Read The Art of War: A Novel Online
Authors: Stephen Coonts
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #War, #United States, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Military, #Spies & Politics, #Espionage, #Thrillers
The Art of War: A Novel (51 page)
Real-time text messages from Captain Joe Child and Lieutenant Howie Peavy scrolled across one of the large projection screens. The SEAL raid had been a success; all the men were coming out; they had egressed after sinking a harbor patrol boat and taking out several machine gunners aboard
Liaoning.
“A nice job,” the CNO muttered. At the duty desk, one of the officers was on the telephone, no doubt briefing Sal Molina.
Grafton and the admiral watched as two bogeys climbed away from an airfield near the Qingdao naval base in real time, rendezvoused and headed out to sea, eastbound and climbing.
McKiernan looked at his watch. “The SEALs cracked that keel two and a half hours ago. Since then the PLAN has been trying to figure out what happened and what to do about it.”
These two had discussed all this, of course, before they went to see the president for approval of the SEAL raid. “The Chinese will be surprised, embarrassed and probably outraged,” Grafton argued, “yet they won’t shoot unless they are fired upon. No Chinese officer is going to take the responsibility for starting World War III.”
“You hope,” Jurgen Schulz glowered.
The secretary of state, Owen Lancaster, cleared his throat. He was a white-haired Brahmin who had been helping hold up the New England end of the establishment for at least fifty years. Although no one knew how he voted, if he did, he had been routinely appointed to key ambassadorships by thirty years’ worth of presidents. This president had elevated him to run the State Department, to the relief of a great many Americans who expected another party hack.
Lancaster was no fan of Jake Grafton, with whom he had crossed swords several times in the past. Still, he eyed McKiernan and Grafton carefully, then spoke to the president. “The Chinese need to be taught a lesson. That bomb in Norfolk was a gambit approved at the very top. We can’t let it pass. If we do, sooner or later we will be in a shooting war in the Far East or we will be run out of there with our tails between our legs. We must make our choice now. Tomorrow will be too late.”
The president deferred to Lancaster. “Do it,” he told Cart McKiernan.
So Grafton and McKiernan had gotten their permission. Now they sat in the back row of the White House Situation Room watching jets rush together over the Yellow Sea and hoped they had correctly predicted the Chinese reaction.
Yet neither man was really worried. Even if some Chinese pilot opened fire, he would quickly go into the sea, and cooler heads would prevail in Beijing. Political provocations are wonderful PR for the home folks, but when one encounters naked steel, it is time to reassess. Are you ready to fight?
The two American sections of Hornets, two fighters in each section, turned so that the Chinese formation went between them; then they turned hard to come in at an angle from each side, a classic rendezvous. But as the Chinese pilots knew, the Americans were in their rear quadrant pulling lead. If the Americans chose to shoot, they were perfectly set up for it.
The flight leader reported that the Chinese jets had their external lights on, as the American fighters did. Rear Admiral Toad Tarkington passed that comment on to Washington immediately, and both McKiernan and Grafton relaxed a bit when they heard it. The Chinese pilots had not been sent to shoot down an American plane or two. If they had, they would have never let the Americans get into a firing position.
McKiernan slapped Grafton on the shoulder again and dug a pack of chewing gum out of his pocket.
When the last of the helicopters and fighters were back aboard ship and
Hornet
had recovered her two Sealions, McKiernan and Grafton stood, stretched and strolled out of the Situation Room. They met Sal Molina coming in.
“We’re going over to the Willard for steaks and drinks,” Grafton told the president’s man. “You want to come along?”
He did. Late that night the Willard valet at the door hailed taxis to take all three men home.
If we desire to avoid insult, we must be able to repel it; if we desire to secure peace, one of the most powerful instruments of our rising prosperity, it must be known that we are at all times ready for War.
—George Washington
Not a word of the events in Qingdao harbor or the Yellow Sea that January night ever made it into print, the Internet, or broadcast radio or television. It was as if
Liaoning
were still afloat. Satellite reconnaissance showed that she probably wasn’t.
Three days after the event, the Chinese ambassador, who spoke excellent English, called on the State Department to deliver a note from the Chinese government. He was ushered into the office of the secretary, Owen Lancaster.
“Before you deliver your note, sir, I have something to show you,” Lancaster said. “Then, perhaps, you and I can have a private, off-the-record discussion.”
Lancaster’s limo was waiting. Without a word being said, the driver headed for Joint Base Andrews, the air force side. The limo was waved through toward a hangar surrounded by air force MPs wearing helmets and sidearms and carrying assault rifles. Some of them had dogs on leashes.
A colonel escorted Lancaster and his guest into the hangar, which was empty except for a bomb dolly in the middle of the thing. The colonel let Lancaster and the ambassador proceed alone. Lancaster stopped beside the bomb dolly.
“This, Mr. Ambassador, is a Chinese nuclear weapon. It was recovered from the Norfolk naval base, where it was submerged near the entrance to the harbor.”
