Wherever Seeds May Fall (First Contact)

by Peter Cawdron

  The medics have dozens of questions for Kath and Nolan. There are questions about their families, what day it is, who’s the President, and what they had to eat this morning. In between, they’re asked to flex one foot and then another, raise one arm and then another, and roll their neck gently to the side. Kath gets it—they’re assessing their mental state as much as their physical well-being.

  Several police cars pull up, establishing an outer cordon. One of the cops talks briefly with Nolan and then organizes the others. A couple of uniformed officers tape off the area around the dented Buick. Radios squawk with indecipherable chatter.

  Kath shivers. A space blanket is wrapped over her shoulders, but it’s her legs that are cold. The medic attending to her is a young woman barely in her twenties. She notices a slight tremor in Kath’s fingers and says, “Would you like something to help you relax?”

  Kath’s reply is instant, bordering on aggressive with a decisive, “No!”

  “You’ve got some minor bruising, but no major injuries,” the medic says. Kath nods, not wanting to make conversation. She’s trying to hear what’s being said over by the other EMS vehicle. That medic has removed Nolan’s jacket and shirt. He drapes them over the railing of a medical gurney in the back of his ambulance. Blue and black welts have formed on Nolan’s right shoulder, reaching across his chest. Blood seeps from beneath a bandage wrapped around his forehead.

  With gloved hands, the medic presses lightly against each of Nolan’s ribs, watching as he grimaces.

  “You’ve got a concussion and a couple of broken ribs. As for your shoulder, I think you popped it out and straight back in again. It’s going to be sore for a while.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Nolan says.

  “You’ll be fine once we get you to the hospital,” the medic replies, wrapping a compression bandage around Nolan’s chest.

  Nolan lifts his arms as the medic unrolls the bandage, saying, “I ain’t going nowhere.”

  The medic shakes his head but doesn’t respond. He finishes and pulls a space blanket over Nolan’s shoulders.

  Nolan’s hands are shaking, but Kath’s pretty sure that’s not from the cold. He breathes deeply, calming himself. Vapor forms as he exhales.

  “I’ll get you something for the pain,” the medic says.

  “I’m—”

  “Don’t,” the medic replies, holding a single gloved finger out and cutting him off. There’s only so far bravado goes. It seems even Nolan knows when he’s beat.

  A black SUV pulls up with red and blue lights flashing on the dash, adding to the kaleidoscope of colors bouncing around them. A bunch of suits jump out. They look around the intersection and talk to the cops before walking over. Several of them begin examining the car and the burnt-out phone. The principal agent approaches Nolan. It seems they know each other.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Been better,” Nolan says. “Have you got anything?”

  “The decoy got away. Drove his car off a pier and had us scrambling, thinking you guys were still strapped in the back. We’ve got Metro Harbor Patrol scouring the channel looking for him. Coast Guard is joining the search. The tide is expected to pull him down the Potomac. We’ll get him.”

  “And our driver?”

  “He was picked up about ten minutes ago. A patrol car caught him hiding in a dumpster about four blocks from here.”

  “Good.”

  “Listen, I’ve arranged for you to be taken to Walter Reed. You’ll have a full security detail.”

  Nolan shakes his head. “Not happening. We need to speak to the President.”

  We?

  That gets Kath’s attention.

  From her perspective, she’s excess baggage. There’s nothing she can add to the discussion beyond what Nolan already knows. Even so, it’s nice to be included. He wants her there for her insights, not her recollection of facts.

  “You want to see the President—right now?” the agent asks.

  Nolan nods, looking over at Kath for support. She acknowledges him, understanding the gravity of what just happened.

  The agent hesitates, “Sir, I’m not sure I—”

  “Can you get McGuire on the line?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The agent talks with the President’s Chief of Staff and then hands the phone to Nolan. In the quiet beneath the bridge, Kath can hear what’s being said on the call.

  “Jesus, Nolan. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, been better.”

  “What the hell happened?” McGuire asks.

  “Can’t discuss this over the phone. We need to talk to the President.”

  There it is again, Kath notes. We.

  “Well, she’s here. Secret Service flew her back from Camp David as soon as they heard about what happened. They’re locking us down. POTUS is in the Situation Room with the Joint Chiefs. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but they ID’d your driver. He’s a Chinese foreign national with links to embassy staff. POTUS is furious. She wants heads on a goddamn platter.”

  “Bring us in,” Nolan says. “We can help.”

  “Okay, will do. Can you put Williams back on?”

  Nolan hands him the phone, and the agent walks away, keeping the conversation private. A train passes over the bridge, shaking the railway ties. Snow cascades through the night. Kath pulls a blanket over her head, watching as the sudden snowfall settles. Nolan shakes his space blanket, handing it to the medic. He grabs his bloodied shirt from the gurney. Doing up the buttons, though, takes considerable effort. The medic is not impressed.

  “You should go to the hospital.”

  “I know,” Nolan says, putting on his torn coat. His shoulder must be hurting as he eases his arms into the sleeves.

  The medic persists. “You could have internal bleeding. You took one hell of a hit to the head. I really think you should have a cranial scan. You could have swelling around the brain. There could be blood clotting or any number of other unseen injuries.”

