“Okay. I’m programming a controlled release of 200,000 gallons—a mere trickle compared to what we could do. The spillways will open just two percent for about 15 seconds, then close. Here goes.”
They watched the live video feed on the wall-mounted big screen. Two giant steel gates halfway up the 700-foot high concrete dam wall holding back Lake Mead opened just a smidge. Immediately, twin jets of white water thundered one hundred feet straight out from the dam wall and fell 400 feet down its face into the river below. As promised, the formidable display of hydropower stopped after just 15 seconds.
“Satisfied?” Booker asked.
“Thanks,” Jack said. “Anything else?”
“No, sir. Thanks for the assist. But we always had the failsafe—”
Li Yong shook his head, “Failsafe was compromised. It would never have saved you.”
“My God,” Booker said. “Well, thanks. There is one thing. I’d like to talk with your programmer. I could use someone with that quick talent over here.”
Jack said, “Yeah, he’s going to be occupied for the foreseeable future.”
* * *
Chapter 44
Journalists packed the gallery in the Federal District Court in New York City. The world waited to hear what sentence the most horrific terrorist in American history gets. Li Yong sat at the defendant’s table beside his attorney. Head down, shoulders bowed. Dishonored and defeated by two systems so much more powerful than himself.
The Honorable Clement J. Wallace sat on his raised bench staring down at Li Yong. “Anything else from the defense?” The trial had been swift, but fair, as the law prescribed. The prosecution finally rested. Defense rested. The jury rendered their verdict in just two hours—including lunch. Judge Wallace’s moment in the judicial sun was almost over. “Ms. Defense Attorney? I asked if there is anything else? If not, I am ready to make public the sentence.”
“Your honor,” Ms. Defense Attorney rose from her chair and buttoned her jacket for one last try, “I remind the court that the defense provided numerous testimonies and written statements attesting to Li Yong’s decency. Surely, Your Honor can see the innate good in this man and that he truly had no choice but to do what he did. Li Yong will work the rest of his life to atone for these crimes.”
Li Yong sat beside her, still and silent. He was guilty of terrorist acts against the United States. Of that, there was no doubt. At least, his parents were taken care of. The magnificent Helen lobbied the State Department to grant them political asylum. Deportation would have been a death sentence.
“That’s all?” Judge Wallace asked.
“That’s all, Your Honor.”
But that was not all. Li Yong jumped to his feet; hand on his attorney’s shoulder forcing her back down in her chair. “Judge—”
“Mr. Yong,” Judge Wallace roared at the startling outburst, “if you have something to say, you will say it through counsel.”
“Hear me, Judge. Do not deny me one simple human kindness. Please.”
Judge Wallace glared down from the bench, shocked and motionless. In less than a minute, he was thrown into uncharted and very deep water, searching for a life-saving precedent to dismiss this interruption to the natural order of the law. Was this defendant constructing grounds for a mistrial? Time ticked by. The jury waited. The journalists waited.
“Very well, Mr. Yong. Make it brief.”
“With respect, Judge, time is my only asset. I will spend it wisely, but I will surely spend it, sir.” Li Yong took two steps from behind the defendant’s table into the center well of the court so everyone could see. “I did these things. All of them. I dishonored my family, my country, Xi BigBig, everyone. I deserve every punishment you give me then ten times more—”
“Are you finished, Mr. Yong?”
“No. A man’s honor is most sacred in China. Without honor, there is no man. I give penance to restore my family’s honor. I demand the ultimate punishment, Judge.” Then he bowed deeply and held that position of profound shame for the dishonor he believed he had brought to so many.
The galleries erupted with gasps and whispering. Reporters grabbed for their cell phones even though they were forbidden in court.
“The jury has spoken,” Judge Wallace fired back before Li Yong could utter another noxious word. “I concur—”
“I do not concur,” Li Yong thundered, now straightening to his full height and filling his chest with a deep breath. To anyone present, there was no doubt the 5’-11” rail thin man standing in the well of the court had just hijacked the proceedings. “I have done the most hideous, unimaginable acts against the American people. Not of my own free will. But it does not matter. I demand the ultimate punishment.” Li Yong stood there, his demand a separate, formidable presence that hung between the two antagonists.
Judge Clement Wallace gave his gavel a mocking tap. His steely voice came like a quiet, razor-sharp sword, “Defendants do not sentence themselves. We are a fair and just people. Not animals. I agree with the jury’s sentencing recommendation. You ask for your sentence, Mr. Yong? Well, here it is.” Judge Wallace paused while the courtroom held its collective breath. The mechanical drone of the air conditioning was the only sound inside the chamber. “You shall serve the rest of your life in disgrace incarcerated at the men’s correctional facility in Lompoc, California. You will not be allowed the use of electronic devices of any sort. There will be no possibility of parole from this sentence.” Judge Wallace hammered his gavel and called with all of the force and finality of the United States judicial system he served, “Case closed.”
