Chapter Forty-Three: Pirates of the South China Sea

Feodora landed Dulcinea, her rechristened floater, on the barren sand and rock among the outskirts of the Spratly Islands that Zero said was the location of not one, but two submarines. Since the Chinese and other countries had no need to hide submarines next to barren rocks, she could safely surmise they belonged to the pirates. The fact that there were two increased the likelihood of there being high-ranking officers. That could save some time working up the chain of command.

She’d renamed her floater after joining the Platt campaign. The Solzhenitsyn seemed a bit too Russian for a worldwide campaign. She’d found it funny that the Moderate Party’s symbol was the horse—her secret nickname in Russia. She liked that nickname, but now enjoyed playing Dulcinea, even if she knew she looked more like a skinny Sancho.

Now she stood on what passed for a beach on what passed for an island on what supposedly passed as a submarine base. It was perhaps three hundred yards long, a hundred wide, slanting upwards to a hill in the middle, where a single coconut tree jutted into the air like a flag declaring the island’s independence from the world. With nothing in sight to the horizon in all directions, there was little to challenge its sovereignty.

So, she thought, what do I do now? Yell “Anybody home?” Look for a place to knock? Zero said the submarines were on the south side. She’d landed a bit north of that, not wanting to plop down in the middle of a hostile base.

She walked toward the supposed location of the hidden submarine base. Used to the coldness of Russia, she didn’t like the hundred degree heat, though the cool, salty ocean breeze made it livable. A pair of crabs scuttled about at the water’s edge. Seagulls flew overhead.

“Halt! Hands up!”

Three figures in scuba gear stood in the water just off shore, lasers aimed at her midsection. As she raised her hands, more appeared from behind. Soon she was surrounded by scraggly-looking Taiwanese pirates, half of them men, half women, brandishing lasers and looking anxious to use them.

Sometimes, she thought, it is not good to be Feodora.

She knew pirates preferred lasers because they were silent, allowing them to pick off victims one at a time as they captured a ship without alerting the rest of the crew. An old-fashioned rifle or machine gun with bullets was more deadly; a laser needed to stay on you for a few seconds to kill. However, she’d come here to talk to the pirates, not to evade lasers.

“Who are you?” One of the men who’d sneaked up from behind glared with wildly darting eyes that couldn’t seem to focus on her. They came out of a face hidden by hair and beard that looked like it hadn’t been trimmed, combed, or washed since the submarine fleet left Taiwan sixteen years ago. The ones not in scuba gear were dressed in wildly divergent fashion, as if they wore whatever they’d captured in the latest haul. Tattooed on everyone’s left hand was a twelve-sided star, formerly the national emblem of Taiwan.

“I am General Feodora Zubkov. I am here to meet with your leaders on a matter of mutual benefit.”

The man’s eyes darted back and forth, catching her occasionally in the middle. “Kill her,” he said, and turned away.

Feodora braced herself. Her death would be quick and sweet, as she’d always hoped.

“No, wait!” one of the scuba pirates said. She’d pulled off her face mask to show another explosion of unruly black hair. “Don’t you know who she is? She’s one of the Russian generals who defeated the Chinese in the Kim War. She’s the one who defeated the Japanese in the Russian-Japanese War by invading China.”

The darting-eyes man turned back. “The Mountain Monster?” The Japanese name for her. It was all a matter of perspective. “In the movie, you weren’t short and ugly.”

“In movie, I was played by pretty actress. Here I am real, just short, ugly general from Russia.”

“How did you find us?”

She fixed her face in an impassive half-smile. “Russia has developed new sensors that can locate hidden submarines…with zero chance of mistake.” She chuckled internally at her joke. “That is why I must see your leader. Otherwise, every one of you will be hunted down and killed.”

Darting-eyes man stiffened. “The Chinese have been trying to do that for years.”

“The Russian fleet is on its way now, and will hunt every one of you down. And now they will succeed.” She felt energized; lying for a good cause was liberating. “But I have better deal for you.”

The man’s eyes continued to jerk back and forth, less so than before. She had his attention. “I need to know more about this sensor.”

She shook her head. “I can only say more to leader of Taiwanese pirates.”