  Nolan pats him on the shoulder as he says, “Got it.”

  “This isn’t a game, general.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” he says, hobbling after Agent Williams. Nolan holds his hand out for Kath, helping her to her feet. She too feels stiff. Sitting there in the cold has caused her muscles to seize.

  “We’re good to go,” Williams says.

  The back of the SUV is warm. Lights flicker past as they drive through the streets of Washington, DC.

  For Kath, the streetlights slowly blur, becoming more indistinct with each passing moment. She nods off to sleep, waking only as the driver’s window is lowered and cold air swirls within the cabin. They’re at a security checkpoint outside the White House.

  McGuire is waiting for them in the portico leading to the West Wing. He takes them through security and downstairs, coming to a halt before the Situation Room.

  “Have a seat.”

  McGuire disappears into the room. Less than a minute later, he comes out, saying, “They’re ready for you, general.”

  Instinctively, they both get to their feet. McGuire holds his hand out, signaling for Kath to wait outside the room, but Nolan says, “Oh, no. She’s with me all the way.”

  McGuire swallows a lump in his throat and nods, standing to one side as they open the door. The President is in full swing, yelling as they enter.

  “—don’t care if you have to take the Executive Office apart brick by goddamn brick. I want to know how the hell a foreign agent infiltrated our grounds!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” is the reply over the speakerphone. On seeing them enter, the President ends the call. She flicks the button to hang up without so much as a goodbye.

  “Nolan,” she says, getting to her feet and rushing around the broad meeting table to greet them. To Kath’s surprise, she hugs each of them. It’s not an embrace so much as taking each of them by the shoulders and leaning in gently. “Kath. Oh, I’m so sorry. This should have never happened.”

  The wat
ch officer says, “Ma’am, we have an unidentified cellular device in the room.”

  “Ah,” Kath says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone. “Sorry, that’s me.”

  Another officer stationed by the door steps forward. He reaches for her phone. Nolan cuts him off, holding out his hand and gesturing for him to wait.

  “Ma’am. You’re going to want to hear what’s on that phone.”

  The President nods and the soldier steps back.

  The Situation Room is covered in wooden panels. Flat-screen televisions adorn the walls. Several of them are active. On screen, those members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff not physically present sit with their aides beside them. Kath doesn’t recognize most of them, but she knows Admiral Jacobsen.

  “Please, have a seat,” the President says. “Do you need anything? Something to eat? To drink?”

  Both Kath and Nolan wave her away, not wanting to be the center of attention.

  “You should be in the hospital,” the President says.

  Nolan grins. “Yeah, I should.”

  “Okay,” the President says, getting down to business. “We’ve ID’d your abductor as Captain Wei Hunan of the Chinese Ministry of State Security. I’ve summoned the ambassador and—”

  “Ma’am,” Nolan says, somewhat reluctant to interrupt. Kath has no idea where he’s going to start or how he will explain what just happened. The incident is still a whirlwind in her mind. He continues with, “If I may—the Chinese are pulling out of the Spratly Islands in the South China Sea.”

  Succinct. Kath likes it.

  Before the President can respond, Admiral Jacobsen blurts out, “How does he know?” Rather than facing the camera, the admiral turns sideways. He addresses one of his aides, asking, “How does he always know?”

  “The Spratly Islands?” the President asks as Nolan laughs, clutching at his sore ribs.

  “It’s not what you think,” he says. Nolan’s trying to address the admiral but the President interrupts. She thinks the comment’s directed at her.

  “And what do I think?”

  “Our kidnapping,” Nolan says. “It wasn’t supposed to be violent. They were trying to get a message to you outside of formal channels. They wanted a backdoor.”

  “And the Spratly Islands?” the President asks, confused.

  “Kath,” Nolan says, “Could you play the recording?”

  Kath fiddles with her phone. Nolan clarifies. “They’re worried about the Russians. The Chinese feel they can’t be seen supporting America. They’re worried about internal optics, but they want us to know they’ll stand with us if hostilities break out.”

  “And?” the President says.

  “And they offered us anything we wanted as proof. They suggested a bunch of things. Changing currency exchange rates, stuff like that.”

  “And you asked for the Spratly Islands?” the President says, raising an eyebrow in genuine surprise.

  “Yeah. I figured it’s overt. It’s something that hurts their strategic position. I thought, if they’re willing to surrender those, we’ll know they’re genuine.”

  Without saying anything, the President turns and looks at her Chief of Staff. He shrugs, raising his eyebrows. She leans across the table, tapping at the wood in front of Nolan. “Next time you feel like negotiating on behalf of the United States of America, you bleed them dry. You take everything that’s on offer. Is that understood?”

  Nolan nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. The President laughs, adding, “Well done.”

  “Taiwanese independence would have been nice,” the Chief of Staff says, “but I’ll settle for the Spratly Islands.”

  Kath says, “It’s all here in the recording.”

  “Good, good,” the President says. “Let’s hear it.”

  Kath turns up the volume and brightness on her phone. The battery level is low, but it only needs to last a couple of minutes. She sets the phone in the middle of the table, facing upward, and presses play.