Then Wallace said to the court stenographer, “Pack up, Judith. We’re off record now.” But he leaned over the bench and motioned for Li Yong to approach. “Oh, you want to die do you, Mr. Yong? Too easy. With your concept of honor, this sentence well might be the very harshest punishment this court could bestow on you. I do surely hope so. Now step back.”
* * *
Chapter 45
“A sad day for the People,” said the highest ranking PLA general.
The Chairman of the Central Military Commission watched from the reviewing stand as the caisson carrying Xi BigBig’s body slowly rolled by. He knew the words were mere formality. With the old man finally out of the way, he could dispense with such pretense. The winter wind stung his face and dried his eyes. He neither flinched nor blinked.
“You have our trust,” the spokesman for the other three Politbureau members said next. “We look for you to lead China into the future.” The first member bowed then offered his hand to the Chairman. The other two followed.
Idiots, the Chairman thought. A face-saving gesture. The true transfer of power began four years ago with my orders to Li Yong. He failed. But I will not. His gaze fell over the hundreds of thousands lining Beijing’s streets. They were actually weeping over the loss of their beloved leader. Fools. Finally, the People have a true warrior. One who is unafraid to use his power. A patriot who knows where China deserves to be in the world order.
Four Shenyang J-15 Flying Sharks streaked over the city, drowning out the crowd’s clapping for their fallen comrade on a life well lived. One fighter jet symbolically broke out of formation, stood on its tail and roared straight up until it was a mere speck against the winter gray sky.
The Chairman was unimpressed. The jets, the ships, even the hundreds of soldiers marching past him this very moment in perfect lines were just expensive symbols. China’s strength—military, political, and economic—lay in its technology. And, in my willingness to use it. Had Li Yong been stronger, we would already have won the economic war against the West. It is of no consequence. There is always a backup plan.
The Chairman looked out toward the Port of Tanggu. From there four container ships along with Princess Fantasy had left two days ago. They were each bound for the ports of New York, Miami, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Savannah. Each carried a deadly cargo. The weapon you hold in reserve is far more powerful than the one you fi
re. You know this?
* * *
Chapter 46
“What’s goin’ on, Hon?” Jack called from the pantry.
“Looks like we’ve got company,” Helen said. She gently stirred the pot and then replaced the cover. Through the steamy kitchen windows, she watched three black Chevy Suburbans. With four police car escorts. All coming down their snow-covered little street. Right here in tiny Elkhart, Indiana. Just one person commands that kind of entourage. “You knew your godfather was coming?”
“Here are your pasta noodles. I brought out three bags.” Jack set them on the kitchen counter.
She stood facing him, feet planted apart, hand on hip, the other pointing the wooden spoon like a saber. “And you failed to impart that little bit of intel? Jackson Schilling, are you out of your mind? The President is coming over for dinner. Only you forgot to mention it?”
“Didn’t want you to freak out, hon. Really, when you get to know him, the President is just a regular guy—”
“Regular guy or not, family or not, he’s still the President. I would have done something more—”
“Relax, hon. He really likes you.”
“He loves me, Jack. He told me so, remember? Still, it would have been nice…” Helen turned up the gas under one spaghetti pot to start the water boiling and pulled out another from the pot drawer, “So that’s why you requested spaghetti carbonara.”
Jack looked into the front yard blanketed in snow. The trees were also flocked in white. “Snow’s pounding down. A good night to stay in with family.” Jack bent to kiss her neck.
“Just who besides the President is joining us for dinner, Jack?”
“The man never travels alone, hon. He’s probably bringing along someone else. Maybe…several.”
Helen dried her hands on a dishtowel. “Well, let’s go out and give him a proper welcome.” They both pulled on snow boots and hooded jackets.
“Hey you two,” called the President from under the umbrella a Secret Service agent held. “Thanks for the invite. Let’s get out of this snow.”
Even so, the President stopped to hug Helen, then Jack. Behind him, the other Suburbans let out their occupants.
“Smitty,” Helen cried. “Crypto, Tommy Gallagher, and my favorite chef, Diego Garcia. How wonderful of you all to join us.” Helen kicked a small mound of snow at Jack.
“Pleasure’s ours,” Smitty said.
“Jack has been telling us all about your carbonara,” Diego said. “Can’t wait to see for myself.”
The President leaned back in his chair. “Jack said your carbonara was coming along. He didn’t say that you mastered it.”
“Never brag about your wife’s cooking, sir,” Jack said. “People think you’re just sucking up.”
The President speared the last tiny piece of crispy bacon. “Never known you to suck up to anyone, Jack. In this case, you were spot on. Am I right, Master Sergeant?”
“Totally right,” Diego said. “Sauce is tangy, rich. The meats give it nice smokiness and balance. Delicious.”
“I get the bacon,” the President said, “but there’s something else. Basic, earthy.”
“Pancetta,” Helen called from the kitchen as she scooped the remaining carbonara onto three new plates, added forks, and napkins then brought them to the table. “Shift change, agents. How about relieving the guys guarding the trucks. Invite them in out of the snow for a hot dinner.”
“What else am I missing?” asked the President.
“Oh, man there’s some Romano, Pecorino, and Parmesan in here for sure,” Diego said.
