Flash Point Page 2

  “I see it’s time to pass the baton,” Stuart said.

  “Thank you, sir. Will there be anything else?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. President,” said the Usher. “Mrs. Stuart is still out.”

  “The homeless group?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She keeps my priorities straight on days like this.”

  “We’re all proud of her, sir.”

  “Thank you, Jim,” Stuart said, handing over his suit coat.

  The Chief Usher draped the coat over his arm and studied Stuart’s face. “Would you care for something to eat, sir?”

  “Could I just have a soda?”

  “It’s a long time to dinner, sir.”

  Stuart craved a couple of grilled hotdogs, but resisted. “I’ll be fine.”

  He settled down in his recliner and clicked on the TV. It wasn’t unusual for the station to be preset on ABC, but as he prepared to change it to ESPN, the words of the anchor stopped him.

  “At the top of the hour our correspondent in Manila, Marie Lynne, is reporting the President of the Philippines has accused the Chinese of illegally detaining Filipino fishermen and breaking international law by building military installations in the disputed Spratly Islands. The Chief of Staff of the People’s Liberation Army, General Li Xiao, countered those claims, demanding an apology for an illegal Filipino incursion into Chinese territory and the harassment of its fishermen. The Philippine government is vigorously denying any wrongdoing and is appealing to the international community for support.”

  “Now what?”

  The remainder of the report did not provide any further information, so he clicked over to FOX. Nothing. Exasperated, he flipped back to the Super Bowl, hit the mute button, and picked up his secure phone. He scrolled down until he located the number of his National Security Advisor and pressed the speed dial. Three rings later, a familiar voice came on the line.

  “Brown residence.”

  “Justin?”

  “Mr. President. How are you, sir?”

  “I could be better. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “No, no, of course not. I was just collecting myself for the dinner tonight. What can I do for you?”

  “Did you happen to catch the segment about the Spratlys on ABC?”

  “Yes, I’ve got the TV in the bedroom on. The embassy alerted me about a statement the Foreign Ministry was going to release. They’re protesting the boarding of a Filipino fishing boat by Chinese navy personnel. The report didn’t say anything about the military installations or President Montalvo going on national TV. Something else must have happened we don’t know about.”

  “You think it’s unusual that Xiao responded?”

  “Makes me wonder if the civilian leadership even knew.”

  “Who’s setting the agenda? Xiao or Zhu? I’m thinking Zhu’s got a problem holding his government together.”

  “If Xiao’s becoming the dominant player, we’ve got a problem.”

  “When will you get the next report?”

  Brown glanced at his bedside clock. Several more hours. “It’s four in the morning there, sir.”

  “How did that reporter—”?

  “Lynne?”

  “Yes. How did she get her report on the air so fast?”

  “The embassy believes she has back channel access to someone in the Foreign Ministry.”

  “What do you think is going on?”

  “I’m hesitant to venture a guess without more details. I wonder if Manila and Beijing haven’t just blundered into this confrontation.”

  “Whatever the cause, I don’t want us getting dragged into the middle of it.”

  “I can’t see that happening.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Stuart stared out the window. The sun had set. “Justin, the rules are changing. We’re not positioned well if we have to intercede. State’s initiatives in Southeast Asia are losing traction. I don’t want Admiral Lawson’s Pacific Command to be our only option if this situation between the Chinese and Filipinos worsens.”

  Brown pulled off his glasses and chewed on the stem. “Understood.”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow. There’s not much we can do about it right now.”

  Stuart hung up. The football pregame show flickered on the TV, unseen.

  “Randall?”

  Stuart turned at the sound of his wife, Dianne’s, voice. “In here.”

  She flicked on the overhead light. “What on earth are you doing sitting there in the dark?”

  “I was talking with Justin.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Something’s going on between the Chinese and Filipinos. We’ll know more tomorrow. How was your event?”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “Yup.”

  “It’s serious?”

