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deliberate and insane maritime provocations any more than we do.”
    Hawke leaned forward. The hook, having been set, now drew him nigh to the old master.
    “This sounds good.”
    “It is. Very.”
    “Congratulations, sir.”
    “What makes you think this one is mine, Alex?”
    “A wild guess.”
    “Well. Nevertheless.”
    “So,” Hawke said, “the Chinese are well aware that they cannot possibly afford to go to war with the West now. In a decade? Perhaps. But not now. They haven’t got the bottle for it. And, moreover, they haven’t got the arsenal.”
    “Of course not. According to our chaps on both sides of the pond, they are at least five to ten years behind the West in terms of advanced weaponry. And I mean both in the air and on the sea. No, it’s an obvious political ploy, albeit an extremely dangerous one.”
    “To what end?”
    “Simple. They wish to divert attention away from their burgeoning internal domestic turmoil, particularly Tibet, and the daily insanity run rampant in their ‘client state,’ North Korea. Thus this bellicose show of force. Show the peasant population and the increasingly restive middle class just how big, bad, and powerful the new boys are.”
    “Sheer insanity.”
    “Our world and welcome to it. But you, and I do mean you, Alex Hawke, with a little help from me, are going to put a stop to it. Even if it’s only a stopgap, temporary measure. I intend to buy us some time for diplomacy or other stratagems.”
    “Tell me how, sir.”
    “Operation Pacifist. Clever, eh? You’ll be reporting solely to me on this. Any information is strictly need-to-know. I have arranged a secret rendezvous for you. You will be meeting with a high-ranking Chinese admiral, whose name is Tsang, on a small island in a remote quadrant of the South China Sea. An uninhabited bit of paradise known as Xiachuan Island. Tsang wants to talk about a way he sees out of this extraordinarily dangerous confrontation with the West. Then it will become a matter of whether or not we can get the PM and Washington to go along with whatever proposals you come home with.”
    “Why me?”
    “Security. He said any meeting with our side had to be conducted in absolute secrecy, for obvious reasons, and that he wanted a completely untraceable contact. In a remote location known only to him and me. Together we selected Xiachuan Island. Completely deserted for years. It was home to a World War II Japanese air force base, but abandoned because of Japan’s current territorial dispute with China.”
    “How does one visit this island paradise?”
    “One flies. There is a serviceable eight-thousand-foot airstrip there that should accommodate you nicely.”
    “What kind of bus shall I be driving?”
    “An American F-35C Lightning. One of ours. Especially modified for nighttime insertions. All the latest offensive and defensive goodies, I assure you. Kinetic energy weapons and all that. The sort of thing you enjoy.”
    “Lovely airplane. Always wanted another crack at one.”
    “Well, my boy, you’ll get one. First thing tomorrow morning, in fact. I’ve already cleared your calendar. You’ll report at seven to Lakenheath RAF. Three days of intensive flight training in the Lightning with a USAF chief instructor off your wingtip. Courtesy of CIA and President McCloskey’s White House. Then off you go into the wild blue yonder.”
    “Aye-aye, sir. I think McCloskey has shown rather a lot of courage in this Chinese showdown. He’s a hard-liner and just what we need at present. I just hope he keeps his wits about him. These are dangerous waters we’re entering, full of political mines and razor-sharp shoals.”
    “Indeed. The mainstream American press is hounding the president relentlessly, aren’t they? Look at his poll numbers. He just needs to stand his ground against this senseless Chinese and North Korean bullying.”
    “Hmm. One thing if I may. This admiral, how high ranking is he, exactly? I mean to say, is he