Deep Fathom

Wellington spoke formally, strained. “Mr. President, you’re needed in the Situation Room.”



“What’s happened?”



“The Chinese, sir. Their air and naval forces have made a strike against Taiwan.”



Nafe almost fell back into his chair. “What? When? It’s the goddamn middle of the night.”



“It’s midday in the Far East. They struck just before noon Taiwan time.”



Nafe was stunned. He had not thought the Chinese would be so bold. Nicolas Ruzickov had assured him that the Chinese Premier would bow to Washington’s accusations, paving the way to garner stiffer concessions from the People’s Republic. Nafe wanted answers for this mistake. “Where’s Nick Ruzickov?”



“In the Situation Room. The National Security Council and Cabinet are already gathering.” William Wellington backed toward the door. “Sir, we must get going. An immediate response will be necessary.”



Nafe nodded and headed toward the door. The Joint Chiefs had better have a contingency plan in place. With the Chief of Staff at his side, he strode through the West Wing, trailed by his Secret Service men. In short order, Nafe pushed angrily into the White House’s inner sanctum.



The agitation and noise in the Situation Room quieted at his entrance.



Around the long table, a score of uniformed men and women stood at his arrival: the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the Secretary of the Navy, the U.S. Army Chief of Staff, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and other military heads. Nafe’s own Cabinet members stood to either side of the table.



On the far side of the room a wall-sized monitor displayed a complicated map of the Philippine Sea. Forces were highlighted in blues, reds, and yellows.



Scowling, Nafe crossed to the head of the table. He would make sure the U.S. answered this display of Chinese aggression. There would be no diplomacy. If necessary, he would wipe the Chinese navy from the seas.



He sat down. Those members who had seats returned to their own chairs. The others remained standing.



“So where are we?” Nafe asked.



No one spoke. No one would even meet his gaze.



“I want answers and a plan for an aggressive response,” Nafe said angrily.



Nicolas Ruzickov stood. “Mr. President, it’s too late.”



“What do you mean?”



“The fighting is already over. Taiwan conceded.”



Nafe struggled to understand. “How could that be? Are you saying during the time it took me to cross from the Oval Office, the Chinese have taken Taiwan?”



Ruzickov bowed his head. “With their island in shambles from the recent quakes, the Taiwanese could offer no resistance. Before we could respond, their government had agreed to rescind their independence, accepting Chinese hegemony in exchange for both aid and an end to hostilities. Chinese forces have already landed. Taiwan is once again a Chinese province.”



Nafe was too stunned to speak. It had happened so fast.



The Secretary of Defense spoke up. “We can’t just accept this. We have forces on the island…in the area.”



The Chief of Naval Operations answered, “We cannot act without a request from the Taiwanese government. And we won’t get it. We’ve been in touch with their embassy. They do not want to be caught between our two warring forces, fearing in their current state that it would lead to the annihilation of their island. In fact, we’ve just received word that their government has demanded that our forces evacuate their waters.”



Nafe felt the heat rising in his face. Less than two weeks in office, and he was losing Taiwan to the Chinese. He clenched his fists. “I do not accept this. I will not see the spread of communism while I’m in charge.”



“Sir—” Ruzickov cautioned.



Nafe slammed his fist against the table. “It’s time to stop coddling China. It will stop here. Now.”



“Sir, what do you propose?”



“With the cowardly assassination of President Bishop and this newest aggression, I see no other choice.” Nafe stared down the heads of the United States fighting forces. “I will demand a declaration of war from Congress.”



2:40 P.M., Naha City, Okinawa Prefecture, Japan



Forgetting how much he hated airline travel—the stale air, the cramped seats, the crying children—Jack was glad when the jet’s tires finally touched down and he was freed from the belly of this beast. Though, in truth, his annoyance did not entirely arise from the usual discomforts of flight, but from his memory of Air Force One’s crash. The flight here had been in the same class of jet, a Boeing 747. Jack had spent much of the journey staring out the window, studying every wing seam, bolt, and flap.



But after three days since making the decision to travel here, he had finally reached Okinawa. The journey had taken so long because the closest airport was on Kwajalein Atoll, a day’s sail in the Deep Fathom. And once there, he had been forced to fly standby, killing another half day waiting for a seat to open up. But at least the journey was finally over.



