First Strike (6 page)

The morning of the reception, Chuck White arranged for Rich, Jade and Dex Halford to get a private tour of the White House. It was pretty much the same tour as most visitors got, but for just the three of them.

The tour only covered the main, central building—the Executive Residence or Mansion House, as it was called. Chuck promised to show them the West Wing, where the President and his staff actually worked, after lunch.

Although she knew that the rooms they were seeing had been decorated and presented deliberately to be impressive, Jade was awestruck. Even the visitors' foyer left her breathless. And wherever she went, she was conscious that this was
the
White House—one of the most famous buildings in the world. And home to one of the
most powerful people in the world.

Unusually, Rich seemed just as impressed. He was uncharacteristically quiet as they were shown the Library, the Vermeil Room, the China Room, the Map Room, the Blue Room and the Red Room; they even had a quick tour of the kitchens.

Chuck took them out for lunch. They looked back at the huge building from the other side of Pennsylvania Avenue, and Jade found it hard to believe she'd been inside just minutes ago.

After lunch, Chuck promised them a quick tour of the famous West Wing. This was where the President's Oval Office overlooked the Rose Garden, and where the Cabinet Room and other offices were housed.

“Though it isn't really big enough any more,” Chuck told them. “Most of the staff have spilled out into the Eisenhower Building just next door.”

They started in the basement. Chuck told them this was where his own office was situated, as well as general administration, the rest rooms, canteen, a few conference rooms and the Situation Room.

“Lucky there isn't a situation today,” said Dex, as Chuck showed them inside.

Even so, there were several people in business suits
working away on laptops at the long conference table. Flat-panel displays were fixed to the walls, and there was a bank of telephones.

“Secure communications and heavy duty shielding,” said Chuck. “Better leave these guys to it. They keep a constant watch on what's going on in the world, gathering data from a multitude of sources, always on the lookout for trouble.”

“And do they find it?” Jade asked.

Chuck grinned. “Sometimes. Thanks, guys,” he called as he ushered them out again.

“Is that the most secret and secure room in the White House, then?” Rich asked.

“Guess so. Except maybe…” Chuck shrugged. “Yeah, probably.” He gave a knowing, teasing smile.

“Oh come on,” Rich told him. “You can't leave it at that.”

“Promise not to tell anyone, and I'll show you what's really the most secure and secret room. Though with everyone demanding freedom of information, the word ‘secret' doesn't mean what it once did.”

Chuck led them back along a corridor to where he had pointed out the main Secret Service office. It was a large open-plan room with partitioned workspaces. In fact, it
was boringly like any other office.

But before they reached it, they passed another smaller room, and a narrow flight of stairs. The stairs jutted out into the corridor, the side was faced with dark, wooden panels.

“These come out near the Press Secretary's office and the Cabinet Room,” said Chuck. “We'll go up there in a minute.”

“And is this the room?” Rich asked, sounding slightly awed. He pointed to the door closest to the stairs.

Chuck White laughed. “We have everything here in the White House. It's like a big village. Self-sufficient. And that,” he went on, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “is the barber's shop.”

Without waiting for a reaction, Chuck pushed open the door and led the way inside. It looked just like an ordinary office—with oak-panelled walls and a large wooden desk.

“No one in today, but this is now the Office of Homeland Security,” said Chuck. “The barber was evicted a few years ago. Now he makes house calls.”

It was the first room in the West Wing that hadn't been a hive of activity. Jade was surprised how many people there were—even in the corridors.

“Is that what you were going to show us?” Jade asked. “An empty room?” It seemed to her that Chuck had been heading past this room when Rich had asked about it.

“Of course.”

“Really?” Halford asked.

“How can you doubt me?” Chuck shook his head. “OK, you got me,” he admitted. “The most secret room in the White House is actually the cupboard under these stairs.”

Without further explanation, Chuck led them up the nearby stairs to the first floor. In fact, it was also the ground floor as the West Wing was built into the hill side. So at the back of the building, the President's Oval Office, although on this upper floor, had a view out over the grounds and a door out into the famous Rose Garden.

Chuck gave them a quick look at the Roosevelt Room, which was where they would later be meeting the President. It was a large room, almost square but with a corner flattened off and a door set at an angle across. There were two other doors, and a large conference table in the middle of the room. There was a large fireplace on one wall, several paintings, and a grandfather clock.

“Which Roosevelt is it named after—Theodore or Franklin D?” Halford asked.

“Both really,” said Chuck. “Theodore had the room built, and FDR expanded it. So Nixon named it after them. Seems fair enough. Franklin D. Roosevelt used to keep fish in here.”

