Tiger's Claw: A Novel pm-18 Read online

  “But those crews have done it all before, General, haven’t they?” Kevich asked. “What about Iraq and Afghanistan? They flew long sorties out there, too.”

  “They had to do a lot of flying, sir, no question,” Spellings replied, “but the distances in the Middle East and Southwest Asia were nowhere near as great as what we’re talking about in the Pacific. It’s fifteen hundred miles one-way from Guam to the middle of the South China Sea—that’s a three-hour cruise just to get to the patrol area, assuming the Philippines gives us overflight permission. Navy and Marine Corps carrier planes used against targets in Iraq during Desert Storm and over Afghanistan in Operation Enduring Freedom only had to fly about one hour or so to get to the target area, and that was a lot for guys who had to tank often, go into combat, tank again, and then land on a carrier deck afterward.” Spellings hesitated for a moment, looking at the others, then to the president: “There may be another option to consider, sir.”

  “What’s that, General?”

  “I received a proposal from a high-tech firm in Nevada to refurbish twenty-two B-1B Lancer bombers that were in flyable storage in New Mexico and outfit them with modern off-the-shelf avionics and weapons,” Spellings replied. “The company would . . .”

  “Excuse me, General: ‘high-tech firm in Nevada’?” Ann Page interrupted, her entire visage brightening. “Do you mean Patrick McLanahan?”

  Spellings blinked in surprise. “Why . . . yes, ma’am, retired General McLanahan,” he said. “How did you . . . ?”

  “I heard he took over Sky Masters when Jon Masters was killed by those domestic terrorists last year,” Ann said, a huge smile on her face. “Boy, that guy doesn’t waste any time. One minute he’s a retired guy playing Air Force with the Civil Air Patrol—the next minute he wants to build B-1 bombers.”

  “Twenty-two B-1 bombers, General?” National Security Adviser Glenbrook asked skeptically. “We don’t have the money for something like that. Besides, it would take forever to build that many.”

  “He’s not building them, sir: he’s rebuilding the ones that were retired and are in flyable storage, and he’s using existing off-the-shelf components that are already tried and proven,” Spellings explained. “He refurbished one and did a successful demonstration recently, all on his company’s nickel. Plus, his written proposal claims he can deliver the fleet in less than two years, and he says he can refurbish all of them for about the price of less than ten F-35 Lightnings.”

  “It sounds interesting and a little fantastical,” the president said. “Less than two years?”

  “If you don’t mind, Mr. President, I’d like to check it out,” Vice President Page said. “I’d like to see Patrick again, and I can’t wait to see what he’s got in mind.”

  “I need you here, Miss Vice President.”

  “I can have him come out and give me his dog-and-pony show,” Ann said. “I can’t wait to see what the corporate life has done to him.”

  Phoenix gave her a shake of his head and an exasperated smile, but then nodded assent. “Invite him to the residence when he gets in,” he said. “I’d like to see him too—and I’d like to find out what mischief he’s getting into next.”

  OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT, ZHONGNANHAI, BEIJING, CHINA

  THAT SAME TIME

  “How dare he lecture me like a child!” President Zhou shouted, throwing the receiver back on its cradle and jumping to his feet. “I will not stand being spoken to by a miserable sniveling white round-eyed dog like Phoenix!” He patted his jacket and pants pockets for cigarettes and found none. “Bring cigarettes in here!” he shouted to his outer office assistant. He turned to the chief of the general staff of the People’s Liberation Army, Colonel General Zu Kai. “Now what happened out there, General?” he asked angrily. “I authorized you to retrieve pieces of the wreckage if possible, and now the Americans accuse us of downing two helicopters!” He turned to his outer office again. “Where in blazes is that assistant? Bring cigarettes, dammit!”

  “I do not care about the American’s accusations, Comrade President, and neither should you,” Zu said dismissively. With him in the president’s office were Vice President Gao Xudong and Foreign Minister Tang Ji. “They are going to accuse us of everything under the sun.”

  “I asked you, General: What happened out there?” Zhou asked.

