Tiger's Claw: A Novel (9 page)

“Roger!” Lister shouted back. She was surprised at how calm she felt—this was very much like a scenario they might practice in an emergency procedures simulator session. Strangely, the quiet inside the plane was eerily relaxing—or was that hypoxia kicking in, the sudden lack of oxygen lulling her into a false sense of security? She checked her oxygen regulator just to be sure it was working. “You got the plane, Nacho?”

“I . . . I think so,” Sanchez replied. He wasn’t yet sure. The full-color MFDs were dark, so he had to search for the standby engine instruments. “Christ, all the engine instruments read zero.” He moved the throttles. “No response to throttles, and flight controls feel like they’re in ‘mechanical’ mode.”

“The freakin’ batteries are off-line too?” Lister asked.

“We’ve got
squat,
Troy, except for standby pitot-static instruments—altitude, vertical speed, and airspeed,” Sanchez said. “Both engines flamed out, no battery power, no generators, no alternators,
nothing
! Let’s get the power back on, then do an airstart.” While Lister retrieved her paper emergency checklists, Sanchez immediately began doing the first few steps of the checklist by memory, shutting off the aircraft electrical systems, checking circuit breakers—several were popped, an indication that the aircraft had experienced a massive power surge of some kind—and preparing to recycle the battery and generators.

Richard Sykes, the designated message-runner between the cockpit and sensor cabin in emergencies such as this, entered a few minutes later wearing an oxygen mask and carrying a walkaround oxygen bottle in a green canvas sack slung over his shoulder. “Sensor cabin is secure, everything is shut down to shed the load, and everyone’s on oxygen and reporting okay,” he said. “No injuries.” He scanned the instrument panels. “You lost
everything
? Both generators
and
the batteries? Can you get them back online?”

“We’ll find out as soon as we reconfigure,” Lister said.

“Any idea what happened?”

“No friggin’ idea.”

“Need an extra hand up here?”

“No,” Sanchez said. “Better get strapped in. Tell the crew to run the ‘Before Ditching’ checklists, in case we can’t restart.”

Sykes’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but he nodded. “What about the classified stuff?” he asked.

Sanchez hesitated, but only for a moment before replying: “Better start destroying it. If we ditch, helicopters from that Chinese carrier will be on us in just a few minutes.” Sykes swallowed, finding his throat instantly dry, and headed back to the sensor cabin to order the crew to destroy the classified equipment and documents.

“Okay, circuit breakers reset, all systems in the ‘Emergency Power Distribution List’ are off, and sensor cabin main power buss is open,” Lister said, reading through the items in her checklist. “Ready to recycle the battery switch.”

“Here we go,” Sanchez said. “Battery switch off . . . battery switch moving to on.” He flipped the switch again . . . and nothing happened. “Oh, crap,” he muttered, then shut it off again. “Double-check everything, Troy.”

Lister swept the left and right instrument panels with a flashlight, confirming that all the switches and circuit breakers were in the proper position. “It all looks good,” she said. “What the hell happened, Nacho? What could have knocked out the generators and the batteries all at once?”

“The only thing I know is an electromagnetic pulse from a nuclear detonation,” Sanchez said. “If we got hit by one of those, this goose is cooked. Even the standby instruments are out. I’m going to activate the ELT.” The ELT, or Emergency Locator Transmitter, was a battery-powered radio that transmitted a coded location signal that could be picked up by rescue aircraft, ships, or satellites. The transmitter was completely separate from the other aircraft systems, and the location signal contained the aircraft’s call sign and GPS coordinates to make it easier to find in a search.

“I’ll get my survival radio,” Lister said. She quickly unstrapped, donned her survival vest, strapped back in, then pulled out a portable combination radio/GPS/satellite messenger unit, powered it up, and waited for it to lock on to satellites. “Heading is steady at south-southeast . . . no, wait, we’re in a slight left turn.”

“I’ll keep the turn coming around and head north,” Sanchez said. He used the ocean horizon to judge a standard-rate turn, counted sixty seconds to himself, then rolled out. “How’s that?”

