Arlington, Virginia
THE house overlooked a creek that ran through a wooded ravine. A brick colonial, with flagstone walks and three bedrooms and a family room in the basement, though Blair and Dan didn’t have children, aside from his grown-up daughter. She’d furnished it from the antique shops she liked to stop at when they drove to Maryland to visit her parents. Other pieces were from her family’s estate, things her mom and dad had let go when they’d redecorated.
It wasn’t as nice a home as she’d grown up in, but it was all they needed. She spent most of her time elsewhere anyway.
“You bad boy,” Blair said. “Go on. Eat your food.” Jimbo preened under her hand, purring, stretching as if his black-and-white body were made of taffy. She didn’t mind talking to the cat when Dan wasn’t around. Actually, he did sometimes too.
The teapot began to whistle. She made a peach momotaro. Glanced at the clock while she waited for the sachet to open. Frowned, then realized the power must have gone out again during the night.
In their bedroom, she dressed. A severe blue suit. Dark pumps. Then clattered down the stairs. They wanted her in the Tank at seven.
She was checking her briefcase when she noticed activity on the street in front of the house. Several people had stopped their bicycles, or held their dogs on leashes, just standing there. Watching her house? She frowned, peering through the curtains.
No. They were watching two people who stood beside an official-looking sedan, consulting tablet computers. A short white woman and a Hispanic-looking man. Both were in Navy blue and gold.
Taking a deep breath, she searched around for a chair. “Not this house,” she murmured. Then immediately thought: How selfish. Do I really want someone else to get such news?
That’s right. Anyone else. Just not me.
When the doorbell chimed she couldn’t make herself get up. Her knees didn’t feel like they’d hold. Finally she groped to the door, pausing to lean on a side table.
“Mrs. Blair Lenson?” the woman, a lieutenant by the two gold stripes, said, meeting her gaze. In unison, a practiced movement, they both removed their hats.
“Um, well, I’m Blair Titus.”
“Wife of Captain Daniel Valentine Lenson?”
She braced a hand on the jamb, feeling, somehow, stronger than she’d have thought she would at such a moment. Or maybe the collapse would come later. “He’s an admiral. Not a captain.” The next second she thought, Why did I say that? What difference can it possibly make now?
The Hispanic guy nodded soberly. “I’m sure that’s being corrected, ma’am. But you are Daniel Lenson’s wife?”
“I am.” Let it only be a wound, God. Even his legs.
But they called you on the phone to report someone was wounded. They didn’t send official notifiers.
The woman said, “Would you like us to come inside?”
“No, I don’t—you can tell me whatever it is out here.”
The man, a chief, said, “Ma’am, I’m sorry to have to notify you that Captain—Admiral—Lenson has been reported missing in action.”
She sealed her mouth with a palm. Said though her fingers, “Missing. What does that mean? Exactly?”
“You understand, we can only give confirmed information,” the lieutenant said. “All we know at present is that he was involved in an aircraft crash, in the line of duty. No bodies have been recovered, and the status of survivors, if any, is unknown.”
This felt like a dream, but she didn’t think it was one. “Um … an, a crash. You say. Was he lost at sea? In battle? Is it possible he was captured?”
The woman said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. —Ms. Titus. We really don’t have any more information. I wish we did.”
The man said, “Is there anyone we can call for you? A friend, or a pastor?”
“No. No, I don’t think that’s necessary. A crash. Does that mean he’s probably dead?” Wait a minute … she’d already asked that. Hadn’t she? Now she couldn’t remember.
The chief said patiently, “We really don’t have any more information, ma’am.”
After a pause the lieutenant glanced at her tablet, and thumbed something on the screen. “I have secondary next of kin listed as a Nan Lenson, daughter, residing in Seattle. Do you know if that’s correct?”
“Yes. His daughter. Seattle.” She gripped the jamb, trying not to slide to the floor.
“Would you have a current number for her, ma’am? We don’t seem to have up-to-date data on the secondary next of kin.”
Hands shaking, she went back to Dan’s office and rooted until she came up with what she hoped was his daughter’s address. Carried it back out. “Here it is. I’m not sure if this is current, but it’s the latest I could find.”