  “I did as I was ordered to do: I retrieved pieces of the downed aircraft,” Zu replied. “What else happened is of no consequence.”

  “No consequence, eh? Is that your professional political opinion? Where are those cigarettes!” Zhou seemed on the verge of a breakdown. “Were helicopters shot down by Chinese forces, General?”

  Zu considered for a moment whether or not he should answer. Foreign Minister Tang looked at him in some confusion; Vice President Gao seemed intrigued by this confrontation and Zu’s hesitancy and actually seemed to want to smile at him. Finally, Zu shrugged his shoulders. “One of my young admirals took some initiative,” he said. “He observed that the Americans had sent two rotorcraft, one manned and the other unmanned, to retrieve pieces of the wreckage of the P-8 Poseidon armed patrol plane. If they found any, and if it indicated that China was involved in the shoot-down, it could be bad for China, so the admiral ordered . . .”

  “Wait a minute, General,” Zhou interrupted, his eyes gradually widening in disbelief. “Are you saying . . . China was involved in the downing of that American patrol plane?”

  Zu remained silent until he thought Zhou was going to jump up and strangle him on the spot. “Comrade President, you speak of the South Sea as being a sovereign part of China,” Zu said. “You speak of wanting to challenge all hostile foreign military forces in the region. If this is true, sir, China needs to act. China should . . .”

  “How dare you?” Zhou exploded in incredulous anger. “You deliberately shot down three American aircraft? You will be shot for this, Zu! You will be executed as an insubordinate insane berserker!” He plopped back down onto his chair, staring at his desk, his hands flat on the desktop as if bracing himself. “We must report this to the Central Military Commission and the Politburo,” he said in a low voice. “I must admit this to the Americans. We will all be in prison or executed for what you have done.”

  “We must do nothing of the kind, Comrade President,” Zu said. “No one outside this room need know.”

  “The Americans will find out,” Zhou said, his voice almost a whisper now. “They will demand that we be turned over to them for trial—if we are not at war with them! They will destroy all we have built—our navy, our air forces will all be vaporized. China will be the pariah of the entire planet. We will be thrust back into isolation, worse than the Great Proletariat Cultural Revolution.”

  “You must get hold of yourself, Comrade President,” Zu said. “You are not looking well. Perhaps you need medical attention.” He then walked over to the office door and opened it. The deputy chief of staff, Major General Sun Ji, was just outside . . . with two armed soldiers beside him. “General, as we discussed, summon the medical support team, and clear the building.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sun said, and he nodded to others behind him.

  “What is the meaning of this, Zu?” Zhou exclaimed. “What did you mean, ‘clear the building’?”

  “Comrade President, this is no time for weak leadership,” General Zu said. “China is on the verge of greatness, but you do not seem to understand that and are completely unwilling to lead this country forward. Even with the United States so weak, you refuse to stand up to them. China has attacked one of its colonies with nuclear weapons in the past, and nothing was done—no retaliation. The downing of a few helicopters will be met by nothing but bluster. But this situation that we find ourselves in needs careful and strong leadership, and you are not the man for the job. I have therefore set in place a plan to have someone else take command.”

  “Someone else? You do not have the power to do that!” Zhou exclaimed, rising to his feet slowly, as if his muscles
were wasting away by the minute. “Only the Central Committee can do that!”

  “The Central Committee will take charge again once the military and security crisis situation is over,” Zu said. “Until then, a replacement will be chosen.”

  “This is outrageous!” Zhou cried. “This is a thuggish military coup! You will never get away with this! You will be hanged for even speaking those words!”

  “That will not be any of your concern, Comrade,” Zu said evenly. “You will be secretly taken to a secure medical facility for observation. I will notify the Central Military Commission and the Politburo that you have taken ill.”

  “You will not do this, Zu!” Zhou cried out. “It is illegal! You do not have the authority! You swore an oath . . . !”

  “My oath was to protect the people and the country from all enemies,” Zu said. “You, sir, are our greatest enemy. You rant about protecting us, then do nothing. I am being true to my oath.

