Ben Bova - Able One

Maybe they’ve canceled the flight, Harry thought. But then he countered, So why’s she powering up the engines?

Lieutenant Colonel Christopher came out and forced a smile for him. She was small, petite really, but he could see that she had an adult’s body beneath her blue fatigues. Dark hair, bright, intelligent eyes. Really pretty, he realized once again. For a moment he thought she looked familiar, as if he’d seen her somewhere before. But that’s impossible, Harry thought. Our paths haven’t crossed before this. Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought that they had.

“Mr. Hartunian,” she said without offering to shake hands.

Harry nodded. The colonel looked as grim as death.

“We have a situation on our hands,” she said.

“A situation?” Harry asked.

“I just got a top-priority message relayed from Washington. There’s been an attack on our orbiting satellites and—”

“An attack?”

“A missile fired from North Korea detonated a nuclear device in geosynchronous orbit several hours ago. Just about every civilian satellite around the world has been knocked out of service.”

Harry gaped at her, his heart suddenly pumping wildly. “From North Korea?”

“We’ve been ordered to proceed to a position over the Sea of Japan and be prepared to shoot down any more missiles that the North Koreans launch.” Christopher spoke crisply, with no hesitation, no doubts in her tone.

“But we can’t... I mean, we’re supposed to be testing the laser. We’re not ready for a shooting war.”

Colonel Christopher said, “You techies are never ready for reality, but ready or not, Mr. Hartunian, those are our orders. Get your people on the mark. Make sure that ray gun of yours works right.”

It had started to rain. Looking out the window of the penthouse suite’s sitting room, the Secretary of State saw brittle dry leaves gusting across the pavement far below. The afternoon sky was clouded over, gray and gloomy. Yet she felt excited, eager.

How often had she used this suite over the past few years? she wondered idly. It fit perfectly her need for an informal meeting place, a spot where she could chat quietly in privacy with men or women who preferred to stay safely out of the glare of publicity, a place where she could develop the back-channel contacts of her own, without the State Department bureaucracy’s officious meddling. The Jefferson was perfect: downtown, close to the White House, old, elegant, and very discreet.

After leaving the White House that morning she had changed her attire for this meeting: a quietly elegant pantsuit of pearl gray over a tailored white blouse, with a small choker of pink pearls and matching earrings. She turned away from the rain-swept windows, thinking, He’ll come. He’s got to come.

The phone on the desk buzzed, and she rushed to it before it could ring twice. The face of the young security woman down in the hotel’s lobby appeared on the screen. “Mr. Quang is on his way up, Madam Secretary.”

The Secretary’s pulse quickened. “Good.”

In less than a minute the doorbell chimed. The Secretary of State crossed the thickly carpeted sitting room and admitted a portly, blank-faced Chinese. He was wearing a dark business suit, white starched shirt, pale blue necktie—and a tiny red star pin on his lapel.

He bowed slightly as she ushered him into the sitting room. The Secretary of State said, “Mr. Quang, it’s good of you to come on such short notice.”

His bland expression warmed slightly into a tentative smile. “Madam Secretary, there’s no need for formalities,” he said in perfect American English. “I understand the gravity of the situation.”

Gesturing to one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the dark, unlit fireplace, the Secretary of State said, “We’ve been unable to establish a reliable communications link with Beijing. Your ambassador seems unable to give us a clear picture of what’s going on there.”

Quang nodded as he settled into the chair. “I would think there is great turmoil in Beijing at this moment.”

“They prefer not to talk to us?”

“They prefer” —he hesitated a heartbeat, searching for a word— “not to commit themselves.”

The Secretary of State took the armchair facing Quang’s and studied his round, almond-eyed face. How many times have we met like this? she asked herself. How many times have we cut through the red tape and talked clearly and honestly to one another? She had known Quang since she’d first visited Beijing, back when she’d been a law student with political ambitions and he a fast-rising industrial tycoon. She realized that, in truth, she owed much of her advancement to the private, authoritative back-channel link he offered to the highest levels of the Chinese government.

“Have you been able to reach the chairman?” asked the Secretary of State. “Or any of the council members?”

With a modest smile, Quang replied, “As you know, I am merely a businessman. I have no position in the government.”

“You are the chairman’s brother-in-law.”

His smile widened slightly. “A brother-in-law is usually without much influence.”

The Secretary leaned slightly toward him, her fists clenched on her lap. “You’re the best link I have to the chairman. You’ve got to help us avert a nuclear war!”

Quang’s smile faded. “I will do whatever I can, of course.”

“Did the People’s Republic of China provide nuclear weapons to North Korea?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you certain?”

Quang’s eyes shifted slightly, then refocused on the Secretary. “I can tell you this much. Three nuclear warheads were smuggled into the DPRK from Russia last month.”

“Last month! And your government didn’t inform us!”

“We confirmed the information only two days ago. The council was debating what our response should be when the Koreans set off one of the warheads in orbit.”

“We’re on the brink of war, for god’s sake!”

Shaking his head ever so slightly, Quang replied, “The People’s Republic of China has no intention of starting a war with you.”

“Nor we with China, but...”

Quang raised a stubby finger. “But you wish to strike at the Koreans.”

“We’ve got to do something,” the Secretary said. “They have two more missiles. And from what you say, those missiles are armed with nuclear bombs.”

“Pyongyang has sent troops to capture the rebels.”

“Troops? They should be sending in an air strike to knock out those missiles before the terrorists launch them!”

“They are not terrorists,” Quang said flatly. “Do not fall into the trap of painting all your enemies with the same brush. That’s how you got into Iraq, remember?”

“What are they then?”

“A faction of the DPRK army, apparently.”

“What do they hope to gain by destroying the whole world’s satellites?” the Secretary asked.

Quang shrugged his round shoulders. “That we will learn once Pyongyang’s troops have captured them.”

“And in the meantime they’ve got two nuclear armed missiles that can reach Hawaii! Or maybe even San Francisco!”

“Or Beijing,” Quang said tightly. “Or Shanghai. Believe me, we are just as concerned about this as you are.”

“So why aren’t you doing something about it?”

“The council is considering several options. We believe the missiles are under the control of a rebel faction of the North Korean army. The government in Pyongyang, such as it is,” Quang added with a sardonic sneer, “is seeking to avoid an outright civil war. They want to take the rebels with as little violence as possible.”