“If you’d just sign here, that you’ve been notified,” the lieutenant said, holding out the tablet and a silver stylus. “Also, please check that the contact number we have for you is correct. You’ll hear from us again with an update as soon as additional information becomes available. Here’s my card, if any further questions occur in the meantime. I sincerely hope the next news you hear is good, ma’am.”
The woman took a step back, fitted her cap on. Together, in unison, they saluted. Blair took a deep breath, and tried to smile. “Thank you. You have a hard job.”
“We’ve both lost people. Family, and friends,” the woman told her. “That’s why we volunteered for casualty notification.”
“Well, you’ve carried it out very professionally. Thank you. Would you like—I have water hot for tea, or coffee—”
“Thank you very much, ma’am,” the woman said. The man was already scrutinizing his tablet again, turning away toward the sedan. “But I’m afraid this is only the first stop we have to make today.”
* * *
SHE went to sit in an upholstered chair in the front room, hands over her face, trying to take it in. Then forced herself up. She couldn’t just sit here. Sitting here wasn’t doing anyone any good. She went to the foyer and checked herself in the mirror. Pale, but no tears. Good.
She was still due in the Tank.
* * *
THE first call came in her car. She almost didn’t answer when she saw who it was from. Then, finally, pushed the Talk button on the steering wheel. “Titus.”
“Blair? Hu Kuwalay.”
Senator Talmadge’s senior staffer. “Hu. What can I do for you?”
“I just heard. I’m so sorry.”
“I thought there was a news blackout until after they notified the families.”
“Uh, Bankey has back-channel. You know that, right? The congressional liaison notified us. The senator wanted me to call right away. Express our condolences.”
“He’s not dead, Hu. Just missing. So condolences are not in order. Not yet.”
“Right, right. Important to keep that in mind.”
“Why didn’t he call himself?”
“I’m sorry?” Kuwalay said.
“Why didn’t Bankey call me? I know he’s up. He’s always been an early riser. Why didn’t he do this?”
“Um, well … he’s got someone in there with him.”
“He doesn’t want to speak with me?”
“I’m sure that’s not it, Blair.”
But from his tone, she knew it was. She and Talmadge had had a set-to three days before, about the funds he’d pledged to reimburse her for her campaign. Since she’d lost, it seemed to be a forgotten promise. Speaking off the record, woman to woman, his aide had let drop that the party’s isolationist wing cherished a grudge against her.
“What for?” Blair had asked.
“What for? For joining the other party,” Mindy had said, as if it were obvious.
Now Blair said, “Hu, put Bankey on. I know he’s there in the office.”
“He’s not here right now, Blair. I told you that.”
She felt her face heat. “No, you said he was busy. So I’m on the other side of the fence now? For joining a wartime coalition government? Think this through clearly, Hu. You know what the national security adviser keeps pushing for? A hard-line strategy. Escalation. Without me pushing back, we could be in an all-out nuclear war.”
The staffer said, “I hear what you’re saying. Seriously, I do. But you have to accept the reality, Blair.”
She was pulling off the cloverleaf, under the overpass, up to the Pentagon. “What reality would that be, Hu? Make it fast, I’m on my way in to the Tank.”
Kuwalay said, “The middle of the road is where people get run down, Blair.”
* * *
THE E Ring, Corridor 9. Officially it was the JCS Conference Room, or the Gold Room. When the guard opened the door most of the Chiefs were already gathered around coffee urns and plates of sweet rolls set out on a sideboard. The room was carpeted and curtained in gold and centered with a glass-covered conference table. She wondered why the truly important spaces—the Situation Room, the Oval Office—always seemed too small. The chairs were covered in cordovan leather. Yellow pads and pencils lay precisely squared at each place. Bowls of peppermints and lemon drops were spaced along the table, at a convenient arm’s length from each seat.
The chairman, General Ricardo Vincenzo, was already seated, reading a document, halfway down the table. When he noticed her, he pointed to the chair to his right. An honor; usually the SecDef sat there. Obviously he wasn’t going to be here today. She nodded to the other generals, to Dr. Hui.
