Balance of Power: A Novel (25 page)

“That was the associate I had waiting at the courthouse.” Pendleton glanced at his watch. “Only forty-five minutes. The judge must have already had his decision in mind before we arrived this morning.”

“Well, what does it…what happened?”

Pendleton looked at him and a glint appeared in his eye. “We won the first round.”

“And what does that mean?”

“I argued that they did not have an indispensable party before them, specifically the Navy, and if they did, they would have a conflict of interest, as it would be the Executive Branch suing the Executive Branch. The court has said that there is an indispensable party not before them for the temporary restraining order. The court also said that the constitutional issue should not be resolved in twenty-four hours, but with both sides having a chance to be heard on the merits by submitting briefs. The court set a hearing thirty days from today to hear the constitutional question.” The corners of Pendleton’s mouth curled into the faintest smile. “I take it thirty days will give you sufficient time to accomplish your objectives?”

“Absolutely,” the Speaker said enthusiastically.

“Very well, then,” Pendleton said. “Now we wait for them to try to get to the Appellate Court before it’s too late.”

A
DMIRAL
B
ILLINGS STARED AT THE THREE ENORMOUS
screens in front of him in the cold, darkened room. One screen showed the entire Pacific Ocean, a second showed the smaller Pacific area in which they were operating, and the third showed a smaller area still, with the ships and formation around the USS
Constitution
. Dillon stood behind the admiral and took in the displays. The countries were outlined in different colors, each ship and airplane was represented by a graphic, and there were various other symbols that Dillon could only guess at. It looked like a very complicated—and very enjoyable—computer game. For a moment he forgot he was on a huge moving ship.

“You ever seen anything like this, Mr. Dillon?”

“No, sir, I really haven’t,” Dillon said, understating the obvious. Dillon had been awestruck ever since setting foot on the aircraft carrier. He had seen movies, heard stories, even lived in a city that always had carriers present. But nothing had prepared him for the sensory assault that being on a carrier created. The activity around him moved at the speed of sound, especially on the flight deck. He had watched the launching and recovery of aircraft, which seemed to go on nonstop. Dillon felt out of his element. He was completely at home in Washington—knowing exactly when to snicker and roll his eyes. But here, people didn’t roll their eyes if you screwed up; they
wrote to your parents and said what a fine person you had been.

“Good thing your staff sent your clearance so we could let you in here.”

“Yes, sir. It was somebody else’s idea; I sure didn’t think of it.” Dillon knew that if any of this had been left to him, it simply wouldn’t have happened.

“Well, this is where I sit during significant operations,” Billings continued. “The bridge is really more for life as a spectator; this is where I operate.”

Lieutenant Reynolds handed Dillon the cup of black coffee he had requested. The dim light accentuated the gold braid around Reynolds’s shoulder, the mark of an admiral’s aide. Reynolds was clean-cut and sharp, as always, which mystified Dillon. He felt dirty, unkempt, and out of sorts every minute he was on the ship. He couldn’t imagine how Reynolds stayed so…impressive.

“So, Mr. Dillon,” the admiral continued. “As you can see, we know where every ship in the area is, and where we are in particular. All this information is fed to us from many sources, which we consolidate and filter as necessary to give us the picture we want. It allows us to have a tremendous amount of flexibility in decision making.” The admiral looked over his shoulder to his operations officer. “Any word on those two downed F-14 crew?”

“Yes, sir. The helicopter’s halfway there. On-scene commander has both their strobes in sight. He has good radio comm with both of them. They’re sitting in their rafts, fat, dumb, and happy.” He added as an afterthought, somewhat smugly, “And probably looking for sharks in the dark.”

“Nice thought,” the admiral said.

The phone rang and the chief of staff picked up. “Yes, go ahead.” He paused. “How many?” he said suddenly, anxiously. “When? Somebody over them? Okay, thanks.” The chief of staff turned to Admiral Billings. “Admiral, the
Los Angeles
has just issued an emergency unscheduled report. She’s at periscope depth and saw
three boats pass at high speed. He estimated forty knots, headed in the direction of the two downed aviators. It’s unclear whether the helicopter will get there before those boats do.”

