“He bloody well knew about it, I assure you. The question is, did you?”
“I am a professional seaman. I have a seafaring tradition in my family that goes back centuries. I am insulted by your question.”
“My apologies. Captain Mariucci is convinced of your innocence. I had to find out for myself. Tell me again how much damage the Chinese technicians did in your engine room?”
“As I told you, monsieur. They didn’t harm the reactors. No need. They simply short-circuited the computer monitoring systems. The short-circuit presented itself as a ‘malfunction’ warning, which in turn triggered a shutdown of the reactors. A crew of nuclear engineers would need hours to get them up and running again. Hopeless.”
“You can’t just give new computer instructions?”
“The technicians destroyed the computers. Backup as well.”
“Captain, listen to me carefully. I believe you told me you plan to sail in environmentally controlled areas. Alaska, for instance.”
“We do.”
“You must use auxiliary engines—”
“Yes. Gas turbine engines, Mr. Hawke. Basically jet engines converted to marine use.”
“Her speed with those engines?”
“Thirty knots is not inconceivable. But I’ve just come from the engine room. The turbines, too, are disabled. Bastards removed the igniters and smashed the fuel pumps.”
Hawke smiled at Mariucci for the first time in recent memory.
“That big Coast Guard kid you had watching the gangway. Is he still aboard?”
“Yeah. Tynan. He did a sweep of the ship. Found a bunch of Chinese stowaways. Nuclear techs who worked in the reactor rooms. I got him posted amidships, keeping an eye on them for me.”
“I saw a rating on that boy’s shirt. Some kind of machinist, right?”
“Yeah. He only pulled guard duty because of his size.”
“I want Tynan in the engine room. It’s our only shot. Let’s go.”
“Alex?” Mariucci said, grabbing Hawke’s arm. “We were supposed to call the president three minutes ago. You have to—”
“You call him,” Hawke said, handing him the radio. “Tell him to cross his bloody fingers.”
2:44 A.M., EST
The president turned and looked at his colleagues assembled at the long table in the Sit Room. You could calculate the degree of tension by the permanent smiles frozen on the faces of the Filipino staff clearing the table of dishes and pizza boxes. The wood-paneled wall slid back to display a projection map of New York Harbor. The blue icon inching southward toward Sandy Hook with six red satellites was Leviathan and her tugs.
“Six knots? This isn’t even going down to the wire,” McAtee said, picking up the laser pointer. “I just heard from Leviathan. They’re still nine miles from Sandy Hook. Seven more to the Ambrose Light. And another twelve to the ‘Wall.’ Twenty-eight miles at six knots is not going to make my day.”
Charlie Moore said, “At six knots, it will take them roughly five hours to reach the ‘Wall.’”
“Right,” McAtee said, “And we’ve got less than two.”
“Mr. President,” a senior staffer said, “I’ve got the governors of New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut standing by. All state, local, and federal emergency medical services have ramped up. I think it’s time to cut and run—”
“No, John. Let’s give him ten more minutes. Talk to me about Carter and Taiwan.”
“Yes, sir. In the spirit of pushing every possible Chinese button, former president Carter is arriving for a courtesy visit in Taipei. He was on vacation in Bali and we’re flying him in. We’ve invited all the worldwide media. A symbol of American commitment to Taiwan independence. Ratchet up the pressure on the Mandarins.”
“That will rattle them. Good idea. What else?”
Kevin O’Dea from NSA spoke first. “Mr. President, NSA has redirected our satellite over the emerging battle zone in the Taiwan Strait. We have real-time battle management, sir.”
“But no battle yet, I trust?”
“We’re muzzle to muzzle with the Chinese fleet. Three French destroyers and two of their cruisers are steaming alongside the Chinese. We are just waiting for the tipping point, Mr. President.”
“Gentlemen, and ladies,” McAtee said, “until when and if a Chinese laser decides to interrupt satellite communication, you’ve all got a front seat at the next world war. Charlie? You’re up.”
General Moore stood. “Sit report from the admiral of the bridge, USS Kennedy, sir. He reports PLA missile batteries on the Chinese mainland coast are lighting up, sir.”
“Response?”
“We’ve got waves of recon flights going in over the top. Low-level haircuts, Mr. President. Right down on the deck.”
“Shave ’em close. That’ll keep their heads down. Good.”
The door was opened and the Marine guards admitted a very anxious-looking young navy officer from the Pentagon, Captain Tony Guernsey.
“Mr. President,” Guernsey said, “I am receiving word now that Chinese surface-to-surface missiles are locking on to the fleet. We could lose—Christ—we could lose—”
“We’re not going to lose a goddamn thing, Tony,” the president said. “Charlie, step up the fighters going in over the mainland coast. One hundred feet. Let those bastards know we mean business.”
“Yes, sir!”
“What the hell are they thinking right now, John? The boys in Beijing.”
“Five or six in the room, sir. Total panic over Wild Card. But they think they’ve got us by the short ones with that ocean liner.”
“They haven’t got us yet. What about the goddamn tankers? Who’s on that?”
“I am, Mr. President,” an attractive blonde NSC staffer, Pam Howar, said. “The Happy Dragon was boarded by a Coast Guard cutter off Fort Jefferson in the Florida Keys en route to Miami. The captain and crew put up fierce resistance. The survivors were off-loaded immediately and she was towed to deep water and scuttled. Jade Dragon met a similar fate off Port Arthur, Texas, sir. It took three cutters and two choppers to subdue her. She’s already gone to a watery grave in the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Well, that’s some good news isn’t it, Pamela?” the president said. “What about the other one? The Super Dragon?”
“That dragon has been slain, Mr. President. Local fishing fleets report a huge explosion in the North Atlantic. One hour ago, one hundred miles due east of Cape Farewell, Greenland. She simply disappeared off the screen.”
“Accidental?”
“I doubt we’ll ever know, sir.”
“This tanker explosion had a nuclear signature?”
“I’m afraid so, sir.”
“Okay, so nobody’s blowing smoke. General Sun-yat Moon and the Mandarins are sending us a very clear signal. Anything else? Anybody?”
“Captain Mariucci just calling from Leviathan, sir. He says they’ve got her two gas turbines up and running. She’s making for the Ambrose Light. Their current speed is almost thirty-one knots.”
The president looked up and smiled.
“Well, God bless America,” he said.
The room burst into loud, sustained applause.
“Uh, Mr. President?” John Gooch said when the room fell silent.
“Yes, John?”
“It’s Seawolf, sir. Her skipper reports he is flat-out en route to the Continental Shelf rendezvous.”
“And?”
