“It’s my decision,” Christine replied. Turning to the president to request his approval, she said, “It should be my decision.”
The president leaned back in his chair, contemplating Christine’s assertion. After what happened in China, Christine had been skittish when things deteriorated in Moscow. Now, she was willing to walk into the lion’s den. A private discussion with her would be necessary, but for now, he needed to address her assertion. He replied, “You’re correct. It’s your decision.”
He turned to Hardison. “Replace Christine’s Diplomatic Security Service protection with Secret Service for this trip. We’ll lose control once Christine enters the Great Hall of the People, but I at least want my best people with her.”
To Dawn, the president said, “Set up the meeting with President Xiang.”
46
NEW DELHI, INDIA
Secretary of State Dawn Cabral’s sedan pulled to a halt in front of Rashtrapati Bhavan, India’s presidential mansion and the largest residence for a head of state in the world. Stepping from the cool sedan into the blistering Indian heat, already surpassing one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, she paused to examine the grandeur of the four-story palace, constructed at the beginning of the twentieth century for the British viceroy of India. From a distance, the 180-foot-tall copper dome in the center of the palace, inspired by the Pantheon of Rome, seemed to float above the haze of the New Delhi summer heat.
Dawn was greeted by an Indian external affairs aide, who escorted her up the broad, alabaster steps into Durbar Hall. In the center of the hall, surrounded by columns of yellow marble supporting the dome’s perimeter, India’s minister of external affairs, Rahul Gupta, was conversing with several men and women, wisely awaiting Dawn’s arrival within the cool confines of the residential palace. Gupta moved across the marble floor to greet his American counterpart, then escorted her to a conference room in the northeast corner of the hall.
The doors to the conference room closed, sealing Dawn and Gupta inside for the private meeting she’d requested. No interpreters would be required; Gupta was fluent in English.
“Please be seated,” Gupta said, motioning to a chair at the corner of the twenty-person conference room table. Dawn placed a thin leather satchel on the table as she took her seat, and Gupta slid into a chair at the head of the table. Gupta waited for Dawn to begin.
“Thank you for your time, Minister. I suppose you’ve deduced the reason for this meeting?”
“We have an idea or two,” Gupta replied, failing to elaborate.
“We know your president met with Russia’s defense minister and that Russia asked you to join forces with them in the Indian Ocean.” The last part was a lie — she didn’t know what had been discussed, but she was confident her assertion was correct. She continued, “I offer you a counterproposal. Join forces with the United States and help us defeat the Russian Navy.”
Gupta remained silent.
“We can provide attractive incentives: price discounts on American military hardware, and we’ll relax the restrictions on our most sensitive equipment. You’ll benefit greatly from our alliance; your military will become more formidable.”
“Only if we choose the winning side, and there is something left of our Navy.”
Dawn tucked away Gupta’s response; he admitted Russia had made a similar proposal. Dawn pulled a document from her briefcase and slid it across the table. “These are the benefits you will receive in return for your assistance.”
Gupta flipped through the document, skimming its contents. He looked up and said, “We will consider your proposal.”
“There’s a right and wrong side of this conflict,” Dawn added. “Russia invaded two sovereign countries and is threatening to impede international maritime traffic.”
“History is littered with the bodies of the righteous.”
“Join us,” Dawn replied, “and we will defeat the Russian Navy.”
“I will bring your request to President Madan. Of course, he’ll need to discuss this with his National Security Council.”
“Do you have a rough time frame?”
“I cannot say. That will be up to President Madan.”
“I understand,” Dawn said. “Thank you for your consideration.”
Not long after the American secretary of state departed, Indian Minister of Defense Ankur Kumar joined Gupta in the conference room. “What did she want?” he asked.
After Gupta explained, Kumar asked, “What did you tell her?”
“I was noncommittal, as directed by President Madan.”
“If America engages the Russian Navy, our hand will be forced. A side must be chosen.”
“Not necessarily,” Gupta replied. “We can remain neutral.”
“We can remain neutral and alienate both Russia and the United States, not to mention leaving their incentives on the table. Or we can choose a side and gain a strong ally.”
“We must choose wisely,” Gupta said.
Kumar nodded his agreement.
47
BEIJING, CHINA
It was almost dark by the time the C-32 descended toward Beijing Nanyuan Airport. Like Secretary Cabral, Christine carried a thin leather briefcase containing the details of America’s proposal. As the C-32 banked to the left, providing a view of Beijing stretching into the distance, she wondered how Dawn had fared in India. Dawn’s task was somewhat easier, though, as there was no threat to her life.
Before Christine departed Washington, D.C., the president had pulled her into the Oval Office for a private conversation, questioning her reasoning for agreeing to China’s request. It had taken her a moment to open up, but she had explained how she’d been running away from what she’d done in Beijing and Ice Station Nautilus. Sooner or later, she would have to face her demons, and now was as good a time as any. Her answer seemed to satisfy the president, and she would soon face President Xiang.
The C-32 touched down and after coasting to a halt, Christine and the four Secret Service agents detailed to her exited the aircraft. On the tarmac, members of the Secret Service advance party were waiting, along with Katrina Wetzel, America’s ambassador to China.
As Christine descended the staircase, she spotted Ambassador Wetzel standing near a black sedan. Two additional black sedans served as bookends to the three-car motorcade that would take her to the Great Hall of the People. There, her security would become seriously diminished; her Secret Service escort would have to leave their weapons behind at the security checkpoint before entering the Politburo section of the Great Hall.
Ambassador Wetzel greeted Christine as she stepped onto the tarmac. “Welcome to China, Miss O’Connor.” Before Christine could reply, Wetzel added, “There’s been a change of plans. You’re not going to the Great Hall of the People.” She nodded toward a helicopter not far away, in front of which stood three men in black suits, who Christine figured were Cadre Department bodyguards — the Chinese equivalent of the Secret Service.
“Where is the meeting?”
“They won’t say.”
Ambassador Wetzel led Christine and the four Secret Service agents toward the helicopter. When they reached the Cadre Department bodyguards, one stepped forward.
“Only Miss O’Connor,” he said.
“I’m supposed to accompany her,” Wetzel said, “and serve as her interpreter.”
“That won’t be necessary,” the bodyguard replied. “President Xiang’s English will be sufficient.”
Wetzel glanced at Christine, who nodded. Xiang’s accent had been thick during their previous meetings, but his English was understandable.
Christine was wanded with a handheld metal detector and her leather briefcase searched. Satisfied that she carried no weapons, the lead bodyguard gestured toward the helicopter. Christine slid into the back of the four-passenger aircraft, where she was joined by the three Cadre Department bodyguards.