  “You will be taken to a medical facility, where you will be kept for a period of time until I have determined that you will act against all foreign military powers in the South Sea,” Zu went on, his voice completely under control, almost muted. “If you do not convince me you will act decisively, you will be medically retired after suffering a debilitating stroke that will rob you of most of your faculties . . . or you will have suffered a massive heart attack and died peaceably in your sleep.” General Sun reappeared in the doorway and nodded to Zu. “General, take charge of the president.”

  Zhou turned his flabbergasted gaze to Vice President Gao. “Gao! What in blazes are you doing just standing there? Do something! Call security!”

  Gao looked at Zu, who remained silent and expressionless, then at Zhou. Vice President Gao was probably the most Westernized Chinese politician who ever occupied a high office at Zhonghainan—he was educated in the United States in business and government, and he had never served in the military. Zu greatly mistrusted Gao, but he was the first vice president, and he was popular overseas, so he thought of him as someone to possibly be exploited. It was impossible to figure what Gao would do at any moment—it was well known he was an opportunist, but in which direction he would jog was always impossible to gauge.

  “But, Mr. President,” Gao said finally, “you do look a bit unwell. Perhaps some close observation at a competent medical facility is in order.”

  “Why, you traitorous bastard!” Zhou exploded.

  “Take charge of the president, General,” Zu repeated. The soldiers stepped forward quickly and took Zhou by the arms. Gao could see that there were medical personnel in the outer office, along with a gurney; a soldier in uniform was preparing a hypodermic injection. The outer office secretary and the security detail that was always present in the outer office and corridors were nowhere in sight.

  The door closed after Sun led the president out. “So, Comrade Vice President,” Zu said, turning to the others in the room. “Speak.”

  Gao nodded, and the smile that was before only hinted at grew. “I think it would be better if I contacted the Politburo and Central Military Commission about the president’s illness, General,” he said. “You should mobilize necessary military forces in order to increase readiness and maintain order during this uncertain time, and be prepared to deploy forces as necessary to keep the peace and secure the nation. With the Americans sending forces into the South China Sea and blaming China for the loss of their aircraft, they are causing tensions to rise throughout the entire region, and we must prepare for any eventuality.”

  “Some excellent suggestions indeed . . . Acting President Gao,” Zu said. He turned to Foreign Minister Tang. “Comrade Minister?”

  “I never thought I would see the day, General Zu,” Tang breathed. “A military coup by a Chinese general, right in the office of the president, before my very eyes!”

  “Did you expect me to roll tanks down the streets, Minister?” Zu asked. “Storm the Politburo? Take over the airwaves and announce a military takeover? This is China, sir, not some third-world banana dictatorship. Decide whose side you are on, Minister.”

  “Death, or joining your coup, General?” Zu said nothing, but looked directly at Tang, waiting. Tang took a deep breath as if he had stopped breathing a long time ago. “I swore an oath to protect and defend the people, the nation, and the Party . . .” he said finally, then added, “ . . . no matter whom the president is, or who may really be running the government.”

  “Not exactly a ringing endorsement, Tang, but I was not expecting anything more,” Zu said dismissively. “But be warned: speak of this to anyone, and your term in office will be terminated even faster than Zhou’s. You are dismissed.” Tang looked extremely relieved to be leaving that office.

  “Do you trust him, General?” Gao asked.

  “Not in the least—but I trust you even less,” Zu said acidly.

  “I want to be on the winning side, that is all,” Gao said, “and I believe the military is the winning side. And I agree it is time for China to step forward and take her place as the true leader of the world. The old men in our government like Zhou would be content to wait another thousand years while the bureaucrats and industrialists sucked the country dry. Only the military can set China on its proper course.”

  “You say all the right words, Gao,” Zu said, “but your words do not mean anything to me—it will be your actions that decide your fate. Act the part and do as I say, and you will have a smooth and uneventful time as acting president. Betray me, and you will suffer a far worse fate than Zhou. Now return to your office, draft a statement to the Politburo and Central Military Commission as quickly as possible, see to it that I get it right away, and then prepare to deliver it. You are dismissed.”

