by Fritz Galt
He listened, nodding reluctantly.
“I know it’s risky. But we’ve cried wolf on the Chinese before, and it has all settled down again. In this case, if they don’t invade, we can claim that we stood up to them and stopped them. How’s that for demonstrating political will?”
He bent over the phone as if the meeting were adjourned.
“I’m signing off. We all have work to do.”
“Wait.” Natalie grabbed Bronson by the arm. “Tell him about Kuang Hua Petrochemical.”
She was remembering the haggard face of Admiral Shi bent over a cup of tea.
Bronson stared at the sheet of paper she illuminated with her flashlight.
“One more thing, Paul,” he said with a perturbed frown. “I need to pass some potentially important information on to you. Please direct it to Eli Shaw, one of our ‘friends’ in Beijing. It seems that the Taiwan military is mixed up in buying companies in China. It seems Eli needs to know which company’s stocks they’re buying. Write this down. Have him look into Kuang Hua Petrochemical. I remember them well. Huge plant down by the Huang Pu. Real blue chip stock.”
He straightened his back.
“You bet. We’ve got a crack team here. You can count on us.”
He frowned, looked around the room and tossed the phone down.
“Why are you still here?” he growled, more irritated than angry.
She turned off her flashlight. “I wanted to make sure you got the message through.”
“It’s a shot in the dark and you know it. We’ve got far more important business to conduct here.”
“Unless…” she said.
“Unless what?”
“Unless I’m right, of course.”
He slumped into a chair. “If you’re right, it’s only through pure chance. How can you be so damned sure of yourself? Or are you just covering up for your speech?”
“It’s because Mick and Alec stumbled upon something.”
“So you’re running the CIA station these days?”
“I wish.”
“So who do you think is behind all this?” he asked.
She looked up through the shattered roof. Hundreds of stars had emerged over the blacked-out city.
“Could be anybody out there.”
Chapter 28
President Charles Damon entered the White House’s underground situation room with a snap in his stride. A quick glance around the table assured him that his entire national security team had beat the morning rush hour.
Grim-faced, Zenia Armbruster was the first to greet him, then Park Bunker, the young secretary of defense, along with several generals.
Vic Padesco stood cradling a cup of coffee. Behind him, several National Security Council staffers waited expectantly. By the thickness of the stacks of briefing papers they were holding, he could tell they had been up all night.
His economic advisor, Houston Folly, was a tall, reed-thin man with gray tufts of hair around an enormous, otherwise bald head.
Lastly, Hugh Gutman, head of the CIA, seemed desperate for the president to take a seat so that he could drop his corpulent body into a chair.
The president took his seat at the far end of the long, walnut conference table, and the others took their seats.
“I think we all know why we’re here this morning,” he began. “A lot has happened while our nation lay sleeping. Last night when I went to bed, China was taking advantage of a diplomatic faux pas on our part.” With that he looked pointedly at Zenia Armbruster, who returned his look like an unyielding stone wall.
He went on. “The Chinese applauded the ‘change in American thinking,’ welcomed Taiwan into ‘the motherland,’ and announced a military operation called Summer Wind designed to mount an invasion of Taiwan.” He looked at Park Bunker, a fellow aviator, who nodded in confirmation. “So we’ve got a military situation.”
He continued. “In the middle of the night, Vic wakes me up with news that an earthquake has struck the island during the middle of a super typhoon. If it rains, it pours.”
Nobody laughed.
“So now we’ve got a humanitarian situation.”
Houston Folly cleared his throat and said, “Both a military and a humanitarian situation, sir.”
“Then, this morning I receive this message at my breakfast table.” He waved a slip of paper in the air. “It’s a transmission from the American Institute in Taiwan informing us that the earthquake was deliberately triggered by an atomic bomb.”
Hugh Gutman grunted. “Our man was investigating the tectonic plate when a bomb went off. We don’t know who set it off, but there’s a lot of hanky-panky going on between the two militaries over some illegal investments in China.”
“So now this becomes a case for the detectives among us,” the president said with a dissatisfied grimace. “Somebody has opened Pandora’s box. This is now a situation for all of us and none of us. We all have a part to play, but if we don’t know who’s at fault, we’re just going to stand around waiting for our cues. As for me, my role is to inform Congress of the threat to the security of Taiwan, and frankly I don’t know what to say.”
All eyes turned to the president’s national security advisor.
Vic Padesco took a sip from his coffee mug, thought for a moment and said, “I assume you have all read the Taiwan Relations Act that I sent you. You can tell from that law that we’re committed to the security of Taiwan, using whatever means necessary.”
Voices around the table grumbled.
The president was furious. “Has anyone here ever been to Taiwan?”
There was no response.
“Well, let me paint you a picture. The place is like a 51st state. They love America. We blocked a Communist Chinese invasion in 1950, we bailed them out of their hardship and famine, we supported their government as long as we could at the United Nations and we’ve been a friend ever since. Their entire Cabinet holds PhDs from elite U.S. universities, a better educated bunch than we have in this room, I dare say. I’m not about to surrender them to China. I’ll personally address a joint session of Congress if necessary to get the American people behind this.”
