'Oh, he'd turn it over for a lot more, or maybe if he was smart, just rent it.'
'But then where would we live?'
'You wouldn't,' Burroughs replied. 'How much you want to bet they give you a first-class ticket stateside at the settlement. Think about it,' the engineer suggested.
'Well, that's interesting,' Robby Jackson thought. 'Anything else happening?'
'The 'cans we saw before are gone now. Things are settling back down to-hell, they are normal now except for all the soldiers around.'
'Any trouble?'
'No, sir, nothing. Same food ships coming in, same tankers, same everything. Air traffic has slowed down a lot. The soldiers are sort of dug in, but they're being careful how they do it. Not much visible anymore. There's still a lot of bush country on the island. I guess they're all hid in there. I ain't been goin' lookin', y'know?' Jackson heard him say.
'That's fine. Just stay cool, Master Chief. Good report. Let me get back to work.'
'Okay, Admiral.'
Jackson made his notes. He really should have turned this stuff over to somebody else, but Chief Oreza would want a familiar voice on the other end of the circuit, and everything was taped for the intelligence guys anyway.
But he had others things to do, too. The Air Force would be running another probe of Japanese air defenses tonight. The SSN patrol line would move west another hundred miles, and people would gather a lot of intelligence information, mainly from satellites.
'Ryan.'
'Robby. Jack, how free a hand do we have?'
'We can't kill many people. It's not 1945 anymore,' the National Security Advisor told him. 'And they have nuclear missiles.'
'Yeah, well, we're looking for those, so they tell me, and I know that's our first target if we can find them. What if we can't?'
'We have to,' Ryan replied.
'Nukes?' Jackson asked. It was his profession to think in such terms, Ryan knew, however horrid the word and its implications were.
'Rob, we don't want to do that unless there's no choice at all, but you are authorized to consider and plan for the possibility.'
'I just had a call from our friend on Saipan. It seems somebody wants to pay top dollar for his house.'
'We think they may try to stage elections—a referendum on sovereignty. If they can move people off the island, then, well, it makes them some points, doesn't it?'
'We don't want that to happen, do we?'
'No, we don't. I need a plan, Rob.'
'We'll get one for you,' the Deputy J-3 promised.
Durling appeared on TV again at nine in the evening, Eastern Time. There were already rumbles out. The TV anchors had followed their stories about developments on Wall Street with confused references to the carrier accident the previous week and to urgent negotiations between Japan and the United States over the Mariana Islands, where, they noted, communications were out following a storm that might never have happened. It was very discomforting for them to say what they didn't know. By this time Washington correspondents were trading information and sources, amazed at having missed something of this magnitude. That amazement translated itself into rage at their own government for concealing something of this dimension. Background briefings that had begun at eight helped to assuage them somewhat.
Yes, Wall Street was the big news. Yes, it was more vital to the overall American well-being than some islands that not a few of their number had to be shown on a map. But, no, damn it, the government didn't have the right not to tell the media what was going on. Some of them, though, realized that the First Amendment guaranteed their freedom to find things out, not to demand information from others. Others realized that the Administration was trying to end the affair without bloodshed, which went part of the way to calming them down. But not all of the way.
'My fellow Americans,' Durling began for the second time in the day, and it was immediately apparent that, as pleasing as the events of the afternoon had been, the news this evening would be bad. And so it was.
There is something about inevitability that offends human nature. Man is a creature of hope and invention, both of which belie the idea that things cannot be changed. But man is also a creature prone to error, and sometimes that makes inevitable the things that he so often seeks to avoid.
The four B-1B Lancer bombers were five hundred miles offshore now, again spread on a line centered due east of Tokyo. This time they turned directly in, took an exact westerly heading of two-seven-zero degrees, and dropped down to a low-penetration altitude. The electronic-warfare officers aboard each of the aircraft now knew more than they had two nights earlier.
Now at least they could ask the right questions. Additional satellite information had fixed the location of every air-defense radar site in the country, and they knew they could beat those. The important part of this night's mission was to get a feel for the capabilities of the E-767's, and that demanded more circumspection.
The B-1B had been reworked many times since the 1970's. It had actually become slower rather than faster,