Mike Maden - Drone Command

After landing at Ningbo airport in Feng’s private Gulfstream G150, the convoy whisked Pearce and Myers out of the bustling city over the bridge to the naval facilities on the southern side of Zhoushan Island. Myers kept eager eyes on the buildings, equipment, and personnel speeding past her window, taking it all in. They finally reached the four-story headquarters and rolled to a stop, the sirens suddenly cutting off like a slit throat.

A scowling PLAN lieutenant commander yanked open the limousine door and motioned for Pearce and Myers to follow. He marched them into the building and up three flights of stairs, where they were greeted by two hulking armed guards. The lieutenant commander barked an order and the guards opened two heavy steel doors with synchronized precision. Still unsmiling, the PLAN officer shot a stiff open palm toward the open doors, bidding the two Americans to enter. They did, and the doors closed silently behind them.

Admiral Ji and Vice Chairman Feng stood in front of Ji’s desk, an ornately crafted piece of antique captain’s furniture. Ivory-eyed sea dragons held up the four corners of the mahogany desktop. Paned windows overlooked the harbor.

“Madame President, Mr. Pearce, thank you for coming. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?” Feng asked. He approached Myers with an extended hand.

Pearce grabbed it instead. “Thanks, it was.”

Feng’s plastic smile didn’t budge as his hand was caught in the vice grip of Pearce’s handshake.

“This is Admiral Ji, the commander of the East Sea Fleet.”

Ji nodded deferentially to Myers. “Welcome, Madame President.”

“Coffee? Tea? Something to eat?” Feng asked.

“No, thank you. We didn’t come here for the food or the hospitality,” Myers said.

“I admire your frankness. A hallmark of your presidential administration,” Feng said. “Please, be seated.” He gestured toward the four club chairs arranged in a circle.

The Chinese and Pearce went to sit down, but Myers proceeded over to the window. Her eyes scanned the ships tied up to the piers. Two diesel submarines, a missile destroyer, several smaller ships. Civilian dockworkers and sailors serviced the vessels.

“Lovely view. I can’t wait to see the George Washington pulling into your harbor.”

“President Myers, please,” Feng said.

“Of course.” She took the last remaining seat.

“It was good of you to take the trouble of coming here,” Feng said.

“It was terribly inconvenient. I hope it will be worth my valuable time.”

“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” Feng said.

“That’s what you promised on the phone.”

“First things first. I offer my apologies for what happened to you and Mr. Pearce the other day. Our pilots are trained to be aggressive, but had they known someone as important as you was in the vicinity, they would have restrained themselves.”

“So if I had just been a member of the American proletariat, my death would have been acceptable to you?”

“Or a working stiff like me?” Pearce asked.

“Tensions in the area are high, and the Japanese are increasingly belligerent. We will not tolerate any Japanese violations of our national airspace,” Admiral Ji said. “For the sake of peace.”

Pearce tried not to laugh out loud. “Yeah, right.”

“Our apologies to you as well, Mr. Pearce. Your friendship with President Lane is noted, as is your incredible success as a security company. Drone warfare, correct?” Feng said.

“My company does far more civilian consulting than military these days. There are many more opportunities in the private sector for unmanned vehicles.”

“Perhaps then you are familiar with the Wu-14?” Ji asked.

“Yes, of course,” Pearce said. “Or at least the rumor of it. From everything I’ve read, you don’t have the technical capacity for it.”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” Myers asked. “I assumed that’s the real reason why you invited us.”

“The primary reason was for me to apologize to you in person, just as you demanded from Ambassador Pang.” Feng’s eyes narrowed.

“And so you have. I suppose it would be rude of me not to accept it.”

“Thank you,” Feng said.

Myers smiled. She doubted Feng understood the English language well enough to know that she hadn’t technically accepted his apology.

“Our country does not wish to fight a war with the United States,” Admiral Ji said.

“Of course you don’t. You’d lose,” Pearce shot back.

The admiral’s face flushed. He wasn’t used to subordinates speaking to him that way. Or anybody else, for that matter. “Perhaps. And perhaps not. As we are both nuclear powers, the possibility of even a small conflict escalating into a total nuclear confrontation is too great. In that event, we would both lose.”

“And if we’re both not careful, the Japanese will drag you into war against your will. You would do well to advise President Lane to keep the Japanese on a tight leash,” Feng said.

“The Japanese are our good friends and allies, and we don’t abandon our friends or our allies in a time of crisis. That’s a promise straight from President Lane. Tell that to President Sun.”

“I will convey your message to him directly, empty though it might be,” Feng said. “But I admire your, how do you say, chutzpah?”

Myers checked her watch. “It’s getting late.”

“And I have another promise to keep.” Feng stood, straightening his tailored Mao jacket. He gestured sternly toward the steel doors, now open and flanked by armed guards.

Myers and Pearce exchanged a glance.

Looked like Feng had called their bluff.

The dimly lit air-conditioned room was filled with computer monitors and handheld tablets along the periphery. In the center of the cavernous space stood a massive digital chart table with two dozen uniformed faces hovering around it, focused intently on the digital ships and aircraft coming into virtual contact on what Pearce assumed was the East China Sea.

Myers could hardly believe her eyes. Three-dimensional aircraft were flying over the table as three-dimensional ships sailed on the virtual sea.

“Holographs. Impressive.” Myers and Pearce stood next to Admiral Ji and Feng on an elevated platform that gave them a bird’s-eye view of the chart table. “When did you steal that from DARPA?”

Admiral Ji ignored her insult.

An oversize three-dimensional holographic representation of an oil rig glowed in bright red near a small collection of islands in the center of the map.

Pearce pointed at the oil rig. “The Senkakus.”

“The proper name is the Diaoyu Islands,” Vice Chairman Feng said through clenched teeth. “Unless you prefer the Japanese mispronunciation.”

Pearce counted fifteen ships steaming from the coast of China and saw what appeared to be an American carrier battle group hovering off the southwestern coast of Japan. Overhead stereo speakers carried what Pearce guessed was chatter between pilots and ships’ crews.

“This is live?” Pearce asked.

Ji pointed at a ten-foot-wide 4K HD digital screen on the far wall. A live satellite image popped on. An overhead view of an aircraft carrier and the nearly two dozen support ships that surrounded it in real time.

“Do you recognize it, President Myers?” Ji asked.

“The George Washington carrier battle group, stationed out of Japan.”

“Correct.”

The admiral barked an order. The overhead satellite image zoomed in to the deck of the George Washington . F/A-18 Hornets and F-35Cs were lined up and taking off in combat launch operations. The detail was incredible. Myers could read the letters on the vests of the multicolored flight-deck crews scrambling on the tarmac. A bloodred target reticle suddenly appeared, centered on the carrier deck.