PointOfHonor

by Susan Glinert Stevens

  “I spit on your threats detective. I laugh in your face, because you live in a land where people are slowly killing their culture. It’s like riding the subway—if you have enough tokens—you can go anywhere. Well, I have enough money, and I can buy anybody.” He snarled again with a derisive laugh. “You need only look at your own White House. We bought them, we bought them both for silly campaign contributions.” He shook his head.

  Harvey leaned forward, planting his nose inches fromGoldenrod . “Some of us can’t be bought.”

  “Ah, I see. You are an honest man amongst thieves. The protector of your once great democracy and open society.” He paused. “Then you are a fool, detective. There is nothing worth protecting. You shoot women at Ruby Ridge, and incinerate whole families in Waco. This is how you protect this mighty country.” The eyes went dead. “I chop up babies before their mother’s eyes. You see, we’re not so different.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Your Hostage Rescue Team shot a woman holding a baby in her arms, and then tried to make people believe your sniper with a forty-power scope thought it was a rifle.” He shook his head dismissively. “In my country, we would have simply leveled that shack. Randy Weaver would never have come to the attention of anyone. You and I are the same side of the coin.”

  Harvey gathered up his papers. He balled his fists, resisting the urge to smash the mocking stare. He knocked on the door and turned as the US Marshall unlocked the door. “Another time, then,” said Harvey.

  “Indeed, detective, another time. One thing though, in my country I would never let you get on an airplane. I’d simply make you disappear.” He tipped his head. “Perhaps we will get a chance to test that someday.”

  Harvey stood rooted to the ground. “I’m the exception to your rule, and I’m your worst nightmare. Sometime in the last eighteen hours, you made a mistake. I’m going to find that mistake.”

  Goldenrodshook his head. “You’re a very dumb detective. The damage is already done. No matter what you do, people are going to die today or tomorrow. And they’re not even going to know why, or who, or where, they are dieing. They are simply going to die.” He sighed. “A pity. Even I regret the death of a great warrior, but what has to be will be.” He refocused on Harvey. “Good hunting, detective. Nothing you do matters.”

  Brooke Hamilton trailed Harvey out the door, and Harvey turned to the Marshall in charge of prisoner transport. “They stay handcuffed all the way to Hong Kong.”

  Brook Hamilton opened his mouth to protest and found Harvey’s penetrating glare. He simply said, “Seems like a reasonable precaution.”

  Larry Wheeler was waiting at the end of the corridor. He was tapping a file folder between his fingers. He could sense Harvey’s gloomy countenance, and said brightly, “I think I found his mistake.”

  Harvey nodded. What did a warrior and the damage already done mean? Why wasGoldenrod so confident that there was nothing he could do?Goldenrod was daring him to find the network. Harvey looked at Larry and asked, “What do we have?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Washington, D.C.

  Sunday, November 16, 1997

  Noon EST

  The Chinese ambassador was a squat man measuring slightly more than five foot four inches. His short-cropped black hair matched a perpetual dour expression. He had a pair of perfectly round spectacles that only seemed to emphasize his melon-shaped head. With a shadowy mustache and little black pools for eyes, he waited quietly outside the National Security Advisor’s office. Resting both hands on his black serpent-headed cane, he managed to control the rage he felt welling up inside.

  The National Security Advisor sat ensconced behind his heavy oak door glaring at the videoconference phone built into the wall behind his desk. The defiant FBI director glared back through the digitally enhanced signal.

  “No, sir. I am not going to debate last night. When the safety of my people is involved, I don’t care to discuss your geopolitical concerns. I have more than enough forensic evidence to satisfy me. These two men will be deported today by US Marshals.” He fired the words much like a range master did to raw recruits on a Quantico gunnery range. “They were engaged in espionage activities and they attempted to kill two of my men last night.”

  The FBI director had been carefully chosen after the President had fired his successor over several very public and damaging confrontations. Many of the President’s inner circle felt it safer to have a tame FBI director. Unfortunately, a cop is a cop, and the allegations of Chinese connections to illegal campaign contributions and the transfer of American missile technology brought the administration to loggerheads with the FBI once again.

  “Are you refusing to tell me what this investigation entails?” snarled the NSA.

  Targeted and embattled by the White House spin machine, the Director sighed. “I think it’s obvious why we are concerned regarding this investigation. The White House has been a constant source of security leaks with regard to any issues related to Red China.”

  The NSA rolled his eyes, visibly upset with the other man sitting at his desk at the JEH building. “We continue to hear about all these leaks from inside the White House. You’ve yet to supply us with one name or one clear incident that implicates anyone in this administration.”

  “When we have a name and evidence I’ll personally arrive with the warrant,” snapped the cop.

  “Those are tough words. I hope you can back them up. Otherwise, I’ll have your scalp someday.”

  “Go ahead and try. We’ll sit down with the Senate Judiciary Committee and ask all those former prosecutors what they would think of political tampering with a crime scene where we are still picking bullets out of the trees,” he replied. He was feeling very old and tired and wondering what purpose he served.