There were gasps from several of them. “We are not pirates,” the man said angrily. “We are liberation fighters.”

“My apologies. I should not repeat the twisted lies given by media. I know the legends of your brave battles with Chinese imperialists. Your cause is just, and I am here to help you.” The best way to get on the good side of a crazed madman was to agree with his crazed view of the world.

He nodded. “So you came here, alone, to talk to the leader of the Taiwanese Liberation Front?”

She’d never heard it called that. “Yes.”

“Then I will take you to meet that leader.” He stood up straight and stared down at her from his full five and a half foot height, nine inches taller than she. “You are speaking to him. I am Admiral Jian Lin.”

A quick search by her TC identified him as a Petty Officer Third Class when the submarine fleet rebelled, though she barely recognized him from the clean-cut picture on her TC. Somehow in the sixteen years since he’d fought his way up the ranks, and gotten himself declared admiral, or done so himself. She’d heard rumors of what had happened to the original, less aggressive admirals, and they were not pretty.

“Let’s adjourn to my office,” Lin said. “Don’t bother trying to call anyone on your TC; it won’t work.” Meaning, Feodora thought, they had an infowave scrambler. Fortunately, she’d downloaded the info on the Taiwanese pirates in advance.

They marched her toward the hill and palm tree in the middle of the island. They stopped next to a group of boulders. Lin crouched down and rapped his fist three times on a flat one against the ground. There was a hollow, wooden sound.

A moment later the “rock” opened like a doorway, exposing a sloping tunnel underneath. They went down single file.

She knew where their base was, and now knew the entrance. There was no way they were going to let her live unless they reached an agreement.

The tunnel opened into a huge cavern—the submarine base. Two subs were docked along the surrounding walkway. Several doorways opened into the surrounding rock. Lin led her into one.

His office was a hole in the rocky wall, like a ground squirrel’s, but bigger. Lin sat behind a small desk. There was no chair for her, so she stood. Leaning against the wall was a large bulletin board, with news clippings tacked all over.

“I need to know about this new sensor device that you claim can locate our submarines.”

She shook her head. “That’s a good question so I’m going to evade it. I am here to negotiate, but I am still a loyal Russian.” If she appeared too eager, he’d get suspicious.

“I could have you tortured until you talk.”

“Yes, and I probably would talk. Then I would have no reason to hold up any agreement we reach, and the Russian fleet will find you as I did, and kill every one of you.” She decided to stare him down, and looked into his flickering, evading eyes.

He looked away, and began tapping his finger nervously on his desk. “What do you have in mind?”

“Here is deal.” It is good to be Feodora, she thought.

* * *

Toby announced the deal he had made with the Taiwanese Liberation Front on worldwide media. The news media spent the next few days showing the Taiwanese submarines, on the surface and escorted by the Russian fleet, as they made the journey north to a Russian base on the Sea of Japan. Toby was declared an “Honorary Admiral of the Taiwanese Fleet.”

Of course, Feodora had actually made the deal, but she insisted that he take credit for it. After all, he was at the top of the ticket. Plus, she pointed out, the Chinese and Japanese would go insane if they knew she was behind this, and spurred on by popular demand, would have little choice but to attack. There was little doubt that she was enemy number one in those countries.

The Chinese and Japanese, along with Dubois, were predictably furious at the induction of the Taiwanese submarine fleet into the Russian navy. They demanded the pirates be put on trial, and the Taiwanese submarines delivered to China. Many worldwide agreed with them, but they were the minority—most applauded the solution to the ongoing problem. For several days, the world waited to see if the Chinese and Japanese would launch an attack, but without the provocation of Feodora as the dealmaker, they decided not to attack the massed Russian fleet, now fortified by the fifty submarines.

The irony of the whole thing, Toby thought, was that the cost of hiring the Taiwanese was minimal compared to the overall Russian military budget, and especially when compared to the havoc created by the pirates. While the Chinese and Japanese protested, the rest of the world—especially those bordering the South China Sea—hailed Toby and the Russians as heroes.

“The Russian navy require crew cuts,” Feodora said. “The Taiwanese pirates had vowed never to cut or clean their hair until Taiwan was independent from China. So toughest part of negotiation was convincing them to get haircuts. They agreed, but now they refuse to cut fingernails.”