  “Could be.”

  “Anything I can do?” she asked, reaching for his hand.

  “No, I’m fine. We’ve just got some damage control to attend to next week.”

  Chapter 2

  HEADQUARTERS COMPOUND

  UNITED STATES PACIFIC FLEET

  PEARL HARBOR, HAWAII

  06:20 MONDAY 27 JANUARY

  Mike Rohrbaugh dropped his razor and raced around the corner to the nightstand to silence his telephone. He snatched it off the cradle before the second ring. His wife stirred but didn’t wake.

  “Commander? This is Mac.”

  “Dang, Chief, couldn’t you use my cell? Kate’s still asleep.”

  “No, sir. It’s best I use the land line.”

  Rohrbaugh dabbed at the shaving cream dripping down his neck. “Something up?”

  “There’s traffic on the board you need to read before morning formation.”

  “Be there in a few.”

  There was no sense asking for details. Rohrbaugh picked up his cell and carried it to the bathroom, finished shaving, and dressed in his summer white uniform. He paused in front of the mirror to check the alignment of his service ribbons. The blue and white of the Navy Cross, the nation’s second highest award for bravery, topped the five rows.

  Rohrbaugh preferred to wear his working khaki uniform with only the pin identifying him as a Navy SEAL, but his preferences accounted for little this morning. The Commander of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral Anthony Morey, had ordered the staff to wear their whites and assemble in front of the headquarters building for an awards ceremony. Unit cohesiveness.

  “Mike?” his wife murmured.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Who called?”

  “Mac.”

  She relaxed. When Rohrbaugh had transferred to Hawaii from San Diego, they’d had no choice but to place her mother in a nursing home and she lived in fear of any unexpected call.

  “Could you ask him to use the cell?”

  “Will do. How do I look?”

  “Dashing.”

  “I’m off.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

  Rohrbaugh exited the kitchen door and strode up Makalapa Drive making for the windowless operations building a short distance from his home. Damn, did the Impeccable run into more trouble?

  He crossed the narrow pedestrian bridge leading to the back entrance of the building and commenced the sequence of actions necessary to gain access. Inside, he acknowledged the Marine security guard and proceeded down the hall to his office space.

  “Here ya go, Commander,” Senior Chief Boson’s Mate “Mac” Mackenzie said handing him a red-hashed top-secret folder. “The first page is operative. The report also has an interesting quote from General Medeiros, the AFP Chief of Staff.”

  “Armed Forces of the Philippines?” Rohrbaugh asked more of himself than Mackenzie as he took the report.

  Rohrbaugh flipped open the folder, passed over the routing codes, and read the intelligence summary of the recent Sino-Philippine confrontation in the Spratly Islands.

  “Mac, this incident fits a patter
n going back to the end of the Vietnam War. There’s bound to be more trouble. The only positive I see is that it’s not as bad as when the PLAN opened fire on those Vietnamese soldiers back in ’88 mowing them down when they were wading ashore. Sank a couple of their ships too.”

  “’Slaughtered’ would be a better word. Guess they figured nobody would know until a video turned up on YouTube a couple months ago.”

  Rohrbaugh’s jaw tightened. “The Vietnamese commander should never have put his men in that situation.”

  Mackenzie inwardly cursed. He’d touched a nerve. He changed the subject. “From the looks of it, they’re not stopping with the Vietnamese and the Filipinos. They’re going after the Japanese. The PLAN sent one of their destroyers to shadow several geologic survey vessels conducting hydrographic studies in support of the Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force.”

  Rohrbaugh looked at a map taped to the wall. A black line delineated the maritime boundaries Beijing had established for itself; the Nine-Dash Line. “Interesting.”

  “Makes sense, Skipper. That report says the People’s Congress tossed out a manifest called the ‘Law on the Territorial Waters and Their Contiguous Areas.’ Hell, they’re using the damn thing to lay claim to the entire South China Sea.”

