Dead Heat

by Joel C. Rosenberg

  "That's a very chilling picture you're painting, General," Cameron said. "Hard to imagine, even."

  "It would have been yesterday, maybe," the general replied. "But not anymore.

  Everything has changed. We're not living in the same world we were in even a few hours

  ago. And let me also be clear that while I am not accusing Beijing of being behind these nuclear attacks against the U.S., we cannot rule out that they could be involved in some way, shape, or form."

  "Why do you say that?" Cameron asked.

  "Well, don't forget that back in the 1990s, a Chinese general—I think he was the second or third guy in command of the PLA—actually threatened to vaporize Los Angeles."

  "Wasn't that just a bit of saber rattling?" Cameron asked.

  "I thought so," the general said. "But now? Who knows what Beijing is thinking, or what some rogue faction within the PLA is thinking?"

  Bennett watched Cameron swallow hard. He could see the fear in the man's eyes,

  and the anchor didn't seem to know where to take the interview from there.

  "What about the Chinese navy?" Cameron asked, clearly scrambling for something—

  anything—concrete, not theoretical. "How formidable are they?"

  "They're no match against the American navy," the general explained. "But believe me, aside from us—and with Russia out of the picture— they're the most dangerous fleet on or under the seas."

  "Can you give us a sense of their specific capabilities?"

  "I can try," the general said. "As I recall, the Chinese have at least twenty-five destroyers. They've got about fifty frigates, about two dozen tank landing ships. More importantly, they've got fifty diesel submarines and at least five nuclear submarines. That's a whole lot of firepower, and nearly all of it could be thrown against Taiwan with

  devastating effect."

  "What do the Taiwanese have to defend themselves?" Cameron asked.

  "The Taiwanese have a small but impressive navy, much of it built by us," the American general said. "And they have one simple objective: to deter an invasion by the PRC. But a critical element of Taiwan's strategic doctrine is that the U.S. Navy and Air Force would be there to help them in the case of an attack. Will we be, under the

  circumstances? Honestly, given what's unfolding at the moment, I'm not so sure."

  "The Chinese say the U.S. is moving two aircraft carriers into the East China Sea," the CNN anchor noted.

  "Maybe, and that would help," the general replied. "But the brutal truth is that if the

  Chinese are really behind these attacks on the U.S., then they're willing to annihilate anyone or anything that gets in the way of their objective."

  Missiles, Bennett thought.

  "Might Beijing resort to nuclear missiles against Taiwan?" Cameron asked, as if on cue.

  "That's the X factor," the two-star said. "That's the real worry. The Chinese have at least twenty silo-based ICBMs. Each is armed with a nuclear warhead. Each is capable of reaching the United States—the West Coast, at least. Plus, they've got a bunch of sub-launched nuclear missiles; I'm not sure how many. I'm not sure if anybody knows how

  many. They've got nearly fifty missile boats. What's more, they've got literally hundreds—

  maybe thousands—of medium-range missiles, many of which were also equipped with

  nuclear warheads. And all of them can reach Taiwan—or our aircraft carrier battle

  groups—before you and I go to a commercial break."

  Bennett couldn't take any more. He couldn't just sit around and watch TV But what

  difference could he make? And even if there was something he could do, he couldn't leave Erin, could he?

  He suddenly remembered his satellite phone. He pulled it out and prepared to call

  back whoever had called him. But that was odd, he thought. There was no call-back number. There was, to his surprise, no evidence that such a call had ever come in.

  7:03 A.M.-OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT, BABYLON, IRAQ

  Mustafa Al-Hassani lit his pipe and turned to Khalid Tariq.

  "Events are moving rapidly now, Khalid," he said with an air of calm assurance.

  "You have your empire," Tariq replied. "But can you keep it? Can you expand it? Today might determine that once and for all."

  "Yes, Khalid, it might."

  In the wake of the Day of Devastation, Arab and Persian leaders— what was left of

  them, anyway—had literally begged Al-Hassani to help them, protect them, rebuild

  them, restore them, lest they be swallowed up by American and European imperialists or

  by the incompetents at the U.N. Iraq was the only Arab country left standing after the so-called War of Gog and Magog. With oil prices soaring through the roof, trillions of

  petrodollars were flowing into his coffers, and with them unprecedented leverage to shape events in a way that his predecessors could not have imagined in their wildest dreams.

  Al-Hassani had agreed. He would help his brothers and sisters in their desperate hour of need. But only on one condition. They had to agree to unification under his command.

  The only way the peoples of the Middle East could truly compete and succeed against the U.S. and the European Union—and against the increasingly powerful trade alliance between China and the ASEAN economic community (the Association of South East Asian Nations,

  which included Indonesia, Singapore, the Philippines, Thailand, and Cambodia, among others)—was to come together as one, and fast, he had argued. They needed one leader, one

  legislature, one court system, one tax system, one currency, and one capital—Babylon. The faster they agreed, the faster they could tap into Iraq's enormous oil wealth. The faster they could rebuild their own oil industries. The faster they could become players again on the world stage.