“North-northeast.”

“Close enough,” Sanchez said. He raised the nose a bit, but he didn’t want to risk slowing down below best glide speed. “How’s our altitude?”

“Nine thousand five hundred.”

“Speed?”

“Two-twenty.”

He raised the nose a bit more, which slowed them down and extended their gliding range, then removed his oxygen mask because they were below ten thousand feet, where the air was denser. Lister did likewise. “Let’s go over the ‘Before Air Restart’ checklist again, slowly and carefully,” Sanchez said. They rechecked everything, then attempted to bring the battery back online . . . still nothing. “Read off the numbers again, Troy.”

“Ground speed one-sixty, altitude six thousand three hundred, still heading north-northeast.” She began tapping on the portable unit’s tiny keyboard. “I’ll text a message to headquarters advising them of our situation. The portable will append our position to the message.”

Sykes came back into the cockpit, noticed the pilots were off oxygen, then did likewise. “ ‘Before Ditching’ checklists complete, and classified circuit board and memory chip demolition is under way,” he said. “Nothing yet up here?”

“Nope,” Sanchez said. “We’re at six thousand. We’ll have time for maybe two more restart attempts before we hit the drink.”

“Message received at headquarters,” Lister said. “We should be getting a reply as soon as . . .” She looked at her portable unit in confusion. “Oh shit, it looks like it’s dead!”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“It was working fine a second ago.” She tried to turn it back on, but it didn’t respond. She tried switching batteries, but that didn’t help either. “It’s dead.”

“I’ll see if anyone else has a GPS,” Sykes said. A few moments later he returned with a similar unit and powered it up, but a few minutes later it too shut off and wouldn’t power back on.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on,” Sanchez said, “but something is frying all the electronics on this plane.” He looked at his watch—it was a mechanical Rolex, and it was still running. “You got a digital watch, Troy?”

“Yes.” She glanced at it. “It’s dead.”

“We got hit by something that toasted our electronics,” Sanchez said. “Let’s do the checklist again.” But the batteries still would not come online.

“Three thousand seven hundred, speed one-sixty,” Lister read off.

Sykes came back up to the cockpit. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Sanchez said. “We’ll try a couple more times. Tell the crew to prepare to ditch.” Sykes hurried back to the sensor cabin. “Is there anything we haven’t tried, Troy?” Sanchez asked cross-cockpit.

“I can’t think of anything, Nacho.” They ran the emergency checklist twice, but still got no results.

“Okay, screw it,” Sanchez said. The standby altimeter said they were less than a thousand feet above the South China Sea, but that could be off by hundreds of feet. “We’re ditching. Tighten your straps as tight as you can, Troy.” He reached around, grabbed an air horn canister, pressed the button to warn the crew to prepare for ditching, then started to tighten his straps. “Remember, let’s get a good read of our attitude in the water before we start opening hatches, and remember not to . . .”

“Hey,
look
!” Lister shouted. There, off to the right of their nose, was a Chinese JN-20 fighter, flying in very close formation. “It’s back! His electronics seem to be working fine.”

“That means ours might work this time,” Sanchez said. “Whatever we were being hit with, they may have shut it off. Run the airstart checklist,
fast
!” This time, as soon as he cycled the battery switch, lights popped to life on the instrument panel. “Hot damn, the batteries are back! Port starter-generator to start!”

As soon as Lister activated the switch on the overhead panel, the standby engine instruments responded. “We’ve got RPMs and turbine power!” she shouted. “Five . . . ten . . . fifteen percent power!” Sanchez moved the left throttle over the detent, and engine power and temperatures steadily began to rise. “We’ve got a light! We’ve got power! Temps are stable . . . temps are good. Starter switch to generate . . . good voltages . . . batteries are in good shape, charging normally . . . avionics power switch on.” Moments later, the primary flight and multifunction displays came to life.

