“Did you really board this plane expecting to return home?” Ahab asked. “Fly the plane into the building. The impact will kill everyone inside.”
Chen nodded. They’d all expected to die. At this point it was preferable to a life in prison and disgrace. He gave the order to the copilot. “Plot a course. We’ll take out the high command.”
Chapter 69
In an office on the second floor of a building attached to the new command center, Major Gushan sat at the desk he’d been assigned to when they returned from the Arctic. It was a humiliating duty, only one step above house arrest, but at least he still had his rank.
This morning he’d arrived before dawn, intending to appear as the most earnest desk jockey in the nation. Settling in, he quickly began work on an endless list of mundane tasks.
But the nature of the morning changed rapidly. A buzz throughout the building grew into frenzied activity. Out a window, he saw escalating movement. Pilots were being shuttled out to their aircraft in a hurried fashion. Fuel trucks and vehicles carrying weapons were charging about wildly. Farther off, he saw mobile antiaircraft trucks raising their launchers and moving into defensive positions around the perimeter.
He put it off as a drill, timed to coincide with the American war games. A surprise drill to test readiness, perhaps, but a drill, nonetheless. Then the air-raid sirens began wailing and nonessential personnel were ordered to take shelter, and he began to think it might be something more.
In the midst of all this, his phone began to chirp. A call wascoming in on an encrypted communications app. It was the kind of app most Chinese were banned from using, but one that had been approved for men like Gushan, who needed it to stay in touch with clandestine contacts.
Gushan picked up the phone and studied the alphanumeric code that populated the top half of the screen. Puzzled, he put an earpiece in and answered the call. A breathless voice spoke to him in a South African accent.
“This is Rand. I’m calling with a warning. Ahab is coming. Coming for you.”
Between the activity on the base and the out-of-the-blue nature of the call, Gushan found himself momentarily frazzled. “Rand?” he said. “What are you talking about? Ahab? Ahab is dead.”
“He’s alive,” Rand insisted. “He has a plane. Like the one you were trying to nick from the Americans in the Arctic. He’s coming for you. He’s coming for China. Austin says he’s trying to cause a war.”
“Austin?” Gushan said. “Is he behind this?”
“Listen to me, man,” Rand insisted. “I’m trying to warn you. Ahab’s dying. He’s trying to wreck the world on his way out.”
To Gushan’s absolute shock, the antiaircraft batteries fired off three volleys of long-range missiles in rapid succession. The building shook, the windows rattled. Outside, the crimson tails of the rockets hustled skyward, trailing white smoke.
Gushan steadied, putting the warning and the events together. At the same time, Pru took over the call, relaying everything she knew. “You have to tell your leaders America is not attacking. You have to make them listen.”
By now pandemonium had erupted across the base, reaching a crescendo as a squadron of supersonic J-20 jets raced into the sky with afterburners screaming. It seemed like war had already come.
Gushan finished the call and then rushed from his desk, heading out into the main part of the building. Pushing past several staff members coming in the other direction, he rushed down the nearby hallway. A short turn took him to the stairwell. Two flights led him thirty feet below ground level, where he came face-to-face with the guard at the command center door.
Gushan offered his badge, but was denied entry.
“Understood,” he said casually, “but I have an urgent message.”
He threw a gut punch into the guard as he spoke. The man dropped to one knee. With two additional moves, Gushan subdued the guard and rushed into the main room of the command center’s hub.
The room was shaped like a shallow auditorium, with long flattish steps leading down. The combined group of generals and admirals known as the high command were gathered near the front, looking up at a big screen depicting everything that was happening off the coast.
Gushan saw yellow trail markers that charted the paths of American jets. They came toward the coast from multiple directions. He saw blue boxes that represented the American carrier group still off to the north. Flashing white indicators suggested inbound missiles from the American planes. Even from his perspective, it looked like an airstrike was underway.
Red indicators marked Chinese units. The sheer number of them revealed aircraft scrambling all over the country. Targets had been picked out. Ports and airfields in Taiwan, Japan, and the Philippines. The American carrier group heading into the Strait was target number one. Closer to home the main focus were the pair of American jets that had crossed the Strait, dropped down to treetop level, and were now racing across the countryside. At least two squadrons were being vectored to intercept.
Gushan ran toward the group, finding Admiral Li of all people. Li’s was the only face he really knew. “Keep the planes on the ground,” he shouted. “You’re just sending those men to their deaths.”
Li was shocked. “What are you doing in here, Major? We’re under attack!”
“It’s not the Americans,” Gushan insisted. “It’s Ahab.”
No one knew what he was talking about.
The main door flew open. A mob of military police rushed in. On-screen, the recently launched fighters began to explode, one after another after another. Radio chatter confirmed the disaster.
“We’ve been hit…”
