by Jeff Edwards
The ambassador tilted his head slightly to the side. “If your experts are—as you say, expert—then I am sure that their assessments are correct. May I now ask the point of this question?”
“The point is this,” the president said. “Your military fired a ballistic missile directly over Taiwan, less than a week before the Taiwanese national election—an election in which the front-running candidate just happens to be a strong proponent of Taiwanese independence. The missile in question is designed solely for offensive nuclear strikes. You have to admit, that sounds an awful lot like deliberate intimidation. What my grandfather used to call strong-arm politics.”
The Chinese ambassador shot to his feet, his black leather pouch falling to the carpet. “You accuse my country of playing politics with nuclear weapons?” His voice was a near shout. Then he seemed to realize where he was and sank slowly to his seat, groping around the floor for a few seconds before he recovered his diplomatic pouch and set it in his lap again.
President Chandler raised his eyebrows a fraction. “What would you call it?”
The ambassador paused for a few seconds before speaking. His tone was much calmer now. “I would call it … I believe … a routine test-launch of an unarmed missile. A launch, I might add, that traveled entirely through Chinese airspace, passed over only Chinese territory, and landed safely in Chinese national waters. As for the timing? I would call that a coincidence.”
The secretary of state passed a folded slip of paper to the president. He scanned it before continuing. “A coincidence,” he said slowly. “Would that be the same sort of coincidence that led your government to launch three missiles into Taiwanese territorial waters on the eve of their first national election in 1996? Was it also coincidence that your country moved several hundred CSS-6 and CSS-7 missile systems into Fujian province—directly across the straits from Taiwan—in the weeks just prior to their election in 2000?”
Ambassador Shaozu stiffened. “Mr. President, are you now suggesting that the defensive deployment of the People’s Liberation Army within our own borders is somehow the business of the United States?”
“Perhaps not,” the president said. “But firing a ballistic missile directly over Taiwan is an overtly hostile act.”
“Hostile to whom, Mr. President?”
“To Taiwan, the Democratic People’s Republic of China.”
The ambassador smiled. “Mr. President, there is no Democratic People’s Republic of China. It does not exist. It never has existed.”
“I understand that your government holds such an opinion,” the president said. “But you must realize that the United States does not share your view.”
“There is only one China, Mr. President—a simple truth that even the United Nations acknowledges. There are two chairs for Korea in the General Assembly, one for South Korea and another for North Korea. That is because there are two Koreas.
“You will note that there is only one chair in the United Nations General Assembly for China. That is because there is only one China. If there were two Chinas, there would be two chairs, would there not? The citizens of our troublesome island province may style themselves as renegades, but they are Chinese citizens nonetheless.”
“The citizens of Taiwan have a democratically elected government,” the president said. “They have their own laws, their own currency, their own national identity. They do not wish to be part of your country.”
The ambassador sighed. “We cannot let the wishes of a few million miscreants threaten the integrity of our sovereign nation. Their desires are irrelevant.”
“How can the wishes of millions of people be irrelevant?”
“Perhaps my memory for American history is a little fuzzy,” the ambassador said, “but I seem to recall that your country was faced with a similar situation in the latter half of the nineteenth century. A number of your Southern provinces … excuse me … you call them states, do you not? A number of your Southern states decided to secede from your Union. If I am not mistaken, your government used military force to repatriate the renegade states. I believe the casualties from that war totaled something just short of seven hundred thousand people. Yet, your citizens seem to regard the loss of nearly three-quarters of a million lives as a reasonable price to pay for reacquiring the lost territories and reabsorbing the inhabitants.”
“A fair point,” the president said. “But we are in the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. The world is a different place. The tools and attitudes that served us well a hundred and fifty years ago have no place in the modern age.”
“Perhaps things have not changed as much as you would like to believe,” Ambassador Shaozu said. “What if the situation arose again tomorrow? Suppose that the citizens of your island state of Hawaii decide next week that they are disillusioned with the direction that your government is taking. Suppose they elect their own president, draft their own constitution, and print their own money. Will your country let them peacefully secede, merely because they wish it?”
The president didn’t say anything.
“It’s not such an easy question when the problem is in your backyard, is it, Mr. President?”
The president leaned back and made a steeple of his fingers. “An interesting argument, Ambassador, but it fails to take into account the two enormously powerful effects in the evolution of nations. Time … and acceptance.”
