Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 03 (33 page)

           
After acknowledgment messages were
received from all the major military commands, General Curtis said to the poll
participators: “I will convene a Charlie conference as soon as possible. Have a
breakdown of the pre-planned options for this contingency, along with your
further recommendations. RENEGADE out.”

           
The connection was then terminated.

           
“So what do we do now?” Stone asked.

           
“Run the checklists,” Tyler said.
“It’s not unlike flying a fighter—we follow the checklist and it generally
keeps us out of trouble.”

           
A yellow light flashed on the
telephone beside Tyler. “Well, here we go.” He sighed. Before he picked up the
phone, he turned and requested that iced tea be brought for him and Stone.
“This is going to take awhile,” he predicted. “We do it a little bass-ackwards,
but it usually works.

           
“Curtis does a Charlie conference to
direct each service branch to review the pre-planned contingency OPLANS, and
the JCS decides which one to run. Then Curtis’ll go to the President and SECDEF
face-to-face and make his pitch. The President usually signs off on the plan
just to get the ball rolling—then, when his Cabinet, the Congress, and the
press find out, shit hits the fan. But that’s not our concern.”

           
“Where do you need me?” Stone asked.

           
“Right with me, Rat Killer,” Tyler
replied. “You’re my resident Philippine expert. We built a new Philippine
contingency plan when Clark closed, but I’ll need you to look it over, tell me
if it’s still valid in the face of what the Chinese have out there.”

           
“I’m ready,” Stone said. “Is there
any time to get out of these sweats, though? I’m not sure the staff will be
able to work closely with me if I stink like an old pair of sneakers.”

           
“Don’t worry about it,” Tyler said,
a grim smile on his face. “Before long, everyone here will be just as nervous
and sweaty as you are—except it won’t be from exercise, it’ll be from good ol’
fear.”

The Malacanang Presidential
Palace
Manila
,
the
Philippines

Same time

           
Philippine First Vice President
Daniel Teguina paced restlessly as he, the Second Vice President Samar, and the
Cabinet awaited the arrival of President Mikaso in the presidential conference
chamber. Everyone was tense and worried. A few were terrified. All had rushed
to the presidential palace immediately after being advised of the disaster in
Palawan.

           
Finally, President Arturo Mikaso
entered the conference chamber. Unlike the others gathered, who were dressed
casually, Mikaso was in a dark-gray business suit, polished shoes, and a tie.
His appearance was so crisp that a few wondered silently if he hadn’t just
dressed.

           
“Gentlemen . . .” Mikaso said, his
old body moving as quickly as it could into the room. “Please take your seats.”
The elder statesman stiffly took his at the center of the oblong maple
conference table and the other Cabinet members immediately sat down.

           
“As you know, a terrible tragedy has
occurred,” Mikaso began. “Less than thirty minutes ago, a patrol task force
from this country was attacked by a large Chinese naval patrol off the coast of
Palawan.”

           
The Cabinet members exchanged looks
of complete shock. They’d been advised of a major sea disaster, but given no
details. Murmurs went around the room.

           
Teguina immediately spoke up. “A
Chinese naval patrol? Judging by the state of our naval force, I assume we were
beaten badly?”

           
Mikaso nodded sadly. “We were
indeed. We’ve suffered serious losses—”

           
“Naturally,” Teguina interrupted.
“What do we have to fight with? Outdated, expensive, useless American equipment
that we were suckered into buying.”

           
Mikaso glared at Teguina. “Daniel,
now is hardly the time for editorializing. There are far more serious
considerations at hand.” Mikaso looked at the men gathered in the room and
said, “Gentlemen, the worst part of this confrontation, which involved two of
our F-4E fighters, was that the Chinese launched a nuclear missile against our
force.”

           
Gasps went around the table,
followed by immediate cries of outrage which echoed off the walls of the
conference room. Everyone was talking at once until Mikaso rapped his knuckles
on the table. “This has not been confirmed by us yet,” Mikaso said, “but the
detonation was detected by American and Japanese monitoring stations.”

           
Again everyone started talking at
once, their voices reaching a crescendo of questions of concern: What about the
fallout? The food and water supplies? How could the Chinese have justified a
nuclear-tipped missile? Did it mean this was a prelude to a full-scale
invasion? Question piled upon question.

           
Mikaso tried to calm them down.

           
“We have no definite reports of an
invasion,” Mikaso said, “although the Chinese warships are in Ulugan Bay on
Palawan, being guarded by our Army.”

           
“But how did this happen?” demanded
Second Vice President Jose Samar. “Civilized nations don’t just set off nukes!”

           
Mikaso nodded in agreement. “One
would think. However, this was a battle between our forces and theirs. They
ventured into the neutral zone, were going to attack a drilling platform, and
we opened fire.”

           
“What was a drilling platform doing
there anyway?” Teguina asked, even though he knew. “Those islands are not for
exploration or drilling. The Chinese have long considered that their territory,
even though we don’t. Why were we provoking the Chinese?”

           
“We weren’t,” Mikaso said pointedly.
“Exploration is allowed within ten miles of the boundaries of the zone, Daniel.
Learn your treaties. If you did, you’d know that the Spratly Island agreement
not only allows that, but also prohibits a deadly force to patrol the zone.
Armed warships must stay on their own side. We’ve seen how the Chinese violated
that in the past—the previous incident was just a few months ago. I authorized
our forces to protect themselves if the Chinese prepared to attack again, and
that’s what they did.”