Vic picked up the ball. “I think that provides clear direction for all of us. We need to proceed along several tracks. First and foremost, we need to administer to the needs of our own personnel in Taiwan. Thereafter, we need to ship humanitarian aid to the island. Meanwhile, we need to fully investigate the illegal investment connection. And we need to talk tough with China.”
Zenia Armbruster finally seemed to lock into the conversation. “The Chinese seem to be the aggressors here. We can call in their ambassador or send a diplomatic note. Deliver a strongly worded message.”
“It’s too late for messages,” the president said. “Messages didn’t stop Saddam Hussein. We need action.”
“We need facts,” Gutman corrected him, his flesh wobbling as he jabbed the table. “Our men are looking for evidence of either collusion between the militaries or some sort of foul play. It just isn’t clear who’s behind this, and I don’t want to scrap our hard-won relations with China just because we smell a rat.”
Park Bunker spoke up. “China announced that they assume the United States has relinquished its defense of Taiwan. And they’re launching Operation Summer Wind. That smells like a rat to me.”
“They’ve talked tough before,” Gutman asserted. “Held military operations on the strait every year for decades. It’s just that this time, everyone is blowing our diplomatic misstatement out of proportion.”
The president bowed his head. “That’s what I don’t understand about this. Was this a tinderbox ready to ignite, or are we talking about foul play? I need to know. I can’t accuse China without hard evidence, but I can hear the clock ticking. Park, how soon before the Chinese could launch an invasion?”
“They could land ships within six hours, but a full-scale invasion would take at least twenty-four hours at the soonest.”
“That doe
sn’t give us much time. I’ll give everyone at this table twenty-four hours to come up with a decent explanation. We’ll meet again this time tomorrow and react appropriately. If we don’t have anything definitive, I’ll give it to the Chinese with both barrels.”
The room sat in stunned silence.
“What should we do about Congress?” Vic said at last.
“Draft me a press release. I’m calling a press conference in two hours. I’ll tell the Congress, the American people and the Chinese all at once that we’ve got battleships steaming toward Taiwan to bring in military and humanitarian support.”
“The Chinese will see this as an act of aggression,” Zenia protested. She pointed to the Taiwan Relations Act. “Taiwan is part of China. We say so ourselves.”
“But the people of Taiwan are our responsibility, too.” The president pounded a fist onto the table. He turned to Zenia. “If you want diplomatic cover, just call this a humanitarian mission.”
He stood up and surveyed the room.
“Everybody, let’s move.”
Mick’s headlights fell on a glistening wall of vines.
“We’re stopping here.”
He was absolutely exhausted. He had survived a killer typhoon and a deadly earthquake, carried an old man through a jungle, pushed a car up a mountain and put up with a sophomoric scientist for far too long.
“Where are we?” Morisot asked.
“It’s a guest house. Belongs to AIT.”
He rolled to a stop at a red metal gate and turned off the engine. “We’ll spend the night here and continue in the morning.”
“I can’t spend the night here. I’m already a day late.”
“Late for what?”
“I’ve got to deliver my report.”
Mick sighed. “There probably isn’t a single phone line, fax machine or airplane active on the entire island anymore.”
Morisot seemed incapable of understanding, as if on principle alone.
“I’ll try the car phone,” he said.
“Go right ahead,” Mick said. He stepped outside. “Come in if you want or stay out here. I don’t care.”
“I don’t understand. Aren’t we close to the city?”
“Not close enough.” He summoned up one more ounce of strength to explain. “This side of the mountain is forested. Roadways will be strewn with fallen trees and downed power lines. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way, and I don’t want to risk that at night.”
He stood still for a moment, a light drizzle clearing his thoughts. He tried to visualize the city below.
Once standing in her white negligee on the guesthouse’s porch, Natalie had called out the names of streets from the distinct grid: Brotherhood, Longevity, Peace.
There were no streetlights left to see. Even if the mist dissipated, all they’d see below would be isolated pockets of raging fire.
Not an amp of power would be available to illuminate the havoc besieging the city. Ruptured gas lines would have sparked innumerable fires. Water mains would have burst, and fire hydrants long since run dry.
Morisot still sat resolutely in the car.
Forget him.
Mick reached over the six-foot-high gate and flipped the latch.
The car’s springs creaked behind him.
Morisot huffed and struggled out of his seat. He reached behind him and pulled out his bags. Like a moth unfolding its damp wings, he emerged from the cocoon.
“We’ll try the phone later,” Morisot said.
Mick ducked under the gate and started down the uneven flagstone steps. The house lay in darkness twenty feet below.
At the bottom of the steps, he leaned a shoulder against the front door and lifted the knob. The wooden door creaked and swung open.
He held it open for Morisot.
“Shoes off,” he said.
“Go to hell.” Morisot stepped in and immediately slipped on the wooden floor. “Wrenched my back.”
