by James Rosone
Bridges looked at Nigel. “Can you see if you can get permission to share what you’re seeing on that computer with the NSA? Maybe having a second set of eyes on it will help us connect some additional dots.”
Nigel nodded and said he’d work to get them access.
Turning to look at the others in the room, Bridges announced, “Everyone needs to start looking at what else China is currently doing. Are they deploying any military units to potential hot zones? Have they made any new military agreements or defense pacts? Are they doing anything suspicious in the financial realm or placing any odd orders for resources? Let’s see if we can’t find a few more pieces to this puzzle to help us figure out what’s really going on.”
*******
White House
Oval Office
Washington, D.C.
Vice President Victoria “Vickie” Jackson wasn’t sure what this meeting was about; President Alton had been super evasive about the reason for her coming to see him, and he had been very specific that even her aides would not be allowed to attend.
The President appeared worse off than she had ever seen him—she couldn’t tell if he was about to throw up or if he was just nervous about something. In either case, he looked like hell.
“OK, Frank, it’s just you and me,” said Vickie. “What’s with all the cloak-and-dagger stuff?” she pressed.
President Alton tried to grab at the glass of water on his desk, but his hand was shaking, and he nearly spilled it on himself. He sighed. “This…this is exactly what the problem is,” he said.
“You’re going to have to be more specific, Frank,” said Vickie. She always shot straight from the hip—it was one of the things that the President said he liked about her.
“I’m not going to run for reelection,” Alton announced.
“What?” she asked, taken aback.
“I expect your full discretion with this, but I was just diagnosed with ALS two weeks ago.” The words hung in the air with the weight of a sack of bricks. No one said anything for a moment. “They are treating me, obviously, and so far, my symptoms are mostly isolated in my hands. I could have two years, I could have five, or I could be like Stephen Hawking and live another fifty years—I don’t know. But I do know that I just didn’t feel right about running again with this hanging over me.”
“Frank, I’m sorry,” was all Vickie could muster.
“Well, don’t be too sorry. I want you to run,” Alton urged. “This is your time, Vickie.”
“I, uh…,” she stammered.
“We’ll come up with the usual ‘I need to spend more time with my family’ rigamarole, but when we announce that I’m stepping back, I want you to be ready to carry the torch, you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said the Vice President. She sat straighter in her chair. This wasn’t how she wanted to come to this role, but she would rise to the challenge.
Chapter Twelve
Project Chengdu
January 2024
Port of Mariel, Cuba
The port manager, Esteban Ochoa, stood on the platform as the sun continued its climb into the morning sky; he wanted nothing more right now than a fresh cup of coffee and another cigarette. The speech being given by the representative from the China Ocean Shipping Company, otherwise known as COSCO, was dragging on far too long. The man’s Spanish was terrible. It was obvious he’d learned the language in Spain, as he spoke with the unmistakable Spanish lisp that drove non-Spaniards nuts.
Great, it’s that bloviating idiot from the Party’s turn to speak next, Esteban thought.
The man, Ortega Ramírez, was the Communist Party boss for Mariel. He was also the brother-in-law to the new leader of Cuba, so he held a lot of sway in the city of Mariel. Ortega was generally a nice man and meant well—Esteban had to give him that, especially since he’d managed to get the government to double everyone’s salary at the port. But Ortega was long-winded and tended to be too preachy about the Party.
Ortega took the center of the stage. “My fellow Cubans, the opening of this new port facility will bring new economic prosperity and opportunities to the people of Mariel and Cuba. When our communist brothers in the Soviet Union lost the people’s war to the capitalists, it was like a dagger to the heart. Our nation suffered greatly during the Special Period, when we were abandoned by our communist brothers in Europe. Yet we chose to stick together during this turbulent time in history. We did not surrender ourselves to the capitalists or those fascist Yankee pigs. Neither did our communist brothers, the Chinese.”
Some applause broke out at the mention of the Chinese. Many thousands of Chinese had settled in Mariel and had dumped a lot of money into the local economy.
Ortega continued. “China, like our communist brothers in Vietnam, has continued to thrive despite all of the attempts by the West to change them into a capitalist country. I am proud of our deepening ties with our Chinese brothers and sisters as they teach us to model our economic system on their own—one that benefits the people and the state while not introducing the immoral trappings of the West and their bankrupt system. I am proud to stand here today as we open the newest and largest port in Cuba. I am also proud of the work everyone has done these past few years, working tirelessly to build this new facility.
“I would now like to introduce my friend, and port manager, Mr. Esteban Ochoa,” Ortega said to the clapping and even cheering of some of the port workers.
Esteban stepped up to the podium and looked at the faces of the men and women standing before him. These were his workers, his people.