  Everyone in the region could see Al-Hassani's offer for what it was: a power grab, pure and simple. But what choice did they really have? They could unify under Babylon or risk being carved up by Washington and Brussels.

  And thus was born the United States of Eurasia.

  From the provinces of Mauretania in the west to the provinces of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, and Afghanistan in the east, nearly a half billion people now lived and moved and had their being at Al-Hassani's pleasure. The unification process was going faster than even he or his most trusted advisors had expected. Reconstruction efforts, especially in the Gulf states, were well ahead of schedule. New oil wells were coming on line at the

  rate of between six and ten a day. Four brand-new, state- of-the-art petroleum refineries were already up and running. Five more would be operational by the end of the month,

  with another five slated to be completed by year's end.

  It was all good, but not good enough, which was why he had summoned Salvador

  Lucente to Babylon.

  Al-Hassani savored the sweet, mellow aroma of his golden Virginia tobacco, laced with

  buttered Jamaican rum, the one sinful pleasure he allowed himself from the Americas. He stared out over the city of his dreams, blazing in the late-summer sun and teeming with cranes and construction equipment as far as his eye could see.

  So, what exactly was Salvador Lucente going to say now? he wondered, though he said nothing to Tariq. What excuse was the U.N. secretary-general going to bring this time?

  Al-Hassani vividly remembered their meeting eight months earlier, right here in his

  private suite, on his private balcony, actually. Lucente had explained very carefully what he needed, and Al-Hassani had explained very carefully what it would cost him.

  "Our economies are choking," Lucente had begun. "Oil is topping 175 euros a barrel.

  Unemployment in Europe is soaring. We can't operate with prices this high. We've got to get oil flowing out of the Middle East again, and we need you to take the lead. We need you to get oil prices under a hundred euros by summer"—and this Al-Hassani would

  never for
get—"or I am afraid we will have to consider some unpleasant scenarios."

  "Did you just threaten me?" Al-Hassani had asked.

  "Of course not, Mr. President," Lucente lied. "You know how much we have done to rebuild your country. I have no doubt you will now help us in our time of need."

  "Or else?"

  "Well, I wouldn't put it that way," Lucente replied.

  Al-Hassani wasn't convinced. "But didn't you just?"

  Al-Hassani could still recall Lucente pausing, processing, and then leaning forward

  and saying in no uncertain terms, "Look, Mr. President, there is no question you have a formidable military. You now have two hundred thousand troops, armed with the latest

  weaponry. I know this full well. After all, NATO and the Americans recruited them,

  trained them, equipped them, and helped them gain valuable combat experience in

  crushing the insurgency, did we not? But do not deceive yourself, Mr. President. Your

  forces are not yet ready to face the combined forces of a unified Western alliance that is determined to achieve energy security at all costs. I urge you, my friend, do not

  miscalculate, as Iraqi leaders historically are wont to do. Your country cannot afford a misstep, not in this current global environment."

  To which Al-Hassani had countered, "We want Russia's seat at the U.N. Security

  Council."

  "So does Israel," Lucente replied.

  "Nevertheless," the Iraqi leader explained, "if you want our oil, we want a permanent seat on the Security Council. It can be Russia's. It can be new. It does not matter to me, but it is nonnegotiable. And we want assurances that neither the E.U. nor the U.S. nor the U.N.

  will interfere with our efforts to unify the region's political and economic structures."

  "You mean you want carte blanche to rebuild the Babylonian Empire?" Lucente had asked.

  The man had a penchant for stating the obvious.

  "My dear friend," Al-Hassani explained, "my people have the same right to reorganize our part of the world as you had to reorganize Europe in a fashion that suited your interests. But let me be clear. We are not asking for permission. We are looking for

  assurances that no one will interfere."

  "Assurances?" Lucente asked. "What kind of assurances?"

  "Withdrawal of foreign troops from the region," Al-Hassani said. "Coordination of all relief and reconstruction efforts through my office, not through the U.N. Guaranteed

  accession to the WTO. And a guarantee on Jerusalem."

  Al-Hassani recalled most clearly the feigned look of surprise on Lucente's face at

  that moment. It was all an act. Lucente was a congenital liar, the Iraqi had concluded. But it didn't really matter. For the moment, at least, Al-Hassani had all the leverage he needed to get what he wanted. And he had no hesitation to use it.

  "And just what kind of guarantee on Jerusalem are you looking for?" Lucente had asked.

  "The U.N. must internationalize the holy sites," Al-Hassani replied. "They must seize control of the Temple Mount in particular. The Jews must not be allowed to build anything there—not a Temple, not a visitor center, not a falafel stand. Nothing. Ever. Period. End of story."

  "Or else?" Lucente asked.

  "Oh, my friend, I wouldn't put it that way," Al-Hassani had replied, a twinkle in his eye.

  Lucente forced a smile. "But didn't you just?"

  At that moment, the deal seemed done. Or so Al-Hassani had thought. Since that day, he

  had, in fact, been granted the permanent seat on the U.N. Security Council, instead of

  Israel. He now had his WTO membership, and nearly all foreign troops had been removed

  from the region, except those assisting humanitarian relief and reconstruction efforts, all of which were now being coordinated through his office, just as he had demanded.

