He looked at Yuki, rain pressing a pale shirt to her shoulders, dripping from her bangs. Long tresses clung to her cheeks. A woman would probably be his downfall as well.
59
Protocol dictated that the paramount leader of China should arrive last, just prior to departure. Support staff and Colonel Huang had timed the ride to the airport so they could lift off moments after President Zhao was seated. The plane was a Boeing 747 used by Air China as a passenger jet when it was not pressed into service to fly the Chinese president on international trips. Prior to becoming China’s version of Air Force One, the 747, usually one of two, was fitted with more luxurious furnishings, including beds, sofas, and plush seating. Madame Zhao enjoyed flying in such comfort. She had wanted to accompany him to Japan, but present circumstances made that an imprudent idea.
Zhao was not surprised to see Foreign Minister Li’s motorcade already on the tarmac as his armored Hongqi L5 limousine came to a stop behind the uniformed military escort. He was, however, surprised to find Minister Li speaking with that detestable General Xu of the Central Security Bureau. The sun was up, a dull orange disk through the greasy pall of haze to the east, but lights illuminated the base of the plane and the length of red carpet rolled out from the air stairs.
The gaggle of men around Li and Xu snapped to attention when they saw the president approaching. Li gave a slight bow. Xu, a bow that was even slighter.
“Good morning, Zhao Zhuxi,” Li said. He gave Colonel Huang a look of uncharacteristic sympathy. “I was sorry to hear about your men. The criminals responsible will be captured and punished to the fullest extent, I am sure.”
Colonel Huang thanked him for his courtesy, but looked nervously up and down the tarmac.
“Zhao Zhuxi,” General Xu said, “the attack on your protective staff is what finds me here to greet you this morning. I have seen personally to providing three replacements from among our very finest at the Central Security Bureau.”
Zhao nodded thoughtfully. “I was under the impression that the very finest would be assigned to the paramount leader in the first place.”
“Just so,” Xu blustered. “But CSB has many talented and skilled officers. Is that not correct, Colonel Huang?”
“It is, General,” Huang said.
Zhao turned to him. “Do we need more personnel?”
“General Xu is correct,” he said. “We should not travel without a full complement.”
“Do you know these replacements, Colonel?” Zhao asked.
“I do, sir,” Huang said. “By name and reputation. I have not had the pleasure of working with them.”
“You know best, of course, General,” Zhao said.
“Is something wrong, Zhao Zhuxi?” Li asked.
“No.” Zhao shook his head. “The timing is unfortunate. That is all.”
“Please,” Li said. “Allow me to offer three of my security detail. They are accustomed to working directly with Colonel Huang and his men. The three new officers may assume responsibilities for my protection.”
General Xu started to object, which made Zhao more prone to accept the offer.
He raised an eyebrow. “This seems quite outside the norm.”
Li bowed again. “The timing, as you say, is unfortunate. It would be my great honor to second Colonel Long Yun and two others. The best of my best.”
“I could not,” Zhao said.
“Your safety is paramount,” Li said. “Please do me this honor.”
Colonel Huang’s jaw muscles flexed. He was obviously surprised at the news.
“Very well,” Zhao said. He put a foot on the bottom step and then turned to the other two men. “Have either of you been in contact with Admiral Qian? I wish to speak to him, but his staff said he is incommunicado.”
General Xu shrugged. “Perhaps inspecting one of our submarines, Mr. President.”
“Perhaps,” Zhao said, and bounded up the stairs.
I must go,” Li said as soon as the paramount leader was out of earshot.
“What is this business with Admiral Qian?” Xu asked. “I have not been able to contact him, either. That man has disappeared.”
“I’m sure it is nothing,” Li said, turning to climb the stairs. The steward at the top waved him forward with a white glove, telling him, the foreign minister, to hurry. Li purposely slowed, taking his time up the last few steps, then noted the steward’s name as he turned to find his seat.
Li took his spot in premium seating directly aft of the paramount leader’s office and quarters. He took his mobile phone from the pocket of his suit jacket before handing it to a steward — not the idiot who had rushed him — and pressed the number for his wife. Oddly, there was no answer, even at this early hour. She’d been awake when he left. He tried his son, still reaching nothing but voice mail. He smiled a tight smile, fending off the inevitable worry of a man with many enemies who was leaving town.
The flight was just over three hours. He would try again when they landed.
60
If there was one fortunate thing about being tired all the time, President Ryan knew, it was that he could usually nap at any given moment. It hadn’t always been that way. The Threat Board being what it was — urgent and stacked — it had a tendency to keep thinking people up at night. But as he spent more and more time with the sword of Damocles suspended over his head, Ryan’s brain and body formed an uneasy truce, allowing thoughts on topics such as nuclear destruction or a fragile economy to simmer in the background instead of boiling over the moment his head hit the pillow. Cathy said he dreamed more now, tossing and turning and mumbling nonsensical things in his sleep. Ryan rarely remembered his dreams, which made him believe there was a God, and that He was merciful, because the dreams of a powerful man with any conscience at all were, by necessity, bad dreams.
He woke to the change in pressure in his ears as Air Force One began a gradual descent over Japan. Hopefully, the four-hour nap would get his body clock somewhere in line with Japan time. They would be wheels-down at Yokota Air Base at nine-twenty a.m. local — giving him a full day of meetings when his brain told him it was eight-twenty p.m. in D.C. It was going to be a long one, so he shaved and put on a clean shirt and a midnight-blue tie. Cathy said the color made him look serious, which, he thought, was appropriate considering his upcoming meeting with President Zhao.
Though surely terrifying for the crew, the business with RV Meriwether had proven a litmus test for the power struggle that appeared to be going on inside China. Either Zhao was a liar or he didn’t have control of his military. The former, Ryan had come to hope. The latter would be a nightmare.
Special Agent Gary Montgomery sat on the sofa outside the President’s office and gazed out the windows at the ocean below. He didn’t much care for water. It could kill you, but you couldn’t kill it back. POTUS would be up soon, so Montgomery buttoned the top button on his white shirt and straightened his tie. He always brought two ties to work, a red one and a blue one — so he’d not be wearing the same color as his protectee. It was weird, Montgomery admitted that, but it was something he did for luck — well, that and countless hours at the range and in the gym. The President had been wearing a red power tie when they left Andrews, and Montgomery was happy he’d chosen a blue Brooks Brothers for today. This was his first flight with President Ryan, and he wanted everything to be perfect. His years in the Secret Service had taught him that if something could go wrong, it would. Montgomery didn’t relish the idea of having a man he respected as much as Jack Ryan standing over his shoulder when things inevitably turned to shit.