“Today is a great day. Today, we officially open the new port facilities. It has been a long four years as we labored to get this new facility built, but the wait is now over. Today, the Port of Mariel will be able to service six times the number of ships and cargo per year as before this project started. I want to personally thank our new leader, Diego Ventura, for increasing the pay of all Cubans as the government moves to improve the lives of us all; our dearly beloved First Secretary, who has left us in better shape than when he came into power, Salvador Mesa-Díaz; and finally, I thank my friend Mr. Ortega Ramírez, who fought to increase the wages of every worker at the port above and beyond what the First Secretary announced. Mr. Ramírez profoundly changed the lives of everyone for the better by pursuing this with our new leader. Now, let’s go enjoy some coffee and refreshments before we start our first shift in this new port facility.”
Music played as the people moved to the tents and helped themselves at tables filled with food and drink.
“Esteban, that was a great speech, my friend. Why don’t you come for a short walk with me? I have someone I want to introduce you to,” Ortega said jovially as he motioned for Esteban to head away from the crowd.
A fit-looking Chinese man and a couple of soldiers from the Ministry of Interior walked toward Esteban’s office.
“What’s happening, Ortega? Everything all right?” Esteban asked.
“Everything is fine, my friend. No problems. There are some people who want to talk with us,” Ortega answered.
When the two of them entered the brand-new office space, the Chinese man introduced himself.
“Hello, Esteban. I was told you are the port manager. I want to talk to you about some sensitive items that will start arriving at the port very soon,” the Chinese man said.
Esteban knew enough to nod in agreement and go along to get along. Especially with what he suspected were two members of the Special Group present. One could lose one’s job—or, worse, go missing—if one said the wrong thing to the wrong person in Cuba. Special Group was the militant arm of the secret police and only answered to the secret police and the First Secretary himself.
“I understand. How can I be of assistance, and what can I do to make sure things go smoothly for you?” Esteban inquired happily.
The Chinese man smiled as he replied, “Excellent, I knew I could count on you. There will be a lot of freighters and cargo ships coming in
to the port from China. On occasion, there will be some specialized military equipment arriving. When that happens, some soldiers from Special Group will arrive to help provide security for the cargo and escort it to where it’s going. All I need from you is some help in making sure only a few trusted people are involved in the transfer of the cargo from the ships to the trucks or rail as needed. Can we count on you for your discretion and help?”
Not missing a beat, Esteban quickly replied, “Of course. I am always glad to serve my country when and where I can. Let me know when these shipments are arriving, and I’ll make sure to have a trusted crew of men ready to handle it.”
With nothing more to be said, the Chinese man and the two soldiers left and headed toward the parking lot.
Ortega shrugged when Esteban gave him a look that said, What was that all about?
“Come, my friend. Let’s get ourselves some coffee and a pastry. Today is a day to celebrate. This is day one of the economic revival of our country,” Ortega said jovially.
*******
Palace of the Revolution
Havana, Cuba
The newly sworn-in First Secretary Diego Ventura smiled as he greeted his guest.
“Minister Han, it is a true pleasure to see you. Thank you again for your kind words when I was sworn in as the new head of Cuba and all the fine work the People’s Republic of China has done for our nation.”
Minister Han smiled as the two shook hands. “No, thank you, First Secretary Ventura, for hosting this Latin American summit.”
“I am humbled that you would ask Cuba to host such an important gathering,” Ventura replied. “Your government has done more to help the people’s cause and struggle in Latin America than the Yankees to the north of us.”
“Please, can we go someplace quiet to talk? I have some information I would like to share with you,” Han asked.
Sensing Han’s nervousness, Ventura motioned for the two of them to head up to his private study, a small room off his office, which he routinely had swept for listening devices. It was his quiet oasis and place to think.
After the two entered the study, they took a seat in the overstuffed leather chairs.
Han began, “Mr. First Secretary, I needed to talk with you privately, so things do not come as a surprise to you or catch you off guard. As you know, my country has been in a protracted trade war with the United States, which will finally come to an end in the coming weeks when President Yao signs a new trade deal with the American president. Whatever you may hear or think about this trade deal, you need to understand that it is the first of many steps our country will be taking to supplant the Americans as the dominant economic and military power in the world.”
Ventura smiled. “Minister Han, this sounds like good news. Why would I be surprised or concerned? Is there something more I should know about or be prepared for?”
Minister Han didn’t smile. “There is. Part of our strategy against the West, and in particular the Americans, is to go after their economy. Unfortunately, in the process of doing so, there will be collateral damage. Many nations will be hurt by what will happen next. In fact, many people may end up dying from it as well. However, I can assure you it will not be the end of the world.”
Ventura’s smile left his face. “Minister Han, how badly will this affect Cuba and our people?” he pressed.
Han looked away and stared out the window for the moment. He didn’t say anything right away. Finally, he turned back to Ventura.
“When this next phase starts, it will affect your trade with Europe. Since you do not have any trade with America, that will not be as much of a problem for you. However, it may become harder for you to acquire imports for many months.”