A bearlike form intercepted her. Nick Niles. “I heard about Dan,” the CNO rumbled. A huge hand enveloped hers. “I’m very sorry. What have they told you?”
“Not much, Admiral. Just that he’s missing, after a crash. Do you know anything more?”
“Apparently he was leaving his ship and the helo went down. Unfortunately, it was in a battle zone. Which complicates the search. But if he’s out there, we’ll find him.”
“Let’s get started,” the deputy chief called.
The first agenda item was the battle in the East China Sea. A naval captain she didn’t know briefed. On the whole, Operation Recoil had proceeded satisfactorily. Transit to the objective had been accomplished without significant loss. Advance force operations to degrade air defenses had gone well. Heavy carrier air and long-range bomber strikes had struck airfields on Okinawa and the mainland Ningbo complex. Preliminary reports estimated a 50 percent reduction in enemy forces. During the intrusion, two enemy submarines were also destroyed, and a total of twenty-one enemy aircraft and dozens of UAVs were shot down. No enemy surface forces had participated in the battle. Four theater ballistic missiles were launched from South Korean territory. Two got through, but inflicted no damage.
“Friendly losses were limited to damage to four ships and a loss of ten aircraft, as follows: six fighter, two strike, two helicopters. Also, significant losses were experienced in drones and autonomous vehicles. Overall, though, lower own-force erosion than was forecast, mainly due to the absence, so far, of a nuclear response, which was predicted by some staff officers.”
The briefer paused, but none of the admirals or generals spoke. He went on. “Advance elements are withdrawing under cover of the carrier groups. PaCom recommends recovering damaged units and continuing search-and-rescue efforts, then transiting the combined force southward, after refueling and rearming, to cover continuing action in the northern Philippines.”
The Chiefs questioned him closely on details. The captain seemed to have the answers, and after thanking him, Vincenzo let him go. As the door closed he said, “Any necessity for deliberation?”
Shaken heads. Niles glanced at her, then away. She inspected her yellow pad. DAN DAN DAN was written on it in increasingly jagged cursive.
“Next agenda item: Mandible,” Vincenzo said.
A Marine general briefed on the landings on Itbayat. Blair kept her head down, but registered that fighting was continuing and casualties were heavy. Computers and electronics had been taken down by sectorwide cyberattacks. A lot of dead on the beach. More as the Marines moved inland. Severe losses, too, among the Navy units getting them ashore. She realized that those must be the other calls the casualty team had said they had to make this morning.
“The island’s been cut in half,” the general said. “But the enemy has regrouped to the north and is counterattacking. All our reserves have been committed,” he concluded. “The major shortage is ammunition. Expenditure has been heavier than planned and due to the nature of the beaches and the loss of ship-to-shore transport, resupply is difficult.
“To be blunt, the issue’s still in doubt. Additional support from the northern strike group will be greatly welcome.”
“Deliberations?” Vincenzo asked again, leaning back.
The Air Force deputy chief of staff: “How soon can the airfield be made operational?”
“We’ll staff you an answer on that,” the chairman said, scribbling a note, tearing the paper off, and handing it to an aide. “Other comments? All right, then I have a quick update.
“Our global security overwatch has been preempted by responding to China. But the New Caliphate is threatening Israel. Russia’s infiltrating Latvia and Belarus, a replay of the destabilization tactics used in Ukraine. NATO and the EU are debating their response, but we can’t help. All our forces are either in the Pacific or en route there, except for the advisers left in the Mideast.
“Basically, we’re still weak—mobilization is far behind schedule—and we’re facing a long, grim war. I presented our options to the heads of state conference in Sydney. The strategy agreed on there is to tighten the encirclement, aid those currently fighting the common enemy, and open two new theaters of war, as well as to stir up internal dissent. That will be a CIA mission, mainly. We’ll also be taking steps against Iran.
“In the middle of the conference, we received disheartening news. The Vietnamese lines were penetrated by armored forces. The People’s Liberation Army is surging toward Hanoi amid bitter fighting and massive casualties on both sides. We had to offer increased logistic and air support, or risk having Vietnam knocked out of the alliance.”
