He closed the book with a thump. “If we add a twelve-mile buffer to the north and south of the island, to account for Taiwanese territorial waters, we discover that your country has over eight thousand four hundred miles of coastline to fire missile tests from — without impinging on the airspace, territory, or seas of Taiwan.” His voice hardened. “I suggest you consider using another piece of ocean for your next missile test.”
“I object to your tone,” the ambassador said. “I have given you my assurances that the launch was a routine test, yet you insinuate that it was a deliberate act of … what did you call it? Strong-arm politics?”
The president beckoned to his secretary of state, Elizabeth Whelkin, who leaned over far enough to hand him a folded newspaper. It was an English-language edition of the Tokyo Times.
“The Japanese press has picked up on a rumor that your missile launch was code-named Tongyi De Zhongguo, ” the president said. He unfolded the paper and laid it on the coffee table with slow, deliberate motions.
“My Mandarin is a little rusty, Ambassador Shaozu. Could you refresh my memory? How does Tongyi De Zhongguo translate into English?”
The ambassador’s cheeks reddened. His fingers seemed to spasm as they roamed the surface of his old diplomatic pouch. “I give you my assurance, Mr. President; I have no knowledge of any such code name.”
The president nodded. “I’m relieved to hear that. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to translate the phrase anyway, for the benefit of those of us who do not speak the language of the Middle Kingdom.”
“Of course,” the ambassador said in a quiet voice. “It means … United China.”
The words hung in the air for several seconds before the president spoke again. “United China,” he said. “Used in the context of a nuclear missile launch, might that phrase be interpreted to mean that your country is prepared to use any sort of force necessary to achieve a United China?
That is to say, the return of Taiwan to Chinese control?”
“That might be one interpretation,” the ambassador said slowly.
“If you have a different interpretation to offer, I would be interested in hearing it,” the president said.
Ambassador Shaozu said nothing.
The president allowed the silence to drag on for nearly a minute. He was tempted to rake the ambassador over the coals again, but there wasn’t anything to be gained by it. He had gotten his message across, and the rules of protocol required diplomatic meetings to end with pleasantries and handshakes.
“Thank you for coming,” he said finally. He climbed to his feet and extended his hand. “Please convey my greeting to Premier Xiao and the esteemed members of the Politburo.”
The ambassador got to his feet and shook the president’s outstretched hand. “I will, Mr. President.”
The ambassador shook hands with the other members of the meeting team before taking his leave. The note taker, Lieutenant Summers, escorted him from the room.
The president waited nearly a minute after the door had closed behind the ambassador before he clapped his hands together. “Talk to me, people.”
The secretary of state spoke first. “Did you notice his eyes, sir? He was blowing smoke the entire time, and I don’t think he was at all happy about it.”
The president waved a hand in a circle. “Continue.”
“The diplomacy game is sticky,” she said. “An ambassador is sometimes forced to present his government’s position, even when he thinks his government is screwing up. This is especially true of diplomats who represent communist governments; they have little or no latitude to deviate from the official party line.”
The president leaned back in his chair. “You think Shaozu disagrees with the Politburo’s position on this missile launch?”
“Maybe, sir,” the secretary of state said.
“Something is definitely bothering him,” added William Collins, the assistant secretary of state for Southeast Asian affairs. “I’ve worked with Tian for years, and I have to agree. Tian put on a good show tonight; he’s too good a diplomat not to put his best into every session, but his heart wasn’t in it tonight.”
“All right,” the president said. “He was distracted, and that threw his game off a little. The next obvious question is: what’s got him rattled? Is it just frustration over having to spout Party rhetoric? Or is he worried about something?”
“If I had to guess,” Assistant Secretary Collins said, “I’d say Tian is worried.”
“About what?” the chief of staff asked.
Gregory Brenthoven, the national security advisor, loosened his tie.
“We’ve got two good possibilities. On the one hand, he may be worried about our response to the missile launch — possible military reprisals, diplomatic or economic sanctions — hell, he may even be worried that this will goad us into extending formal diplomatic recognition to Taiwan. On the other hand, it may be his own government he’s worried about. Either something they’ve done, or something they’re about to do.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow the field,” the president said. “Do you have any sense for what it might be? At the moment, I’ll settle for a hunch.”
“I have no idea, sir,” Brenthoven said. “But it’s liable to be something we’re really not going to like.”
Veronica Doyle looked around at the members of the team. “Anybody got any idea how far the Chinese might go?”
“They just launched a ballistic missile over Taiwan,” said Secretary Whelkin. “I’d say they’re feeling pretty bold.”
“And in this case,” the president said, “bold might equate to stupid.”
He nodded slowly and then turned to his national security advisor. “Greg, round up the Joint Chiefs; I want an aircraft carrier off the coast of Taiwan by the time the sun comes up tomorrow, and a second carrier on scene as soon as we can manage it.”
The national security advisor frowned. “Two carriers, Mr. President? We’ve only got four deployed. That’s going to spread us pretty thin. If we’re trying to show the Chinese that we’re not happy with them, I should think one carrier would more than do the job.”
The president shook his head. “I don’t want China to think we’re unhappy. I want them to know that we’re mad as hell and not interested in playing games where Taiwan is concerned. Besides, the people of Taiwan have an election coming up in a few days. If we let the Politburo have their way, that election will take place in the shadow of a Chinese sword. Let’s show the Taiwanese people a little of the American shield instead.”
He looked up. “Okay guys, all we’ve got are guesses. If the Chinese are planning some kind of move, we’re going to need a lot more than that.
Get out there and beat the bushes. We need numbers on the Chinese economy, readiness assessments on their military, and trend analyses on their logistics. If they’re stockpiling anything — I don’t care if it’s rice, bullets, or canned peaches — I want to know about it.” He stood up.
“That’s all.”
The members of the team began filing out the door. In a few seconds, only the president, his chief of staff, and the national security advisor remained.
“Something I can do for you, Greg?”
“Yes, sir. I do have one more item I’d like to run by you, if you have a couple of minutes.”
The president nodded.
Brenthoven reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small leather-bound notebook. He opened it and read for a couple of seconds before looking up at his boss. “February of last year, Niedersachsen Six, the nuclear reactor outside Hanover, Germany, had to be shut down because of a primary coolant leak. There wasn’t a great deal of contamination, but the European media had a field day with it anyway.”