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