‘I think, sir, the Secretary wanted to speak to you before replying.’
Marshall snorted, shaking his head as he felt the anger well up to new dimensions. His Secretary of State was a gutless bastard. I’ve got to fire his ass! Marshall decided. He ached to do it right away. To pick up the phone, unload on the son-of-a-bitch, and be done with it. But it wouldn’t look good. He’d have to wait till after the Election.
‘Secretary Jensen did say that there was something stilted, formal in the Ambassador’s manner! He was communicating something with the utmost care and precision! The entire delegation appeared uncomfortable — like they were apologetic! Secretary Jensen thinks they may be signalling something about Taiwan!’
‘What in the hell makes him think that?’
‘The Chinese Ambassador and his aides were wearing morning suits, sir, with tails, top hat, everything.’
Marshall sat by the speakerphone in his hotel suite. He was surrounded by campaign staffers who were fascinated by the excitement of the conference call but had absolutely nothing to contribute.
‘Our best analysis,’ Secretary of State Jensen said, ‘is that it’s part of a power struggle in Beijing. Some faction is trying to garner support from the nationalists by talking tough on our Siberian deployment. And let’s not forget how this plays among the Chinese populace. It’s an authoritarian regime, but the faction that can claim popular support for their policies has an advantage in the political infighting.’
‘Okay,’ Marshall interrupted. ‘Just who is it we’re dealing with over there?’
‘It’s really impossible to know,’ Jensen replied. Marshall rolled his eyes to the amusement of his campaign aides. ‘The preeminent power in China remains Lin Tso-chang. In early August, several dailies across China reported that Mr Lin’s title would be elevated from its current “Paramount Leader,” to the exalted “Chairman.” That, of course, is closely associated with Chairman Mao, who remains almost a deity in China. But, after the articles appeared, nothing more was heard. Since then, our official contacts we have still referred to Mr Lin as “Paramount Leader.” ’
Marshall waited. Finally, he said, ‘And…?’ to still more amusement in his hotel suite.
‘Well, obviously it was a trial balloon that didn’t fly. While Mr Lin is hardly a liberal reformer, he was associated with a series of — quote, unquote — “liberal” decisions with respect to Hong Kong. The decision to allow opposition newspapers to reopen. An end to censorship of the local movie theaters. Withdrawal of those proposed restrictions on foreign travel by Hong Kong residents that sent such a scare through the population.’
One of Marshall’s senior staffers tapped his wristwatch. He had a photo op at a day-care center run by a consortium of local businesses with no federal government help. Then a swing by an American-owned local factory making digital video disks. Then a fundraiser for a struggling Democratic Congressman — one of the two dinners he had planned for the evening.
‘Okay, Hugh, let’s cut to the chase. In ten words or less, who are we dealing with, and what do they want?’
‘Well, there’s Lin Tso-chang, who’s head of state, commander-in-chief of the military, and General Secretary of the Communist Party. He’s clearly the most powerful man in government, but he’s in his mid-eighties and in failing health. Arrayed against him is just about everyone else in the “younger” generation — men in their late sixties.
There’s the chief of the “State Council” — their Prime Minister — who runs the government day-to-day. He’s gone on record calling for a new “Cultural Revolution” to rid China of western pornography and materialism. There’s also the chairman of the National People’s Congress — their speaker of the house — who’s just to the right of Ghengis Khan. Then there’s the President — Mr Lin’s chosen successor. He personally ordered the riot police to Beijing University during the protests in August, killing sixty students. All those men are trying to outdo one another to establish their reactionary credentials to the seven-member Politburo and the much larger Central Committee and, through them, the fifty-million-member Communist Party. Every five years they hold Party Congresses. The 16th is only two years away, so it’s the beginning of their campaign season. They have a very complex political system that we get little insight into. For instance, the party bosses in Beijing, Shanghai and Hong Kong all have extensive power and…’
‘Okay, Hugh,’ Marshall said — cutting him short. ‘Boil it all down for me. What’s going on in Beijing?’
‘It’s probably a power play by nationalists, who want to be seen as righting the wrongs committed against a weak China by a stronger West. They view Mr Lin and his supporters as vulnerable on the issue, and that’s why this is dangerous, Mr President. Mr Lin will have to steal the wind from their sails by adopting even more nationalistic policies.’ The pollsters, briefers, speechwriters and spin men in the room around Marshall were all nodding. ‘He’ll have to take a harder line, or we’ll be staring across the table at dyed-in-the-wool hardliners.’
‘So you’re saying there’s a risk of an international political confrontation,’ Marshall recapped, ‘solely as a result of domestic political developments in China.’
‘All politics is local, Mr President.’
‘General Clark.’
Nate Clark opened his eyes and rolled his boots to the floor. He slept in his fatigues even in his headquarters. It didn’t feel right otherwise. He clicked on the lamp next to his bed. Major Reed stood beside his cot.
‘What is it?’ Nate asked.
‘It’s the Chinese, sir. I think you’d better come down to the Op Center.’
‘We’ve been monitoring these broadcasts for several hours,’ Clark’s intelligence officer said. The British colonel and Clark stood over a short-wave radio. The bulky green device emitted the whiny and distant voice of a Chinese broadcaster speaking in a shrill and strident tone. ‘They’ve been blitzing the airwaves with propaganda about the evils of capitalism — Hong Kong and Taiwan-style. Then, a short while ago, all the television and radio stations broadcasting out of Hong Kong either switched to patriotic music or went off the air. The intelligence consensus appears to be that they are planning some sort of move. It may already have started.’
Clark locked his gaze on the man. ‘Are they coming our way?’
A look of concern settled on his face. ‘They’ve certainly been building. Latest force strength estimates put the front line units in Manchuria at eighty percent, up from sixty-five. But,’ he shook his head, ‘my guess is no. They’ve only got thirty days’ war stocks in the north, and their transport in-theater wouldn’t allow for any large-scale operations without unacceptably lengthy halts for resupply.’
‘So what, then?’ Clark asked.
The man shrugged. ‘Something else.’
Clark headed straight for his office, closed the door, and got on the secure phone. When General Dekker finally answered, Clark could tell that he’d been asleep. ‘I need one heavy division at Khabarovsk,’ Clark demanded, ‘and one Marine division at Vladivostok. I need two air wings on the ground in Siberia — not four hours away in Japan. And I need your personal pledge to me that if the PLA begins to stage in north China, you’ll back me to the hilt when I request either three times that many men, or that we pull out of Siberia altogether.’