  On Jerusalem, however, Lucente had balked, saying he simply couldn't get it done.

  Lucente claimed the U.S. had too much leverage, that while the MacPherson

  administration was not formally backing Israeli prime minister David boron's decision to build the Third Jewish Temple, the White House wasn't opposing it either. Doron was

  taking this as a green light and was proceeding with all haste.

  Al-Hassani's provincial governors were furious, as was Tariq. They insisted that Al-

  Hassani force Lucente—who was now the U.N. secretary- general, after all—to stop the

  Israelis or each of them would break away from the Eurasian empire and declare their own independence. The Kurds were already making good on their threats. The rest of the Eurasian governors were calculating that Al-Hassani couldn't risk a further breakup of the alliance he had so carefully constructed over the past year.

  Unfortunately, they were right. Al-Hassani had to find a way to force Lucente's hand. He had to find a way to stop the Temple from being built. He had tried Operation Black Box, but that had failed disastrously. He had been able to seize the treasures of neither the Copper Scroll nor the Ark of the Covenant. Now the Jews had both, and with them an

  unprecedented zeal to finish the Temple as quickly as possible.

  But now, it seemed, fate had handed the Iraqi leader a gift.

  11:10 A.M.-THE GREAT HALL OF THE PEOPLE, BEIJING, CHINA

  Prime Minister Liu Xing Zhao stepped to the podium.

  Only forty-nine, he was the seventh premier of the modern People's Republic of China and by far the youngest. Widely perceived by his countrymen to be the most physically and

  intellectually vigorous of the nation's recent leaders, he had a well-known passion for afternoon tennis and a legendary photographic memory. He had a penchant for finely

  tailored black silk suits, like the one he was wearing today, and a great command of

  China's rapidly growing economy, carefully cultivated during his tenure as finance

  minister before rising to foreign minister and then being confirmed by the National People's Congress to be prime minister just three years earlier.

  Amid a dizzying array of flashbulbs and the sounds of hundreds of autoadvancers,

  Premier Zhao cleared his throat and addressed not only the throng of reporters but a

  worldwide television audience to whom he was now speaking live.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, it with a deep sense of concern that I have asked you to gather on such short notice. As you know, there are more than two thousand journalists from China and abroad covering the current session of the National People's Congress. Allow me to say to all of you here that on behalf of my entire nation, I unequivocally condemn these das-tardly terrorist attacks on the United States. I offer the American people any and all

  assistance they will need in the coming days and months. And my government and I stand

  ready to work with the American people and their government to hunt down those

  responsible for these atrocities and bring them to justice."

  The premier paused for a moment to let his translators catch up.

  "Furthermore, I want to say in no uncertain terms that the People's Republic of China was not in any way responsible for these attacks. Let me repeat: the People's Republic of China played absolutely no role in these attacks, nor would we."

  A murmur spread through the press corps.

  "Based on the latest available information, my generals tell me that these were not attacks from intercontinental ballistic missiles. Nor were these attacks launched from

  submarines. They appear to be the work of short-range missiles launched from

  container ships operating near the Atlantic and Pacific coastlines of the United States, and I can assure you that not a single ship owned or operated by the PRC is currently—

  or has been in the last twenty-four hours—within eight hundred miles of the American

  homeland. What's more, the container ships that we do currently have on the high seas,

  headed for the
U.S., have all been ordered to turn around and come back to Chinese ports to be reinspected. We have also ordered all Chinese submarines and other naval

  vessels to return to our ports to make absolutely clear to the American authorities that we have no hostile intent toward the American people whatsoever."

  Again, Premier Zhao paused to let his translators keep pace. Then he said, "I have just spoken personally with the U.S. ambassador here in Beijing to extend my condolences and to give him the same message I am delivering here. Foreign Minister Zeng Zou is

  doing everything he can to contact the American government for the same purpose. This is a very dark day in the history of the world. What has happened is unimaginable. We must all take care that this crisis does not lead us into the abyss."

  The premier now took questions.

  "Mr. Prime Minister," the Associated Press bureau chief asked, "have all Chinese intercontinental ballistic missiles been accounted for?"

  "I just told you, these were not ICBM attacks," the premier said. "But yes, all of our missiles are present and accounted for. None of them were fired at the United States. Nor would we ever consider a sneak attack like this."

  "Is it true, Mr. Prime Minister, that you are concerned that the Americans might be considering a retaliatory strike against China?" asked the editor of the People's Daily.

  The premier shook his head. "There is no reason to fear that the Americans would

  retaliate against us," he tried to assure the reporter. "We have done nothing against the Americans. Indeed, we are offering to help the Americans in any and every way we can,

  including helping to retaliate against any country that is responsible. Two more

  questions—yes, you, in the second row."

  A woman with Reuters stood up and asked, "Is it true that the United States is moving two aircraft carriers into the East China Sea?"

  "I have heard these reports in the media, but I cannot confirm them independently at this time," Zhao said.

  "A follow-up, sir?"

  "Yes."

  "If this turns out to be true, how would your government react?"