Mick removed his wet loafers and stepped around the puddles left by Morisot.
The scientist began flipping a light switch.
“You won’t find any electricity tonight. So here’s the general layout of the house.”
He heard Morisot shuffle ahead of him, followed by the smack of his forehead against wood.
“That’s the first feature. Low doorframes. This house was built by the Japanese half a century ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Kitchen on your left. Might find a book of matches there. Behind that is a bathroom. Watch out for the pit on the far wall. It’s a tub that runs water from a hot spring.”
“I could use a bath.”
“On your right is a bedroom with tatami mats.”
Morisot groaned.
“That’s followed by a large living room. Again, watch out for low doorways.”
“I’m a quick learner.”
“Off the living room you’ll find sliding glass and screen doors that open onto a covered porch.”
“I hear wind,” Morisot said.
“Windows might be broken. Don’t step on any glass.”
“Can’t we cover the windows?”
“Go ahead, if you can find a way,” Mick said.
Morisot dumped his bags on the floor and scratched his head. “Smells like a campground.” He immediately began propping tatami mats against broken windows.
Mick found a match, lit a newspaper and stuffed it under some logs in the fireplace. He opened a can of pork and beans and placed it beside the fire.
“Is this all you’ve got?” Morisot asked, joining him.
Several minutes later, the food was warming both men’s bellies.
As soon as he tried the radiophone once more, Mick would jump into a dry bed for the night.
He left Morisot testing the hot tub and ventured back outside into a fine mountain drizzle.
Shivering, he jumped into the car. His fingers shook as he tried to place a call. Although he got a dial tone, most city numbers gave him a busy tone. International numbers rang with no answer. He couldn’t even reach an operator.
He got the message.
He returned to the guesthouse, removed his wet shirt and pants and laid them over the back of a chair.
Morisot tossed a blanket his way. “Reach anybody?”
“Couldn’t get through.”
Mick leaned over the fire. Flames flickered when raindrops landed on the logs.
Morisot was still full of questions. “So do you suppose the city is ruined?”
Mick would rather not contemplate the pandemonium underway several miles away.
“As bad as San Francisco in 1906?”
“Yeah, but that was a natural disaster.”
“Isn’t this?” Morisot studied him closely. “It’s just Mother Nature at her most bitchy.”
“Have you ever heard of a earthquake striking at the same time as a typhoon? What are the odds of that happening in nature?”
Morisot shrugged. “I’m not an expert on this region.”
“Then there’s something else that’s bothering me,” Mick said. “I heard the air raid warning several minutes before the earthquake struck. That tells me someone knew the earthquake was coming and sounded the alarm to warn the city.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Morisot said, as if breaking disappointing news.
“All right. Let’s forget about it,” Mick said. “Tell me about rhino horns.” He lay back and found a satisfactory position on a mat.
“Somehow I don’t think you’re interested in rhino horns.”
The phone woke Johnny Ouyang from his sleep.
He twisted in his empty bed and switched on a reading lamp. “Wei?”
It was a dirty line, full of hissing and static.
At first, he thought it was Odette trying to place a ship-to-shore call during the typhoon. Then he finally made out the voice. It was André.
“Johnny, it’s me.”
“Yes, André.”
“Did you get the general’s signature?”
The line was interrupted by more static.
“Yes. The letter arrived this afternoon,” Johnny said. “I’ve also got records of the transactions from the general’s account. That’s enough to blackmail him.”
He heard a few more words. Something about phone lines being down and flights being canceled.
“It must be chaos over there. The bomb went off perfectly during the middle of the typhoon.”
The line went dead.
Johnny scratched his head. Sometimes he wondered if he was dealing with an idiot savant.
He reached for a pen and notepad and jotted down a reminder to himself.
The next morning, he would print out a record of the transfer from the general’s holding account at HongkongBank to the twenty accounts scattered around China. And he would staple that to the general’s authorization signature.
The evidence was more explosive than the earthquake.
Natalie lay in her business suit on the waterlogged carpet. Even though the political office was dark, she couldn’t close her eyes.
She had been to the Chihnan Temple in Mucha once before. It was built precariously on the side of a hill. Even if the structure didn’t collapse, it was highly unlikely that Mick could make it back to the city any time soon.
Images of different scenarios for Mick flashed through her mind. None of them good.
Then there was Alec.
His chances of survival were even slimmer. He would have had to survive an atomic blast, then the ensuing earthquake. He was probably indoors in a hotel at the epicenter of the quake. Even if he were outdoors, a full force typhoon had been underway and possibly a tidal wave.
Did Orchid Island even exist any longer? Supposing he survived the blast, the earthquake, the storm and the waves, images of Hiroshima victims came to mind. Radiation was the final killer.
But she had survived. And Alec and Mick were big boys who had survived plenty of harrowing experiences before. Orchid Island was a large landmass that could shield Alec from the blast and probably wouldn’t wash away. As for Mick, he was lucky to be out of the city.