The ambassador’s eyes narrowed. “I do not understand.”
“Consider your hypothetical example,” the president said. “Suppose the people of Hawaii did declare their independence and form their own government. Then suppose that the United States chose to wait a while before acting to repatriate Hawaii. If Hawaii were self-governing and self-sufficient, at what point would they cease to be a renegade state and actually become an independent country?”
The ambassador frowned. “I am not following your argument.”
“Your People’s Republic of China and our own United States have much in common,” the president said. “Both of our nations were given birth by revolution. Each of our countries managed to fight its way out from under the yoke of a repressive government. Both of our countries began as renegade states. And yet, today, China and America exist as two of the most powerful nations on Earth, due—in large part—to the passage of time and the acceptance of other nations. I’m sure you will agree that far too much time has passed for Great Britain to recoup the United States as lost territory. Similarly, far too many nations have acknowledged the existence of your own People’s Republic of China for the Kuomintang or the descendants of the Empress Dowager to attempt to regain your citizens as outlaw rebels.”
The ambassador did not speak.
“Time has passed for Taiwan, Mr. Ambassador,” the president said. “You haven’t made a serious move to repatriate them in over sixty years. In that time, they have become self-governing, and they have gained the acceptance of many nations. Taiwan now enjoys formal diplomatic ties with over thirty countries and maintains trading partnerships with over a hundred and fifty countries. At last count, they were the fourteenth largest trading nation in the world. It is true that they do not hold a seat in the United Nations General Assembly, but we both know that your country has blocked every attempt to formally admit them to the UN.” He smiled gently. “Rebel republics are transformed into nations by time and acceptance. And the Democratic People’s Republic of China on Taiwan has had both.”
The ambassador did not speak for several seconds. When he did, his voice was tight and low. “You are welcome to accept the make-believe sovereignty of our renegade province, if you so choose. The People’s Republic of China is under no obligation to do so.”
The president nodded. “I understand your position. And I acknowledge that it’s likely that our countries will continue to agree to disagree on matters concerning Taiwan—at least for the foreseeable future. In the meantime, the United States is willing to support whatever diplomatic overtures your government wishes to make
toward peaceful reunification with Taiwan. I must caution you though; the U.S. cannot and will not sit back and allow military threats to Taiwan to go unchallenged. Our policy on this matter dates back to 1950, when President Truman deployed the entire U.S. Seventh Fleet in defense of Taiwan. Please convey this message directly to your premier: we are willing to give you the benefit of the doubt on this recent missile launch. You say that it was a routine test, and we will accept your word for that, despite the evidence to the contrary.”
He leaned over the coffee table and flipped open a heavy leather-bound book to a pre-marked page. A glossy color image of mainland China covered two pages. “My world atlas tells me that your country has about eighty-seven hundred miles of coastline.” He flipped to another marked page. The map of Taiwan took up a half-page. “It also tells me that Taiwan is about two hundred and thirty-seven miles in its longest axis.” 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.”
“I remember,” the president said. “They trotted out every China Syndrome reference they could lay their hands on, from Three Mile Island to Chernobyl.”
“Taken by itself, I wouldn’t assign it much importance,” Brenthoven said. “But Niedersachsen Six was the third significant incident in the German nuclear power program in less than two years.”
“I read a white paper on Niedersachsen,” Doyle said. “They shut down the reactor for inspection and repair. They’re going to restart it at the end of this month.”
Brenthoven shook his head. “No, they’re not. The Green Party has cobbled together a sort of ecologist’s coalition to block the restarting of the reactor. In fact, they managed to whip up enough public backlash to force their case all the way up to the Bundestag for a formal vote. It’s official: they’re shutting them all down. Every reactor on German soil.”
Doyle pursed her lips for a half-second. “Germany was moving in that direction anyway. Now they’ll have to do it a little faster.”
“Not a little faster,” Brenthoven said. “A lot faster. In less than a year, the Germans are going to have one hell of an energy crunch. Nearly thirty-five percent of their electricity comes from nuclear power, and their per capita usage is through the roof. Over six thousand kilowatt-hours per person, per year.”
“How bad is it going to get, Greg?” the president asked.
Brenthoven checked his notebook again. “Bad, sir. Catastrophic. We could conceivably be looking at the collapse of the entire German economy.”
