Stephen Coonts - Combat

Robbins forced his way through the dispersing crowd. He leaned around Delight and kissed Liz on both cheeks. “Scooter, that was the best pass I’ve seen in years. You got an underlined OK-3.” He grinned hugely. “And after a hell of a mission.”

Some of the giddiness was returning even as she wondered, Have they forgotten that Michael’s dead? But she heard herself responding to the banter. “Even with the low start, Rob?”

He punched her arm. “Hell yes. That was a great recovery, and since I’m the only LSO aboard, it’s a perfect OK-3.”

“Captain from bridge.” Odegaard’s voice snapped over the 1-MC speaker. Peters looked up at the 0–9 level where a khaki arm waved at him. “Sir, the phones are working at El Toro and your wife’s on the horn. She and Mrs. Delight want to know if you will both be home for dinner.”

“How many federal agencies can there be, anyway?”

Representative Tim Ottmann grinned ruefully at Delight’s plaintive query. “Hell, Zack, don’t blame me. I voted against every new bureau and agency that ever came up for funding. Even tried to make a couple of ’em go away, but it did no good.”

Peters looked around the hotel suite, assessing the collective mood. Besides himself and Jane, the Delights and Ottmann, were Vespa, Robbins, Thaler, Wei and Hu, plus two Washington attorney friends of Ottmann’s. One of them, a former A-7 pilot named Brian Chappel, specialized in transportation law, including maritime and aviation. He was cordially detested by the Navy Department and the Department of Transportation.

“In the two days since the excitement, I’ve heard from the following,” Chappel said. “DOT including FAA and the Coast Guard, FBI, ATF, and DEQ. That doesn’t count state and local agencies.”

Robbins raised his head. “DEQ? What’s their take on this?”

“Something about protection of coastal waters. They say that bombing is bad for the fish, and the Penang ’s oil spill caused some concern.”

Peters was anxious to wrap up the meeting. “Okay, Brian. Where is all this likely to lead?”

“My guess is that it’ll mostly disappear in a couple of weeks.”

“Really?” Jane Peters was reluctantly eager to believe it.

“Yes, Mrs. Peters. Really.” Chappel gave her a convincing smile. “Look, the bottom line is this: Everybody on both sides wants the same thing. To make this go away. State and DOD are red-faced over the way things turned to … hash … with their Chinese program. The way that heavy ordnance like bombs and missiles were smuggled into this country, or actually purchased here, could force Congress to ask a bunch of embarrassing questions.” He looked at his D.C. colleague. “Right, Skip?”

Ottmann gave two thumb’s-up. “Guarantee it.”

Thaler picked up his glass and slurped the last of his lemonade through the straw. “Mr. Chappel, I understand the PR angle — the government’s got to look like it’s investigating all this. But you know that the fix is already in with the president and the administration. Those pardons that Skip got for us, in case we need them.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So what’ll happen in Taiwan?”

“Oh, that plan is canceled. With the assistance of Mr. Ottmann, Mr. Chappel, and some other well-placed individuals, the names and roles of certain prominent PRC officials are being made known on a confidential basis in Washington.”

“Which means”—Ottmann grinned—“that the papers and news networks will have all the details in time for today’s five o’clock news. With what we can release about bribes, kickbacks, and influence peddling, neither the U.S. nor Chinese governments will risk losing billions of dollars in trade and revenues.”

Vespa spoke for the first time. “Mr. Ottmann, what about the backpacks? Are they being recovered?”

“I shall answer that,” Wei interjected. The old MiG pilot regarded the American woman frankly. At length he said, “Under utmost secrecy, I confide to you what few people will ever know. There were no nuclear weapons.”

Liz involuntarily shuddered; Jane felt the tremors in Vespa’s body and put an arm around her shoulders. Liz leaned toward the Chinese. “Michael died for nothing?” Her hands clenched into frustrated, vengeful fists.

“Not at all, my dear. Not at all. He played a vital role in carrying out the most important part of our plan. When I said that we knew the weapons were aboard because one of my people helped load them, that was the same information that went to the Premier and the Politburo. Oh yes, packages were placed in the Penang Princess’s hold, and they would have showed a reading if exposed to a Geiger counter. But they were, ah, your word is — a placebo.”

“A fake pill to make the patient feel better.” Peters slowly shook his head, marveling at the subtle complexity of Wei’s plan.

“Exactly, Mr. Peters. In this case, the patient was the premier and his Stalinist cabal. Now that their ‘plot’ has been defeated and exposed, China may move on to more productive endeavors.”

Liz grappled with the cooling anger she felt. At length she asked, “But what about the people on that ship? Eric and I …”

“Miss Vespa, Mr. Thaler, please.” Wei managed a note of sympathy in his voice that still seemed out of place for the man. “You knew that people would die when you accepted the mission. The rationale was that a far greater number might be saved. Well, nothing has changed. The eleven men who were killed and the twenty or so injured must be balanced against the losses that would occur in an invasion of Taiwan.”

While Vespa allowed herself to accept the fact that she had been skillfully used in a geopolitical chess game, Delight intruded on the hushed silence. “One thing I’d like to ask, Mr. Wei. What caused the secondary explosions after Liz’s hits?”

“Explosive charges set near the presumed weapons, Mr. Delight. We wanted to ensure that an independent agency confirmed the presence of nuclear materials. Your emergency disaster crews have reported trace elements in the atmosphere and water — far below any hazardous level, but enough to ensure that protests and diplomatic consequences will result in Beijing.” He allowed the ghost of a smile. “Your Navy will ‘recover’ the weapons.”

Thaler swirled the ice in his glass, still shaking his head at the revelations. “How were the charges set?”

“Again, Mr. Thaler, I require utmost discretion. But you have treated me and Mr. Hu with uncommon courtesy, and provided me with the most exhilarating day of my life.” He almost smiled again. “When the attack began, one of our operatives set off a timer. Then he escaped over the side.”

“And the pleasure craft alongside?” Thaler asked.

“You may consider your effort well spent,” Wei responded. “That was a Mexican drug smuggler hired by the PRC agents in Long Beach. He was to disperse the backpacks to other agents throughout the area.”

Ottmann noticed Chappel closing his briefcase. “Well, I guess that’s about it. Brian, you have anything else for these folks?”

“No, just the usual lawyer-client warning.” He smiled at the audience. “The spin doctors will take the lead, but people, please remember this. Don’t say a damn thing to anybody without consulting me first.”

Peters stood up, resting one hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Then I guess we can all go home.”

Wei and Hu looked at each other in a way that had nothing to do with family ties. “Not all of us, Mr. Peters,” Wei intoned. “Not all of us.”

The memorial service at St. Francis Catholic Church was smaller than the wedding would have been. The testimonials had been spoken, the elegy delivered by Terry Peters, the rites performed by Ostrewski’s priest.