Mike Maden - Drone Command

“The George Washington and other American combat forces have been ‘showing the sword’ on Japan’s behalf for seven decades,” Myers said.

“Mr. President, let’s be frank,” Ito said. “If the Chinese do start hostilities, what will the United States do? If you’re not even willing to threaten them now before hostilities begin, why would you be more willing to issue threats against them afterward?”

“The Chinese would know that we would have to respond,” Lane said.

“What if they sink your carrier?” Tanaka asked. “Won’t your response to the sinking only escalate the violence? Put even more American lives at risk?”

“The State Department doesn’t believe that China would be so foolish as to provoke either Japan or the United States into a war it couldn’t possibly win,” Davis said. “America and Japan are two of China’s largest trading partners. They have far more to lose and little to gain by starting a war over the Senkakus.”

Tanaka turned toward the American ambassador. “Then why have they created this fiction about Mao Island? Why have they started drilling operations? Don’t you understand? The Chinese have sent a very clear signal. They’re willing to start a war. And I believe they’re willing to start a war because they know you won’t do anything to oppose them.”

“Our intelligence sources disagree,” Davis said.

“With all due respect, American intelligence has fallen short on many occasions in recent years, beginning with the notable lack of WMDs in Iraq,” Ito said. “That failure of intelligence led to an unnecessary war against Saddam Hussein and a decadelong war against the Iraqi insurgency afterward. As the prime minister of Japan, I reaffirm my nation’s unwavering commitment to the United States, but I don’t affirm our confidence in your intelligence services.”

Tanaka grunted his approval. “Hai.”

Can’t say that I blame you , Myers thought. “Let’s not forget the Chinese threat about the red line that they conveniently placed just beyond the Senkakus. They said they would consider it an act of war if American naval vessels crossed it and promised to launch the Wu-14 at any carrier that did.”

Tanaka threw out several other tactical possibilities that kept the George Washington out of harm’s way, but every scenario he proposed had already been hashed out at the Pentagon. In each case, the likely outcome was war, and the only way to carry out operations against Chinese forces was with force projection and that meant deploying the George Washington and its battle group. The United States didn’t want to risk losing either. Tanaka finally threw up his hands in disgust.

“It seems clear to me, Mr. President, that the United States has no wish for war with China. Neither do we,” Ito said. He sat up straighter in his chair. “But we are determined to defend our national interests and our national honor. If the Chinese dispatch the Liaoning into Japanese territorial waters, I will instruct the JSDF to respond.”

“Then you’ll be at war with China, a war you cannot win,” Lane said.

Tanaka nodded. “If one is forced to choose between honor and life, it is always best to choose honor.”

The room went silent. Myers kept her eyes on Ito. He was clearly lost in thought. She’d always known him to be a rational, affable, intelligent man. But he was also a proud Japanese. Back in Denver, whenever she talked about American exceptionalism, he was quick to point out his own sense of Japanese exceptionalism. She couldn’t blame him. Japan was an ancient and remarkable culture, one of the world’s oldest and greatest civilizations. She knew the rational part of Ito’s brain understood Lane’s position, but his Japanese sense of duty, kinship, and honor inclined him toward Tanaka.

“It sounds like you’re saying that you would abandon your friends in a time of war,” Ito said.

“I didn’t say that. But if Japan launches a preemptive strike against Chinese forces, then you limit our options and put all of us at risk. I’m asking you to trust us and refrain from any actions that might give the Chinese any reason to act against you. But you have my assurance that the United States is completely committed to the defense of Japan, no matter what happens.”

Tanaka shook his head in disbelief.

“There is, of course, the matter of the North Koreans to consider,” Ito said. “They’ve moved their MIRV to its launch pad at their test facility at Musudan-ri.”

“The North Koreans are China’s lackeys,” Tanaka said.

Lane nodded grimly. “They aren’t making things any easier, that’s for sure.”

“It’s a strange time to test an intercontinental ballistic missile,” Davis said.

“It might not be a test,” Lane said.

“Then what could it be? A message?” the ambassador asked.

“They may be trying to send a message,” Myers said. She took a deep breath.

“Or they just might be preparing for World War Three.”

Pearce!”

The African-American jail guard glowered at Troy through the cell door. Standing six-foot-seven and carrying three hundred pounds of sculpted muscle on his wide frame, he was as intimidating as he was large.

Troy looked up at the sound of his name. He was seated on a steel bench in the overnight tank for drunks, johns, and other less dangerous miscreants. He had no shirt, only athletic shorts, jailhouse slippers, and a black eye.

Keys rattled in the lock and a massive black hand guided Troy by the arm, cuffed and shuffling toward outtake processing.

Will was at the front desk signing papers. A paper bag by his elbow.

The guard unlocked Troy’s cuffs. “Don’t come back, kid.”

“Thanks,” Troy said.

Will nodded his thanks to the desk officer and tossed the paper bag at Troy. He opened it. A hooded Stanford sweatshirt.

“We gotta roll,” Will said, turning for the exit. Troy followed suit, yanking on the hoodie.

The drab downtown jail facility was an unremarkable building on the outside. The kaleidoscope of broken people inside provided the color.

Will pushed open the glass door and dashed for the parking lot, Troy on his heels.

“What’s the hurry?” Troy asked.

“You kidding me?”

“Oh, shit.”

“‘Oh, shit’ is right. Your thesis defense is in an hour. It’ll take an hour and twenty to get to Encina Hall.”

Will unlocked the doors to his Porsche 911 and they both fell in.

“I can’t go like this. I need to change, take a shower.”

The Porsche engine roared to life and Will turned around to back out. “I’ve got your slacks and sport coat under the hood, along with a shirt, tie, and shoes. No point in looking like a complete slob.”

Troy smelled his underarm. His nose crunched. “Don’t suppose you have a shower under there?”

“There’s a bottle of Old Spice under your seat. Go ahead and slap some on now, use plenty of it. It’s gonna be a long ride.”

Will gunned the Porsche down the I-880 on the east side of the bay to avoid the traffic in San Francisco.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Will asked. “I thought you gave that shit up.”

“I told you I’d quit fighting when I had enough cash. Can’t exactly make serious money flipping burgers at Carl’s Jr.” Troy had been cage-fighting in the underground circuit since his sophomore year at Stanford. The infamous Chinese triad Wo Hop ran the illegal gambling enterprise throughout the state, especially in the Bay Area.