U.S.S. Seawolf

“Well, I guess we can’t keep the lid on it forever.”

“Sir, we most certainly can. Because the Chinese do not want it publicized any more than we do. For them, it looks like the most terrible loss of face. For us, it looks like reckless military adventurism, bullying on a global scale. Also, we don’t know our own casualties yet. But more important, sir, much more important…you as Commander- in-Chief are going to have to explain the loss of a billion-dollar submarine — a billion dollars to build, plus another billion on research and development. Taxpayers’ money. Is this the most incompetent Navy and the most dubious administration in the entire history of this country? That’s what they’ll ask.

“And you, sir, are attempting to take two hundred of the Fourth Estate’s finest, right into the one place on this earth where they can nail that story right down. Sailors talk. You can try and shut ’em up, but it only takes one with a few beers on board, and you’re looking at a prairie fire.

“If you don’t go to Hawaii, none of them will go either, because they don’t even know the carrier’s calling at Pearl. But if you do go, you will find yourself in a storm of controversy. And the left-wing press will kill you — especially if there’s American dead.”

“But Arnold, Linus will expect me to be there. And after all he’s gone through…just imagine how bad he’ll feel.”

“Probably not as bad as if he were still in the slammer on Xiachuan Dao.”

“Arnold, with the greatest respect, I do not think you are hearing me.”

“Sir, if you still wish to make that point, you are most certainly not hearing me…in which case I will have to be blunt. Mr. President, if this little lot somehow gets into the media, it could bring down your administration. It would just be a matter of time before someone asked, Did this President actually go to war in secret with the People’s Republic of China in order to save his son’s ass?

“Sir, I cannot let you do this. You cannot go to Pearl to meet the carrier. And if you attempt to do so, the carrier will be diverted and head straight back to the USA. I cannot let you do this to yourself. Do you really want to be up there on the goddamned television explaining how we managed to LOSE a nine-thousand-ton nuclear submarine…sir, please…I promised you I’d get him back…now you have to promise me you’ll let us handle the aftermath. Remember, sir. I did it for you.”

The President stood and nodded gravely. “I understand, Arnold. Truly I do. And I am grateful to you. And I would like to ask you one favor.”

“Sure.”

“Will you go and spend the next twenty minutes trying to think of a way for me to go and meet my boy? With no harm done. Not like you just explained.”

The National Security Adviser smiled. “Okay, sir. Gimme a little time. I’ll be back in thirty…but don’t hold your breath.”

“Thanks, Arnie. I’d appreciate it.”

Admiral Morgan walked back to his office slowly, which was rare since he normally hit a pace containing the inertia of an aircraft carrier. He always looked as if he might walk straight through any door he approached with a splintering of wood and wrenching of hinges. But this was a slow walk, and he executed it with his head down, lost in thought.

“Am I seeing things,” he muttered, “or is this President losing his grip? Jesus Christ, I just told him the facts of life in words of one syllable, and he did not quite get it. That’s not like him at all. This Linus crap has affected him. No doubt of that. As it might affect any father, faced with the terror of his son’s torture on the other side of the world. But we got him out of that, and he ought to be through it. At least, he ought to be if he wants to stay on in that office.

“Right now he’s too preoccupied with that boy to be any good to anyone.…Christ, he must see the danger of taking the Washington press corps to Pearl, which is what would happen, whether he likes it or not. He answers to the people, and that means the press…it ain’t great, because they’re about as loyal to this nation as the fucking Chinese. But that’s show business, Johnny-baby, and you gotta live with ’em.”

He rounded the corner to his office, and entered the outer area, where Kathy was on the telephone. “Come on in, soon as you’re through,” he said, and continued walking slowly to his desk.

Three minutes later, she came in and closed the door behind her. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “He wants you to go to Hawaii with him, while I stay here and look after the store.”

“Wrong. On both counts. He ain’t going anywhere near Hawaii, and neither are we. Which has left one surly little Oklahoman in the Oval Office.”

“You didn’t tell him he couldn’t go, did you? He is the President.”

“Yes, I did tell him. And I told him that if he wanted to go on being President, he better see sense over this particular issue.”

“This, Arnold, is a Linus issue. And if you’d told me where you were going I’d have told you to keep quiet. He’s developing an obsession over that boy. I would not” be surprised if he converts to Catholicism as a result of the safe delivery of Linus from death.”

“I know. You told me all about that church business.”

“Arnie, you know what I think…just from talking to him…when he heard there was a possibility of torture, he fixed in his mind a picture of sweet freckle-faced Linus as a little boy back home in Oklahoma. And whenever he though of torture — red-hot pokers up your butt or whatever — he thought of the desecration of that little boy. There’s a psychologist’s name for it — kind of worst-case-scenario in terms of the psyche. And I think he still has that picture in his mind, which is clouding his judgment on all matters. All he wants is to put his arms around his little boy.”

“Kathy, I don’t know if that’s right. But it sure does fit…that’s what I’m hearing from him. Even after I laid on him the calamitous consequences of going to Pearl, he still just asked me to try to find a way to make it possible for him to see Linus again, the minute they dock in Hawaii…and I’m not going to be able to do that…and he’s gonna be real disappointed.”

He and Kathy had lunch together, sharing one medium-sized tuna fish sandwich, which caused the boss to wonder if she was expecting a kitten for lunch. But he ate it in a couple of bites, and gulped down a glass of mineral water and prepared to talk again to the President.

“Two things are now for certain in this uncertain place,” he growled. “The Chief ain’t gonna like what I’m telling him, and tonight we ate going to find some proper food…steak magnifico, with fries and spinach…and wine from the great vineyards of Bordeaux, left bank of the Gironde…Pauillac, home of the snorto de luxe.”

Kathy wanted to tell him it was Friday and that she was supposed to be having fish, as she always had since childhood, but she was laughing too much to speak coherently, and just shook her head as the President’s NSA strode purposefully back to the Oval Office.

“Sir,” he told the boss, “you cannot go. It’s too public, too dangerous, we’re too vulnerable, and you’d end up getting the sack or being impeached, and the Democrats would be back in power…the most I can offer you is to fly a half-dozen of Seawolf’s officers in direct from Hawaii on some pretense. Also, maybe the top SEALs, all to San Diego. Then maybe Linus and one or two significant other personnel could fly on to Washington, and we can pick him up and deliver him wherever in secret. That’s the most. Hawaii is out, out, out. Mr. President, you’re staying in, in, in.”

Even President Clarke was obliged to chuckle. “Are you sure you’re not overreacting to all this, Arnie? I just want to meet his ship, like any other dad.”

“What you are not, sir, is any other dad. The U.S. made mistakes on this. Do you really want all of that to come out? Don’t answer. You don’t. Trust me. I’m leaving you with just one thought. This afternoon I’m bringing Who Flung Dung in for a chat. By seventeen-hundred the recent events that took place in the China Sea NEVER HAPPENED. Both our governments will agree for different but equally subversive reasons, all to do with total embarrassment.”

And he stood, preparing to leave, saying very simply, “You want me to get Linus home, by air, in secret, as fast as possible?”

“Arnold, thank you. I’d be more grateful than you’ll ever know.”

1530. Friday. July 21.

Office of the CNO. The Pentagon.

“Joe, I’m telling you, we have a real problem here. The President’s lost the plot.”

“What do you mean, he’s lost the plot? Come on, Arnie, this is the best President the military has ever