Drone Command

“First things first. I offer my apologies for what happened to you and Mr. Pearce the other day. Our pilots are trained to be aggressive, but had they known someone as important as you was in the vicinity, they would have restrained themselves.”

“So if I had just been a member of the American proletariat, my death would have been acceptable to you?”

“Or a working stiff like me?” Pearce asked.

“Tensions in the area are high, and the Japanese are increasingly belligerent. We will not tolerate any Japanese violations of our national airspace,” Admiral Ji said. “For the sake of peace.”

Pearce tried not to laugh out loud. “Yeah, right.”

“Our apologies to you as well, Mr. Pearce. Your friendship with President Lane is noted, as is your incredible success as a security company. Drone warfare, correct?” Feng said.

“My company does far more civilian consulting than military these days. There are many more opportunities in the private sector for unmanned vehicles.”

“Perhaps then you are familiar with the Wu-14?” Ji asked.

“Yes, of course,” Pearce said. “Or at least the rumor of it. From everything I’ve read, you don’t have the technical capacity for it.”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” Myers asked. “I assumed that’s the real reason why you invited us.”

“The primary reason was for me to apologize to you in person, just as you demanded from Ambassador Pang.” Feng’s eyes narrowed.

“And so you have. I suppose it would be rude of me not to accept it.”

“Thank you,” Feng said.

Myers smiled. She doubted Feng understood the English language well enough to know that she hadn’t technically accepted his apology.

“Our country does not wish to fight a war with the United States,” Admiral Ji said.

“Of course you don’t. You’d lose,” Pearce shot back.

The admiral’s face flushed. He wasn’t used to subordinates speaking to him that way. Or anybody else, for that matter. “Perhaps. And perhaps not. As we are both nuclear powers, the possibility of even a small conflict escalating into a total nuclear confrontation is too great. In that event, we would both lose.”

“And if we’re both not careful, the Japanese will drag you into war against your will. You would do well to advise President Lane to keep the Japanese on a tight leash,” Feng said.

“The Japanese are our good friends and allies, and we don’t abandon our friends or our allies in a time of crisis. That’s a promise straight from President Lane. Tell that to President Sun.”

“I will convey your message to him directly, empty though it might be,” Feng said. “But I admire your, how do you say, chutzpah?”

Myers checked her watch. “It’s getting late.”

“And I have another promise to keep.” Feng stood, straightening his tailored Mao jacket. He gestured sternly toward the steel doors, now open and flanked by armed guards.

Myers and Pearce exchanged a glance.

Looked like Feng had called their bluff.

THIRTY-TWO

EAST SEA FLEET HEADQUARTERS (PLAN)

NINGBO, ZHEJIANG PROVINCE, CHINA

14 MAY 2017

The dimly lit air-conditioned room was filled with computer monitors and handheld tablets along the periphery. In the center of the cavernous space stood a massive digital chart table with two dozen uniformed faces hovering around it, focused intently on the digital ships and aircraft coming into virtual contact on what Pearce assumed was the East China Sea.

Myers could hardly believe her eyes. Three-dimensional aircraft were flying over the table as three-dimensional ships sailed on the virtual sea.

“Holographs. Impressive.” Myers and Pearce stood next to Admiral Ji and Feng on an elevated platform that gave them a bird’s-eye view of the chart table. “When did you steal that from DARPA?”

Admiral Ji ignored her insult.

An oversize three-dimensional holographic representation of an oil rig glowed in bright red near a small collection of islands in the center of the map.

Pearce pointed at the oil rig. “The Senkakus.”

“The proper name is the Diaoyu Islands,” Vice Chairman Feng said through clenched teeth. “Unless you prefer the Japanese mispronunciation.”

Pearce counted fifteen ships steaming from the coast of China and saw what appeared to be an American carrier battle group hovering off the southwestern coast of Japan. Overhead stereo speakers carried what Pearce guessed was chatter between pilots and ships’ crews.

“This is live?” Pearce asked.

Ji pointed at a ten-foot-wide 4K HD digital screen on the far wall. A live satellite image popped on. An overhead view of an aircraft carrier and the nearly two dozen support ships that surrounded it in real time.

“Do you recognize it, President Myers?” Ji asked.

“The George Washington carrier battle group, stationed out of Japan.”

“Correct.”