The Patriot Attack (12 page)

Off the Coast of the Senkaku Islands
East China Sea

C
ontacts?” Captain Isao Matsuoka asked.

“No change, sir.”

He looked out at the calm water for a few more seconds, then turned to scan the bridge of Japan’s newest battleship. It was magnificent even by American standards—a testament to flawless design manned by sailors he believed to be unparalleled in all the world. And yet it meant nothing.

The truth was that the JDS
Izumo
was little more than twenty thousand tons of scrap metal—an antique before the first steel plate had been welded into place at the shipyard. Still, it had been his honor to command her. And it would be an even greater honor die with her.

He returned his gaze to the glass, examining the helicopters lined up on the flight deck and the open sea beyond. The sun had risen from the water only half an hour ago and he squinted into it, searching for the enemy along the horizon.

Both Japan’s forces and those of the Chinese had retreated to safer distances on the orders of their governments. It created a deceptively peaceful scene of blue skies and gentle swells. The calm before the storm.

“Captain,” his XO said, coming up behind him. “We have a secure call coming in for you on the satellite link.”

Matsuoka nodded. “I’ll take it in my cabin.”

He walked quickly, giving respectful nods and even a few smiles and clapped shoulders to his men as he passed. It wasn’t his normal custom—poor for discipline in his experience. But this day was different. A captain was only as good as the men beneath him and this was the finest crew he’d ever had the privilege to command. He was confident that they would face what was to come with courage and resolve that would be remembered for centuries.

He entered his cabin and closed the door behind him before retrieving the satellite phone from his desk.

“This is Matsuoka.”

“Good morning, Captain.”

He stood a little straighter, suddenly feeling the urge to look around his utilitarian quarters for anything out of place. It would be a pointless exercise, of course. There had been nothing out of place in his life since he was a child. “Good morning, General Takahashi.”

“Situation report?”

“Calm seas under clear skies, sir. The Chinese have retreated from their forward positions and are holding at the locations outlined in my last report.”

“Can you confirm for me that there’s still a single Song-class submarine within torpedo range?”

“As of two minutes ago, that was correct, General.”

Matsuoka lowered himself into the cabin’s only chair, suddenly feeling an unfamiliar weakness in his legs. Was this to be the moment? The beginning of a new Japan?

“It has been a great honor to serve with you, Isao.”

“The honor has been mine, sir.”

The line went dead and Matsuoka switched off the handset. He didn’t understand the general’s plan. In fact, he knew almost nothing of it. All he could be certain of was that Takahashi was the greatest patriot and most brilliant military man he had ever known. His family had served Japan for centuries and after the war had been one of the driving forces behind the country’s rise to economic power. It was only fitting that a Takahashi would be the one to lead Japan into a new era.

Matsuoka reached for a photo on his desk—one of the few personal items visible in the room. It depicted his wife and his two young boys. He wouldn’t see them grow up or have a hand in what they would become. But they’d remember him. And everyone they ever met would know that they were the sons of Captain Isao Matsuoka.

Northeastern Japan

G
eneral Masao Takahashi stepped into the room and paused while the head of his security detail took a position against the dirt-and-stone wall. The two other men in the room were so absorbed by the monitor they were staring into, neither noticed them enter.

The engineer sitting behind the console that dominated the room was Rentaro Fujii. He had been with the defense forces for more than twenty-five years and was largely responsible for designing their autonomous torpedo technology and the air-to-air system that had been so successfully tested the day before. Leaning over his shoulder was the hunched and increasingly deformed figure of Dr. Hideki Ito.

“Is everything ready?” Takahashi said, breaking the silence.

The two scientists spun and Fujii leaped to his feet in order to deliver a respectful bow. “All systems are online and showing green, General.”

Takahashi nodded and turned to his guard. “I’ll be fine. Please wait outside.”

His reluctant expression was expected but, as always, he followed his orders without question. Takahashi trusted the man with his life, but knowledge of what was about to happen in that room could never be revealed and had to be limited to a few critical people. Ito’s condition made him easy to control and, unknown to him, his doctors were confident that he wouldn’t live another year. The man returning to his position in front of the console was nearing the end of his usefulness and would be watched obsessively until it was practical to implement a more permanent solution. Takahashi even considered himself a potential threat. In a few years, age would catch up to him as it did all men. He couldn’t afford to let his mind weaken. At the first signs that it was happening, he would take his own life.

