Executive Intent (24 page)

Phoenix paused for a few heartbeats. He glanced at Kordus, realizing now that the president's chief of staff had called the president and warned him that his vice president was taking control of the meeting; then turned squarely back to the president and replied, “Sir, I think we should tell Premier Zhou that the invasion is a violation of the rights of a sovereign nation; the United States condemns China's unilateral, surprise, and horribly violent attacks against innocent Somalis; that we demand that Zhou orders an immediate cease-fire and removes all ground forces offshore to their own vessels; and that all naval forces return to antipiracy-task-force operations under United Nations and NATO supervision.”

“And if they refuse?” the president asked.

“Then the United States will file a protest with the United Nations and ask for an emergency meeting of the Security Council to issue a resolution condemning Chinese activities in Somalia and ordering an immediate withdrawal.”

“China will certainly veto such a resolution. What then?”

“We will then ask that the full membership issue a statement condemning Chinese actions and demand an immediate withdrawal.”

“China can still refuse, or simply ignore the order. What then?”

“The United States removes China from the antipiracy Combined Task Force and notifies the world that any PRC warships en route to or from Somalia will be considered hostile combatants en route to an illegal combat zone,” Phoenix said. “This action prohibits Chinese warships or support vessels from utilizing certain ports that are also in use by the United States or its allies. If any nations continue to support Chinese warships, we place sanctions on
those
countries. This will stretch out China's supply lines and make it more difficult if not impossible to support blue-water naval operations. We then make it clear to Beijing that even tougher sanctions will follow if they don't comply.”

The president nodded, looked Phoenix up and down as if meeting him for the first time, then nodded again. “You've given this quite a bit of thought, I see,” he said in a quiet voice. Phoenix had no response. “So you want to play hardball with China, Mr. Phoenix, is that right?”

“I want to make it clear that we don't like any country bombing another country and killing innocent civilians in an area of the world under active patrol by the United States and its allies,” Phoenix said. “I want them to understand that we'll act if our wishes are not met.”

“And you don't think I've been clear, Mr. Phoenix?”

The vice president hesitated just for a moment—now it was get
ting personal. But then he replied, “In my opinion, sir, I think your last public statement regarding China was ambiguous.”

“Ambiguous?”

“Yes, sir, ambiguous,” Phoenix said. “You didn't say whether or not you condemned or even disagreed with China's invasion. You expressed concern, that's all. In my opinion, sir, that wasn't enough.”

“And you thought you'd convey your thoughts to the National Security Council before running them by me, Mr. Phoenix?” the president asked.

“It seemed like a good time to do so, Mr. President.”

“I assure you, Mr. Phoenix, it was not,” the president said calmly. He looked at his watch, then at his vice president. “You're dismissed, Mr. Phoenix.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Phoenix said, and he left the Situation Room without glancing at anyone else.

The president looked directly into the eyes of the others in the Situation Room. They were all still on their feet—they had not yet been given permission to sit. “Does anyone else think I've been too ambiguous in expressing my thoughts to China or anyone else?” he asked. The reply was a quiet-voiced but immediate chorus of “No, Mr. President.” “Oh-six-thirty will come soon, ladies and gentlemen,” the president said. “Get some rest.” The National Security Council members scattered as quickly but as calmly as they could.

“Well?” the president asked his chief of staff after everyone had departed. “Insubordination? Treason? Or just popping off again?”

“I wouldn't have gotten you out of bed if it was just popping off, Joe,” Kordus said. “He dressed down Bain like
he
was the commander in chief, then proceeded to lecture the NSC on how backward we were and how we should be thinking about China from now on. He apologized afterward and said he was tired, but he stepped way over the line.”

“Was he right?”

Kordus hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “Doesn't mat
ter, Joe. Phoenix is out of control, and he could take some members of the cabinet down if he continues to plant seeds of doubt in some minds about your leadership or the Pentagon's preparedness.”

The president nodded, thinking hard. “In the original Constitution,” he said after a few moments, “the second-place finisher in the presidential elections became vice president. He was given the meaningless job of president of the Senate in order to keep him busy enough so he didn't spend all of his time plotting to overthrow the president.” He paused, longing for a cigarette and a shot or two of rum to clear his head. “I know how those early presidents felt now.” He thought for a moment more; then: “I'll deal with Phoenix after I get some rest.”

“He wants to go to that young astronaut's memorial service in California day after tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine,” the president said wearily. “Schedule some campaign stops for him and see if he squawks about doing them, and let me know who he meets with—as in any of his so-called secret presidential campaign advisers. He just might be doing more than just
sounding
like the commander in chief.”

N
ATIONAL
S
PACE
M
EDICAL
C
ENTER
, J
OHNSON
S
PACE
C
ENTER
, H
OUSTON
, T
EXAS

T
WO DAYS LATER

Patrick McLanahan and Deputy Undersecretary of the Air Force for Space Ann Page stepped up to the large cluster of microphones outside the entrance to the National Space Medical Center at the Johnson Space Center in Houston. Speaking without prepared notes—at least not any that the dozens of reporters could see—Patrick said, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Patrick McLanahan, retired U.S. Air Force lieutenant general. With me today is deputy undersecretary of the Air Force for space, aerospace engineer, astronaut, and former U.S. senator from California, Dr. Ann Page.

“We're going to visit with astronaut Hunter Noble, who was involved in the accident in Earth orbit when an interceptor weapon-launcher module apparently exploded after being serviced by Mr. Noble and his partner, spacecraft electronics technician First Lieutenant Jeffrey McCallum. Lieutenant McCallum was killed in the aftermath of the explosion, and Mr. Noble was forced to abandon his spaceplane and was adrift in space for several hours holding the body of Lieutenant McCallum until another spaceplane crew rescued them.