Billings fired a question back at Captain Black. “Who’s on-scene SARCAP?”

Dillon leaned over to Reynolds. “What’s that?” he whispered.

“Search and Rescue Combat Air Patrol. Armed airplane over the downed aviators that will stop anybody who tries to harm them before they’re picked up out of the water.”

Dillon thought for a moment. “Stop?”

Reynolds looked at him. “Kill.”

“Who is it?” the admiral asked anxiously.

“It’s Drunk Driver, the F-18 squadron commander.”

“Does he know about these boats?”

“It’s being put out through the E-2 right now, sir,” Louwsma added quickly.

“Do we have the three boats on our screen?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have a radar signature on them, sir. They’re probably fiberglass.”

Billings spoke, to no one in particular. “Are they coming from Bunaya to get our guys?”

No one responded.

“Do we have any idea whether those boats are armed?”

“No, sir, we have no idea,” Beth said.

Billings said nothing, then, “Send a message to Washington, flash priority. ‘Cigarette boats believed to correlate to attackers of
Pacific Flyer
en route to downed F-14 crew. Request clearance to fire.’ ”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long before they reach our aircrew at current speeds?”

“Approximately thirty minutes, Admiral.”

“How far away is the helicopter?”

“Approximately an hour.”

The phone rang again and Black picked it up. “Yes?” He frowned, a deep frown that started in his forehead but continued deep inside. He blinked and turned toward Billings. “Admiral, the communications nets seem to be down.” He returned to the phone. “How long do you expect it to be down…what do you mean?” He looked at the admiral and put his hand over the receiver. “Admiral, they don’t think it’s the ship’s communications that are down.”

The admiral looked at him, a dark cloud forming on his countenance. “What are you talking about?”

Black paused, looked at the screens, then spoke softly. “They think Washington’s cut us off.”

“What?” the admiral asked.

Black continued, “The President has taken us out of all the comm links, Admiral. We’re on our own.”

“I want the Attorney General, and I want him here now,” President Manchester said with his eyes closed as he rubbed his temples.

“Admiral,” he said, looking at Hart. “I thought you said that Billings would follow our order.”

Hart tried not to wince. He had been waiting for this question from the President.

“I thought he would, Mr. President. Obviously we never know what somebody is going to do until they are in that situation, but I expected him to follow the direct order of his Commander in Chief.”

“Well, apparently he is not going to.” The back door to the Oval Office opened and Greg McCormick, the Attorney General, strode in quickly.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” he said. He had been a corporate lawyer from Connecticut and Manchester’s campaign manager. “I didn’t know we were going to have this meeting.”

Manchester stared at him incredulously. “Well, neither did I, Greg. I didn’t know you were going to lose this wonderful motion on this more wonderful lawsuit that you agreed we should file against Congress. You want to explain that?”

McCormick’s cheeks flushed slightly red. “I didn’t expect to lose that hearing. I thought we had an excellent chance, and I have my best advocate on it. And if you recall, the lawsuit wasn’t my idea, it came from your office of the couns—”

“What about this conflict issue?”

“We’re dealing with it, Mr. President. Frankly, it hit us kind of sideways. We didn’t anticipate it. But I don’t think you need to worry about it.”

“So what’s the plan?” the President asked.

“We’re going to be taking an emergency appeal to the D.C. Court of Appeals within the hour.”

Manchester looked at the wall clock, which read 10:30
A.M.
“What’s the press doing?” Manchester asked his press aide hovering in the corner.

“Afraid there’s a lot of confusion, Mr. President,” he said quickly and forcefully. “Everybody seems to understand the idea of hitting back at the terrorists, but nobody seems to understand what is going on between you and Congress. There’s a mixed bag of opinion out there, but for the most part, the people seem to be in favor of some kind of action.”

“I feel like we’ve been pushed back into our own end zone,” Manchester said. “We lost the motion, the admiral in charge of the battle group has decided to go contrary to our direct order, we’re no longer in communication with them, and public opinion is not in my favor.” Manchester stuck out his chin almost involuntarily. “But I will tell you one thing, I am not changing my plan.” He turned his attention to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs again. “Admiral, what do you make of those boats going after those downed pilots?”

