Poseidon's Arrow

“Over ninety percent of our rare earth imports come from China,” she said. “Commercially, it will devastate a number of industries, particularly electronics and the alternative energy fields. Almost every high-tech industry in the country will be affected.”

“Are we just talking higher prices?” asked Tom Cerny.

“Skyrocketing prices will be just the first impact. Until work-arounds can be developed, products will be in short supply—or simply unaffordable. Either way, demand will evaporate, and jobs along with it. It could easily drive the economy back into a serious recession.”

“What about other sources of rare earth?” the President asked. “I know we’ve got that mine in California. Tell me the Chinese aren’t the only game in town.”

“The Mountain Pass Mine came on line a few years ago and was just ramping up their production,” Dietrich said, “but a recent fire at the facility destroyed the mine’s extraction operations. It’s effectively closed for an indeterminate period, probably two years. That was our only domestic source.”

“Has anyone looked into the cause of the fire?” Sandecker asked.

“It was believed to have been accidental, but now the owners have called in the FBI to find out if it might have been arson.”

“How about other foreign sources of rare earth?” the President asked.

“We do source a fraction of our imports beyond China,” Dietrich said. “Australia has been the primary backup, with additional smaller amounts from Russia, India, and Malaysia. But there’s also a problem down under, I’m afraid. The major Australian producer has announced a temporary shutdown due to an expansion program.”

The President shoved his cigar into an ashtray. “So we’re left whistling past the graveyard while our economy sputters to a halt?”

Dietrich nodded bleakly. “I’m afraid we have little, if any, control over the supply situation.”

“That’s only the half of it,” Sandecker said. “The shortage strikes a pretty nasty blow to several of our key defense technologies.”

“The Vice President is correct,” Dietrich affirmed.

“Where’s the damage?” the President asked.

“The Navy gets hit hard,” she said. “The propulsion system for the Zumwalt class destroyer and the new stealth cruiser relies heavily on rare earth elements, so those programs will come to a crashing halt. I’m waiting for a report from the Air Force, but I’ve been told there’s a significant impact to the new joint fighter and several satellite development programs.”

“We’re talking programs that are budgeted in the billions of dollars,” Cerny said.

“Sounds to me,” the President said, “as if the Chinese might be exploiting their monopoly as an opportunity to catch up militarily.”

The heads in the room nodded.

“What if we tell the Chinese their export ban is unacceptable?”

The Secretary of State squirmed in his seat. “I don’t think that dog will hunt, sir. The Chinese leadership won’t take well to any threats. If we get into a trade war, we’ll be the bigger loser. And if they stop purchasing our debt securities, that would create even worse problems.”

“So we’re facing an economic nosedive when we can least afford it,” the President said. “On top of that, we’re sacrificing our military readiness by delaying the next class of destroyers, fighters, and spy satellites.”

“There’s one other casualty,” Sandecker said. He moved close to the President and spoke in a whisper. “The Sea Arrow.”

The President nodded. “Of course.”

The President walked to his desk and peered out the high windows behind it for several minutes. When he turned back to his audience, he spoke in a soft, defeated voice. “Find out what the Chinese want,” he said, “and give it to them.”

40

THE HIJACKING OF THE SEA ARROW’S MOTOR incited an immediate nationwide dragnet. Roadblocks were quickly set up along every major road and highway leading north or south out of Washington. FBI teams were dispatched to all nearby airports and to every East Coast port facility, from where analysts assumed the motor would be smuggled out of the country. Extra security was even called in to the northeast border crossings into Canada.

Yet the stolen motor wouldn’t be found in any of those places. It had been driven west, away from the major ports and airports, and across rural Appalachia, hidden in the back of a hay truck. Entering Lexington, Kentucky, Pablo slowed the big rig, keeping a wary eye out for passing police cars.

Ann was relegated to the back of the cab, one wrist cuffed to the frame of the bench seat. She could partially stretch out on the narrow seat but had to lean at an awkward angle to glance out the window. They traveled in silence. After Pablo ignored her initial barrage of probing questions, she’d decided to save her energy. It took a bit of conjecture, but she eventually linked Pablo’s theft of the Sea Arrow plans with the large device hidden on the flatbed. It had to be the submarine’s new propulsion motor.

Pablo was pleased with the time he had made, covering four hundred miles in seven hours, before pulling onto a quiet side road and letting Ann stretch her legs. A short time later, they pulled into Lexington, where he found a truck stop and parked at a distant fuel pump. After filling the truck’s tank, he opened the cab door and peered at Ann.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“Yes, please,” Ann said. “I’m very hungry.”

“I’ll be right back.” He slammed the door and locked it.

Ann watched him stroll past several fuel islands and enter the truck stop’s building. She scanned the parking lot, searching for potential help. The hour was late, and she spotted only one person nearby, a bearded truck driver, washing the windshield on his idling rig a dozen yards away.

She waved, and screamed at the top of her lungs. But the sealed cab’s tinted windows rendered her nearly invisible, and her muffled cries went unheard over the idling engine. She reached for the truck’s air horn but couldn’t quite stretch her fingers far enough. The bearded man climbed into his rig and pulled away, oblivious to Ann’s plight.

She searched the truck’s interior for something to use as a weapon. But the cab’s interior, even down to its glove box, was stripped clean except for a map and laptop computer on the front seat. Ann lunged for the computer.

She reached with her free hand and grasped the computer, flipping open its monitor and powering it on. As it booted up, she glanced out the window. Pablo stood at the register, purchasing some items. She’d have very little time to send a plea for help—if the truck stop had Wi-Fi.

She held her breath as the computer screen slowly lit up. After an eternity, a bubble icon asked if she wanted to join the Lexington Diesel & Dine network.

“Yes!” She clicked the icon. A few seconds later, an Internet search page opened.

Her joy was short-lived when she glanced out the window to see Pablo exiting the building. Her pulse raced as she considered what to do. There would be no time to sign on to her e-mail account or relay a message through the NCIS website. A desperate idea popped into her head. She quickly typed in four letters and waited for a response. When a new screen popped up, she scrolled to the bottom and found a query link. Clicking on it, she hurriedly typed a message and looked up. Pablo was just ten feet away.

Her fingers flew over the keypad, stopping to click “Send” as the door latch clicked. She slammed the monitor closed and tossed the computer onto the front seat as Pablo opened the door.

Her heart beat wildly, and she felt her face turn flush, as he climbed into the driver’s seat. He turned and looked at her quizzically as he swung his hands around.

“Ham and cheese or tuna?” He held up a pair of wrapped sandwiches.

“Tuna, please.” She exhaled, and reached for one of the sandwiches.

Pablo pulled back onto the highway, eating as he drove. The break had relaxed him, and he finally turned his