“C’mon, baby,
fly,
” Sanchez said, and he slowly and carefully moved the left throttle forward. The engine gauges responded, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the vertical speed indicator moved to zero. They were close enough now to the ocean that they could see the contours of waves clearly, but they weren’t going down. “Thank you, Jesus,” he muttered. “Troy, get the avionics on, then let’s get the right engine . . .”

At that instant there was a brilliant flash of light from the left side of the plane, a massive explosion that drowned out all other sensations, and a wave of searing heat. The P-8 swung hard first to the right, then to the left so hard that it felt as if they were inverted. Sanchez mashed the mic button and yelled, “
Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Nickel Five-One—
”
. . .

. . .
just as the Poseidon hit the ocean. It flip-flopped end over end for nearly a half mile, shedding pieces of itself in all directions and cracking the fuselage in several places, before coming to rest upside down. In less than five minutes it had slid under the surface, leaving only a few pieces of the wing and tail behind.

T
HE
W
HITE
H
OUSE
S
ITUATION
R
OOM
, W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

A
SHORT TIME LATER

President Kenneth Phoenix stepped quickly into the Situation Room, wearing a Marine Corps physical training outfit after the early-morning wake-up call. Tall, trim, and athletic, the former Marine Corps officer and judge advocate, federal prosecutor, U.S. attorney general, and vice president of the United States waved everyone back to their seats. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“We lost contact with a Navy P-8 Poseidon reconnaissance plane,” said the president’s national security adviser, William Glenbrook. “It was over the South China Sea on routine patrol, in the vicinity of the Chinese aircraft carrier
Zhenyuan.
”

“Oh, Christ,” the president muttered. He reached for a cup of coffee—he knew right then he wasn’t going back to bed for a long time. “Were they intercepted or engaged in any way by the Chinese?”

“They were intercepted by two PRC fighters, reported to be J-20s,” Glenbrook said. William Glenbrook was a thirty-year Army veteran who rose through the ranks from private to four-star general and was former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, serving in the same White House as then attorney general Phoenix under President Kevin Martindale. “The P-8 reported suffering a massive electrical malfunction.”

“How did they report that with an electrical malfunction, General Glenbrook?” asked Secretary of State Herbert Kevich, who had just arrived at the Situation Room moments before the president. Kevich had been deputy secretary of state under the previous administration, but he was so experienced and knowledgeable in Russian and Chinese affairs that he was kept on by the Phoenix administration. A short, round, impatient-looking man with round reading glasses affixed to the end of his nose even though he mostly looked right over them, Kevich was clearly exasperated by most military officers and high-ranking government officials, even to the point of not acknowledging he was one himself. Kevich arrived quickly when the notification went out to the president’s national security staff because he had no other life other than as secretary of state—he would have been perfectly happy to live in the Situation Room, or even in the basement of the White House, if it meant he had speedier access to all the world’s events.

“The crew was communicating with their command post via civilian satellite text messages for a short time after the malfunction took place, Secretary Kevich,” Glenbrook said.

“Texting while driving? Not a smart move, I think,” Kevich quipped.

“A very heads-up move, I think, Herbert,” Phoenix said. “I want a search-and-rescue mission initiated immediately, and I don’t want the Chinese involved in any way, especially that carrier. If it’s in the area of the crash, I want it out of there.”

“Yes, sir,” Glenbrook said.

“That might be problematic, Mr. President,” Kevich said. “The South China Sea may legally be considered international waters, but the Chinese consider it their exclusive domain, as we do with the Gulf of Mexico or the Japanese with the Sea of Japan. The Chinese government will not like being told what to do in their own front yard.”

“If the Chinese lost an aircraft over the Gulf of Mexico, I wouldn’t mind if they brought search teams or even an aircraft carrier battle group in to search—we’d keep an eye on them, but I’d allow it,” Phoenix said. “We’re not going to play power politics or geopolitical upmanship with a search, rescue, or recovery mission—China must not interfere, period. I want the crash site located and secured from the air as well as the surface. Warn anyone nearing the area to remain clear.”

“And if they don’t, Mr. President?” Kevich asked.