  The NSA scowled. This was degenerating into another pissing contest. He considered the headlines and news stories. It might be best to let this China story slide quietly to the back pages of theWashington Post . “I have the Chinese Ambassador sitting outside my door right now. What exactly do I tell him?”

  A smirk and slight shake of the head responded over the videophone. They never stopped trying to get you in this town, he mused. “Tell him the truth—a new idea, I realize.” He also realized he needed to keep his sarcasm under control. Missing church with his family so he could joust with the NSA on a Sunday morning did not seem to make much sense. “We caught them red handed and we’re shipping them out today. They can pick them up in Hong Kong.

  “But understand something very clearly.No one shoots at my people and walks free . They chose to play rough last night. They chose to violate our laws and steal our secrets.” He held up a file folder containing photographic evidence and waved it at the fish eye lens. “I have their faces. I have a time plot. I have ballistics. And I have two men with diplomatic passports.”

  The NSA decided to cut his losses as he eyed his side of the door. The next conversation might not have the same acerbic tone, but it would be fraught with similar peril. “All right—all right, we’ll let this one slide. But please, in the future consider the politics before you let your cowboys loose again.”

  The Director set his lips and his teeth ground uncomfortably. “I’ll consider the law. That’s my job. Now if you’ll excuse me, sir. I have a Bureau to run.” He reached forth and clicked the line off. Any FBI investigation would require careful scrutiny to ensure it did not lead any closer to the Administration.

  The image blanked out on the NSA’s screen. He quietly chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering what Arthur had managed to drag up. He tapped a cigarette from a pack of Winstons. Technically, the White House was smoke-free according to the First Lady’s edict. The First Lady merely had political adversaries; he had several very real enemies to deal with. Switching the White House’s internal system on, he dialed up Arthur’s office. His aide’s face came into focus.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have good news.”

  The NSA’s stoma
ch sank further into his high-backed office chair. What else could have gone wrong? “How bad?”

  “As far as I can make out, the Chinese boat fired on one of the 688 boats.” He said referring to theLos Angeles Class attack boats.

  The NSA half rose out of his chair as he remembered last night’s conversation with the President. Could the Chinese know about a naval engagement inside the Gulf? “What!” He glanced at the oak door once again. Which crisis was the dour little man with his black serpent’s head cane here about? He pulled a folder from across his desk and glanced at the current information on the Chinese Ambassador. Looking back to Arthur, he said quietly, “All right, what exactly happened?”

  “The Chinese were still inside the Gulf when it happened. Seems one of theVikings found the Chinese boat and they vectored a 688 boat,” explained Arthur.

  “Casualties?” He already knew the answer, but hearing Arthur’s reply did not lessen the impact.

  Arthur shrugged. “TheHan was a complete loss. We’ve been training for underwater combat since the twenties. I guess it paid off last night.”

  “I wonder what they know about this?” mused the NSA aloud. He looked towards the door again.

  “If they know we sunk one of their boats. I think they’ll be pretty mad,” offered Arthur.

  “An understatement,” muttered the NSA. “Look, I’m going to shut down your video feeds into this office, but I want you listening to this on your end. We might have to come up with something fast.” There were other implications to the attack on the Chinese naval vessel. Implications the NSA did not care to contemplate.

  Arthur nodded. He glanced at the document emerging on his PC screen. He leaned forward to start keying in the words necessary to transform a policy recommendation into orders. “I think we’ll need to limit our visibility with regard to the Iraqi actions and theHan boat.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  Arthur glanced back to the camera eye and clasped his hands carefully. “Sir, we sent a team into the Gulf in direct response to a transfer of material from theHan to a Iraqi boat. That suggests knowledge that we knew theHan was in the Gulf. We will have certain proof before the end of today that some form of advanced nerve agent was delivered. They planned the transfer when our satellites were not looking, and when our spy planes were not airborne over the area. It’s an accident that we found this transfer.”

  The NSA nodded. “Okay.”

  “So what happened in the Gulf between our forces and their forces was a result of American knowledge. We saw the transfer on Friday. We have U-2 photos, and we formed a preplanned response to the issue. What if the U-2 photographic evidence never happened?”

  The NSA wrinkled his brow. “I’m not following you.”

  “If the U-2 never flew over that part of the Gulf and the camera never took the pictures, we would know nothing concerning any transactions between the Iraqis and the Chinese. You would never have called a meeting on Saturday, and Louis Edwards wouldn’t have been dispatched to put an infiltration team together. If we neversaw a Chinese submarine, then we’d never start hunting it and ultimately if it sank it’s a Chinesemaintenance problem.”

  “And what do we do about the infiltration team?”

  Arthur smiled coyly. “What infiltration team?”

  “You mean cut them loose?” completed the NSA.

  “Exactly!”

  The NSA looked across the room and back to the camera eye. “Six men, Arthur. We’re talking about six men who might not come home.” Others had died during this administration, and no one seemed to care. Perhaps a right-wing weekly would pick up the story, but no one at theNew York Times orWashington Post would give credence to right wing ravings.

  “It would be best if they didn’t come home.” He sighed. “Sir, it would be best if this operation never appeared on the books. Part of the plan involves forces from theGeorge Washington and Air Force assets. That can easily be cancelled—six men versus repercussions with the Chinese government. It’s a cheap price to pay. We’ve already sunk their submarine, and who is going to believe it was in self-defense?

