“Has there been any further news concerning the identity of the terrorists making the attacks?” asked the prim Fox anchor, Don Howard.
“I’ve heard there’s several murdered fisherman aboard the trawler,” Susan Salisbury said. “They were killed assassin-style, apparently before the sneak attack took place. The authorities have reason to believe the boat was hijacked by Taiwanese extremists.”
“That’s very interesting, Susan,” the anchor said. “Retired General Ross is waiting in the Green Room. General, could you explain to our audience why Taiwanese extremists might wish to stage such an assault on our carriers.”
As white-haired, retired General Ross appeared on the TV, the apartment’s front door opened. Pressing mute with her remote, Anna looked up.
Two new security agents moved into the living room. They scanned the premises, wearing dark sunglasses and with jacks in their ears. They ignored the blond agent watching TV with Anna.
The National Security Advisor to the President, Colin Green, entered the room behind them. His gray hair was perfectly styled and his three-thousand dollar suit looked as if it had just been taken off a rack. “Outside everyone,” he said crisply. “I need to speak to her alone.”
As the others filed outside, Green adjusted his tie. It seemed like an unconscious gesture. He had an expensive gold ring with a dark stone on his finger, showing he was married.
“You’ve been watching the news?” asked Green. He moved to the couch but didn’t sit down.
“You’ve had me kidnapped,” Anna said.
The National Security Advisor stared at her. All warmth fled from him, leaving the naked, calculating man visible—the one who had climbed high in American political life. He took an audible breath and abruptly sat beside her. “I don’t think you understand the situation Ms. Chen.”
“Yes I do,” said Anna. “The Chinese destroyed two American carriers.”
“Chinese…er, why not Taiwanese extremists?” he asked.
“I have a request to make,” she said.
He frowned. “Now see here, Ms. Chen. You must understand—” He scowled. “Do you happen to know what it means if China and America hurl their ICBMs at each other? I know what the experts say. The laser defense systems and the anti-missile rockets would shoot down nearly ninety-five percent of the attack. I’ve read the reports. The Chinese are sure they have a superior system, and we have American know-how. Let me tell you something. That’s a load. The ICBM-people have their bright ideas on how to counter the defenses: reflector strips, spinning projectiles, aerosol clouds and armored ICBMs. It means it’s just like football, a game between offense and defense, and both sides are always coming up with something revolutionary that will change everything. Believe me, that’s all a load, too. It isn’t revolutionary and never will be because nothing works exactly how you think it’s going to. There is no perfect plan—ever. Therefore, if China and America hurl their ICBMs at each other, it would be a worldwide holocaust because more missiles would get through than either side believes. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want that on my conscience. In fact, I so don’t want that on my conscience that I’ll make some very hard decisions about people like you to save millions of others.”
“That’s why you kidnapped me?”
“You’re my China expert, right?” Green said.
After several heartbeats, Anna said, “I tried to warn you about—”
Green made a sharp gesture as he said, “That’s already water under the bridge. We’re a long ways past that, believe me.” He pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes out of his three-thousand dollar suit. Extracting one, he stuck the cigarette between his lips and clicked a lighter, inhaling as he lit it. Leaving the pack and lighter on the coffee table, he took the cigarette and exhaled smoke through his nostrils.
“You’re not a Buddhist or Taoist by any chance?” he asked.
“No.”
“And you’re my Chinese expert?”
Anna turned away from the smoke. It smelled foul. “I am not anyone’s expert anymore.”
He dragged on the cigarette, as he seemed to study the ceiling. “You and I have had what I call a miscommunication. We’ve both made some mistakes. I’m willing to admit mine. Why can’t you admit yours?”
“I didn’t make a mistake.”
“Ah, there you are. You’re too proud, too stubborn. Look at me, girl.” He put a hand on his chest. “I was trying to stop a war. I want to save the planet. Hell, I’m trying to save the human race from annihilating itself.”
“You have the same evidence I do. Surely, you must have realized we were about to be attacked.”