“The Chinese submarine is still within range of our battleship,” Ito said. “We have a torpedo resting on the seafloor less than six hundred meters from it.”

“The Song carries Yu-4 torpedoes,” Takahashi said. “Will this be convincing?”

“As we’ve discussed, our technology is significantly different, sir.”

It was a wild understatement. Their system was based on the Soviet VA-111 Shkval—a rocket-propelled torpedo. Gas released from the nose cone allowed the weapon to fly inside a bubble and achieve speeds in excess of two hundred knots. The Soviet version was still available on the international arms market but had never fully made the jump from theoretical to practical. Maneuverability was extremely poor, range was limited to about twelve kilometers, and the archaic guidance system could neither compensate for the sea’s unpredictable currents nor distinguish the enemy from natural geological features.

Fujii and his people had overcome all those problems and more. Range was now 90 kilometers at over 350 knots, pinpoint maneuverability had been achieved using subtle distortions of the bubble’s shape, and targeting was handled by a purpose-built computer connected to a state-of-the-art sensor array. It couldn’t just differentiate a submarine from an underwater volcano, it could differentiate the USS
Ronald Reagan
from the
Stennis
.

“You’re still confident that we can mimic the Chinese torpedo?”

“As I told you,” Ito started hesitantly. “Even with our modifications, this technology is going to make a different sound from the Yu-4. We have, however, dialed its speed back to match the Yu-4’s, and we’re using the appropriate explosive payload. Still, I’m concerned that it won’t bear careful scrutiny by naval experts.”

Takahashi looked at the unfathomable readouts on the computer monitor and let out a long breath. They had more than seven hundred of these weapons on the ocean floor, covering not only Japanese waters but also Chinese ports and sea-lanes. The torpedoes lay dormant waiting for the signal to activate, and then their artificial brains would take over—scanning the sea around them, prioritizing targets, coordinating with other units. In a matter of hours they could decimate the entire Chinese fleet and make conventional naval warfare obsolete forever. Still, this was a dangerous game. As it had three-quarters of a century before, everything hinged on the reaction of the Americans. Takahashi’s bias was to not repeat the mistake of his predecessors and provoke the United States. But if it became necessary, he would crush that country just as it had crushed Japan.

“Is the Song submarine in a plausible attack position?”

Ito wiped a film of perspiration from his damaged skin. “General, please accept my apologies, but I don’t understand what we’re doing here. The situation—”

“I asked you a question, Doctor,” Takahashi said, raising his voice for the first time in the presence of the scientist. Ito tensed visibly, as did the man sitting in the chair next to him.

“Yes, General. The submarine is in an acceptable position. But the consequences of this…”

Takahashi wasn’t accustomed to being challenged, but understood that Ito wasn’t a soldier and couldn’t be treated as one.

“Doctor, every year the Chinese increase their military spending. They whip their people into an anti-Japanese frenzy by using the memory of events from a time before most of them were even born. More recently, they tried to assassinate me. And why wouldn’t they? There are never any consequences for their actions. In fact, they were rewarded with an offer of negotiations and further concessions by our prime minister. The more we give, the more they take. What we do here today will focus the world’s eyes where they should be—on a country positioning itself to create an Asian hegemony. The situation is getting out of control, and this, while distasteful, may be the only thing that can de-escalate it.”

Of course, it was all a lie. The dogs that made up the Chinese government would never back down. Their lives of power and privilege depended on their ability to blind their population to the fact that far from being a rising power, China was rotting from within. Income disparity, the reliance on slave wages, environmental destruction, sleight of hand in the financial industry. Like the Soviet Union before it, China was drowning. And like a drowning man, there was nothing and no one they wouldn’t drag under for one last gasp of air.

“I understand, General. But surely there’s another option.”

Takahashi had appeased the scientist as much as he was willing to. The man was becoming increasingly unfocused, spending valuable time thinking about things that were none of his affair.

“Launch the weapon.”

Ito stood frozen, but Fujii didn’t hesitate. “The torpedo is away, General.”

Takahashi straightened, standing at attention. His order would end in the death of many fine Japanese sailors. It would be a weight he would bear until the day he died.

President’s Private Residence
The White House
Washington, DC, USA

A
nd so there it is, Fred.”

President Sam Adams Castilla sat on the sofa while Klein watched a flat screen on the wall. The image of a massive battleship on fire was shaky and clearly cobbled together from numerous sources.