“Have the on-scene commander for the rescue report to me if the Chinese won’t cooperate,” Phoenix replied after a short pause for consideration. “Commanders can do whatever they need to do to protect their forces, but no other action without approval. Tensions are going to be high—I don’t want anyone shooting first and asking questions later.” Glenbrook nodded and picked up the telephone to issue the orders.

Several minutes later, Vice President Ann Page entered the Situation Room, carrying a secure tablet computer. She was accompanied by Thomas Torrey, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Page was a multidegree engineer and physicist by training, but her background spanned the universe, from her years as a U.S. senator from California to one of America’s most experienced astronauts and space weapons designers. Slender and energetic, with short gray hair, she was the president’s closest adviser. Torrey was a thirty-year veteran of the CIA despite looking no older than forty years of age; in the drastic downsizing of the federal government under the Phoenix administration, the post of director of national intelligence was eliminated and once again the CIA director oversaw all civil foreign intelligence operations in the United States. “Tom just gave me the transcript of the text messages sent by the surveillance plane, Mr. President,” Page said, holding up the computer. “The crew believed the J-20 fighters launched from the carrier.”

“They obviously wanted us to see those fighters, sir,” Torrey said. “The Chinese could even have allowed the Poseidon to come in close enough to see them launch from the carrier.”

“But why would they shoot down the Poseidon?” the president asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Something else happened out there,” Page said. “The text transmissions stopped abruptly for some reason. Then several minutes later one of our Asian search-and-rescue satellites picked up a ‘Mayday’ distress call with the Poseidon’s partial call sign. No other transmissions were picked up until the SARSAT received the Poseidon’s emergency locator beacon, which is usually activated either manually or after a crash.” The SARSAT, or Search and Rescue Satellite, was a satellite dedicated to picking up and relaying signals from aircraft and vessel emergency beacons, providing accurate position data to rescuers. “It was obviously activated manually because the position of the plane changed quite a bit, as if it was still flying. Then the position stopped. But the plane’s track was only active for a couple minutes.”

“So they didn’t activate it manually until just before they hit the water?” the president asked. “Would they do it so late?”

“Depends on what they were experiencing,” Torrey said. “If they had an in-flight emergency, such as a fire or flight-control problem, perhaps they were dealing with that right before they crashed.”

“We may not know anything until we recover whatever’s left of the plane and its black boxes,” Page said. “Even then, we still may not know for sure.”

“So the Chinese may not be culpable after all,” Secretary of State Kevich said. “Sir, do you still want to issue the order to keep the Chinese away from the crash site? They are obviously closer to the site and have considerable resources to conduct a rescue. If they offer their assistance—or if they initiate a search-and-rescue effort on their own, as any nation or vessel on the high seas should—we should welcome such cooperation. After all, China is not our enemy.”

“That might be the neighborly thing to do, Herbert,” Phoenix said, “but I think it’s no coincidence that one of our surveillance planes falls out of the sky near a Chinese carrier battle group. I want the reason why that plane went down determined as best we can before I rule anything out. If this was indeed a deliberate act and not an accident or malfunction, then whoever did it will try to erase the evidence—and if that someone is China, and if they reach the crash site, I think that’s exactly what they’d do.”

Kevich looked at the president carefully for a few moments. “We’ve had this discussion before, sir, after the Chinese withdrew from Somalia,” he said carefully and directly, “but it does bear repeating: presuming China as an adversary may make it come true, even though they may not be.”

“I don’t think of China as an adversary, Herbert,” the president said. Kevich gave him a skeptical expression; the president paused for a few moments, then nodded. “To be honest, Herbert, I consider them a serious
potential
adversary.”

“With respect, sir, I think much of that comes from fear,” Kevich said.

“Maybe so, Herbert,” Vice President Page said, bristling at the insinuation that Kenneth Phoenix was fearful of anything. “But the Chinese government is not doing very much to lift the unknowns and secrecy that are causing fear to rise. We’re not asking them to reveal every secret or strategy. They are more than happy to accept our efforts at openness and cooperation, but it’s rarely mutual.”