  “I don’t like the sections pertaining to Freedom of the Seas and the Rights of Navigation.”

  “Crap,” Mackenzie said.

  “Crap pretty well sums it up,” Rohrbaugh said. “And, we have a trigger.”

  “Oh?”

  “The AFP Chief of Staff is deploying his naval forces to patrol the waters surrounding the Spratly islands to prevent intrusions by foreign elements, including fishermen.”

  “Nothing unusual there.”

  “Uh, oh.”

  “Skipper?”

  “The general says part of the Navy’s mission is to investigate maritime markers in waters claimed by the Philippine government. He also accused Beijing of building a military installation on some place called Mischief Reef.”

  “The Chinese said they’re shelters for their fishing fleet.”

  “That’s pure B.S., Senior. Did you see the paragraph about the special weapons bunkers? Those don’t sound like fishing shelters.”

  “Seems to me, Skipper, that Mischief Reef has got an appropriate name. If the AFP pushes this, there’s no way we’re going to be able to remain on the sidelines.”

  Rohrbaugh dropped the Intel report on his desk. “That’s what I’m thinking. I need everything we have on the South China Sea and the Spratly Islands. And could you pull the draft of OPLAN 1729?”

  “You looking for something for us to do, Commander?”

  “Sure am, Mac, but we need to secure this stuff. Protocol calls. Time to assemble for colors.”

  * * *

  Rohrbaugh’s eyes shifted from the American flag whipping in the trade winds and turned his attention to the Pacific Fleet band playing “Anchors Aweigh.” He scanned the other members of the staff arranged in a neat semicircle around the flagpole set in front of the headquarters building. Like him, they appeared anxious to get back to their offices. His feelings were mixed.

  He’d completed his sixth month on the staff and was still adjusting to the change following his command of SEAL Team One in San Diego. Like other post-command officers at COMPACFLT, he chafed at the restraints of a shore staff tour. Harder to accept was the knowledge that any future operational deployments as a SEAL Team leader were over. That was for the younger guys.

  He turned his attention to the ceremony listening to Admiral Morey complete his remarks and lead the other flag officers into the headquarters building. When the admirals were out of sight, he called out to Mackenzie. “Time to saddle up, Senior. Let’s get on it.”

  It didn’t take long for the two SEALs to focus on several potential Chinese targets. The weapons bunker Rohrbaugh had noted in the Intel report could easily contain a Seersucker anti-ship cruise missile. That would make sense if the PLA intended to lock down the sea-lanes. Intelligence also verified the PLA had acquired long-range surface-to-air missile systems from the Russians and constructed an early warning radar installation on Fiery Cross Reef.

  “Damn.”

  Mackenzie looked up from his keyboard. “Sir?”

  “We’ve got some serious trouble brewing.”

  “How’s that?”

  “The PLA has bases scattered all over the place. These will sure as hell make things difficult for our carrier strike groups. They’re looking to gain reaction time with these new installations. And that airfield in the Paracel Islands.”

  “Su-30s?”

  “No doubt.”

  “I thought their fighters didn’t have the legs to intercept the carrier strike groups as long as we stayed clear?”

  “Affirmative, but the Intel guys reported Iran provided them in-air refueling technology.”

  Mac clenched his fists. “Another gift to the Chinese from our buddies in Tehran. That’s a bunch of thugs I really want to take out.”

  “You got any good news?” Rohrbaugh asked.

  “Nope. The PLA is focusing on their rapid reaction forces and just concluded another war game near the Strait of Taiwan. Their objective was to prepare their forces to attack and occupy an outlying island and fight off an aircraft carrier.”

  “Not much doubt about who they’ve got in their sights.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  Chapter 3

  CAVITE NAVAL BASE

  MANILA, REPUBLIC OF THE PHILIPPINES

  08:00 TUESDAY 28 JANUARY

  “So, Admiral, what you’re telling me is you have no idea about the fate of our fishermen?” Medeiros was incredulous.

