Hellfire

controlled voice said. “I am preparing to abandon ship. We’ve taken two hits in our stern. We have a main space fire out of control. I estimate I have approximately ten minutes to get everyone off the ship and into the water, one way or another.”

The admiral picked up the handset. “Roger, Montego Bay, copy all. I have all units en route to your position to render assistance. Just get them in the water, sir — we’ll take care of you.”

Just then, a rough foreign voice broke in. “We, also, can help.” Hearing the Russian accent froze everyone’s blood.

“That will not be necessary,” the admiral replied, ice in his voice. “If you attempt to interfere with rescue operations under my command, we will open fire. And if we do, it will be far less despicable than attacking an unarmed cruise ship. Now clear this circuit before you get more people killed.

“Montego Bay, Jefferson. We’re deploying rescue helicopters with SAR swimmers, as well as small boats, in your direction. Estimate the helicopters overhead in approximately five mikes. The small boats are proceeding at flank speed and estimate fifteen mikes. What other assistance can we render at this time, sir?”

There was no immediate answer, although a cacophony of commands, screams, and shouts came over the circuit. Evidently the captain had keyed the mike but could not yet take the time to speak to them.

Finally, Gaspert said, “We shall expect you shortly, then. Request you search the area for individuals in the water while I organize the lifeboats into some form of convoy. Suggest one of your small ships stay upwind to create a lee for lifeboat launches. When we’ve got them all in the water, we’ll proceed in your direction at best speed.”

“How long to get the platform deployed?” the admiral asked Hanson.

“Twenty minutes, maybe less.”

“Make it ten.” The admiral turned his attention back to Gaspert. “We will be prepared to receive your boats when you get here.”

“Medical teams, casualty teams,” Gaspert continued. There was more background chatter over the circuit, and from what the admiral could gather, the damage control efforts were being abandoned completely. “We are leaving the circuit, will contact you from the radio in the lifeboat as soon as possible. Montego Bay, out.”

The Russian returned to the circuit. “We did not intend to fire on the cruise ship.”

“Nor on us,” the admiral said acidly. “Funny, that doesn’t make it any better. Now clear the circuit, sir, or I will open fire.”

SIX

Wednesday, July 2

The White House

1345 local (GMT-5)

For once, the president heard about a military disaster from his joint chiefs of staff rather than CNN. It was an unusual situation, one that allowed him several moments to gather his thoughts and formulate a response without a camera staring him in the face. His first reaction was to use the secure hotline to grant the president of Russia the same breathing space before CNN picked up the story. Surely there was some explanation other than a Russian fighter firing on a defenseless American cruise ship. But as he reached for the hotline, a pointed little cough from the chairman, JCS, brought him up short.

“What?” the president demanded.

“Mr. President, that would be premature.” The chairman, a man noted for his bluntness, had nevertheless proved to be an excellent chairman. No, he was not a political creature, just an old artillery man who had come up through the ranks the hard way.

“And you believe this because…?” the president said, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Because I believe we’ll find those bastards are at fault.”

The president took his hand off the hotline and leaned back in his chair. Reflexively, he started to interlace his hands behind his head, but he immediately felt a surge of inchoate discomfort at having his midsection unprotected while the chairman was in the room. He dropped his arms back down and rested his hands on the desk, annoyed at his own reaction.

Just why the hell did the chairman make him so nervous? Yes, he had picked the man, and had kept him in the position after his last term. And he’d come to rely even more on the general’s advice during the last two years. And yes, if he was reelected — not that that seemed improbable, but one never knew — he would ask this man to continue on, or at least to give him some advice on a successor.

Despite all that, there was something in the chairman’s bearing and the way he spoke and the way he carried himself that made any other man just a bit uneasy about exposing his midsection too much. Because no matter how civilized he was, how immaculate his uniform or courteous his bearing, you never, ever had any doubt that the chairman could kill you in a New York minute. Not that he would, of course. And still, as uneasy as the general’s deadly air made the president, it was the one thing that he really liked about the general as well. You always knew where you stood with him.

“Regardless of whether they are or not,” the president said carefully, “we will have to talk to them sooner or later. Taking the offensive”—the chairman was always big on taking the offensive—“means we get to select the terrain. Right?” There was a shade more of an actual question in the president’s voice than he would have liked, but the chairman ignored it. When it came to matters of military tactics, the chairman had few compunctions about treating the president as though he were the junior captain he had been when he left the Army.

“Too soon, sir,” the general said shortly. “We’re still at the deception stage. Sure, shots have been fired, but the fog of war is too pervasive right now. We know what’s happened, but they don’t know we know. Sir, lay low for now. See if they make the first move. After all, it looks like they’re the ones who attacked. They ought to be the ones calling us. We stay in our fortress, don’t come outside. Not yet.”

“I see,” the president said. “Very well, then — what do I tell the media when they start calling? And call they will, you can be sure of that.”

“Nothing. You tell them nothing.” The general was very firm on the point.

The president sighed and shook his head. “That won’t work long. It just won’t.”

“It doesn’t have to work for long, Mr. President. Not long at all. Buy yourself some time to get that gal up in New York to find out what’s going on from her perspective. Never ask the Russians a question you don’t know the answer to.”

Gal. I wonder if I will tell Sarah Wexler that the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff calls her a “gal.” If I do, I think I’ll make sure I’m out of arm’s reach. Then again, I get the feeling that may be about the highest compliment he ever pays a woman.

“What you need, Mr. President, is time.”

“Time to find out what happened, I suppose.”

To his surprise, the general shook his head. “No, sir. Enough time to get reelected.”

Now, that was a puzzler! Who would’ve ever thought the general gave a damn about the election? I don’t even know what party he is. Or how he votes.

But it’s not like I really care.

“Thank you, sir,” the president said slowly, in the unusual position of being enormously flattered by the compliment he’d been paid. Heady stuff for the young Army captain who was now president of the most powerful nation on the earth.

“I want what is best for this country,” the general said bluntly. “Right now, that means you sitting in that chair.”

“This has the potential to cut both ways, though,” the president said, his mind racing. His national security council — he had to have them in on this. “We run the risk of looking soft on this. And that’s the one thing I can’t have happen.”

“I realize that, sir. And you’ll have people who can better advise you on that point. But I consider it critical