unwise, because I happen to believe in what he is saying. Your insults to him are thus insults to me and to the great and exalted Navy Commanders in this room who also agree with him, and who have illustrious careers behind them, perhaps even greater than your own.
“It is my judgment that we do not require a political commissar in this room who challenges the sincerely held views of our High Command. We already have here the General Secretary of the Party, and the matter is in any event military. We are dealing with a possible strike against a proven enemy, and the buildup of our submarine fleet. I would be honored if you would leave us.”
Admiral Yang, a slight man of perhaps fifty years, stood up without another word, bowed to the head of the table, and left in silence. He left with an arrogant expression on his clean-shaven face, another mistake for an officer whose career was drawing to its inevitable close. The Paramount Ruler was unused to disobedience. In another age he would have been an emperor.
Admiral Zhang stood while the Ruler was seated again. He then offered his most humble apologies for any part he may have played in the great man’s displeasure. But the Ruler merely looked up and said gravely, “You, my son, have elected to shoulder these terrible burdens yourself. You are treating China’s woes as if they were yours alone. I see in you much of myself when I was a younger man. How can I be displeased with a loyal and distinguished officer, who I know will torture himself unto the grave over the loss of those submarines? The difference between you and most people, Zhang Yushu, is that I would gladly trust you with my own life.”
Several of the men seated around the table nodded in assent. “I can only thank you for your kindness, sir,” Admiral Zhang replied, “and hope that you always understand that I have no motives of a personal nature, only those that I judge to be correct for our nation.”
The Paramount Ruler asked for some tea to be served and then he made his judgment. “There will be no strike against the USA. We will act as if nothing has befallen us. I entrust Admiral Zhang to do everything in his power to ensure the safe delivery of the last five Kilos. My thoughts will be with him, and all of his Commanders.”
They sipped their tea as the meeting broke up, and again it was the South Sea Fleet Commander Admiral Zu Jicai who walked with Admiral Zhang along the endless corridors of the Great Hall of the People, which is probably the biggest center-city government building on earth, comprising 562,000 square feet.
“Well done, sir,” said Zu. “I thought he was going to cancel the last five.”
“You did? What do you think I thought? I thought I might have to remind him of the words of Mao Zedong: ‘Real power comes from the barrel of a gun.’”
“If he was still alive, he’d have to admit that in the twenty-first century, real power lies with the Navy, and its capacity to own and operate the most modern warships.”
“You’re right, Jicai. And I’ll tell you something else. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would give me greater pleasure than to sink one of those American aircraft carriers. And then say in amazement, “Us? Don’t be ridiculous. You are our friends. We would not dream of doing such a thing. How could you think that of us?”
“Sometimes, Zhang, I have thought your hatred of the American military was unreasonable. But I no longer think that. I only think, ‘Who do they think they are?’”
“That’s the trouble, Jicai. They know who they are. The world’s policemen, and they’re too big, too tough, and too damned clever to be challenged. But if we get our hands on enough of those Kilos to have a permanent force in the South China Sea, I’ll challenge them. I’ll wait it out, and I’ll sink one of their carriers. I
“Tread carefully though, my honored friend Yushu. And remember the Gulf War in 1990. Our finest weapons helped to arm the Iraqis, and the Americans made them look like children in a grown-up world. They are very, very dangerous.”
“So am I, Jicai.”
The two men walked out into the snow, which was now scuffed and packed down by a million feet and just as many skidding bicycles. The Forbidden City towered in the background, and the northwest wind still blew raw across Tiananmen Square. It was no warmer and more snow was forecast. Both men pulled their Navy greatcoats around them, and the black staff car drew up alongside in slushy splendor.
“I’ll ride out to the airport with you,” said Admiral Zhang. “We’ll talk more about the deployment of the next submarines, and the escort plan we must make with the Russians. And I’ll try not to allow my anger to rise whenever I think of the US Navy. But if I could have one wish, it would be to blow up the Pentagon and everyone in it. I simply cannot accept that they wiped out two brand-new submarines and a hundred crew, without warning and without reasonable motive. And that no one is ever going to know.”
“We know, Yushu,” said Admiral Zu. “And perhaps that will be enough for our purposes.”
The snow began to fall again as the People’s Liberation Army staff car turned northeast along Jichang Lu on the thirteen-mile journey to Beijing airport. The time was 1300.
On the other side of the world, ten thousand miles away, it was nine o’clock on the previous evening, and the weather was not much better on the cattle-rearing prairies of central Kansas.
Great herds roamed through the snow, and cowboys fought their way through blizzards, getting feed to the more remote areas. It had been a long day, and everyone was tired at the big ranch that lies between the Pawnee River and Buckner Creek in Hodgeman County.
Beyond the wide wrought-iron gates, which bore the distinctive B/B brand of the immense Baldridge ranch, the lights still burned in the main house. Only one man was still awake, the new president of the family business, forty-year-old Bill Baldridge, a former United States Navy Lieutenant Commander.
He sat alone in front of a log fire, considering whether to buy another half mile of land along the southern bank of the Pawnee. It was expensive, but the river gave it added value, and Bill was thinking of expanding one of the Hereford herds in the summer. He was staring at the prospectus, mentally working out what he could reasonably afford to pay for the six hundred acres scheduled to auction the following week, when the phone rang in the far corner of the room.
He walked over and answered, “Baldridge.”
“Bill? Hi, this is Boomer Dunning.”
“Boomer! Old buddy. How ya been?”
“Pretty good. Busy, nothing too serious. How ’bout yourself? Enjoying retirement?”
“Yeah, right,” said Bill. “Never worked so hard in my life. The weather’s been hell out here for three weeks — snow, wind, and ice. Me and my brother have been out all day every day. My manager’s got the goddamned flu, my good horse, Freddie, is lame, and it’s a goddamned miracle I haven’t got frostbite. If this is retirement, lead me to a nuclear boat.”
Boomer laughed. “Then my call is fortuitous. Because I am on this line to take you away from all that.”
“Christ, you’re not offering me a job are you?”
“Hell no. Better than that. I’m offering a vacation.”
“What kind of a vacation?” Bill asked skeptically.
“A bit unusual. But it might be fun. A friend of my Dad’s, some Australian banker, has asked me to deliver a boat for him. I’ve only seen pictures, but she’s brand-new, a sixty-seven-foot sloop, Bermuda rigged, teak decks, power winches, big Perkins Sabre engine, the whole shebang. Looks very comfortable. All teak interior. Carries two foresails, and I guess she’ll go like the bejesus. She’s called
“Yeah? Where is she?”
“Right now she’s lying in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. The banker sailed her down there himself from the Hamble in England, where she was built. Took him six weeks, with four guests, three serious crew, and a cook. I got a letter from him, says she handled the Bay of Biscay no trouble, in bad weather.”
“Where we gonna take her?”
“Hobart, Tasmania. Southeast corner of Australia. This guy’s building a hotel there, right on Storm Bay. That’s the huge yachting area out in front of the town.”
“Christ, Boomer. That’s a hell of a way from Port Elizabeth, isn’t it? It’s gotta be ten thousand miles.”
“No, less than six. He says five thousand seven hundred and ninety-three. We’ll take the Great Circle route, but we’ll stay away from the Antarctic. And right from the start we’ll be in the prevailing westerlies, dead astern almost all the way. The guy says she can make twenty knots on a run. It’s her best point of sailing, if you don’t lose your nerve.
“Anyway, we’ve no need to push it, and we won’t have the crew to race the boat all the way. You’d need a