Flames and smoke obscured the scene as the wind whipped across the slowly listing deck. Japanese sailors were running in every direction, trying to contain the fire, rescue their comrades, and retrieve bodies. Some were forced to throw themselves overboard, and Klein watched in horror as they took the long fall to the waves.

His ability to immediately analyze and make accurate predictions about any situation was one of the things that made him the president’s most trusted confidant. But what to make of this? How to calculate the potential ramifications?

“Does the media have access to this footage, Sam?”

“Not yet. Sanetomi’s clamped down on it, but it’s only a matter of time. By tomorrow, the entire world will be watching Japan’s brand-new battleship heading for the bottom of the sea with its captain and a lot of young kids still aboard.”

“Jesus,” Klein muttered as the screen faded to black. “What are our naval analysts saying about it?”

“We don’t have anything more than the video at this point,” Castilla said, taking a seat behind a modest desk. “But their initial reaction is that the damage is consistent with what you’d expect from a well-placed torpedo. In fact, just the kind that the Song-class sub in the area would be carrying.”

“And the Chinese?”

“They’re denying the attack. They insist that their sub has all torpedoes on board and accounted for. Of course, the Japanese say that means nothing. If China planned this, they’d have been smart enough to carry an extra and make everything look innocent.”

“What’s the public reaction been?”

“Hundreds of thousands of people taking to the streets in Japan. The prime minister’s trying to calm them down, to tell people all the facts aren’t in yet, but about all that’s accomplished is to get people calling for his resignation. Of course, there are similar riots in China, but to their credit the leadership is trying to crack down on them. The question is whether it’s too little too late.”

He let his head sink into his hands. “I’m ordering two more carrier groups into the area, Fred. The Chinese are backpedaling and Sanetomi is calling for calm, but General Takahashi isn’t. He’s been on Japanese TV five times today with enough fiery rhetoric that I told the CIA to stop sending me translations. I talked personally with the prime minister but he’s completely lost control of the man.”

“Could he ask for the general’s resignation?”

“Not a chance in hell. Beyond being one of the wealthiest men in the world, Takahashi’s also one of the most powerful men in Japan. He’s been with their defense forces for more than forty years, and the leaks about the Chinese being behind the attempt on his life have given him even more credibility. The people trust him and according to our analysts, it’s for good reason. While they all agree that he’s a nationalistic bastard, they also agree that he’s a brilliant nationalistic bastard. After this, he could probably stage a coup and end up with a better approval rating than I’ve got right now. I swear to God I’m starting to wish that explosion had incinerated the son of a bitch.”

Klein frowned.

“What?” Castilla said, eyeing him.

“We’re getting some confusing information about the assassination attempt.”

“Confusing how?”

“We’re confident that Kaito Yoshima was the Chinese operative behind it and that he framed the Japanese Patriotic Front. What’s been leaked from Japan’s intelligence agency, though, relates to hired Eastern European mercenaries and we can’t confirm any of it. The whole story seems to have come out of nowhere. Another in a long list of pieces that just don’t fit.”

“That’s the least of my problems,” Castilla said. “This was bad before but now we’re looking at a potential full-scale war that the US is obligated by treaty to fight in. The secretary of state is on his way to Asia to sit down with both Sanetomi and the president of China. The hope is that we can portray this as a collision or some other kind of accident and that the Chinese will make enough concessions for everyone to save face and step away from the gun.”

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“It has to. A war between the US and China just plain can’t happen. Whenever I ask anyone about how it would play out, all they can do is curl up into the fetal position.”

Klein completely understood that reaction. While he found the words hard to utter, what they were talking about was World War III. There was no way the Europeans and Russians could sit out a confrontation involving the world’s two largest economies and two most powerful militaries. The situation would spiral out of control, and in the context of modern technology that could mean turning the planet into an irradiated cinder.

“Sam, I’m convinced that there is more to this than meets the eye. You need to keep things at a slow boil until Jon and Randi can figure out what happened at Fukushima. My gut says that there’s something critical there. That it’s the piece we’re missing in all of this.”

Castilla nodded, but his stare was a bit distant. “You’ve known me for a long time, Fred. My decision-making style isn’t that complicated. I gather the facts, listen to the experts, and hire the best people available to execute the solution we come up with. But do you know what I’m going to do tonight? I’m going to have a few too many drinks and then I’m going to get on my knees and pray.”