“Undersecretary Page will tell you that the official investigation will soon be under way and, like most aviation accident investigations, the results probably won't be released for several months,” Patrick went on. “As the former commander of the nascent U.S. Space Defense Force and a frequent traveler to Armstrong Space Station, I am very concerned about the incident and the smooth progress of the investigation, and so I volunteered my services to
Undersecretary Page at the Pentagon to assist in the investigation in any way they see fit.

“I am also very concerned about the future of the space defense program, especially in the aftermath of this tragedy. With rumors circulating in the press about the cancellation or severe downsizing of the space defense program, I would like to ensure that the truth is accurately reported in a timely manner, and as a private citizen with extensive knowledge of the Space Defense Force program, I feel I'm well qualified to help. The space defense program is the cornerstone of the future of not only national defense but also global defense, and understanding and learning from tragic accidents like this are crucial for the program's success. Thank you.”

Patrick stepped away from the microphones, and Ann stepped forward. “Thank you, General McLanahan,” she began. “I thank you for your service to our country, and I thank you for stepping forward out of retirement with your generous offer of support, expert analysis, and leadership. I have recommended to secretary of the Air Force Salazar Banderas that he nominate General McLanahan to chair the accident investigation board on the Kingfisher-Eight incident, and we are awaiting the final decision by Defense Secretary Turner, which we expect very soon. The formal inquiry into the incident will begin when the chairman is appointed and his or her accident investigation board is chosen, sworn in, and seated.

“As the senior civilian administrator of the Air Force's military space programs, my job is to assist the Secretary of the Air Force in ensuring that we have the best equipped and trained space force in the world,” Ann went on. “The constellation of Kingfisher interceptor modules in orbit have proven extremely reliable so far in their short tour of duty, and to me this incident is suspicious and troubling. I'll be following the investigation very carefully over the next several months. Most of the findings will be classified, I'm sure, but as much as I'm permitted, I'll report back to you on the
board's progress.” She and McLanahan fielded several questions from the few members of the press who attended the remarks, and then went inside to Hunter Noble's room.

They were surprised to see him up and moving about. His right shoulder was heavily bandaged, he wore a neck brace, and his face was shiny from the sunburn cream that had been applied, but otherwise he looked remarkably good for a guy who had been rescued from Earth orbit. “Saw the presser on TV, General,” he said. “You looked good, if I may say so. Ever think about politics?”

“Yes—and then I slap myself,” Patrick responded. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Went to find that nurse who put this goop on my face,” Boomer said with a smile.

“How do you feel?” Ann asked.

“A little wobbly, ma'am—I'm not as much of an exercise freak as General Raydon, so I think the zero-g and then Earth-g hit me harder.”

“Not to mention your spaceplane being blasted by a weapon garage and then being forced to evacuate it.”

“That, too.”

“So you feel like talking a little?” Patrick asked, closing the door behind him. Ann Page looked at Patrick—she knew
he
knew he hadn't yet been approved to serve on the accident investigation board, so he wasn't authorized to ask any questions—but she stayed silent.

“Sure—it's better than playing with that lung-exerciser thingy they gave me,” Boomer said, motioning to the spirometer on the table next to the bed. He sat on the side of the bed. “Shoot.”

“Did Lieutenant McCallum have any problems with the repairs that you're aware of?” Patrick asked.

“None,” Boomer said. “Went very smoothly.”

“Was he nervous about doing the space walk?”

“I think so,” Boomer admitted. “But I told him it was natural, and that I get a little illyngophobia every now and then.”

“A little what?” Ann asked.

“Illyngophobia—the fear of getting vertigo.”

“You mean acrophobia.”

“No, that's the fear of heights. I don't have a problem with heights. I'm just afraid I might get vertigo. Pretty much the same, but different.” Ann looked at him skeptically. “I'm generally a font of useless information, Madam Undersecretary,” he said with a smile.

“‘A difference that makes no difference is no difference,'” Ann said.

“William James, the ultimate verificationist,” Boomer said. “My man.”

While they were prattling on, Patrick stepped away from Boomer's bed and touched his left hand to his left ear, a signal that he was not taking part in their conversation. “Maddie?”

“Yes
,
General McLanahan,”
the voice of Sky Masters Inc.'s virtual assistant replied a moment later, heard through the resonations transmitted through his skull to his middle ear.

“Connect me to General Raydon on Armstrong Space Station.”

“Stand by
,
General McLanahan,”
Maddie replied. A few moments later:
“General Raydon, this is Maddie from Sky Masters Incorporated calling for General McLanahan, not secure.”

“Is that your Duty Officer calling for you again, General?” Kai asked.

“Same operation; different names,” Patrick said. “Verificationism.” That got Ann and Boomer's attention.

“Say again?”

“Disregard. How are you?”

“Tired. Yourself, sir?”

“Good. Undersecretary Page and I are here with Boomer.”

“How is he?”

“Up and about.”

“He's a tough bugger, that's for sure.”

“I'm very sorry about Lieutenant McCallum.”

“Thanks. He was a great engineer and crewman. I'll be heading down for his service in a few hours.”

“I'll see you there. Any more news on the accident, Kai?”

“We're not secure, General.”

“I know.”

There was a slight pause; then: “Are you heading up the accident investigation board, sir?”

“It hasn't been confirmed yet.”

“As soon as I get the word that you're chairing the board, General, I'll pass along all the information on the entire incident,” Kai said. At that same moment, Patrick received a secure instant message that scrolled across the bottom of his field of vision, thanks to the tiny electronic intraocular lens implant in his left eye. The message read: L
ET ME KNOW WHERE TO SEND THE FILES.