“I don’t like American oilrigs exploding,” Green said. “I don’t like having oil pollute our beaches with tons of crude killing generations of irreplaceable wildlife. But that’s a long, long way from wanting to start a nuclear war with China over it.”
“They’re about to invade Alaska.”
Green hunched toward her. “That’s an incredible leap of logic. It would mean war, a massive war. Look what happened when the Japanese struck at Pearl Harbor or al-Qaeda blew up the World Trade Center. We went ape, nuking two cities one time and invading countless countries the other. Can you imagine what we’d do if China actually invaded American soil?”
“We’re not as powerful now as we were then,” Anna said.
“Those are practically treasonous words. We’re America. We’d go to war with China for a hundred years if they did something like that.”
“Well,” said Anna, pointing at the TV. “Then we’d better get started, because they’re already at war with us.”
Green frowned as he stared at the TV. “Why do you think this happened? Can you tell me?”
“I’ve been telling you. It’s because of Alaska.”
“You’d better start explaining what that means instead of just blabbing the same words over and over.”
“Carriers are the best ships in our Navy,” Anna said.
“I have people who tell me differently. If you remember, we had to move our carriers away from Taiwan when the Chinese invaded there.”
“Because of the nearness of the Chinese airfields,” Anna said.
“Whatever,” Green said. “We’re not here to argue naval tactics. I want to know first, why would the Chinese dare to go to war with us? And second—well, answer me the first one first.”
“Food,” said Anna. “They’re hungry. But I know you know that. You’re one of the architects to the Grain Union.”
“Not one of,” said Green, “but the originator of it.”
“Admiral Carlos Fox of Argentina first suggested it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Green said testily. “Let’s go back to this idea about China needing food. We offered them a trade deal in Sydney. I helped draft the brief myself. We were getting ready to agree to a massive trade of oil for grain. Deng Fong himself came in secret, I think as a sign of their serious intent. Then, a few hours before the meeting, someone blows up our oilrig.”
“The Chinese blew it up.”
“That’s crazy! The Chairman runs China. I know he’s ailing, but everyone knows nothing happens without his permission.”
“Everyone may know that,” Anna said, “but the Chinese blew up the rig just the same.”
“Bah. Give me a good reason why they would do something so foolish. It doesn’t make sense.”
Anna pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t have a good reason why. I don’t understand that part of it yet. What’s important is that they’re making these moves. They blew the oilrig, maybe even to stop the meeting in Sydney. Now they’ve destroyed two carriers, crippling our Navy. This all points to one thing: they’re attempting a surprise attack. Historically, it’s the Chairman’s trademark method. The proof is obvious: Siberia and Taiwan.”
“A surprise attack? Like Pearl Harbor?”
“Only much bigger,” said Anna. “Imagine a Pearl Harbor where the Japanese brought t
roops and invaded Hawaii in order to keep it.”
“And you’re saying they want Alaska why?”
“Do you even look at the source evidence uncovered by our agencies?” Anna asked.
Mashing the cigarette into a coffee saucer, Green scowled. “I don’t need a smart mouth, young lady. I need answers to give to the President. So far, you haven’t told me anything useful.”
“You should let me speak to the President,” Anna said. “I know the Chairman better than anyone else in Washington.”
Colin Green turned away, becoming thoughtful. Finally, he grunted as he stood. “I want you back at the White House. You’re to prepare a brief for the President. I thought I was stopping a war before. It looks like I was wrong. Will you serve your country?”
Anna knew then she was never going to get an apology from him for what he’d done. “Yes,” she said.
“Good. Then let’s go.”
MUKDEN, P.R.C.
Captain Han Qiang of the Chinese Space Service sat at his remote control panel. He was deep underground in the Command Bunker. The east wall of his cubicle held a large computer screen. On it was a collage of Japanese schoolgirls in plaid skirts and knee-high socks of varying colors.
