Brady handed him another message. “I figure if you can do fifteen knots in an overhand crawl, you ought to be able to catch up with her. She left for sea trials this morning.”
Batman swore quietly as he thumbed through the message traffic. With his own communications and intelligence staff temporarily reassigned, he was reduced to thumbing through the station’s message file like any other officer. After a couple of years of having his very own message boards, meticulously maintained and organized for his convenience, trying to read grubby-edged, blurry copies left him singularly cold.
Halfway through the most sensitive message board, Batman stopped breathing. He read over the details again, up to and including the
It was bad — real bad. Even though nobody was saying it, Batman knew that it wouldn’t stop with this one missile shot destroyed or the one incursion into Taiwan. No, it was all going to start going to shit soon enough, and going to shit in a big way. China, Taiwan, and then most probably Russia. The former Soviet Union would be tempted to stand by and let China and Taiwan and perhaps the United States battle it out, hoping that they’d exhaust themselves and be easy pickings. But Batman thought that they’d probably be unable to resist the opportunity to nudge things along a bit, maybe picking off some easy targets or taking advantage of the hostilities to make a covert grab for the Kurile Islands again. Whatever they’d have in mind, the fur was going to be flying over there.
And Batman was going to miss it all. Nobody wanted an admiral without a ship around.
Batman slammed the message board shut, startling a junior lieutenant at the other end of the battered table. The lieutenant stood, not entirely sure whether or not he’d done something to annoy the admiral, but not taking any chances of compounding the error by being rude.
“As you were, Lieutenant,” Batman snapped.
“Yes, Admiral.” The lieutenant swallowed hard, but didn’t sit back down. Instead, he stayed braced at attention while Batman immediately forgot about him and stormed out of the secure area. When the last door swung shut, the lieutenant sat down and breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t work for the fellow.
Outside, Batman’s car and driver were waiting. The admiral snapped, “Back to the ship, ASAP.” He settled himself into the back seat, his mind racing, and then reconsidered his destination. Right now, what he needed wasn’t on the ship at all. He already knew what CAG and the ship’s CO would say — there was no need to even consult with them.
“Sup Ships,” he said, using the short hand term for Supervisor of Ship Repair, the maintenance facility responsible for the major repairs now in progress. “I got a few favors to call in.”
While Sup Ships was not entirely enthralled by the idea, he immediately saw Batman’s rationale. If things were going down, better to be ahead of the power curve than behind it. Barring a return of the USS
By the time he made it back to
Batman’s maintenance officer met him on the pier, concern in his eyes. Batman waved off his concerns. “Sure, we have a pick-up team right now, but that will change if you can get her back in commission. This is going to be a come-as-you-are deal, and we ain’t no wallflowers.” Batman fixed the maintenance officer with a fierce glare. “Now, you make up your mind. Your nation needs you — my ship needs you. Are you part of the solution, or part of the problem?”
The maintenance officer gulped, then reached his decision. “Part of the solution, Admiral. Please inform your staff that the USS
Batman stared after him, at first mildly pissed and then truly pleased. His ship might be crammed with maintenance weenies and repair folks instead of operations specialists and pilots, but maybe, just maybe, he could turn them into what he needed.
FIVE
Ambassador Sarah Wexler, the American ambassador to the United Nations, had just finished wading through a thick stack of briefing papers on her desk when Brad knocked on the door. He rapped lightly, opened it at once and stepped in. “You’ve got a visitor — Department of Defense. JCS.”
Wexler leaned back and stretched her tight back muscles. Any diversion would be welcome at this point. There was no way she could avoid reading all of the briefing papers and position summaries her staff drafted for her every day. Indeed, she depended on those to remain aware of the more subtle nuances in the world. But sometimes the paperwork threatened to overwhelm her, and she wondered if it was all that necessary. Over the centuries of the history of diplomacy, much rested on the personal relationships between men and women in power. Harsh reality had little to do sometimes with the alliances that were formed, the decisions that were made, and a general conduct of the business of nations.
“Any idea of what he wants?” she asked.
Brad shook his head. “Says it’s for your eyes only.”
Now that was alarming. It wasn’t the first time that it had happened, but every time it did, it presaged a major challenge for the United States. At least she would have advance warning of it, whatever it was.
And that, she suspected, was due to Brad. As soon as she had given him his head in allowing a closer relationship between the CIA and her office, it seemed that the information flow had… well, not exactly increased, but taken on a new accuracy and timeliness that she found exceptionally helpful. Along the way, she’d acquired a new working relationship with the Department of Defense as well. Also a good thing, in her opinion. It meant that the first notice she had of major problems came from somewhere besides ACN, the premier news network in the world. Her only concern was that her new acquaintances might decide that they were entitled to a degree of reciprocity she was not yet willing to grant. However useful it was to share information, have advance notice of potential problems, and otherwise coordinate the entire American national security plan, she was still convinced that it was critical to maintain a clear distinction between diplomacy and the military means of enforcing it.
How could the other ambassadors trust her to keep their confidences if they saw CIA agents in her office every day? And what would they think of international military objectives she supported if Department of Defense officials looked like they were holding morning quarters outside her office? That the president had approved her decision to develop a closer working relationship with the CIA, and had not even attempted to deny it when she asked him if he’d known all along that her aide, Brad, was a former CIA employee, had troubled her. But in the end, they all worked for him, so she did her best to adhere to his wishes.
Brad showed the JCS representative in. She was a female Navy captain, and young for the slot by the looks of her. She came to attention in front of Ambassador Wexler’s desk and said, “Ma’am, I’m Captain Jane Hemingway, from JCS, Department of Contingency Evaluation. We came across some disturbing information and thought it might be wise to share it with you. If I may?”
“Please, sit down.” Wexler had not met Hemingway before, but immediately liked the looks of her.
“Thank you.” Hemingway took a chair at the corner of the desk and opened the attache case she carried. She
