The two Marine guards outside the President’s office scarcely had time to move as the National Security Adviser walked straight between then, rapped twice on the polished wooden door, and went right in, followed by the head of the United States Navy.
The President rose from behind his desk and offered his hand to Admiral Mulligan. “Hello, Joe. Nice to see you again…Arnie and I have given up shaking hands since we see each other about five times a day…but there’s some coffee here…which I’ll pour for you…and I asked ’em to bring in some hot toast…I believe you’ve been here all night?”
“Yessir. We have,” replied Admiral Morgan. “And I’m afraid the news we bring is not good…the Chinese Navy has somehow picked up
The President sucked in his breath through his front teeth as the monstrous ramifications of the admiral’s words slammed into his mind. He shook his head erratically, as if to say,
“Sir, I think it may be most helpful if Joe ran through the whole incident very quickly. It’ll give you a quick and accurate surface picture…then we can start to work out how we’re gonna wring their fucking necks. Politically speaking, of course.”
Despite himself, the President managed a meager smile, and then he nodded them to begin. He listened closely as Morgan and Mulligan gave their perspectives on the tragic events.
When they finished, the President turned to Morgan, and asked, “You don’t believe they’ll return the men and the ship?”
“They might return the ship when they’ve finished with it, sir. But I doubt it. I think they’ll find a way to say it’s somehow nuclear-contaminated, and they are going to confiscate it to ensure the safety of honorable Chinese assholes, sorry, people.”
“And the crew?”
“Sir, I think we have to assume they are going to try to wring them out for every last scrap of knowledge about the systems in the submarine. That may be hugely unpleasant. And then I think they may stage some kind of public military trial and put them all in the slammer for years and years, for endangering the lives of the peace- loving Chinese people with nuclear weapons. They’ll try to turn it into treason against the Republic, and thus justify world opinion in their favor.”
Just then a waiter came in with three plates of hot buttered toast and the President rose and thanked him, but Arnold noticed he did not eat anything.
Neither did he speak; he just sat and listened to his National Security Adviser outlining the gravity of the situation, reminding him of the zeal with which China had been pursuing the creation of a blue-water navy and especially a top-class submarine service, using any and every method to bring their technology up to speed.
Eventually the three men fell silent. And when the President finally spoke there was an air of terrible resignation in his voice. “Arnold, I accept your version of the Chinese intentions. There is no other reasonable way of looking at it.”
The President stood up and walked across the room, standing by the portrait of General Washington. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I know you both well. And I do not believe you came here to prepare me for the imminent death of my only son. Do we have a plan?”
“Sir, we do not. The implications here are so vast, the options so varied, that we’re going to need a lot of advice. But I have taken the first step by telling the Chinese ambassador and his naval attache to get their asses in here in the next half hour.”
“Good. That’s a first step we always have to take, even though the ambassador’s going to stand here and feign ignorance, and express his shock that we should think ill of the People’s Liberation Navy…”
“You got that right. Slippery little bastard, whatsisname? Yung Pung Hi or something…but I’ll send him away with a letter expressing our anger at their action of arresting a disabled American warship on the high seas in international waters. We have to let ’em know we expect them to come right back into line…or else.”
“Yes, Arnie. I know you’re especially gifted at that type of letter…but I must say, I have always dreaded the possibility of this day.”
“You mean Linus, sir.”
“I do. Don’t get me wrong. The Navy has done a superb job for him, bringing him up to the brink of a command of his own. And they’ve done a wonderful job keeping the press off his back, allowing him to work away at his chosen career without outside interference, keeping his postings and tours of duty secret, even from me…but, oh my God, I have long dreaded something like this…”
He hesitated for a moment and then said, quite suddenly, “Joe, may I assume the Chinese have no idea who Linus is at this stage?”
“You may, sir. His entire identity has been very professionally altered.”
“Thank God.”
The President was thoughtful, and he returned to his desk as if succumbing to his fate. “Okay, we’ll meet at nine-thirty in the situation room downstairs. I’ll want a full political team with me. I think we should have the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, plus Joe, plus you, maybe plus someone from SUBLANT if there’s anyone senior and close to Washington. We better get the CIA Far Eastern Chief in here as well…then we can go to work.”
Admiral Mulligan led the way to the door, followed by Arnold Morgan and the President, but when the CNO stepped out into the corridor, he found himself alone. Back inside, standing to the left of the half-opened door, the President had his arm around the wide shoulders of his military adviser, and Arnold could see that he was struggling for control.
“Get him back for me, Arnold. Please promise me you will…since his mother died…he’s…he’s all I’ve got…”
“We’ll get him back, sir. I promise you that.” But as he marched out to join Admiral Mulligan, Arnold Morgan had no idea how he would ever keep that promise.
The moment was not made easier by the fact that Arnold Morgan knew so much about the President’s close relationship with his son. Naturally the entire nation, indeed most of the world, knew about the awful riding accident that had killed the First Lady out on the Oklahoma ranch after only a year in the White House.
But only the senior Navy personnel understood the full depth of the President’s loss. He had pleaded for Linus to be airlifted from the submarine he was serving on, and the Navy had been happy to comply, to bring Linus home on compassionate leave to support his heartbroken father.
For six months, Linus had lived between the White House and the ranch. And those close to the Oval Office were in no doubt that the President could not have continued without his naval officer son at his side.
The result was excellent future relations between the Executive Branch and the U.S. Navy. But it caused the Commander-in-Chief of the U.S. Armed Forces to form a slightly unnatural dependency on the young and inexperienced Linus Clarke, sufficient to concern several service chiefs. And it explained much about the unmistakable arrogance in Linus’s personality.
This was no ordinary parental devotion. This bordered on an obsessive paternal love, perhaps a substitute for the wife he had lost. It was common knowledge that the hugely eligible President Clarke had never so much as looked at another woman since his beloved Betsy had died.
No trauma would ever devastate any father more than that with which President Clarke was now trying to cope. And his words reflected his anguish.
5
The men selected to attend this highly classified meeting, in President Reagan’s old Situation Room in the West Wing basement, were all there before the Chief Executive made his entry. Each of them was standing around
