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influence with their most powerful politicians. So, what is this path of which you speak?”

Yon placed the fingertips of each hand together and slowly brought them to his chin. It was a well-practiced gesture, designed to make him appear even more astute.

“We simply declare a state of emergency,” Yon Ba Deng responded. “We announce that because of the violent, murderous attacks on our sovereign ships and territory by the rebel terrorists, henceforth any military ships or planes within two hundred and fifty kilometers of Chinese territory will be treated as hostile and they will be attacked. But first, it will be necessary to deploy our submarines around Taiwan and Dongsha in order to back up our position should that become necessary. In the process, we totally isolate Taiwan until they come to their senses and abandon what is left of that worthless little island garrison. Then it is they who lose face, and we are a major step closer to finally claiming our rightful territory of Formosa Island.”

Tan Yong smiled. He seemed pleased with Yon’s answer.

“So, as justification, we will use the strategy that the Americans employed in the fiasco they called the ‘Cuban Missile Crisis.’ They claimed the right to embargo all military equipment from Cuba because the Russians had shipped missiles there. We will do the same for Taiwan because those were American missiles that killed our brave sailors.” Tan Yong thought for a moment and then added, “The Americans have conveniently announced that they will not approach closer than four hundred kilometers. The American president, Smitherman, has personally assured me that this is only a political maneuver, a show of gaowan for his voters. Nothing for China to fear. Excellent. Put the plan in motion immediately...Mr. Vice Deputy.”

Ψ

The alarm bells began ringing from multiple intelligence sources around the world. It appeared that every single Chinese PLAN submarine not previously deployed had begun to disappear from their mooring piers. Images from satellites maintained by several governments normally showed naval bases along the South China Sea and up into the East China Sea to be crowded with black hulls. They were suddenly empty. The analysts were at a loss to explain this unprecedented deployment of submersibles by the People’s Liberation Army Navy.

Then Xinhua, the official Chinese News Agency, announced a military embargo around all sovereign Chinese territory, specifically including the “Province of Taiwan.” This action was in direct response to the brutal assault on a Chinese vessel in territorial waters. An attack launched by a rebel force on Dongsha Island. An unprovoked attack in which American weapons were used.

A similar message went out through the usual diplomatic channels.

Almost simultaneously, sources maintained by Li Min Zhou—and relayed to Naval Intelligence via Jim Ward—reported the approval by the Chinese president of the new stance, but with a bit more nuance than the official news report. Regardless of its delivery method, though, it was indeed a strong and dangerous message. The world had now been warned that all military traffic, whether ship or aircraft, that encroached within the embargoed area would be deemed hostile.

Appropriate action would be taken to protect the lives of Chinese citizens and the autonomy of its territory.

Ψ

Jon Ward steered the subcompact rental car out of Honolulu Airport and turned left onto Nimitz Highway toward the Pearl Harbor Naval Base. But rather than merging into the traffic heading toward the Nimitz Gate, he eased to the right onto Kamehameha Highway, toward Pearl City. As he passed the rusty steel monument of Aloha Stadium, he again merged right, this time onto the Aiea Access Road, and soon passed over H-1, one of Hawaii’s three “interstate” highways. He glanced down at the bumper-to-bumper traffic heading out toward Ewa and the leeward communities. Rush hour in Paradise!

The Access Road ended at a T-intersection. Ward waited for the light to change and then turned left out Moanalua Road. He was out of the dense urban area surrounding the airport, commercial facilities, and military bases and now in a modest residential area. A couple of blocks farther, Ward turned right again onto Aiea Heights Drive. This was an area where the Ko’olau Mountains came down to meet Pearl Harbor. Aiea Drive snaked up a sharp, steep ridgeline, winding back and forth as it ascended the ridge toward the mountain heights beyond. Houses on the left clung to the steep slopes, the terrain dropping away to a green canyon. Those dwellings on the right were built up on terraces of black lava rock. Occasionally a street would drop off to the left and snake down to the canyon floor below or shoot off to the right to serve houses that had been built above.

Finally, the road made a sharp turn to the right, affording Ward a magnificent view of Pearl Harbor, now two thousand feet below. He made a turn onto another quiet residential street. Down at the end, at the very last driveway, he saw the house number: 99-1750. The blue-and-gold dolphin flag confirmed he had located the place he sought.

He had found Tom Donnegan’s retirement roost.

When Ward pulled into the driveway, he recognized Tom’s battered old Land Rover filling up the carport. He had barely parked the rental when Tom Donnegan came barreling out of the house with surprising speed for one so elderly and engulfed him in a huge bear hug.

“Jon, my boy,” Donnegan growled. “Where the hell have you been keeping yourself? You been neglecting your old Papa Tom.”

Tom Donnegan and Jon Ward had a long history. Donnegan had been the XO on a submarine skippered by Ward’s father. That had been the case when Ward’s dad was tragically killed while on a highly classified mission. Jon had been a very young boy at the time. But after that, Donnegan had been like a father for Ward as he was growing up. That had not changed after Ward was appointed to the US Naval Academy. He became young Ward’s mentor and then his boss throughout his career before

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