Free of the plane now, Jack crossed through the con-course to the customs area. His only luggage, a single backpack, was hooked over his shoulders. He stepped up to the Japanese customs agent and slapped down his passport. The officer gestured him to open his bag.



As Jack obeyed, the man studied his passport and spoke to him in English. “Welcome to Okinawa, Mr. Kirkland. If you’ll step over to the right.”



Jack turned and saw a second agent carrying a metal-detecting wand.



The first man spoke as he sifted through Jack’s backpack, picking through his underwear and toiletries. “Extra security,” the officer explained, “because of China’s attack.”



Jack nodded. Over the plane’s intercom, the pilot had described the short skirmish and Taiwan’s concession. The strong were always eating the weak.



Jack stepped over to the second agent, who waved a metal detector over his legs and up his body. The detector buzzed at his wrist. He pulled back his sleeve to expose his watch. The officer continued his sweep. The detector sang out again as it passed over his heart. The officer looked up at him.



Frowning, Jack patted his jacket. There was a small bulge in the inner pocket. He opened his jacket and reached inside, remembering David Spangler’s parting gift as he pulled out a tiny, ribbon-wrapped box. With all the commotion, he’d forgotten about it.



“You’ll have to open that,” the first agent said.



Jack nodded and moved back to the customs table. He tugged the ribbon free. Leave it to David to cause trouble from half a world away. He popped open the tiny ring box.



Inside, resting on its velvet-lined interior, lay a small piece of circuitry. A couple of blue wires stuck out of it.



“What is that?” the agent asked, tweezing it between his fingers.



Jack had no idea, but he knew some explanation was needed. He thought fast. “It…It’s for a repair job. An expensive and critical component. I’m a computer consultant.”



“So you gift-wrapped it?” the man asked, studying the tiny piece of electronics, searching for some threat.



“It’s a joke between—” He struggled to remember the name of the computer scientist helping the anthropologist. “—Professor Nakano and myself.”



The customs officer nodded. “I’ve heard of her. The university’s computer expert. Smart woman. Nobel Prize winner.” He replaced the circuit, snapped the ring box closed, and passed it back. “She taught my nephew.”



Jack shoved the box into his backpack.



Behind him, a loud Portuguese family aimed for the customs station. A large woman was arguing with her husband. Both dragged gigantic suitcases.



The agent glanced at them and sighed in exasperation. “You’re free to go.” He waved Jack off.



Jack zipped his bag and proceeded through the gates into the main terminal. The airport was in a tumult, with masses of travelers leaving. Clearly, the Chinese attack had made everyone nervous. Taiwan was too close for comfort, just south of the Ryukyu chain of islands, of which Okinawa was a part.



Jack’s eyes drifted over the crowd. The terminal was so busy he failed to notice the woman trying to get his attention until she called out his name.



“Mr. Kirkland!”



Jack stumbled to a stop, glancing to his left.



The woman hurried over. She had been waiting at the customs gate. She stopped and held out her hand. “I’m Karen Grace.”



Jack blinked stupidly at her for a second. “The…the professor?” He had not expected her to be so young.



She smiled. “I know you told us you would call once you were settled in your hotel, but…well…” A blush brightened her cheeks. “Miyuki hacked into the airport’s computers and downloaded your itinerary. I figured you could stay at my apartment rather than a hotel. It’ll make things easier.” She began to stammer, clearly realizing she might be stepping over a line. “That is…if you’d like.”



Jack rescued her from further embarrassment. “Thanks. I appreciate the offer. I hate hotels.”



“Good…good…We’ll get a taxi.”



She turned and led the way. Jack watched her. For just a moment as the woman had rushed up to him, Jennifer’s memory had flashed before him. Not that the two women looked anything alike. Except for the blond hair, the professor bore no resemblance to Jennifer. Karen was taller, her hair cropped shorter, her eyes green. She carried herself differently, too. Striding sternly, no sway in her step.



Still, Jack recognized a similar energy coming from this professor. She practically glowed with it, a light that shone past the superficial differences.



“So you’re that astronaut,” Karen said when he caught up to her. “I remember the news stories. The hero. God, I’d love to go up there sometime.”



“I can’t say I enjoyed it much.”



Karen stumbled to a stop. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. The accident. You lost friends up there. What was I thinking?”



“It’s ancient history,” he mumbled, wanting to end the conversation.