“Burgess and Adler are on their way,” Foley said. She was in her sixties, close to Ryan’s age, though she’d been a career intelligence officer, working the street during the iciest days of the Cold War while he was still in grad school. “I’ve looped in CIA and FBI as well.”
Ryan looked at his watch, a Rolex GMT Cathy had given him years before, and motioned toward the twin couches in the Oval.
“Please sit. I’ll see what I can do about rustling you up some coffee.”
Robbie Forestall, in his khaki work uniform, took a half-step forward. “I’ll take care of that, Mr. President. I took the liberty of putting the night steward on notice that you might be asking.”
“Very well,” Ryan said. “Looks like you all have me at something of a disadvantage.” He shot a narrow eye at van Damm. “It’s enough to call in the secretaries of state and defense along with the directors of CIA and FBI, but not enough to wake me?”
“My call,” the chief of staff said. “Mary Pat and I talked it over.”
Ryan took his customary seat in the Queen Anne chair beside the fireplace while Foley sat nearest him on the couch to his right. Van Damm took the couch opposite her. Forestall remained standing to meet the Navy steward when he came in with the coffee service.
Scott Adler, Bob Burgess, and the two directors arrived moments later. All of them knew that a call from van Damm
The coffee arrived at about the same time as the FBI director. CIA director Jay Canfield brought up the rear.
As was his custom, Ryan poured the coffee for his guests. Mary Pat started her briefing while he worked.
“Mr. President, officers from the Chinese Ministry of State Security are actively looking for one of their top scientists. A man named Liu Wangshu has disappeared.”
The group nodded with varying levels of recognition. D/CIA Canfield had been briefed nearly as much as Foley, but the others were just being made aware of the situation along with the President. Some did, however, know of Liu.
“Engineering professor in Huludao,” Secretary of Defense Burgess said. “Where the Chinese are building some of their ballistic missile and fast-attack submarines.”
SecState Adler tapped his crossed knee while he peered over the top of his coffee cup. “I feel like the Chinese ambassador introduced him to me at an embassy function last year. The whole thing seemed highly choreographed. The ambassador wanted to demonstrate to us what intelligent scientists they have working for them. Liu is kind of an eccentric guy, if I remember right.”
Director Canfield nodded. “You could call him that.”
Burgess scoffed. “A blue dress shirt could be considered outside the norm to the powers that be in Chinese politics. Liu wears blue jeans, rolls up the sleeves of his paisley shirts, and keeps his hair over his collar.”
Adler nodded. “I distinctly remember thinking he was a Chinese Austin Powers.”
“You’re an apt judge of character,” Foley continued. “He’s made the news several times for dating much younger women. Behaviors that Beijing wouldn’t put up with for a minute but for the fact that he’s single-handedly responsible for the great leaps forward the PLAN has made in submarine technology over the past three years.”
“What kind of tech?” Ryan said. Submarine technology had been a pet project of his for years, since — a very long time ago.
“Propulsion engineering, Mr. President,” Canfield said. “Beyond that, we’re not exactly certain. We know both Beijing and the PLA-Navy brass have given Professor Liu three separate awards. One of them is the Order of the Republic — the highest in the country for someone not in the military — similar to our Medal of Freedom.”
The secretary of defense spoke up again. “China hasn’t had what you could really call a fighting Navy since the fifteenth century. And frankly, Mr. President, I’m not sure they do now. President Zhao is loud and proud about his growing fleet of technologically advanced submarines, but many of the details have yet to be confirmed. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying we underestimate him. We should just take him with a grain of salt.”
Ryan took a sip of his coffee — strong and black — and gave a contemplative nod. “We project our force with carrier groups. Beijing wants to rely on a weapon you can’t see but know is out there somewhere, hiding…” He shook his head. Acid from the coffee and a healthy dose of the unknown churned in his empty stomach. “And we like our submarines, too. They make for a pretty damned fine deterrent.”
“We know the Chi-Comms have a lot of diesels,” Burgess said. “Some purchased from Russia, some of them developed themselves. And, I have to admit, quieter than I’d like them to be.”
“Some of their sub pens are in Huludao,” Ryan mused. “Where Professor Liu taught before he went missing. Do we suspect foul play?”
