Power and Empire

Commander Robby Forrestal stepped into the Oval a moment later, standing by the door until the President motioned him the rest of the way in. Bald as an egg, he had an angular jaw and runner’s build that suited his Navy service dress whites — the summer uniform he’d wear through September. The placard of ribbons on his chest said he’d served in conflicts involving Afghanistan, Iran, and China. It never ceased to move Ryan how much time in action these young servicemen now faced before they were thirty-five. It was a sobering thought, since for too many years it had been a nod from him that sent them there.

Three minutes later Commander Forrestal finished his initial Bottom Line Up Front briefing regarding the explosion and eventual sinking of China Global Shipping Lines’ Orion. He took a step back, waiting for discussion and questions. As a former national security adviser himself, Ryan knew how to conduct a briefing, and Forrestal was one of the best.

“Casualties?” Ryan asked.

“Preliminary information reports four dead,” Forrestal said. “But the ship’s manifest says there were thirty-two souls on board — and only twenty-two of those are accounted for.”

Ryan took a long breath and gave a pensive shake of his head. “Six more…”

“Still missing, Mr. President,” Forrestal said. “Coast Guard has a Mandarin speaker from Seattle on scene at the command post now. I’ll have more information for you in short order.”

Ryan read the one-page executive summary Commander Forrestal had provided. “Forty-knot winds and sixteen-foot seas…”

“Yes, sir,” Forrestal said. “We’re fortunate they were able to save the twenty-two, considering the conditions. The search for the six missing crewmen is still ongoing. I have to admit, the Coasties are doing an incredible job here.”

“High praise from a Navy man.” Ryan smiled. “So they’re diverting traffic up through Canada?”

“Yes, sir,” Forrestal said. “The strait is twenty miles wide at some points, but given the weather, it’s impossible to tell how many containers are floating around beneath the surface. One of the Coast Guard 45s out of Port Angeles has already hit one. The crew is okay, but their vessel is in-op.”

Ryan checked his watch. “It’ll be getting light out there by now at this time of year. That’ll help, but I’d imagine it’s a circus. A ship that large, there’s bound to be a lot of oil and diesel floating around.”

“True enough, Mr. President,” Forrestal said. “The district captain has raised the MARSEC level and instituted a standoff zone. If there’s anything good about the weather, it’s that most of the looky-loos are staying off the water. EPA officials out of Seattle are on scene. We should have the preliminary environmental assessment anytime.”

“As bad as the weather is, it would be nothing for a modern container ship to negotiate.” Ryan tapped the paper with his forefinger to underscore his point. “What caused this ship to sink?”

“According to the Mandarin speaker, the crewmen are claiming a series of explosions.”

Burgess couldn’t contain himself. “In the engine room?”

“That’s unknown,” Forrestal said, before turning back to Ryan. “Nothing but WAGs so far, Mr. President.” Commander Forrestal had been around long enough to know that Ryan had enough information flying across his desk; he didn’t have time for Wild-Ass Guesses.

“Very well,” Ryan said. “Keep us informed.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Forrestal turned to go, but Ryan stopped him, calling him by his first name, to take the tone of the meeting down a notch.

“Thank you, Robby,” the president said. “Didn’t your son have a football game last weekend?”

The commander smiled. “He did, sir. Ran for a total of sixty-four yards.”

“Not bad for an eleven-year-old in Pop Warner,” Ryan said. “Be careful, the Patriot scouts will be looking at him before he knows it.”

“I’ll tell him you said that, sir,” Forrestal said, excusing himself with a broad grin. Not everyone got to pass on kudos to their kid from the President of the United States.

Ryan turned back to his advisers once the door was shut.

“A bomb?” Secretary Burgess said. “Diesel engines don’t usually explode.”

Scott Adler gave a slow shake of his head. “That’s one possibility,” he said. “The explosion could very easily have been a reaction of some chemicals in one of the containers. We’ll have to look at the manifest. In any case, this incident creates another problem that piles on to the issues I mentioned regarding the FONOP. I’m happy the Coast Guard was so quick to respond, but our rescue of twenty-two Chinese seamen is just another thing to make President Zhao look weak. His ships can’t even make it to Seattle without the evil capitalists lending a hand…”

“You know,” Mary Pat said, nodding, “it’s a poor state of affairs, but he’s right.”

“Maybe,” Ryan said. “All of you get into this and see what you can find out regarding terror threats toward Chinese shipping.”

“And specific threats toward us from the ChiComs,” Burgess added.