The Air Force deputy said, “They’ve invited us to establish a forward base at Da Nang. We’ve identified a bomb wing and initiated forward movement and initial security.”
Vincenzo nodded heavily. “All right. Now, I’m going to ask that the room be cleared. Principals only.”
“Deputies?” one of the generals asked. The chairman hesitated, then nodded, reluctantly, Blair thought.
When the doors were resealed, Vincenzo turned to her. “All right, Blair. Tell us about Jade Emperor.”
She took a breath, composing herself. “We actually know very little. A lot is inference, gleaned from traffic between the mainland and an island outpost.
“The Jade Emperor was a legendary figure in Chinese history. He overthrew an army of evil demons through his wisdom, and became the supreme sovereign of men and gods.”
Vincenzo gestured impatiently; she cut to the chase. “‘Jade Emperor’ is a massively capable artificial intelligence being built in western China. Even in a partially completed state, it can infiltrate and degrade any Internet data packet anywhere in the world. It’s behind the brownouts on the West Coast, the nuclear-power-plant scrams, the disruptions in satellite communications, the fires at our refineries, the banking-network takedowns. There are indications it can penetrate our most secure high-side command networks.
“As its capabilities increase—as it learns—it will be able not just to degrade, but actually to take control of industrial processes, financial networks, and communications and power nodes.”
“Can we bomb it?” someone asked.
“Anything can be bombed,” the Air Force general said. “The question is, what losses you’re willing to take.”
Vincenzo said, “Now tell us about Battle Eagle.”
Blair nodded. “Battle Eagle began building three years ago, in secret, of course. A DARPA-chartered joint venture of eight software developers, known as Archipelago. Dr. Hui here probably knows more about it than I do, since one of its earliest outputs was a hitherto unsuspected way to degrade North Korean ballistic missile guidance. Denson?”
“I’m constrained by classification,” Hui said, a bit stiffly.
“Even in front of the Joint Chiefs?” Vincenzo frowned. “Doctor?”
Hui inclined his head. “All I can say is that the way Ms. Titus describes the enemy AI more or less resembles Battle Eagle as well. The architectures differ. But they’re both massive self-programming neural networks, designed to dispute digital infrastructure with peer competitors.”
“I’m having difficulty buying this,” said Niles, unwrapping a peppermint. He examined it doubtfully, then popped it into his mouth. “Are you serious?”
“Every war brings technologies forward,” Blair told him. “Bombing aircraft were a fantasy in 1913. Atomic weapons were science fiction in 1939. Now, instead of teams of human hackers or code breakers, we’ll have two massive programs locked in combat in cyberspace. And whichever wins, I’m sorry to say, may determine the course of this war, whatever we do on the ground.”
The officers looked disbelieving. A tap came at the door. “Come in. We’re done here,” Vincenzo called.
The captain who’d given the opening briefing came in. “New developments, General. The Chinese are finally buckling on Itbayat. Marines report accepting surrenders at the company level.”
“That’s good news,” said a National Guard general.
“Also, the Philippines have announced they’ll send a force to take over the occupation.”
“Oh no they won’t,” Vincenzo said, flicking his chin. “They handed it over to the fucking Chinese. We paid in blood to get it, and we’re keeping it. I’ll call State and make that clear. Anything else?”
“Yes, sir,” the captain said. “Tokyo has renounced Zhang’s cease-fire. Also, they’ve announced stand-up of a nuclear deterrent, which they will use if China attacks the home islands.”
One of the generals whistled, but the captain pressed on. “Along with that, they made a commitment to eject all foreign forces from Okinawa. And they will support the Allies quote, ‘wherever else in Asia they may move against aggression.’”
Blair sat back as the others smiled. Japan had returned to the war. The third-biggest economy in the world, with a skilled if small military. Situated directly astride the sea lanes from China out into the Pacific.
The Pacific, where … Dan was still missing. And after a crash … not even bodies recovered …
She was a widow, it seemed, whether she could bear to acknowledge it or not.
Not that her personal suffering mattered much, in a world at war.
Because that’s what it was turning into: A world at war.
And a war that looked, increasingly, as if it might go either way.