  General Antonio Medeiros, Chief of Staff of the Philippine Armed Forces, studied the faces of his senior leadership. He summoned them to their Western Military District headquarters to address the latest threat to their country. Like him, they were livid with impotent rage.

  They had been preoccupied with the Muslim insurrection in the Southern Islands and now had to contend with a Chinese violation of Philippine territorial waters. Beijing had established a military presence on Mischief Reef despite their protests. Exacerbating the crisis was the fate of seven Filipino fishermen detained by the Chinese seventy-two hours earlier.

  The Chief of the Philippine Navy stiffened. “That is correct.”

  “And you have no idea of what transpired and what actions, if any, by the fishermen could have led to their detention?”

  “No, sir. No suitable explanation has been provided by Beijing. There can be no doubt the fishermen were in our waters.”

  “It’s been three days. President Montalvo demands answers.”

  “The Chinese persist in claiming they spotted our fishermen near one of their support installations, but saw them leave the area.”

  “Their duplicity is breathtaking. Has the Foreign Ministry given us anything?”

  “Nothing useful. They’ve just quoted the Chinese embassy spokesman saying these ‘shelter structures’ have been erected by the Chinese Fisheries Administrative Department for the sole purpose of guaranteeing the lives of fishermen working the waters of the Nansha Islands, the Chinese name for the disputed islands.”

  “Yes, I know what the Chinese call them,” Medeiros responded through clenched teeth. Calming, he relaxed his jaw. “Let’s review the bidding.”

  “There are several realities underscoring Beijing’s actions,” the Admiral said. “The first of these dates to 1999 when China refused to sign our Manila Declaration adopted by the Association of Southeast Asian Nations. As you know, the declaration’s intent to commit the six countries claiming portions of the Spratly Islands into refraining from any destabilizing actions has gone nowhere.”

  Medeiros slapped table. “I do know. Zhu stated that reaching such an agreement would be ‘long and hard and difficult.’ And, that vague diplomatic pronouncement means, ‘Never.’”

  The Admiral ignored the outburst. “T
he second reality is the absence of the American military.”

  “And we advised the government, did we not? As we predicted, the Chinese moved into the vacuum created when the United States relinquished control of its naval base at Subic Bay and Clark Air Force Base.”

  “Yes, they did,” Medeiros said, irritated at the Air Force Chief of Staff for wasting their time by re-stating the obvious.

  While the average Filipino had approved of this development, the response of the AFP had been muted. All of them understood the importance of America’s protective umbrella. Making things worse was their government’s recent rebuff of a naval logistics agreement with the United States after opponents claimed it would be in violation of Philippine sovereignty.

  “It is no secret the PLA has been emboldened by the withdrawal of the Americans from their Asian military bases. They are intent on claiming the entire South China Sea now that their Seventh Fleet is out of the way.”

  “Judging from the Foreign Ministry’s lack of success, it’s apparent the Chinese aren’t about to negotiate away their options to assert their territorial claims,” the Deputy Chief of Staff said.

  “At least the Chairman of the Senate’s Armed Services Committee is speaking out,” the Admiral replied.

  A dubious look crossed Medeiros’ face at the mention of his cousin. The Chairman was never at a loss for words. “What did he say this time?”

  “That the Chinese are putting up structures throughout the entire South China Sea like a dog urinating on trees and posts to mark its territory.’ And that we should not allow ourselves to be used as a doormat.”

  “I’ll be sure to thank the Senator,” Medeiros said. “Now, on a more rational note, I’ve been informed the Foreign Ministry is preparing an aide memoir for Beijing’s ambassador. The communication expresses serious concern regarding Beijing’s incursion into our Economic Exclusion Zone. I doubt it will have any effect, so let’s address the task at hand.”

  Medeiros looked across the table at the AFP Deputy Chief for Operations. “General, would you review the surveillance data?”