           
Teguina shook his head. “Why don’t
you tell them who we were really protecting? Unless I’m mistaken, it was an
American-financed
company who erected
the oil platforms in the zone to begin with.” He looked directly at Mikaso: “A
company, I believe, Mr. President, run by one of your relatives?”

           
More murmurs went around the room.

           
“That is beside the point. It’s a
Philippine company and they had every right to explore the island and the
resources on it.”

           
The two men stared at each other.

           
“What about fallout?” another
Cabinet member demanded.

           
Mikaso nodded. “That is our first
priority. Daniel, you will immediately dispatch National Guard forces to
Palawan to assist in the recovery efforts. In fact, I think the people of
Palawan would appreciate seeing you there to help in the effort. Use all
available transport assets and—”

           
Teguina pushed back his chair and
stood up, something he usually did in Cabinet meetings to stress a point. He
leaned over the table, looking at the others seated. “I will be honored to help
our fellow Filipinos in Palawan, but there’s one point we’ve dismissed too
easily: who really launched that missile?”

           
Rumbling went around the table, and
Mikaso pointed his finger at Teguina: “Daniel, I don’t know what you’re up to,
but it’s not going to work. I resent the dissension you’re trying to create in
the middle of a crisis. It—”

           
“Yes, sit down!” Second Vice
President Samar said.

           
Teguina ignored them. “You say that
the Chinese are at fault, but what you really meant to say is that it’s not
known who’s to blame for the attack. That nuclear explosion could have just as
easily been caused by an American nuclear device, either delivered by covert
American forces or by Filipino airmen under orders by the American military or
Central Intelligence Agency—”

           
“What are you talking about,
Teguina?” Mikaso snapped angrily, his hands and lips trembling as much from
confusion and exhaustion as from fury. “Are you that paranoid? There aren’t
any
nuclear weapons on Filipino soil, no
American airmen, and we did not launch any sort of nuclear attack. It was a
Filipino
vessel that was destroyed, for
God’s sake!”

           
“Do you deny that there are still
American Intelligence agents here in the Philippines?” Teguina asked, his eyes
darting between Mikaso and Samar.

           
Mikaso hesitated—only for a moment,
but the pause was the answer.

           
The Cabinet officers looked at each
other, then at Mikaso with undisguised shock. “Then it is true?” one of the
Cabinet officers gasped.

           
“The American consulate is still
open,” Mikaso explained, trying hard to ignore the accusing glances, “and yes,
I gave permission for several CIA officials to be stationed here.”

           
“No, Mr. President . . .”

           
“This is outrageous . . .” Samar
said.

           
Teguina couldn’t believe it—he had
stumbled onto something that at least for the moment overshadowed even the
nuclear explosion in Palawan. The American CIA had long been blamed for the
Philippines’ internal turmoil, and Mikaso’s admission could, even after all
American military personnel had left the country, eventually bring down
Mikaso’s government. A common fear among the newly “liberated” Philippine
government was that America would leave “moles” in place who would report to
Washington and who could easily take over the Filipino government and realign
with Washington in a coup. The Americans had left easily when ordered out—too
easily, many thought. . . .

           
“You did this in direct violation of
the law, without consulting your Cabinet or Congress?” the Minister of the
Interior asked incredulously.

           
“Why weren’t we informed?” another
Minister demanded angrily.

           
As the chorus of other voices rose
up in angry protest, Daniel Teguina sat back down in his chair, listening and
inwardly smiling. Even in the middle of a crisis there was more than one way to
skin a cat. . .

Ellsworth Air Force Base,
South
Dakota

Same time

           
Generals Calvin Jarrel and Brad
Elliott had been waiting on the tarmac for the F-23 fighter pilots returning
from their Powder Run sortie. Elliott especially was looking forward to giving
the pilots some good-natured ribbing about the surprise they encountered with
the EB-52 Megafortress that he’d gotten Jarrel to put in the air. Elliott was
willing to bet that McLanahan had gotten a big kick out of seeing the F-23
pilots turn and run.

           
Just then a dark-blue staff car
pulled up a few parking spaces from where Jarrel and Elliott were standing. Out
of the car came Major Harold Briggs, General Elliott’s aide and chief of
security. Plugging his ears with his index fingers, he strode toward Elliott
clutching a sheet of paper. He handed it to him.

           
Elliott read the note, and Briggs
saw the expression on his boss’s face change. “I’ll take you back in my car,
General,” Briggs said loudly over the whine of the nearby jet engines.

           
“Problem?” Jarrel asked. Elliott
showed Jarrel the note, keeping the sheet of paper tight in his fingertips—it
was stamped Top Secret on both the top and bottom.

           
“Christ,” was all Jarrel could say.

           
“I’ll give you a ride back to your
command post,” Elliott said. They hopped in the sedan the second Briggs braked
to a stop beside them.

           
In the car, Briggs passed out two
red-colored vinyl folders, one to each of them. “Full text of the classified
FLASH message for you, sir,” he indicated to Jarrel. “Message from Colonel
McLanahan from the Black Knight bomber sortie.” Elliott frowned at the folder
he was given and was about to set it unopened on his lap, but Briggs added, “I
think you should read it, sir. I think it might have a connection with the
DEFCON Three message.”