He was a plump man in his late thirties, with the top two buttons of his uniform undone. Because of his thinning hair, he had shaved himself bald. He had several computers surrounding him. The Meng 950Z to the side contained his gaming information. He had just been playing Lord Yamato, his ninety-eighth level character, Ur-dominator, the deadliest soldier in the Nangsi World. He’d just logged off, because a priority AAA signal had beeped.
Cracking his knuckles, Captain Han Qiang activated the forward cameras of his Red Thunder missile. It was the latest in Chinese killer satellite technology and had rocketed up out of the thermosphere some time ago.
Han pressed his tongue against the gap between his front teeth, blowing air through them. He did it when he was excited. An image on the screen appeared. It showed the stars. The Red Thunder was in LEO, Low Earth Orbit. That was between the atmosphere and below the inner Van Allen radiation belt. In kilometers, that was one hundred and sixty to two thousand kilometers above the Earth’s surface.
Han shoved his fingers into twitch gloves. With practiced ease, he twitched his fingers. The signal left the tower built over the command center in Mukden. Han rotated his missile, making the star patterns change. The Earth appeared below on his screen, making Han blow harder between the gap of his two front teeth. He twitched more as he activated the grid pattern and external radar. Seconds later, the grid map appeared on his screen, with an American Osprey recon satellite blinking red at the left corner.
Han made rapid calculations, swiveled in his chair to glance at his second favorite Japanese girl and twitched a finger, applying thrust to the Red Thunder.
Eight hundred kilometers above the Earth, the Red Thunder missile hunted the Osprey satellite.
Captain Han was aware that Space Service and Army generals would be watching his progress in the Nexus Command Center. This was his moment to shine, and he grinned, relaxed because he was the best at what he did. This was nothing like running Ur-dominator in the computer games. This was pathetically simple. Still, he needed success here. It would help him gain his request of pit remote controlling with the latest virtual reality imaging.
The intercom light on his Red Thunder screen blinked pink. It meant a message came from Nexus Command.
“It’s moving,” a general told him.
“I’m tracking, sir,” said Captain Han, while clicking a button, making the microphone several centimeters from his lips live. He wore a Lord Yamato headset, using it instead of the Command Center electronics. Lord Yamato was Japanese and of superior workmanship. Han grinned. It was good the general had warned him of the recon satellite’s movement. Of course, he’d seen it moving. He’d simply waited for one of them to see it. Yes, that had frightened the old general and it must have made him wonder if the young captain could achieve success at this critical moment. This would improve his success because it would now stand higher in their eyes and possibly gain him a recommendation.
The precise reason why he needed to kill the American recon satellite, he did not know, although he had some ideas. Truthfully, he didn’t care why. It wasn’t any more real to him than Ur-dominator in Lord Yamato.
He saw that the recon satellite was over the Arctic Circle. The rumors must have merit concerning an invasion of Alaska.
Captain Han had been in the Space Service since his graduation from high school. He had gone to college on the Space Service’s coin. In the early days, he’d been in the Laser ABM branch of the service. ABM meant Anti-Ballistic Missile. Huge laser batteries stationed at strategic locations and connected to the power-grid protected China from Russian, Indian and American ICBMs. Once the enemy missiles lofted, the giant lasers would target them. Either they would target them during boost phase or in space during mid-flight, which could last as long as twenty-five minutes. Space-based mirrors high over China would help them shoot over-the-horizon. America also had a laser defense system. It wasn’t as good as China’s, but it was something and it would likely stop the majority of China’s ICBMs, if that day ever came.
Each country’s high-powered lasers also routinely burned down enemy satellites that attempted to fly over their country on spy missions. It was much harder for the Americans to snoop on China with recon satellites than, say, twenty years ago when it had been routine. China also found it difficult to spy on America via recon satellites. One answer had been to launch powerful boosters to send the spy satellites into higher and higher orbit.
Captain Han had heard rumors about a Moon base. The Moon would make an excellent warfare platform against the Earth. It held the high ground. It was much easier raining objects down on the Earth than sending objects up from the surface to attack, especially to attack the distant Moon.
