson watched Jeffrey approach, and frowned. “You’re one hell of a sight, as usual.”

Jeffrey winced. Wilson, a tall and muscular black man, was a tough and demanding leader, especially when dealing with Jeffrey one-on-one. Last autumn, when Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey Fuller had joined Challenger as her exec, Wilson — a full commander then — had been her skipper. Both men were promoted in February, to their present ranks and jobs, as part of a wider shake-up of military personnel because the war wasn’t going well.

“Did you fly down today, sir?” Jeffrey asked. Wilson’s regular office was on the base in Groton.

Wilson gave Jeffrey a sidelong glance. “Unlike you, I managed to not get shot at.”

Jeffrey recovered from the gibe much faster this time. Wilson was always doing this to him, because he’d spotted Jeffrey’s impetuous, rebellious streak practically the moment Jeffrey had reported aboard Challenger. Wilson beat him up about it, hard. The dynamic worked for both of them: Jeffrey knew he needed such mentoring, and felt tremendous respect for Wilson.

“Do they know yet if my trip was compromised, sir?”

“So far, the FBI thinks not. None was taken alive. Search dogs found their field latrines. The aggressors had been hiding in that area for several days.”

“I suppose there’s some comfort in knowing we’re secure, Commodore.”

Wilson made a face. “Captain, you don’t know the least of it. Come with me.”

The two of them walked down a long hallway and passed increasingly stringent security checkpoints. At one, Jeffrey was made to hand over his briefcase, to be retrieved later. Both men were scanned carefully for recording or camera devices. They were clean, and allowed to move on. Jeffrey’s borrowed firefighter boots were a size too large. They clumped as he walked. The boots were heavy, and hot.

They approached an anteroom, and Jeffrey saw another senior officer waiting. This was Admiral Hodgkiss, the four-star admiral who was Commander, U.S. Atlantic Fleet. A former submariner himself, Hodgkiss now was in charge of all American naval assets in the North and South Atlantic. Hodgkiss was short and wiry, with an almost birdlike build, but he was the smartest man Jeffrey had ever met. He possessed a nasty temper that kept his subordinates sharp — or got them transferred.

Hodgkiss liked results, and Jeffrey produced results, so Hodgkiss liked Jeffrey.

Hodgkiss shook Jeffrey’s hand warmly, then squeezed so hard it hurt and didn’t let go. He looked Jeffrey right in the eye with a piercing glare.

“You started the day off with a bang, didn’t you, Captain?”

“Yes, sir,” Jeffrey said politely; Hodgkiss released his grip. Hodgkiss had a reputation for being able to read peoples’ minds. Jeffrey kept his mind studiously blank. He wondered what was going on. Hodgkiss’s headquarters was in Norfolk. If he was here, with Wilson and Jeffrey, something big was happening.

“Come into the chamber of dark secrets,” Hodgkiss said. “We’ll fill you in, believe me.”

They went through a heavy door, guarded by two marines in full battle dress, with pistol holsters. Jeffrey felt uneasy, in a different way from during his helo flight.

So far in this war, every time I’ve been ordered to a meeting with top officials like this, it ends up with me going out to sea and getting almost blown up by atom bombs.

The room they entered was completely empty, with another heavy door on its far side.

Hodgkiss stopped and turned to Jeffrey. “You know you’ll be on the news tonight.”

“Admiral?”

“A cameraman got footage of your Seahawk landing and the rest of it after that. The censors made them delete any views of the aircraft and the body bag, and told them to run it only in black and white. It seems that so much blood in full color would be bad for home-front morale.”

“Understood, Admiral.”

“But the point is, your helo made it, and the two badly wounded are stabilized now. That sort of thing’s good for morale. The regional chapter of the Red Cross wants to award you and that chief lifesaving medals. They say that without the first aid you did, both men would’ve died.” Hodgkiss gave Jeffrey a crooked grin. “I believe some folks down Virginia way know a good photo op when they see it.” Hodgkiss waited for Jeffrey to say something. The admiral was skilled at using silence as a tool in conversations.

He forces you to fill the awkward silence… and God help you if you respond with something awkward, in any sense of the word.

“I’ll do whatever I’m ordered to do, sir.”

As Wilson stood by and listened, Hodgkiss chuckled. He patted Jeffrey on the arm; six inches shorter than Jeffrey, Hodgkiss had such presence and charisma that the man seemed larger than life. Hodgkiss’s touch was electrifying. “After the war, you ought to go into politics. The media love you, Captain, but then they always love a winner while he’s still winning…. But right now you have more pressing business.”

As Hodgkiss reached to open the inner door, he glanced up at the ceiling and rolled his eyes. He said, mostly to himself, “If they only knew.”

Through the door was a windowless conference room, with very thick walls and a low ceiling. The furnishings were comfortable but spare. There was only one occupant, a trim man wearing a blue pin-striped business suit. He sat in the middle of the far side of the conference-room table, going through papers. A laptop lay on the table, unopened. The man looked up when he heard the door, then stood.

Hodgkiss made the introductions. “Gerald Parker, meet Captain Jeffrey Fuller. Captain, our friend Mr. Parker here is from Langley.” Jeffrey tried to hide his surprise and mounting concern, but a poker face wasn’t one of his strong points. Langley was Central Intelligence Agency headquarters.

“Good to meet you, Captain,” Parker said. “I recognize you from your pictures.” Jeffrey fought off a grimace that wasn’t Parker’s fault. As a submariner, Jeffrey craved stealth above all else. Being so well known made him uncomfortable. His job was to hide, silent and out of sight. The two men shook hands.

“Sit, everybody,” Hodgkiss said, taking the head of the table. Jeffrey and Wilson sat down facing Parker. No one had even told Jeffrey what the agenda was. A briefing?

Hodgkiss glanced at Parker. “It’s your show.”

Parker sighed. “Where to begin?” Jeffrey judged him to be in his late thirties — roughly Jeffrey’s age. He spoke with a polished, upper-class manner that made Jeffrey think of Harvard degrees, or cocktails at the Yale Club, or a leading investment bank. Parker came across as outgoing, yet reserved at the same time. Jeffrey sensed the man projected a well-honed persona. He kept an invisible wall around himself that held everyone, and everything, at a distance emotionally.

There’s a level at which this guy can’t be touched…. His eyes are very arrogant…. The curl of his lips is too unforgiving…. I really don’t like him at all.

“Captain,” Parker said, “since our success in reinforcing the Central African pocket, indications and warnings have intensified that the Axis plan a different aggressive move soon.”

“We’d have to expect that,” Jeffrey responded, trying to offer something noncommittal but informed. “They need to regain the initiative, militarily. And quickly, or the putsch leaders in charge in Berlin will be publicly undermined, their power weakened.”

“The problem for them, the big question for us, is where they can most effectively engage the Allies next. Militarily.”

Parker said that last word with the slightest hint of a sneer, then waited. Jeffrey tried not to react. He decided to learn from Hodgkiss and didn’t say anything, to let someone else fill the void that Parker had created by his pause.