Typhoon Season

they’d had time to lower the wreckage onto the hangar deck, as they’d planned… with all those parked planes and jet fuel…

“What about the fuse?” he asked. “How was this damned thing set off?”

“Can’t be sure,” Bomber said. “What didn’t go up in smoke went over the side. But judging by the sequence of events, it was probably a pressure-sensitive trigger. When the weight of the wreckage settled on deck — boom.”

“What, you mean the Chinese guessed we’d be putting that particular chunk of wreckage on board Jefferson? That doesn’t seem credible.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Lab Rat said, “Maybe the bomb wasn’t meant for us at all.”

Batman frowned at him. “Explain yourself.”

“Maybe its real purpose was to finish off the Lady of Leisure; it wasn’t supposed to go any further than that. Not pressure detonated, but it had a bad time — a dud. We just got… unlucky.”

Batman closed his eyes briefly. “Unlucky.” He looked at Bird Dog, who had yet to say a word. Batman was ambivalent about this particular officer. At one time he’d described Bird Dog as a “good man” — but that had been before Cuba and all the childish nonsense Bird Dog had pulled down there. Add to that the man’s seeming inability to transpose all his book learning to real-life situations… and you had to wonder, what was the use of including him in these meetings?

On the other hand, where would Rear Admiral Batman Wayne be if nobody had ever given him a break? And Bird Dog could fly, there was no doubt about that. Lately, he’d even shown some signs of gaining a little maturity.

“Commander Robinson?” Batman said.

Bird Dog raised his head, and his hands slid over the tabletop — he seemed at a loss without his usual notebooks and charts. Then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I’m inclined to agree with Commander Busby. This seems like an awfully complicated way to get a booby trap on board Jefferson. Especially since if damaging us was their goal, why didn’t they do a better job?”

“A better job?” Batman said. “We lost ten sailors in that blast, Commander. Six aircraft are in the shop, and one Sea Knight is on the bottom of the South China Sea.”

Bird Dog placed his hands in his lap, but his jaw was set. The guy had moxie, you had to give him that. “I know all that, sir. But it seems to me the damage could have been much worse. They could have loaded more explosives on the wreck, or used a shaped charge or some kind of incendiary chemical. They could have holed the flight deck, blown the parked planes away, taken out the antenna array… they could have tried to really hurt us. But they didn’t. So that tells me they didn’t intend to.”

Batman stared at him a moment longer, then turned toward Bomber. Bomber cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. “It’s true, they could have rigged something with a lot more muscle behind it.”

“Here’s another piece of evidence in that direction,” Lab Rat said. “At the time of the explosion, we detected no increased Chinese military activity in the area. If they’d intended to soften us up with a booby trap, wouldn’t they have taken advantage?”

“Answering that kind of question is your department, Commander.” Batman caught himself, sighed. “Damn it, it goes against my instincts to think we got damaged by an explosion and it was just a… fluke. You can’t strike back at a damned accident.”

There were grim nods all around the table.

“All right. We’ll report that this was an accident of sorts. No retaliation.”

“Sir…” Bird Dog said. “If I may make one more suggestion.”

“Go ahead.”

“It might be best if the Chinese don’t even learn about the explosion. Even if it was an accident… well, us being hurt by that bomb… it makes us look stupid.”

Batman noticed that Lab Rat was nodding. “You mean we lose face.”

“Face is important to the Chinese,” Bird Dog said. “No point in giving them ammunition against us.”

Batman nodded. “I’ll make sure to note your suggestion in my report, Bird Dog. It’s a good one.”

Bird Dog smiled and visibly relaxed.

But not Batman. Although the “accident” theory should make him feel less threatened, the opposite was true. Because he’d just realized what that theory meant, strategically speaking: They were right back where they’d started. Nowhere.

The only people who knew what was going on around here were the Chinese.

Friday, 1 August

1300 local (+5 GMT)

United Nations

As Ambassador Sarah Wexler rose to her feet at the long table, she managed not to glance over at her counterpart from the People’s Republic of China, Ambassador T’ing. Controlling her expression took a much greater effort.

It was hard to believe that the Spratley Islands affair had occurred only four years ago. On that occasion, the results for China had been so devastating that the U.S. had deemed it necessary to provide Beijing with a face- saving cover story: that the downed Chinese aircraft had been caught in a freak typhoon.

Privately, of course, insiders in both countries knew that the “typhoon” had taken the form of Carrier Battle Group 14 of the U.S. Navy. You would think that the Spratley Islands affair would have taught China the grave dangers of throwing its weight around, even in Asia.

But now… this.

“I’m sure,” Ambassador Wexler said to the assembled dignitaries, “you’re all aware of recent, horrible events in the South China Sea. Two days ago, an unarmed, private yacht owned by an American businessman was attacked and sunk by a military helicopter of the People’s Republic of China. The result was the deaths of more than sixty people of a half-dozen nationalities.”

She paused to scan the table. So far, no face had assumed the shape of its owner’s political inclination. She went on in the same voice of controlled outrage, describing the assault on Lady of Leisure by quoting almost verbatim from the transcript of the sole survivor of the attack. She left out only such details as the name of the man who had commanded the attacking vessel, such tidbits being more useful in behind-closed- doors negotiations.

As she spoke, she glanced around the table. Sure enough, delegates from nations friendly to the United States looked outraged; those from unfriendly countries appeared scornful or, at best, impassive.

T’ing seemed barely interested.

She bit back her anger and went on. “If it weren’t for the timely intervention of a United States Navy fighter plane on routine patrol from the aircraft carrier USS Jefferson, it’s safe to say there would have been no survivors of this tragedy at all. No one to have brought this story before the public. As it is, we have such a survivor, as well as the eyewitness testimony of four American aviators — including the heroic pilot who drove the attacking helicopter off without firing a single shot of her own. We also have physical evidence of the most conclusive and terrible kind — pieces of wreckage and the corpses of one hundred and sixteen men and women, all riddled with twenty-two millimeters bullet holes — the same caliber as the cannons mounted on PLA Navy Z-9 helicopters.”

She looked around again, matching everyone eye for eye. T’ing’s face remained impassive, his eyes half- closed as if he were listening politely to a folktale recited by a child. Again, she reined in her anger.

“This murderous assault,” she went on, “would, of course, be unconscionable no matter where it occurred. However, it’s all the more disturbing because the site is Hong Kong, which is of crucial importance to the economic well-being of the entire Southeast Asia region. The wanton massacre of the Lady of Leisure is certain to rekindle the doubts felt by many nations regarding the trustworthiness of China’s pledge to honor the provisions of the Sino-British Agreement of 1985. The massacre of the passengers on Lady of Leisure represents an unprovoked act of aggression so extreme it eclipses even the student killings in Tienanmen Square. It…”

She realized T’ing was coming to his feet, rising as slowly and inexorably as the mercury in a thermometer. She fell silent, surprised by an act of rudeness she’d come to expect of the Cuban and Libyan representatives, but