“Sounds to me like the same boys that took over the
Pacific Flyer
, Mr. President. My guess is they intend to do to them the same thing they did to the crew of that ship. Billings did ask for permission to fire upon—”

“I know that,” Manchester interrupted, “but they’ve disobeyed orders directly and completely. Admiral, can you explain to me how that airplane got shot down if they were not supposed to even be approaching into Indonesian airspace?”

“No, sir, I cannot. I’m not sure what kind of SAM it was. I’m not familiar with the South African system. Most SAMs, though, would reach into international airspace.”

Manchester winced. “You mean they might have been in international airspace when they were shot down?”

“It’s a distinct possibility, Mr. President.”

Manchester shook his head. “Are they in international waters now? The two who were shot down?”

“Yes, sir, but that doesn’t mean that’s where they were shot.”

“We just don’t know, do we?” Manchester asked, frustrated.

“No, sir, we don’t. Billings didn’t say exactly where the shoot-down occurred, only that it did. We could certainly reopen communications and ask…”

“Oh, that’s rich. ‘Please, Admiral, give us more information so we can look even stupider than we already do.’ No, he can just figure it out for himself. He seems to be quite willing to do that already.” Manchester rose. “They brought this upon themselves, Admiral. Now they’re going to have to deal with it themselves.” He suddenly changed tack. “Where is the nearest carrier not under Billings’s command?”

Those in the room focused on the admiral.

The Chief of Staff stood up. “Mr. President, may I speak freely?”

Manchester scowled at him. “What?”

“I think this has gone on long enough, Mr. President. We’re driving a wedge between ourselves and the military,
between ourselves and the people, between ourselves and Congress, and between ourselves and the courts. We are being fenced off. All of our decisions are going contrary to the way things are working out and…”

“You losing your nerve?”

“I am not losing my nerve, Mr. President. I am simply trying to arrive at the best decision for you and for the country, in that order.”

Manchester shook his head. “No, Arlan. That’s where you don’t get it. That’s where you’ve never gotten it. How can you not understand me yet?” His face burned with disappointment at his old friend. “My decision will be what is best for the country
without
consideration for my own political gain or future. I refuse to resort to killing dozens of people when there are other ways this can be dealt with! If Congress wants to fly off the handle and take a crazy position, we will fight them about that as well. I simply will not succumb to the idea that the only response to violence is more violence.” He turned again to Admiral Hart. “Where is the nearest battle group, Admiral?”

Before the admiral could speak, Van den Bosch jumped in again. “Mr. President, the implications of what you are considering are enormous.”

Manchester’s eyes were bright and full of anger. “You think I don’t know that? You think that I am stumbling through this without understanding the implications? How dumb do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you are dumb at all, Mr. President, you know that, but this thing could spin out of control very fast.”

“It is already spinning out of control!” Manchester’s voice rose. “What we need to do is restore order, not allow disorder to rule.”

“I don’t think getting another battle group…”

“I didn’t ask you what you thought. I asked the admiral where the nearest battle group is. That is the question I want answered right now. Please
sit down
.”

Van den Bosch sat down and stared straight ahead, his sandy complexion reddening.

“Mr. President, the nearest battle group is in the Philippines.”

“How long would it take them to get there?”

“To get where, Mr. President?”

“To get to where the Billings battle group is right now.”

Hart considered the problem. His heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. “Sir, that battle group is about fourteen hundred miles away.”

“How long would it take them to get there?”

“That would depend on whether you would want escort ships to go…”

“How long would it take for the aircraft carrier to get airplanes overhead the
Constitution
?”

The admiral played with one of the brass buttons on his double-breasted navy blues as he thought. “It would take about forty hours at flank speed.”

“Send them,” the President said softly.

“What do you want their orders to be, Mr. President?” the admiral said, pressing for a clear decision.

“To intercept the
Constitution
Battle Group.”