“The Chinese are an old and insular people, Miss Vice President,” Kevich said. “They are isolated politically, geographically, and culturally. It is important for us to remember and understand that the nations of the West have done nothing but exploit China from the sea for centuries. Now that China is embarking on a program to modernize and increase trade with the world, we become suspicious. They are looking to the future and willing to wait to become a world power. We think in terms of months or fiscal quarters—the Chinese think in terms of decades or even generations.”

“All that may be true, Herbert,” the president said, “but it always hasn’t been the case. Chinese explorers have traveled half the globe. Isolation has mostly been the chosen method for controlling their enormous population, especially when their maritime provinces became rich and powerful and the agrarian inland provinces stayed in abject poverty. Besides, this is the twenty-first century—no nation, not even China, can remain isolated.”

“And when we get reports nearly every day of another computer or network hacking attempt traced back to a Chinese government-owned or controlled entity,” Page said bitterly, “I wonder if the war has already started—we’re just not engaged in it yet.”

“All I’m saying, Miss Vice President, is that it makes little sense to me why a three-thousand-year-old nation would do anything to threaten its own existence, especially versus the most economically and militarily powerful nation on Earth,” Kevich said. “Although China is undergoing an economic and military surge, please remember that its economy is still one-third of ours; we have over a hundred years of naval aviation experience, while they have just a few; and we still remain a world power, while China is only on the brink of becoming a regional power.”

“But that region is pretty damned important to us and the rest of the world, Herbert,” Ann said. “If this incident turns out to be a bid by Beijing to claim sovereignty over the South China Sea region, we need to squash that plan immediately.”

“If they were involved in the Poseidon incident, I would expect it to turn out to be an accident or an isolated incident by an inexperienced and misguided sea captain, and we should keep open minds so as to not threaten our strategic relationship,” Kevich went on. “Never forget, we rely closely on each other in dozens of areas: trade, finance, investment, education, technology, geopolitical balance, the list goes on. The fate of the entire planet rests on the balance between the West and China. One incident shouldn’t threaten to upset that balance.”

President Phoenix remained silent for a few long moments, then nodded. “Points well taken, Herbert,” he said finally. “Maybe I am jumping to conclusions.” Kevich nodded and smiled, satisfied that his arguments seemed to win over the president. But his smile faded when the president went on, “But I still don’t want the Chinese near that crash scene. We’ll politely but firmly ask them to stay away while we conduct search, rescue, recovery, and investigation activities.”

“I reiterate, sir: China considers the South China Sea of the utmost strategic value—sending in a large armada of ships, even to mount a search and rescue, may be perceived as a provocation,” Kevich said.

“I understand what you’re saying, Herbert,” the president said, “but we’re not going to get into a philosophical discussion about foreign relations with China when we have American sailors down in the South China Sea.” He thought for a moment, then continued: “I’ll call Premier Zhou right away and notify him of our intentions, and ask him not to allow any vessels to interfere. I’ll also speak with Prime Minister Ruddock of Australia, Tran of Vietnam, Cruz of the Philippines, and Saleh of Indonesia. They should all know what is happening and what we intend to do next. Herbert, contact NATO, ANZUS, and ASEAN and advise them as well.” The countries of NATO, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization alliance, were always notified of such contingencies, even though they were not in the region; the other organizations—ANZUS, which stood for Australia, New Zealand, and the United States; and ASEAN, or the Association of South East Asian Nations—were important regional alliances and associations with whom the United States regularly cooperated. “Bill, get together with General Spellings and give me a rundown of the forces in the region and the assets the task force will use for the search and rescue.” Air Force General Timothy Spellings was the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the president’s primary uniformed military adviser. “Give Pacific Command full authorization to start the search.”

“General Spellings is on his way over with the order of battle and a search-and-rescue plan right now, sir,” Glenbrook said. “He’s already sent me the latest disposition of forces, and he said he’d be ready to brief a real-time update by the time he arrives at the White House. I’ll get a briefing from him first when he arrives, ask him to fill in any holes, then let you know when we’re ready to brief the national security staff.”