“I'd have thought receptions like this would be in the main house, the Residence,” said Halford.

“Usually, yes. But this is rather less formal. Less public. Just you guys and few other dignitaries. A couple of guys from the Chinese Embassy who have a meeting with the President beforehand are staying too. So the President thought he'd meet and greet close to his office and away from the public. Saves him the walk as well.”

“Do we get to see the Oval Office?” Rich asked.

“Maybe later. Ask the President, he'll probably be happy to show you the Oval Office. And the Cabinet Room—that's through from his secretary who has an office adjoining the President's.”

“Can't we see it now?” Jade asked. “Just a quick look?”

Chuck shook his head. “Afraid not. The President's working in there.”

“At least show us where it is,” Rich begged.

Chuck laughed. “It's just through here. This place isn't nearly as big as people imagine, you know.”

He led them out of the door set at an angle. Now Rich
could see it was angled because the corridor outside was cutting across what would otherwise be the corner of the room.

“The Oval Office,” said Chuck quietly, pointing across the corridor to a large wooden door just a short distance away.

There was a man in a dark suit sitting on an upright chair outside the door. He nodded at Chuck. “How you doing, sir?”

“Pretty good, thanks, Steve.”

Steve was cradling a briefcase on his lap. It was made of metal, and Rich could see that it was attached to the man's wrist by a thick, metal chain.

“Nice case,” said Rich. “Something important?”

“You could say that,” Steve replied. He glanced at Chuck, who nodded.

“He'll guess anyway. He's a bright kid,” said Chuck.

“Today, I'm the Bagman,” said Steve. “I keep close to the President at all times, and hope he never needs this.” He tapped the briefcase with his free hand. “This is the briefcase that contains the nuclear launch codes and the equipment to send them.”

Jade gasped. Halford nodded, obviously having guessed this already. Rich felt slightly queasy just at the
thought of the powerful information inside the briefcase.

Chuck grinned, obviously used to living and working close to the instruments of Armageddon. “We call it the Football,” he said.

The J-10 fighter was designed to be inherently aerodynamically unstable. The fly-by-wire systems compensated for that, and made use of it to make the aircraft even more manoeuvrable and agile. With its swept back delta wings, small front wings that pivoted under the cockpit and no tail fins, it was exactly what John Chance needed.

The problem was the Chinese People's Liberation Army Air Force was not going to let him have it.

The commander of the warhead convoy had been grateful to Chance and Mr Chang for their help preventing the warheads getting into rebel hands—even without their nuclear weapons they would have been powerful explosives. He was even more grateful to them
for saving his life. So grateful he was very keen for Chance and Mr Chang to wait and meet his superior officers and explain who they were and how they happened to be in that part of Wiengwei at exactly the right time.

Chance told Mr Chang to agree enthusiastically as they sat waiting for the helicopters to arrive. Then as soon as they got the opportunity, they leaped back into Mr Chang's car—the engine still running—and sped away.

Now that Chance had realised what Ralph had been trying to tell Rich, he needed to get in touch with Ardman urgently. The rebels were after the Football—the American nuclear launch codes.

He couldn't risk telling the Chinese military that American nuclear launch capabilities might be compromised. They would quickly work out the first target of a nuke in the hands of the Wiengwei rebels might be Beijing, and launch a pre-emptive strike again the US. However dire the situation might be—and Chance really didn't know if there genuinely was a threat—he didn't fancy being responsible for starting World War Three.

For the same reason, he couldn't risk calling Ardman. If the call was intercepted, the consequences could be just as grave.

This meant Chance had to get out of China as quickly as possible—and that was why he and Mr Chang were parked outside the perimeter of the PLAAF airbase examining a squadron of J-10s through binoculars.

“Can you fly one of those?” Mr Chang asked.

“I'll have a go.” Chance grinned. “Actually, I happen to know the cockpit design is a ‘Hands-On-Throttle-And-Stick' set-up very similar to western fighters. It's been a while, but I think I'll manage.”

“Even with the controls labelled in Chinese?”

“You're lucky it's a single-seater,” said Chance. “If they had the two-seater trainer version there, you'd be coming with me.”

“That might be safer than what you're suggesting.”

The guards at the gate scrutinised the two passes that Mr Chang showed them. But they were used to surprise inspections, and let the two inspectors through. One of the guards called ahead to warn the base commander. If either of them noticed that only one of the inspectors spoke, while the other stood a short way off, his head down and his cap low over his eyes, they said nothing—intimidated perhaps by the man's powerful build.

The base commander was keen to help. He knew of
other bases where the commanding officer had been immediately replaced after a snap inspection. Or ended up running a refuelling depot in the middle of nowhere, or patrolling the northern borders with criminals and undesirables. Or out of a job altogether.