Captain Han had thought about applying for a berth on the new Moon base, but construction was still a good five years from the happening stage. By then he hoped to be married.
“Captain!” the general said over the intercom.
“I’m working on it,” Captain Han said, lacing his voice with concern. He smirked. This couldn’t be easier.
The Osprey blinked red on the grid of his screen. It was no longer in the corner, but nearing the center. Over the center four squares was a target symbol. Once the enemy satellite was in that, he would depress a button.
He glanced at his timer. That should occur under five minutes.
After the minutes had passed, the general said over the intercom, “Kill it.”
Captain Han wanted to activate his microphone again and whisper one word: Patience. He was certain the general would not enjoy a captain telling him that, however. The general wanted the Osprey dead, didn’t he? Then he should let Ur-dominator do his work without interruption.
“Captain,” the general said. “The recon satellite is in position.”
Stung that anyone should tell Ur-dominator his business, Captain Han activated the microphone. “Respectfully, sir, this is an Osprey e7b3 model. It’s the Americans’ most heavily armored recon satellite. I do not simply wish to wound it, but destroy its capacity to scan.”
“It’s moving!” someone shouted in Nexus Command.
Nodding and feeling vindicated, Captain Han took a moment to glance at his favorite girl. Oh, he’d love to run his hands over those legs. One of these days—
“If it escapes, Captain,” the general said, “there will be severe repercussions.”
“Escapes?” Han asked. “Not from me, sir.”
Han didn’t know if the Osprey had a flee program or if an American operator now steered it away from him. In twenty-eight seconds, it wouldn’t matter. Given its flight path, the amount of fuel an Osprey carried and its known engine size, there were only a few vectors that would make sense in its flight.
Therefore—Captain Han twitched his glove
d fingers. The signal stabbed into space at the speed of light. The Red Thunder missile obeyed orders like the good robot it was. Han watched his screen. The ret dot wobbled, seemed to veer slightly left, and then it fairly leaped into the center of his four target-symbol squares.
“You are mine,” said Han, as he blew through the gap between his two front teeth.
He depressed a button. The kill signal beamed from the tower in Mukden and into space. In seconds, the radio signal reached the box-like missile. Deep inside it, a fuse burned out. The delay lasted four more milliseconds. Then eight hundred and thirty-one kilometers above the surface of the Earth, the Chinese missile exploded. The four point three kilogram explosive expelled over ten thousand pellet-sized pieces of shrapnel in all directions. Fifty-seven of those pellets tore into the Osprey. Seventeen pierced the armor and destroyed the delicate recon equipment. The American satellite continued to exist, but as a torn piece of junk, unable to fulfill its mission.
In Mukden, fifty-meters below the ground in an old coalmine, Captain Han sagged back against his chair. A perfect kill—he’d done it again. He was Ur-dominator and no one could defeat him.
PLATFORM P-53, ARCTIC OCEAN
Paul Kavanagh didn’t know anything about the burning carriers in San Francisco Bay. Nor was he aware that high above him in Low Earth Orbit a Chinese satellite-killer had just destroyed an American Osprey.
The effectively destroyed Osprey continued its orbit and would soon fly over the North Pole. Its cameras and radar would have swept over the oilrig frozen in the Arctic ice. It would have scanned, but not anymore. Therefore, the activity several kilometers from the oilrig was presently hidden from any American or any oil company personnel.
On the pack ice, Paul Kavanagh trudged in his snow boots. It was cold, dark and lonely. In the distance winked the derrick lights, the only manmade structure for a thousand miles. Wind blew across the bleak landscape, occasionally blowing dry snow like sand across a desert.
Paul wore a fur-lined hood, a parka and thick gloves. He carried a flashlight in one hand and used a radar-gun in the other, checking the depth of the perimeter ice. Today, he took a wide circuit around the rig. He searched for unlikely cracks or pressure ridges, which would indicate ‘plates’ of ice grinding against each other. Grinding ice-plates built up pressure ridges just as the pushing continents had once caused mountains to rise into existence.
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