A curtain of hesitancy descended on the briefing room, “Wei’s dead,” someone said from the back of the room, “Comrade Fu, General Wei is dead. He was killed during the recent attack. We’re sorry. We thought you knew.”
“No, I was unaware of his death. That is all then. I will be in my office.”
Yes, the Americans must pay, Fu thought as he got to his feet, his head throbbing.
The leader of the Falun Gong in Amoy posted a couple of his followers at the door of the restaurant before entering. They would warn him in case a public security detail happened by. It didn’t hurt to be careful. The usual persecution had intensified over the past two weeks, as the government sought to lock up potential troublemakers while it moved against Taiwan. The crackdown against his sect, the “Buddhist Law,” was continuing as was the suppression of Christian groups. His lunch partner was the pastor of the largest underground Christian church in the city. Many leaders of house churches were already in jail. Both men had to exercise extreme caution.
In pre-revolutionary days, Amoy and the surrounding district had been the home of a substantial number of Western missionaries. Strangely enough, the sudden expulsion of the Christian missionaries from China had an effect entirely opposite of what the Communists had intended. Instead of drying up and shriveling away without leadership, Chinese Christian churches of all faiths proliferated as Chinese laity took over leadership roles once reserved for white Westerners.
Much to the consternation of the officially atheist Communist Party, the harder they cracked down on religions of all stripes, the more religion seemed to flourish. Party experts projected the number of serious religious adherents as outnumbering the membership of the Chinese Communist Party by about ten-to-one.
“Welcome, Master,” said the restaurant owner, bowing slightly as the man entered the crowded restaurant. Another follower of Falun Gong, he led the “Master” to a secluded table where Brother Ouyang was seated, then poured tea for them both. Every table within earshot was occupied by a loyal member of the sect.
The “Master” lifted his cup of tea in a silent salute at his tablemate who responded with a salute of his own.
“Both of us believe that the way of peace is superior to the way of the sword,” the “Master” began. “But the situation has grown intolerable.”
Brother Ouyang nodded thoughtfully, “What do you have in mind, Master Chao?”
The “Master” leaned forward and presented his thoughts to the Christian. If the State knew what was said next, both men would have been summarily shot and their families sent bills for the bullets.
Fu had a medical orderly remove his bandages and apply makeup to his wounds. He looked at his head and his one black eye. No, this will not do. “Find me a pair of sunglasses,” he snapped, “We cannot allow the Americans to know of my injuries.”
With neither reinforcement nor resupply, the American forces were becoming increasingly irrelevant from a military standpoint. Their political utility was still high, however, and Fu was determined to force their surrender. He set a meeting time of noon and instructed his staff to make the necessary final preparations.
Donna knew about the Chinese propaganda rocket. She also knew about the terrible toll the Chinese attack took on America’s West Coast cities. Los Angeles was especially hard hit. The Agency told her that damage from looters and rioters was estimated in the billions of dollars (she doubted that the information constituted useful intelligence should the Chinese have been listening in — no doubt both CNN and the Chinese consulate in L.A. had already conveyed the news). More troubling was the horrific toll on the displaced population in Southern California. With a complete breakdown in the infrastructure of a modern society, hundreds of thousands of people were in danger of death by dehydration in the desert wastes between Arizona and the coastal urban areas. The authorities were trying to move the people back to the city, but with the lack of law and order and the threat of nuclear attack, people refused. Donna marveled at her nation’s complete lack of any response—One unarmed missile and we give up…
She heard a soft tapping on the door, then a barely audible rasp, “It’s Taylor, let me in.”
She opened the door to the civilian attired four-star general. He immediately went to Donna’s bathroom and turned on the sink’s faucet. The water pressure wasn’t as high as it was the day before, but the noise of the running water was still enough to conceal a whispered conversation.
“I thought you should know, we extracted the Marine force out of southern Taiwan last night. We picked up more than 1,000 Marines and Navy personnel. The Chinese might be a little ticked during today’s negotiations.”
Donna raised an eyebrow. Now successful retreats were counted as victories. “What about the force up in Taipei?”
Taylor frowned, “Hell, Klein, there’s probably only about 40 of them left, besides, the downtown airport is under constant surveillance by the Chinese, there’s no way we could extract them, even if we knew where to find them.”
“That’s a load of bull general, and you know it; you don’t need fixed wing aircraft to fly in there and get those soldiers. Helicopters from Okinawa would do just fine.”
“Look, I didn’t come here to argue tactics with you…” Taylor looked very uncomfortable, “There’s something else you need to know — Lindley’s a mole for the Chinese.”
Donna’s mouth fell open. She struggled with this new bit of information. “How did you. ?”
“Find out? I have a secure system two-way satellite message pager. The NSA figured it out a few days ago but only recently did they gather enough evidence to make it official.”
“How can I believe you — you could be the spy yourself.”
“Damn it Klein! I’m the general, he’s the former Chinese lobbyist, remember? I’ve dedicated 35 years of my life to the military; he made millions in fees from China before he made it to the White House. It’s so obvious. Have even you gone blind to how obvious this is? If Admiral Klein was here he’d dare call Lindley what he is: a traitor.”
Donna flushed briefly. She’d had her suspicions about Lindley, especially when he tried so hard to get the President to keep her off the negotiating team. “What do we do? We can’t very well arrest the senior member of our team for treason while on Chinese soil can we?” Donna’s face showed the question was merely rhetorical; she was already thinking of what to do.
A loud knock at the door startled both Americans.
“It’s Lindley. We have to be ready to go in ten minutes Donna. The Chinese want to resume negotiations. You hear me?”
Donna spoke loudly, “Sure, no problem.”
“Taylor in there with you?” Lindley asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, fine, I want to see you two in a couple of minutes in my room.” Lindley’s tone was curt.
“We’ll be there,” Taylor said.
Lindley’s footsteps could be heard walking away.
“So, what do we do?” General Taylor hissed. He was consumed with contempt for Lindley and loathed the thought of even visiting his room.
“I may have a solution, but I’ll need your help…”
All day Thursday the rain drizzled down. Low hanging clouds clung just above the base of Taiwan’s mountains and hills. The People’s Liberation Army Air Force was nowhere to be seen. Maneuvering over familiar terrain and in friendly territory, the ROC army made good time and advanced north in good order.