So when the chief inspector demanded to start by examining the state of the aircraft and their readiness for action, he agreed at once.

“And they are fuelled and ready to take off immediately?” Chang demanded.

“Of course, sir. Several of the planes are taken out of service briefly for maintenance or refuelling. But the others are prepared and can take off at a moment's notice.”

“Your typical scramble time, from alert to airborne?”

The commander blustered. “The times are getting better and better, sir. We practise constantly.”

“The exact times?”

“I shall have to check the records,” the commander confessed.

Chang nodded. “Very well. But first, I think we shall inspect the state of the aircraft themselves. He turned to Chase. “You will examine the cockpit of that aircraft.” He pointed to the nearest of the J-10s.

“Your colleague is actually going to check inside the plane?” The commander was sweating. He had never known this before. What was going on—was it a new, even tougher inspection? Had someone in Beijing already decided the base should fail?

“Helmet for my colleague, please,” Chang demanded. “He will also be checking the head-up display settings.”

The commander nodded to the engineers gathered round and listening. “Get him a flight helmet.”

Steps were wheeled to the side of the plane. Chance turned away as he removed his cap to put on the heavy flight helmet and it occurred to the commander that he had not properly seen the tall man's face since he arrived, but he said nothing.

Then Chance climbed into the aircraft and strapped himself in.

“We shall of course be conducting a brief engine check,” Chang announced.

It seemed to the base commander that the inspector was nervous too. And that made the commander even more wary. “I'm not sure I can allow that, sir,” he said hesitantly, aware that his career was on the line. Should he object—was he
supposed
to object?

Chang nodded, as if pleased. At the same moment, the
massive AL-31FN turbofan engine—actually manufactured in Russia—burst into life. The sound drowned out whatever Chang was saying.

But the commander was no longer listening. He was watching in open-mouthed amazement as the J-10 started to move out on to the runway.

Chang smiled and held his hand up, shaking his head as if to say: “Don't worry.”

The engineers were looking at the commander for instructions. Pilots were running to see what was happening. The plane started down the runway, engine sound deepening as it increased power.

The J-10 was designed to have a short take-off and to climb steeply and rapidly to its cruising altitude. It was only a matter of seconds before the plane was roaring into the sky high above the airbase.

The commander stared in horror at Chang. “What is going on?”

Chang met his gaze calmly. “You were right to question whether we should start the engines. Unfortunately, you were a little late in that realisation, which will not look so good on my report. But rest assured I will note your diligence and alertness. I do of course have the necessary paperwork and authorisation
for the air trials my colleague is now performing.”

He produced a sheaf of papers from his uniform jacket, but then stuffed them away again before the commander could take them.

“Which I shall show you when we go over my preliminary findings at the end of this inspection.” He checked his watch. “The air trials will take about ninety minutes. I will see you in your office when my colleague returns and we shall discuss an appropriate action plan for the base—to be carried out under your continued command.”

The commander tried not to look too relieved. “Thank you, sir.”

“Assuming,” Chang continued, “that I find the perimeter intact and properly patrolled. I will require transport so I can check this for myself. No driver, I shall go alone and make spot checks wherever I deem necessary.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And I will meet you in your office in, shall we say two hours?”

The commander nodded. “That will be most convenient.”

Chang smiled. “I shouldn't really say this,
Commander, but judging by what I have seen so far, I think an ‘A' rating will be a formality. The promotion board will be impressed. Congratulations.”

The commander swallowed. “Promotion board?”

“Forget I said that. Something else we can discuss later perhaps.”

On the way back to his office, the base commander was almost walking on air. A snap inspection with an ‘A' rating, a promotion board…He sat at his desk staring into space, thinking about how his life might just have changed.

Which was why he didn't notice that Chang drove the Warrior—a clone of the US Jeep—straight to the main gate and out of the base. It would be almost three hours before he realised his life had indeed just changed, but not in the way he imagined…

High above the clouds, John Chance was impressed with the all-round visibility afforded by the two-piece bubble canopy. He took the J-10 to supersonic speed, and headed for the border with India.

He didn't imagine it would be easy getting there. The Indian Air Force would take some convincing that he wasn't starting an invasion, but at least they might understand English.

The Chinese could be more of a problem. The J-10 was designed in the 1990s and had been in service since 2004, but it has only been officially announced to the world late in 2006. Even now, its actual capabilities were a mystery. A mystery that would unravel as soon as Chance landed his stolen fighter on foreign soil. Once they realised what was happening, the PLAAF would shoot him down rather than let that happen.

Even at supersonic speed, it was going to be a long flight.