“Do you agree with Admiral Wadsworth?”

This was it, he thought. Either he bought into what he believed was a flawed plan and watched it fail, or he publicly disagreed with Wadsworth and was quietly relieved and retired from the Navy ten days from now when Wadsworth came back and built up a case against him. Which would be easy — he had, after all, lost two ships in five years, albeit in combat, but nevertheless, it was a dual black mark. Pacino looked at Wadsworth’s puffy face on the video screen and decided he didn’t want to be part of a Navy with a Wadsworth in charge.

He had had a wonderful career, and every career had to end. In the military, that came about by death, disability, resignation or retirement. And retirement could be voluntary or forced. Perhaps resignation held more dignity, particularly when the politics of flag rank became too much. He thought about his waterfront house over the Severn River, facing the Naval Academy, about his dreary office at the base in Norfolk, about the fact that for the rest of his career he would probably just command one office after another, never again giving rudder orders aboard a nuclear submarine. That duty was reserved for younger officers. So what was left for him?

No longer eligible for submarine command, the rest of his career would be a series of meetings like this one.

With that thought, Pacino made his decision.

“Madam President, not only do I completely disagree with Admiral Wadsworth, I’m willing to put my reasons why in a memo to you. Admiral Wadsworth, I’ll be sure and have a copy on your desk for when you return from Africa. If we do as Admiral Wadsworth suggests, the Japanese submarine fleet will put to sea as soon as they see our carrier battle groups coming, which they will if we aren’t going to knock out their surveillance satellites.

When the battle groups are finally in position, the Japanese sub force will put our surface ships on the bottom the minute we say the word’blockade.’ If we want this operation to work, we have to sortie the fleet, hit the Galaxy satellites, attack the sub bases and air force bases, and blow away their planes and ships — and all within a six-hour interval — and tighten the rope around Tokyo’s neck. If we fail to commit to that level. Admiral Wadsworth’s surface sailors will be drinking seawater.

And I suggest history will remember the men in this room — and in our videolink — as cowards and failures.”

There was a shocked silence in the room. Wadsworth heard Pacino on a two-second delay. As the words registered a storm came over his face. Pacino no longer cared, and ignored the video display and the recording camera. Donchez’s face was a study in mixed emotions.

Pacino didn’t care about that either. He began packing his notes in his briefcase.

“Admiral Pacino,” President Warner said, her tone neutral, “I think perhaps it would be best if you got yourself back to your office. The rest of us need to talk to Admiral Wadsworth. Thank you for your time. And your outspoken and candid opinion.” Pacino stood and nodded to Donchez, then followed one of Warner’s staffers out of the Oval Office. He doubted he’d ever see the inside of it again.

BOOK TWO

WASHINGTON, D.C

Pacino walked swiftly from the first floor of the White House east wing through the door held open by a Marine guard, who snapped to attention and saluted. Pacino ignored him. He could hear the clicking sounds of his aide’s footsteps behind him. He ducked into the back of the borrowed staff car and waited for Lieutenant Stoddard to climb into the front.

He was stonily silent all the way to Andrews Air Force Base, where the car was ushered past the fencing and guards to a gray-painted swept-wing jet, a twelve-passenger Grumman SS-12. Pacino left the staff car behind and rushed into the aircraft, dumping himself into the midcabin executive seat. Joanna Stoddard scurried up the ladder. He could hear her muttering to the pilots and stealing an anxious look at Pacino. The sounds of the jets whining didn’t soothe him as they usually did. He stared out the window, furious, mostly at himself for being so tactless. As a submarine commander he had been known for brash action, but that was a different world, he told himself. He had just spoken up before the president of the United States to say that his commanding officer, the Chief of Naval Operations, was so wrong that his recommendations would be against the best interests of the country. Way to go, he thought.

After a statement like that Admiral Wadsworth would have no choice but to fire him. There was no way that Pacino’s insubordination could be allowed.