* * *

The ads from Dubois in Asia were ferocious, slinging up every rumor imaginable to see what would stick. He’d gradually cut back on the Stop the Invasion! ads; the public tired of that.

Toby took the same advice he’d always told candidates: never make direct responses to spurious attacks. Those ads often will bring you down in the polls, but you’ll go down more if you respond directly and bring attention to them. Instead, respond by counter-attacking. Frame the attack on you in the most favorable way possible for yourself, and immediately launch into a counter-attack. If you harp on whatever your opponent is attacking you on, so will the public.

One Dubois ad attacked Toby for flip-flopping on issues, contrasting his apparent agreement on some issues when he worked for Dubois with his current positions. Rather than rebut them one by one, Bruce put together a response ad where a narrator mocked Dubois for falsely trying to say the very reasons for Toby’s leaving his administration—Dubois’s bad policies—were flip-flops, when it was actually Dubois who kept flip-flopping. The ad then launched into Dubois’s own many flip-flops, such as on the Mormon-Israeli issue.

The only real issue ad from Dubois attacked Toby’s—actually Feodora’s—solution to the pirate situation. Toby and Bruce decided that didn’t need a response; most of the world, and in particular those in the Asian Federation, were on their side.

The Platt Campaign launched a number of other ads. With their rise in the polls there had been an increase in fundraising, so they could afford to produce and run more. There were a lot of issues to choose from. Being president for five years gave Dubois the huge advantages of incumbency: the bully pulpit, taking credit for everything good that happens, easier fund-raising since the ones giving the money know he’s president, while his rivals only might become president. However, Dubois had the disadvantage of a five-year record on issues that could be picked apart.

Bruce practically drooled over Dubois’s record.

In the end, Toby had some of Bruce’s ads toned down, but if the ads were accurate and fair, he approved them.

The one ad by Dubois that bothered Toby was the family ad. It documented how infrequently Toby saw his wife and son, and pointed out how he’d started up a rival campaign against his own daughter, not the other way around. Every word of it was true. Toby did his best to ignore it, but it felt like a pirate laser through his stomach.

Ajala, rapidly sinking in the polls and now having financial difficulties, had fewer ads, and went almost exclusively positive. It was the smart thing to do: let the two front-runners rip each other apart, and present yourself as a positive alternative.

Toby suddenly realized what he’d just done. For the first time, he’d thought of himself as one of the front runners, just as Bruce had been trying to hammer into him. He knew it was true, but deep down found it difficult to believe. Dubois had started with huge leads in nearly every one of the Asian Federation countries. Now the polls showed them nearly even in country after country.

“Congratulations,” said a one-word text note from Lara.

Toby gave speeches throughout the region to the largest and loudest crowds of the campaign. Their internal polling showed that the silent conservative majority was still for Dubois, but that those for Toby were more excited, and therefore more likely to vote. He almost felt sorry for Ajala, now nearly forgotten in the region. His strength would be next week, in Africa, where Toby and Dubois would be left fighting for electoral crumbs.

On election night, Tuesday, September 28, he met Ajala at a dinner held by the Indonesian governor, and the two exchanged pleasantries. “When I am president, there may be a place for you in my administration,” Ajala told him. He had discarded the standard suit for a traditional Nigerian robe and matching headdress, both green; what did he have to lose?

“And for you in mine,” Toby replied. Ajala didn’t seem to be a man whose lifelong ambitions were crumbling; he looked like a huge weight had been taken off his shoulders. Toby felt the reverse.

Melissa was also at the banquet, at Ajala’s table. She came over to say hi, and Toby listened to the spirited stat-filled debate she had with Bruce over the captive whales in Dover. Afterward, he couldn’t remember who argued what, or much of anything else. His mind was too busy calculating the odds for the various countries in Asia. He’d seen the latest polls. In the two biggest countries, Indonesia and Philippines, with 43 and 24 electoral votes, he and Dubois were dead even.

Soon the banquet ended, and as Melissa shouted a few more whale stats to an overwhelmed Bruce, they left for the Rocinante. Then they were on the way to Tanzania. It would be another sleepless night as they awaited results.