Power and Empire

“No, sir,” Holloway said. He was obviously trying to hear himself above the wind — and likely the thump of his own heartbeat in his ears. The hissing connection made it sound as if were speaking in a strained stage whisper. “We’re all uninjured and accounted for, Mr. President,” he said.

“Is there a way to repair the damage? Ryan asked.

“The fire was extensive,” Holloway said. “My engineer is working to fix the problem, but it doesn’t look promising. I want you to know we fully realize the gravity of this situation, sir. There are systems on the ship that cannot fall into Chinese hands.”

“That would be best,” Ryan said, wishing he could say otherwise.

“I have discussed using the life rafts and scuttling with the crew,” Holloway said. “They will obey the order without argument, Mr. President.”

“Hang on now, Captain,” Ryan said. “We’re not there yet.” He tried to imagine launching a rubber raft in gale winds and thirty-foot seas, let alone boarding the damned thing from a pitching ship. If the crew survived the deployment, and if the storm didn’t shred the inflatable rafts, then their best hope for survival was getting picked up by a Chinese patrol. “You take care of your people, Captain,” Ryan said. “We’ll get the cavalry heading your way with all possible speed.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” the captain said. The strain in his voice made it apparent that he was experienced and realistic enough to feel grateful for the President’s outreach, without holding out some insane hope for an actual rescue.

Ryan ended the call and then looked at his watch. “All right, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s half past two. Let’s find out what we have in the way of a cavalry.”

Arnie stood. “We’ll have the NSC Principals Committee here inside the hour,” he said.

“Very well.” Ryan looked at the deputy national security adviser. “It’s early afternoon in Beijing. Robby, get with the duty officers downstairs and have them line up a Mandarin interpreter. Tell them we’ll just need one. It’ll be a fifteen-minute call at most. And get me the background sheet on President Zhao. I want you to set up a call with him as soon as humanly possible.”

“Right away, Mr. President.”

Van Damm’s head snapped around as if he’d been slapped. “Oh, I’d urge against that, Jack.”

“I agree with Arnie, Mr. President,” the SecDef said. “We’re not even sure the ChiComs know where this boat is.”

“And I don’t plan to tell them,” Ryan said.

Commander Forrestal was already out the door. He had his orders, and the arguments of two advisers shouldn’t slow him down. If the President wanted him to stop, the President would have to be the one to stop him.

• • •

Ryan was showered, shaved, and freshly suited in twenty minutes. Someone had rustled him up a cup of coffee and a Danish, and they were on his desk by the time he got back to the Oval. He took a bite and wondered idly what it would be like when he wasn’t the leader of the free world anymore and magic coffee fairies didn’t leave him pastries and Arabica roast when he most needed them.

It was just after four in the morning by the time USAF Major Jennifer Yi, the Mandarin speaker sent over by the Pentagon, entered the Oval Office ahead of Commander Forrestal. She was a tall, no-nonsense woman with a stern face that made Ryan think she probably voted for the other guy in the last election. Still, she was professional and looked him in the eye when she shook his hand. He didn’t have to ask about her credentials as a simultaneous interpreter or her clearance. The NSC guys in the watch center would have handled all of that. By necessity, interpreters got to be a part of conversations that only a select few were privy to. Intense and often delicate negotiations hung in the balance of an interpreter’s ability to pick up on what speakers meant to say and the words they chose to convey it.

Van Damm, Burgess, and Foley took seats on the couches while Major Yi moved her chair around behind the desk so she could be seated beside the President, closer to his ear. She would listen to the conversation via a headset, translating the Chinese president’s Mandarin almost simultaneously. The effort required intense concentration, and she situated her chair so she faced away from the others in attendance, close to Ryan’s ear but not looking at him. In addition to those in the room, the call would be recorded and monitored by a half-dozen aides and staffers.

Presumably, Zhao would have a similar situation on his end.

Forrestal picked up the handset on the President’s desk, spoke to someone on the other end of the line for a moment, and then handed it to Ryan, giving him a thumbs-up.

“Mr. President,” Ryan said. “Thank you for taking my call…”

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