“How many months, and what kind of imports?” Ventura demanded.
“I suspect it’ll affect international trade for six to twelve months,” Minister Han advised. “As to what kind of imports, that depends on what you are importing and what you need. We have helped Cuba meet its energy needs. We have also established a series of trade routes to both export your natural resources back to China and import finished products to Cuba. That trade will not be affected by what’s to come. I recommend that whatever you do need to import from other sources, you make sure you have enough to last for up to a year.”
“Can you share with me what is about to happen so I can better prepare my people and government to handle it?” Ventura inquired.
Han shook his head slowly. “Not right now. When things begin to happen, I will be able to share with you what is going on. China will help make sure Cuba is taken care of and then seen as a leader in the region. This will help to boost your standing in Latin America against the Americans.”
Ventura nodded. “Is this why you have traveled here personally to speak with me?”
“It is,” Han replied. “I need us both on the same page for our plan to work. Things will get turbulent for a period of time before they get better. What I can tell you is, once this is done, the Americans will no longer be oppressing Cuba or the rest of the world.”
Chapter Twelve
The Plan
February 2024
Oxford, England
When Professor Hank Iverson had finished his meal in the main dining hall of Christ Church, he turned to his former student. “Dan, I’m so glad you were able to come and speak at the symposium on machine learning. Your insights into how this is being used in the commercial space were incredible. I think you inspired many new students to enter the field.”
Dan blushed at the high praise. He liked Professor Iverson. Despite not seeing each other for many years after he’d left for Carnegie Mellon, they’d rekindled their friendship over the last few years.
“I’m glad I was of some help. I was a bit disappointed Dr. Xi wasn’t able to attend. He truly is a brilliant man in this field.”
“Not trying to bring up a touchy subject or anything, Dan, but I was hoping I might be able to ask you some questions about China. You’re one of the few people I know who has straddled both sides by having lived and gone to university in the West and then returned to China.” Professor Iverson leaned forward. “Do you believe the social credit program might be going a bit too far?” he asked softly. “Shouldn’t people have autonomy to believe what they want without the government manipulating that?”
Dan reached for his wineglass and finished it off. He looked around and then back at Iverson. “Perhaps there is a more private place we could talk.”
The professor nodded and guided them off the stage at the front of the dining hall where the professors sat during mealtimes. He led them through a side door that took them behind the dining hall to a private library the faculty often used. It had a number of leather chairs, couches, and tables. The walls were covered with ancient oil paintings and bookshelves with equally old books.
Iverson poured each of them a bourbon and brought the bottle and two glasses over to a table between two chairs. Dan sat down and took a swig before he answered. “I get what you’re asking, Hank, and while I don’t disagree with you on many of those points, let me ask you this. Are we truly living in the kind of society we want? Is it possible to create a better world and country if we can control the narrative and condition people to accept certain actions and behaviors over others?”
Iverson sat back in his chair for a moment, pondering that. It was a very big question. “Perhaps, but let me ask you this, Dan—who gets to decide what that narrative is? Who gets to determine what people should see or believe? What kind of society would we be creating if we took away people’s ability to make independent decisions?”
“We create a better, more civilized society, Hank—a society run by those with the education and knowledge to understand what’s best for the people,” Dan countered.
His former professor smiled wryly. “Perhaps, but how do we know that the motives of those leaders are good? That becomes the age-old question.”
“That’s why we remove that issue from
the equation and allow a machine to make that decision. We provide it with the parameters of what we want society to look like and how we want people to behave and respond, and then we let it begin the process of conditioning people via laws, policies, television, movies, books, and social media to create that society.”
“And what do we do when that machine finally determines we humans are the problem and it moves to eliminate us from the equation altogether? Then what?” countered Iverson.
“This isn’t Skynet,” Dan said with a laugh. “That’s not possible if you build in the right safety protocols.”
There was a short pause. Iverson took a drink of his bourbon. “Dan, at the risk of our friendship, I need to ask you something very serious.”
Dan tilted his head to one side but didn’t say anything.
“Do you honestly believe President Yao, who is now effectively the president for life, is going to use Jade Dragon for the good of mankind and not as a tool or weapon to make China the most powerful nation on earth?”
Without thinking, Dan quickly countered, “Jade Dragon is doing enormous amounts of good for the world. It’s already helped us develop a reasonable plan to address climate change and streamlined our economy to a point where we’re not wasting resources on products that simply are not needed. It’s working on solving some of the toughest energy problems of our times.”
“I’m not saying there aren’t good things coming from it,” said Iverson. “What I’m saying is that the men at the top, the ones who control it, may not have the best of intentions for how it will be used and implemented.”
Dan suddenly realized Iverson knew about Jade Dragon and that he had mentioned it out loud himself. He grabbed for his glass of bourbon and downed it. Reaching for the bottle, he refilled his glass all the way to the brim and then drank half of it down before he looked at his old teacher.