“Mr. Secretary, I am unfamiliar with weapons. I have never even seen one. I have no idea what nation produced this one, if it is indeed a weapon.”
“Your government has been less than forthright with you, sir,” Lancaster said. “This weapon was armed and within two hours of detonating when it was found. You were there in Norfolk, sir, and had it exploded, you would now be dead, along with several million Americans.”
“I repeat, sir—”
“Don’t bother,” Lancaster said, holding up his hand. “I feel somewhat certain that you called today at the State Department to lodge a protest about the sabotage of your aircraft carrier,
Liaoning,
at the Qingdao naval base, several days ago. Rest assured, sir, that the United States government knows no more about that incident than the government of the People’s Republic knows about this weapon you see before you.”
The Chinese ambassador said nothing.
Lancaster continued. “However, it must be said, unofficially and off the record, privately from me to you, that certain people in our government thought it would be fitting and proper for this weapon, made in China, to be returned to China, placed under
Liaoning,
and detonated.” Lancaster made a gesture. “Although I know nothing about any of this, I assume that since I have not heard about a nuclear detonation in China, and since the weapon is physically right before us, such counsel was wisely rejected.”
“Quite so,” said the ambassador, who felt called upon to wipe his forehead.
“Unless you wish to take a photo or inspect the weapon more closely, I suggest we return to my office, where you can present your note.”
But when they returned to Foggy Bottom, the ambassador decided not to present the note.
A week after the
Liaoning
incident, the Chinese government made a routine announcement: A new officer had been named head of the PLAN. What had happened to Admiral Wu wasn’t mentioned, but intelligence agencies later learned that he was arrested on the order of the Paramount Leader, shot and quietly buried.
* * *
Sarah Houston and I flew home across the big pond. The truth is I was sort of tuckered out from all the vacationing. I have never had all the sex I wanted, but when we boarded the plane in Singapore I was perilously close to having had all I could stand. And I was kinda almost in love with Sarah Houston.
I had been really in love once before with Anna Modin, and I knew the signs. I was having a devil of a time keeping my eyes off Sarah. Just looking at her and hearing her voice delighted me. It wasn’t love yet, but maybe in time it might be. Anna was still a living presence with me, but she was gone … forever. Life is for the living. Somehow I was going to have to get my head around those realities. Someday.
We got off the plane in San Francisco exhausted and jet-lagged to the max, retrieved our luggage, signed out a rental car and set forth upon the highways. Sarah got busy with her cell phone as I drove. After a while she announced, “The president nominated Jake Grafton for director of the CIA. Sent his name to the Senate.”
We rode along silently, each of us thinking about that. We talked about what Grafton might have each of us doing.
Mom seemed to like Sarah. She wanted to know all about Singapore, so we told her some lies. In fact, we hadn’t seen much of it outside the hotel. I didn’t mention the morgue.
“I’ve got a new boyfriend,” Mom announced. “He’ll be here for dinner, in about an hour, to meet you, Tommy, and of course Sarah.”
I tried to be casual. “What happened to the old one, Bertie What’s His Name?”
“We broke up right after you were here the last time, Tommy.”
“Oh,” I managed.
“Then he left a week or so ago, moved away apparently. They haven’t seen him at the country club.” She shrugged. “I hope he wasn’t devastated by the breakup, but these things happen.”
Sarah nodded sagely, and I said “Oh” again.
When I had recovered a bit, I said, as casually as I could, “So tell us about the new guy.”
“You’ll like him,” she assured me. “He is reasonably good-looking, athletic and very talented. Extraordinarily so.”
“Talented at what?”
“He’s a body artist,” Mom told us, as if it were a secret.
A vision of some kinky sex thing flashed before my eyes. After all, I knew my mother. But maybe I was going too fast. “What’s a body artist?” I asked.
“He does tattoos,” Sarah told me with her eyebrows up.
I gave Mom my best lying grin. “I hope it works out for you,” I said. Sarah patted my arm.
For their kindness in reading and commenting upon various portions of the manuscript, the author wishes to thank Gilbert F. Pascal, Jerry A. Graham, and RADM Daniel H. Stone USN Ret. A special thank you to Deborah Jean Coonts, who read every word of every draft numerous times and didn’t surrender.
The author also wishes to acknowledge the wisdom and seemingly infinite patience of his long-suffering editor, Charles Spicer of St. Martin’s Press. Thanks, Charlie.
Also by
Stephen Coonts
The Intruders
The Red Horsemen
Under Siege
The Minotaur
Final Flight
With William H. Keith
With Jim DeFelice
Nonfiction
The Cannibal Queen
Anthologies
Victory
War in the Air
Writing as Eve Adams
STEPHEN COONTS
is the
New York Times
bestselling author of more than thirty novels that have been translated and published around the world. A former naval aviator and Vietnam combat veteran, he is a graduate of West Virginia University and the University of Colorado School of Law. He lives in Colorado.
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