  The President and her Chief of Staff stand, leaning forward on the table and peering down at the phone. Kath feels as though she should push it closer, but they could grab it if they want. As it is, it’s quite close to the speakerphone transmitting to the rest of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The view on the screen is erratic. Disorienting. Wind rushes over the microphone, making it difficult to distinguish individual words.

  “I am sorry for any discomfort you may have endured.”

  The President points at the screen. The illuminated pizza sign is visible over Nolan’s shoulder. She looks at Kath, who shrugs, not wanting to talk over the recording. As Nolan held both phones next to each other, the two of them appear looking down at the screen from either side. It’s as though they’re posing for the cover of some dystopian folk band album. A tremor runs through Nolan’s hand, shaking the image. Sirens sound in the distance.

  As the recording comes to an end, the President repeats one phrase.

  “We will side with the eagle, not the bear.”

  McGuire points at the now blackened phone screen, saying, “I mean, if it wasn’t for this, I wouldn’t believe it.”

  They take their seats.

  “What confirmation do we have?” the President asks.

  Admiral Jacobsen brings up an image on the screen behind him. Azure blue waters surround an island lagoon. There’s a runway and a bunch of buildings on a thin strip of land, along with several ships anchored offshore.

  “Roughly half an hour ago, we picked up an increase in radio chatter. There’s considerable activity at the airfields in the Spratly Islands. This level of movement is indicative of mobilization. To our surprise, several ships have departed the region. They’re heading north, and not at a leisurely pace. The wake they’re kicking up suggests they’re under full steam.”

  The President nods, looking at Nolan. He’s tight-lipped, hiding his shaking hands beneath the desk. Kath is far more relaxed. Perhaps because, for her, this is surreal. She feels as though she’s in a dream or watching a movie. Geopolitics at this level just doesn’t seem real.

  Admiral Jacobsen says, “We’re getting notification of a formal announcement. President Xian is appearing on Chinese state television.”

  “Do we have a translation?” the President asks.

  “Yes,” the admiral says as a sheet of paper is thrust into his hand by an aide. “This is being picked up by CNN and the BBC, so it’s already well within the public domain. China is making no effort to hide its movements. If anything, they’re telegraphing them.”

  The admiral puts on a pair of reading glasses and scans the page.

  “Ah, okay, The People’s Republic of China is withdrawing all military assets from the South China Sea…

  “We are revoking our claim to the Spratly Islands…

  “In these uncertain times, there is a need for calm…

  “We are one world…

  “China calls on others to deescalate hot spots…

  “Pakistan and India…

  “Kashmir region…

  “Palestine and Israel…

  “Ukraine…

  “Unprecedented times call for vision and unity…

  “Must leave the past behind…

  “Work with the Security Council, not against each other…”

  The admiral flicks the page, saying, “More of the same.”

  “Can you send that through to me?” the President asks.

  “Sure.”

  One of the generals says, “So they’re the dove now?”

  “Are we being played?” the President asks.

  “I don’t think so,” Nolan says. “I think they see the bigger picture. And they’re worried about the madman to their north.”

  “So we have an ally?” the President asks. “A silent partner?”

  “I think so,” the admiral says.

  McGuire says, “We have to qualify this, ma’am.”

  The President seems to sense his point. Before McGuire can cont
inue, she says, “I agree. At best, this is a narrow exception to the norm. They’re not dismantling their security apparatus or holding free elections. I bet they’ve still got a small army of hackers trying to crack our institutions. They didn’t say anything about Taiwan. I doubt we’ll see them freeing the Uyghurs or backing out of Tibet. Nah, this is a national security gambit. They’re hedging their bets.”

  Kath nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. The President’s right.

  “If they help, wonderful, but we can’t rely on that,” she says. “In a pinch, I’d trust the UK and the Europeans. Canada and Australia. Not China. But, hey. Maybe I’m wrong. I’m happy to be proven wrong on this.”

  “So what do we do?” McGuire asks.

  “We play them,” the President says.

  McGuire nods. “Keep them close. See if they come through.”

  “Exactly.”

  McGuire is distracted. He looks at a notification that’s appeared on his tablet computer. “The Chinese ambassador is upstairs.”

  The President nods, lost deep in thought. She waits for a moment before saying, “Send him away.”

  “Oh, okay,” McGuire says, already on his feet and heading toward the door. “What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Sit down, Jim,” the President says. She’s not angry or forceful. If anything, her tone of voice borders on casual, almost indifferent. “It’s time to start playing the game. Tell the desk staff to let him know his presence is no longer required.”

  Damn, Kath thinks. Remind me never to play poker with the President.

  “Done,” McGuire says, sitting at the end of the table and firing off a message on his tablet.

  “We need to send a message of our own,” the President says. “What assets do we have in the region?”

  Admiral Jacobsen says, “The USS Ronald Reagan is in Guam. The USS George A. Bush is involved in exercises off the coast of Taiwan.”

  “What do you think, Admiral?” the President asks, using tact when she could force the issue. “We recall Reagan to Pearl and send Bush north to Tokyo?”

  “That would send a clear response, ma’am.”