Debt Of Honor by Clancy, Tom

so married to the idea of business turn its back on practical considerations?

But war is never rational, Jack. You told the President that yourself.

“So tell me, what the hell are they thinking?” he commanded, instantly

regretting the profanity.

They were in a basement conference room. For the first meeting of the

working group, Scott Adler was absent, off with Secretary Hanson. There

were two National Intelligence Officers, and four people from State, and

they looked as puzzled and bemused as he did, Ryan thought. Wasn’t that

just great. For several seconds nothing happened. Hardly unexpected, Jack

thought. It was always a matter of clinical interest for him when he asked for

real opinions from a group of bureaucrats: who would say what?

“They’re mad and they’re scared.” It was Chris Cook, one of the com-

mercial guys from State. He’d done two tours at the embassy in Tokyo,

spoke the language passably well, and had run point on several rounds of the

trade negotiations, always taking back seat to senior men and women, but

usually the guy who did the real work. That was how things were, and Jack

remembered resenting that others sometimes got the credit for his ideas. He

nodded at the comment, seeing that the others around the table did the same,

grateful that someone else had taken the initiative.

“I know why they’re mad. Tell me why they’re scared.”

“Well, hell, they still have the Russians close by, and the Chinese, both

still major powers, but we’ve withdrawn from the Western Pacific, right? In

their mind, it leaves them high and dry-and now it looks to them like we’ve

turned on them. That makes us potential enemies, too, doesn’t it? Where

does that leave them? What real friends do they have?”

‘ ‘Why take the Marianas?” Jack asked, reminding himself that Japan had

not been attacked by those countries in historically recent times, but had

done so herself to all of them. Cook had made a perhaps unintended point.

How did Japan respond to outside threats? By attacking first.

“It gives them defensive depth, bases outside their home islands.”

Okay, that makes sense, Jack thought. Satellite photos less than an hour

old hung on the wall. There were fighters now on the airstrips at Saipan and

Guam, along with E-2C Hawkeye airborne-early-warning birds of the same

type that operated off American carriers. That created a defensive barrier

that extended twelve hundred miles almost due south from Tokyo. It could

be seen as a formidable wall against American attacks, and was in essence a

reduced version of Japanese grand strategy in the Second World War. Again

Cook had made a sound observation.

“But are we really a threat to them?” he asked.

“We certainly are now,” Cook replied.

“Because they forced us to be,” one of the NIOs snarled, entering the

discussion. Cook leaned across the table at him.

“Why do people start wars? Because they’re afraid of something! For

Christ’s sake, they’ve gone through more governments in the last five years

than the Italians. The country is politically unstable. They have real eco-

nomic problems. Until recently their currency’s been in trouble. Their stock

market’s gone down the tubes because of our trade legislation, and we’ve

faced them with financial ruin, and you ask why they got a little paranoid? If

something like this happened to us, what the hell would we do?” the Deputy

Assistant Secretary of State demanded, rather cowing the National Intelli-

gence Officer, Ryan saw.

Good, he thought. A lively discussion was usually helpful, as the hottest

fire made the strongest steel.

“My sympathy for the other side is mitigated by the fact that they have

invaded U.S. territory and violated the human rights of American citizens.”

The reply to Cook’s tirade struck Ryan as somewhat an. h I he ies|x>n\e was

that of a lead hound on the scent of a crippled fox, able lo play with the

quarry instead of the other way around for a change. Always a ^ood leelm^.

“And we’ve already put a couple hundred thousand of (heir i Hi/ens mil

of work. What about their rights?”

“Fuck their rights! Whose side are you on, Cook?”

The DASS just leaned back into his chair and smiled as he slid the knife

in. “I thought I was supposed to tell everyone what they’re thinking. Isn’t

that what we’re here for? What they’re thinking is that we’ve jerked them

around, bashed them, belittled them, and generally let them know that we

tolerate them through sufferance and not respect since before I was born.

We’ve never dealt with them as equals, and they think that they deserve bet-

ter from us, and they don’t like it. And you know,” Cook went on, “I don’t

blame them for feeling that way. Okay, so now they’ve lashed out. That’s

wrong, and I deplore it, but we need to recognize that they tried to do it in as

nonlethal a way as possible, consistent with their strategic goals. That’s

something we need to consider here, isn’t it?”

“The Ambassador says his country is willing to let it stop here,” Ryan

lold them, noting the look in Cook’s eyes. Clearly he’d been thinking about

the situation, and that was good. “Are they serious?”

He’d asked another tough question again, something that the people

around the table didn’t much like. Tough questions required definitive an-

swers, and such answers could often be wrong. It was toughest for the NIOs.

The National Intelligence Officers were senior people from CIA, DIA, or

NSA, usually. One of them was always with the President to give him an

opinion in the event of a rapidly evolving crisis. They were supposed to be

experts in their fields, and they were, as, for that matter, was Ryan, who’d

been an NIO himself. But there was a problem with such people. An NIO

was generally a serious, tough-minded man or woman. They didn’t fear

death, but they did fear being wrong on a hard call. For that reason, even

putting a gun to one’s head didn’t guarantee an unequivocal answer to a

tough question. He looked from face to face, seeing that Cook did the same,

with contempt on his face.

“Yes, sir, I think it likely that they are. It’s also likely that they will offer

us something back. They know that they have to let us save face here, too.

We can count on it, and that will work in our favor if we choose to negotiate

with them.”

“Would you recommend that?”

A smile and a nod. “It never hurts you to talk with somebody, no matter

what the situation is, does it? I’m a State Department puke, remember? I

have to recommend that. I don’t know the military side. I don’t know if we

can contest this thing or not. I presume we can, and that they know we can,

and that they know they’re gambling, and that they’re even more scared than

we are. We can use that in our favor.”

“What can we press for?” Ryan asked, chewing on his pen.

“Status quo ante,” Cook replied at once. “Complete withdrawal from the

Marianas, restoration of the islands and their citizens to U.S. rule, repara-

tions to the families of the people killed, punishment of those responsible for

their deaths.” Even the NIOs nodded at that, Ryan saw. He was already

starting to like Cook. He spoke his mind, and what he said had a logic to it.

“What will we get?” Again the answer was plain and simple.

“Less.” Where the hell has Scott Adler been hiding this guy? Ryan

thought. He speaks my language. ‘ ‘They have to give us something, but they

won’t give it all back.”

“And if we press?” the National Security Advisor asked.

“If we want it all back, then we may have to fight for it,” Cook said. “If

you want my opinion, that’s dangerous.” Ryan excused the facile conclu-

sion. He was, after all, a State Department puke, and part of that culture.

“Will the Ambassador have the clout to negotiate?”

“I think so, yes,” Cook said after a moment. “He has a good staff, he’s a

very senior professional diplomat. He knows Washington and he knows how

to play in the bigs. That’s why they sent him here.”

Jaw, jaw is better than war, war. Jack remembered the words of Winston

Churchill. And that was true, especially if the former did not entirely pre-

clude the threat of the latter.

‘ ‘Okay,” Ryan said.’ T have some other things that need doing. You guys

stay here. I want a position paper. I want options. I want multiple opening

positions for both sides. I want end-game scenarios. I want likely responses

on their part to theoretical military moves on our part. Most of all,” he said

directly to the NIOs, “I want a feel for their nuclear capacity, and the condi-

tions under which they might feel the need to make use of it.”