Lethal Trajectories - Michael Conley [7]
Lin sat for a moment to collect his thoughts. He had to resist the tug of war between his heart and his mind and work the problem. He was saddened by the loss of the Dragon II and its crew and outraged by Japan’s inexplicable sneak attack. In contemplating his next move, he wondered, What could they have been thinking?
True to form, he pulled out a pad of paper, colored pens, and yellow sticky notes in preparation for his one-man brainstorming session. Sitting at the desk in his stark and unpretentious office—almost devoid of personal memorabilia—he focused his brilliant analytical mind on the problem at hand. Working backward from his desired endgame, layer by layer, he systematically laid out the tactics and operations needed to meet his desired objectives. He completely lost track of time and was surprised to see it was almost four o’clock in the morning when he finally felt comfortable with the situation. The scrawled notes, torn-out pages, and reams of hard-copy report data surrounding his desk gave testament to the great intellectual battle that had just taken place.
Even at age fifty-seven, Lin still enjoyed the ability to recuperate from such exertions with a shower and two good hours of sleep. He looked forward to the regularly scheduled 7:00 a.m. meeting he would have with his trusted chief of staff, Wang Peng, in preparation for the Politburo Standing Committee meeting. He would have to be in top form to manage the heated debate ahead, as the hardliners in the PSC would be anxious to take on Japan—or worse, the United States.
The White House
13 September 2017
Lyman Burkmeister, president of the United States, was not having a good day. There were no bright spots in the gloomy economic picture. Gas prices now exceeded $6.00 per gallon nationwide, his popularity ratings had fallen another three points, and the contentious meeting earlier in the day with congressional leaders over budget cuts and healthcare costs reminded him of the challenges that lay ahead. To top it off, the indigestion and stomach cramps that had plagued him for weeks were worsening.
Burkmeister was not uncomfortable with the “workaholic” label ascribed to him. As a former military officer, CEO, and governor of Ohio, he seldom slept more than five hours a night, but he clung to a magic formula that worked wonders for him: a midday nap. His favorite getaway was the small private office off the west wall of the Oval Office, which he affectionately dubbed Shangri-la. His chief of staff, George Gleason, and everyone else understood the reenergizing value of Shangri-la and went to great lengths to preserve this respite for the president. It was considered an unwise career move to disrupt his reverie in any way.
Unfortunately, the magic of Shangri-la was not working today. Instead of resting, he was doubled over in pain from his ever-worsening stomach pains. He took a few deep breaths and diverted his attention to his two favorite pictures next to his sofa. The first was of his beloved wife, Karen, taken shortly before her fatal aneurism while celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in Bermuda. The second was of him and his running mate, Clayton McCarty, waving victoriously at the 2016 Republican National Convention after accepting their call to duty. He smiled, recalling the fury of the party hardliners when he selected Governor McCarty, an Independent, to serve as his running mate. Good memories, he thought, as he closed his eyes to rest.
Outside Shangri-la, George Gleason was in a complete stew over the tsunami of urgent messages coming in from intelligence sources. It was an unwritten rule that the president’s personal hour was not to be disturbed. Gleason, however, always the historian, recalled how Hitler’s generals had refused to wake him upon hearing the allies had invaded Normandy, and the delay had most definitely affected that battle at a crucial time. He didn’t want the same footnote next to his