  General Sun Ji returned just as Gao was leaving. “Zhou is en route to the facility,” he reported. “He put up quite a fight for an old man before he was administered the sedative.”

  “The last struggles of a tired old man,” Zu said. He looked at his watch. “Schedule a meeting with the general staff for two hours from now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sun said. “I do not think we will have any trouble with them. None were particularly loyal to Zhou.”

  “I am not worried about the general staff or the Central Military Commission, Ji—I am worried about the Politburo whipping up the people,” Zu admitted. “That is why Gao must play the role of acting president long enough for us to cement our takeover. We will need to prepare the army, independent and local infantry divisions, border guards, and reserves to respond in case the Politburo tries to stir up trouble. And in case we get any trouble from foreign countries when we exert our claims to Nansha and Xisha Dao, we will need a mobilization plan to deploy the navy and marines quickly to both archipelagos.”

  “I am sure Admiral Zhen has such a plan prepared, sir,” Sun said. “And I think he will be very happy to see it put into place.”

  STEAD AIRPORT, RENO, NEVADA

  A WEEK LATER

  “It’s a real pleasure to have you here, Brad, a real pleasure,” boomed Thomas Hoffman. The tall, hulking owner of Warbirds Forever Inc. was carrying a duffel bag for Bradley as they made their way through an immense hangar filled with planes of every description, carefully parked to maximize floor space without creating a hazard. It was just after sunset, and Patrick had just dropped Bradley off in the turbine P210 Centurion. “Sorry you got here so late—I wanted to show you around and get started on some paperwork.”

  “I didn’t mean to be so late, sir,” Bradley said. “The guys at Sky Masters threw a little going-away party for me after closing, and I put in a full day at Sky Masters before the surprise party, so it was a really long day. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all, not at all,” Hoffman said pleasantly. “You have a little homework to do before your day starts, and it’ll be a busy day tomorrow. We should have a little time tomorrow to show you around, but I think you’ll be pretty busy.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Brad said. He looked arou
nd the hangar in sheer wonderment. The floor was incredibly clean—it even looked polished enough that the overhead lights reflected off it—and painted with light gray petroleum-proof paint. There were about a dozen large wheeled toolboxes, decorated with every possible sticker, patch, and photograph, but it was all tastefully and professionally done. This had to be the cleanest and most well-organized workshop he had ever seen, he thought.

  But the really amazing sight was the planes: Some were in various stages of repair; others looked brand new. There was everything from large bizjets to single-engine two-passenger light-sport airplanes . . . and warbirds. Brad was not a real warbird fan, but he recognized a few from World War Two, Korean War, and Vietnam War movies, and most looked as if they had just come off the assembly line. “Man, I don’t even recognize some of these jets,” he said.

  “You’ll become very familiar with all of them and probably get type rated in a few of the more popular warbirds,” Hoffman said. He nodded to one of the showroom-quality planes. “That’s one of our favorites: an Aero L-39 Albatros. This one was from Romania. For a fraction of what any other single-engine jet costs, guys can pick one out and have it dismantled and shipped here from Eastern Europe. We check them over, rebuild them, paint them, train the owner, and they’ve got themselves a real nice jet that’s easy to fly and relatively inexpensive to fly and maintain. A lot of guys race them at the Reno Air Races.” He nodded to his right. “There’s the avionics shop, my office, the publications room, and the employee break room. Down that corridor are the company offices. The customer welcome area, pilot store, and Accounting are on the other side of the hangar.”

  They made their way through the crowded hangar, through a dimly lit corridor, and past several rooms until they came to a door almost in the middle. “I didn’t want to put you at either end of the hallway, Brad, because of the smell from the main hangar on one end and the smell from the paint shop and composite layup shop on the other,” Hoffman said. “I don’t think you’ll notice the smells from either side, but if you do, let me know and we’ll figure something else out. You can even stay at my place until we get better digs. I have a spare bedroom available, when the grandkids aren’t using it.” He nodded down the hallway. “The employee locker room and bathroom is three doors down—I hope you brought towels, because I forgot to bring any.” He opened the door. “Here you go.”