“All from a creamery right here in town.”
“That’s only part of the story, isn’t it Helen?”
“Your security clearance, sir?”
“None higher.”
Helen lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “The pasta isn’t just any old spaghetti. It’s bucatini. Long, tubular and hollow in the middle. Gives it a nice chew. Jack taught me how to tell when it’s perfectly done using a wooden spoon. My sauce sticks to it and gets inside so you taste it with every bite.”
“I need a walk after that meal,” the President said. “Anyone want to join me?”
Ice and snow crunched under Jack’s boots. “Ground’s pretty much frozen by now.”
Helen kicked a pinecone over the ice-covered lake out back of the house. “Water always freezes by February.”
“It has been three months—”
“Two months, 21 days,” Helen corrected, “since Li Yong died.” She wrapped both arms around Jack and stuffed her hands into his pockets for warmth. Tears froze to her cheeks. “I can still see him in the Cyber Terror Center, madly pounding away on the keyboard trying to save Hoover Dam.”
“I remember exactly what he said,” Jack offered.
Helen remembered too. We bet I am better than the other hacker who placed this virus. And he was. Better than all of them. Helen toed a mound of snow with her boot. But in the end, Li Yong failed to reach his own high standards. Growing up Asian is so tough. Parent’s expectations. The family’s. The State’s impossible demands on Li Yong. Then there’s the honor thing.
Li Yong and I were so similar. Only my family turned me toward their car company. I made something useful. Li Yong was not so fortunate. She leaned into Jack, feeling his solid body beneath the jacket. She drew trust and confidence from him. I am proud to be American. Of course. But my moral compass comes from the Japanese tradition of honor. That is who I am. Incomprehensible to someone not immersed in the culture.
Jack turned them onto the old wooden dock and began walking toward the end. Snow fell in sheets. The creaking boards were icy from the snowy cold and the fading light of late afternoon.
“Li Yong was brilliant,” Jack said. “Put in an impossible situation. Our team gave him the only way out.”
“Li Yong made a very wrong decision,” the President said. “Could have been worse. But still…he did something very, very wrong. No one can undo what is already done. For Li Yong, there was only one solution.”
“But,” Jack said, “to hang yourself in your prison cell by your jumpsuit.”
“Prison made no difference,” the President said. “Judge Wallace left Li Yong no choice. He would have done the same thing whether in or out of prison.”
They reached the end of the dock. “Nothing can change what Li Yong did,” the President said. “He was a pawn on a much larger chessboard.”
“The Chinese people love their country just like we love ours,” Helen said. Her voice softened to just audible over the falling snow, “China is people like Li Yong and his family. He thought he dishonored everything important to him. But he was really just trying to save his family.”
Jack’s boot scraped over a layer of snow and ice from the dock. “It was the Chairman of the Central Military Commission who dishonored all of China. Li Yong could not carry the burden of his own involvement.” Jack shook his head. “He showed me shades of gray. I hate what he did but I understand why he felt forced to do it.”
Then Helen unwrapped herself from Jack’s embrace and stepped back. “You never answered my question.”
“What was that, hon?”
“Doesn’t this scare the hell out of you?”
The others heard and moved closer over the crunching snow. “Yeah, Retail, just what does scare the hell out of you?” Diego asked.
“Me?”
“Better answer the lady,” the President said. “No secrets inside this circle.”
Jack looked at the small group through the falling snow. Each rogered up when the call came. They were the toughest, fiercest warriors he had ever known. Smitty, his SEAL partner now turned FBI bureaucrat and a damned good one at that. Crypto, the smartest guy in the room. Tom Gallagher, NTSB’s expert in tangled aluminum. Diego, lethal behind a riflescope, but a wizard in the kitchen. And Helen. She doesn’t know the depth of her bravery. It’s the kind that lives deep in your gut. Carries you through the fight. And let
s you face the unspeakable without blinking. That’s Helen.
“Okay, then,” Jack said. “Li Yong’s attacks on our homeland, the insane Chairman—all of that I can handle. But when it comes to snakes,” Jack could only shake his head. “Slithery bastards come for you in total stealth. Venomous fangs, cold-blooded sons of bitches—”
“You’d have liked Peaches, my childhood pet python,” Helen said. “She’d have won you over—”
“Mr. President, the Situation Room, sir,” said one of the Secret Service agents, handing him a secure mobile phone. Everyone stopped and listened. They watched the President’s face turn from solemn to angry, to jaw crushing resolve. They waited a few more minutes until he disconnected.
“We got us a situation, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Whatever it is, it can wait thirty minutes,” Helen said. “Let’s go home. There’s a warm fireplace, hot tea, and I baked a cake.”
“The chocolate ganache kind?” Diego asked.
“With a dusting of white powdered sugar and topped with vanilla whipped cream. It’s Jack’s and the President’s favorite.”
The old dock creaked in the frozen cold as boots crunched and squeaked over freshly fallen snow. The small group now with so much in common started toward home. Safe and peaceful for the first time in weeks and would remain so for at least the next thirty minutes.
THE END
Man of Honor Page 21