  “We sent over a hundred men to the bottom of the Gulf. We hunted and hounded them into a mistake, and our commanders acted within their orders. Granted there is a log of those orders, but if we bury this deep, if it ever did emerge, we’d both be long gone.” He paused. It was important to paint the spin properly. “The people who know about the Chinese submarine are manageable. It’s not the sort of thing we want to advertise after all. Besides, these men are all naval officers. We slap a high security label on the incident and forget it.”

  “We’re the only ones who know where theHan sunk.So, what we don’t know can’t hurt us . As for the infiltration team, it is a direct result of the same action.” Arthur shrugged. “Six men inside Iraq with no exit strategy. If they survive the inevitable firefight, how are they going to get out?

  “A handful of men sent into the region.” He prattled on. “They were specifically chosen for their deniability. We control the intelligence assets and we control the information. If anyone has a sudden attack of conscience, we’ll ship them out to the Aleutians to count baby seals.”

  “Certainly, we can bury this long enough to handle the Chinese outrage. And the President need never know what exactly happened.”

  The NSA smiled and shook his head. “I have to tell him about the Chinese boat. That’s sure to come up in conversation somewhere along the way.”

  Arthur nodded, knowing they had pressed beyond the barrier of betrayal. It was now simply the positioning of stories and pieces on the geopolitical stage. “Of course, of course,” he said hurriedly. “The President does need to know about the Chinese boat, but he need never know anything more about this mission. We simply tell him its been cancelled and we allow the Iraqis to do the right thing with our team.”

  The NSA nodded. He pressed his lips together and nodded a final time. “Okay. Get it done. Make sure no one comes back.”

  “I’ve got an order drafted over your signature.”

  The NSA nodded tightly and removed himself from the scene of actual carnage. Here in the safe confines of the West Wing behind several barriers of security, the lonely Iraqi desert was little more than a mind game. Outside there were gardeners tending the White House grounds, and people were settling down for an NFL afternoon. The President was returning from church, and the weather was cooperating to be a fine autumn afternoon. The NSA could imagine that Iraq did not even exist. There would be no cameras or reporters; just words transmitted digitally via satellite—a push button decision—simple, clean, and remote. “Send it.” It felt tidy.

  He switched off the video and audio feeds from Arthur’s office. His stomach growled as he rose to open the door. He opened the door and stuck out his hand smiling, “Welcome Mister Ambassador.”

  Li Zhaoxing nodded and shook the NSA’s hand. He was a seasoned diplomat with numerous postings in the Chinese Foreign Ministry, the most recent being Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs, and before that, Ambassador Extraordinary to the United Nations. He was not simply an ambassador for show. He had contacts within the People’s Liberation Army and the intelligence services.

  The coded faxes from Beijing had arrived early that morning. Li Zhaoxing read the summary of American actions against Iraq and China. Li Zhaoxing could appreciate the former Soviet Union’s reluctance to directly attack the United States. After all, it still was the technological goose laying the golden eggs.

  The Soviets had chosen to steal technology in an effort to stay within sight of the Americans. Ronald Reagan changed the Cold War marathon into a sprint and destroyed the Soviet economy in less than eight years. China dare not make the same mistake as the old Soviet Union. For now, the American administration could be held at bay and manipulated. However, should someone emerge on the scene in the 2000 elections with a Reagan-like instinct, then all might be lost by 2010.

  Zhaoxing came to sit across a coffee table from t
he NSA. A White House steward entered with tea and shortbread cookies. The Chinese Ambassador smiled broadly as he took a few cookies and the proffered cup.

  “Now, Mister Ambassador, what brings you here on a fine Sunday morning?”

  Zhaoxing looked across the table to the smiling NSA as he sipped his tea and set it down before him. “I do not wish to give offence to your fine hospitality, but there have been some disturbing developments,” he began.

  The NSA’s smile faded slightly. A crinkled brow and a sudden look of concern rippled across his features. “Developments?”

  The Ambassador bobbed his head. “It appears one of out submarines is missing.”

  The NSA settled back in his chair. “Really? Tell me more.”

  “Yes, well, we have information that elements of your Navy are actively tracking one of our submarine boats.” He stared directly over his cup.

  The sentence hung between them like a black cloud on a summer day. “Mister Ambassador, we have naval forces around the world. There is contact everyday between forces of different countries. Our forces, as your forces, must maintain a vigilance towards local aggression—“

  “Are you suggesting that there has been some sort of incident?” snapped Zhaoxing.

  The truth fluttered hopelessly in the air, before the NSA replied. “If there has been an incident, nothing has crossed my desk officially. Perhaps, you could give me some idea where this might have happened.”

  Zhaoxing considered the matter. If he acknowledged the existence of a Chinese submarine in the Persian Gulf, and the Americans did not know of its existence, then he had damaged his own security. Yet the coded fax had been markedNightHawk .NightHawk was a primary intelligence inside the White House. Zhaoxing had been briefed on the existence of the agent only last week. It was one of China’s most closely guarded secrets, andNightHawk had never been wrong.