Dead Heat

by Joel C. Rosenberg

  "You are asking a hypothetical," Zhao demurred. "This is a sad enough day without responding to hypotheticals. Yes, you in the back row."

  "Mr. Prime Minister, the wire services are reporting that President Al-Hassani has mobilized nearly 150,000 troops to stop the Kurds in the northern parts of Iraq from seceding and joining a new, independent state of Kurdistan."

  "I am hearing similar reports, yes," Zhao said. "But that's not our topic right now."

  "I understand," the reporter said. "But given that China and Iraq signed a series of strategic alliance agreements just a few months ago, are you considering sending Chinese military forces to the Middle East to put down an independence movement by the Kurds?"

  Zhao replied, "We are in discussions with the Iraqis and U.N. Secretary-General

  Lucente on the possibility of sending peacekeepers to the Gulf region. We have no plans at present to join forces with the Iraqis against the Kurds."

  "At present?" the reporter asked. "Does that mean you haven't ruled out the possibility of joint action?"

  "The Kurdish issue is very sensitive. I'm very concerned that this could be the spark that blows up the Middle East again. The last thing the world needs is another war in

  Iraq. We will do everything we can to bring a new era of peace to the region, not more war."

  Everyone noted that the premier hadn't really answered the question, and that he

  quickly moved on.

  "Yes," he said, pointing to a correspondent for the BBC in the third row.

  "Mr. Prime Minister, you say you won't respond to hypotheticals," she began. "But you have clearly put the Red Army on full alert. The streets of Beijing are flooded with

  troops and missile batteries. Fighter jets are circling the capital. The BBC is reporting that the Chinese navy is being ordered to sea, your statement about Chinese vessels near the U.S.

  coasts notwithstanding. Who are you worried about, if not the Americans?"

  At this, the premier took his time, carefully considering the stakes, and carefully

  weighing his words.

  "You must understand the present situation," he said slowly. "A great power has been viciously attacked today. The American president has been killed. Untold millions of

  Americans have been killed. I am hearing that as many as half of the members of

  Congress have been killed. The White House and Pentagon have been destroyed. Who

  knows the state of mind of the American leaders right now? Do you? Has the newly

  sworn- in president given a press conference? Have you seen any live images of him, or

  his advisors? No, not yet, so we are left to guess. And what shall we guess? We are

  operating in the fog of a very serious crisis. We can only imagine that the American

  leadership is angry and eager to strike back at someone. So we must exercise great

  caution."

  Zhao paused a moment, looking around the room before continuing. "I know, as do

  you, that there are some in the U.S. who say China is the great evil in the world today.

  There are some who would wish to trigger a conflict between the U.S. and the PRC.

  They are agitating for it today, as they have been for many years. Perhaps this will be tempting for the Americans in this present hour, to see China as the enemy and to see this as the moment to attack us. Well, we are not the enemy. And let there be no

  misunderstanding; any attempt to treat us like an enemy will be dealt with in the most

  decisive manner possible."

  6:40 A.M.-A REFUGEE CAMP IN NORTHERN JORDAN

  Bennett watched Premier Zhao leave the podium.

  It had been a useful press conference right up to the end, he thought. But then it had

  taken an ominous turn. CNN's Terry Cameron seemed to agree.

  "The Chinese premier seems to be offering both condolences to the American people and what could only be seen as a threat to the American government; wouldn't you say, Wang

  Li?" Cameron asked.

  "I'm afraid so," the Beijing correspondent agreed. "The premier's words were particularly sharp, especially given the fact that no one—least of all the American

  government—has actually accused the Chinese of attacking the U.S. Nor have we heard any speculation from official sources in the U.S. that they even suspect China was involved in these attacks at any level whatsoever."

  "Is it possible that the U.S. has been communicating threats to Beijing through back channels of some kind?" Cameron asked.

  "Possible, but doubtful, in my view," the correspondent replied. "Surely the U.S.

  Embassy here would be aware of this and interested in letting the international press corps know of such warnings. But at the moment, I'm not aware of anything like that."

  "So from your vantage point, Wang Li, where does that leave us?"

  "It's a tough question, Terry—there aren't many countries capable of causing this kind of apocalyptic destruction inside the United States, but Red China is certainly one of them,"

  the correspondent explained. "The PRC is clearly very worried that what's left of the American government may point the finger of blame at Beijing and retaliate, and the premier is obviously taking preemptive action to head off such a dangerous confrontation between themselves and the U.S."

  "It's a situation we'll be watching closely over the coming hours," Cameron said. "But one more thing before we leave you. I understand that U.N. Secretary-General Salvador

  Lucente was in Beijing overnight and then left this morning for Babylon. What can you tell us about his meetings there?"

  "That's true, Terry," the reporter confirmed. "Secretary-General Lucente was originally scheduled to be in New York all this week, hosting a human rights

  conference. But at the last minute, something apparently came up that persuaded him to

  leave Manhattan and to come to Beijing. It's a move, of course, that now seems almost

  miraculous. Had he remained in New York, he most certainly would have been among

  the casualties. According to senior officials who spoke with me on the condition of anonymity, the secretary-general came here to negotiate the possible introduction of

  Chinese peacekeeping forces into the Persian Gulf region. Mr. Lucente has been

  pressing China to play a critical role in speeding up the economic reconstruction and

  recovery in the Middle East, and to help increase the rate of oil production, which of

  course is vital to bringing down the international price of oil and stabilizing the global economy. Chinese leaders have been reluctant to get heavily involved, but something

  seemed to change over the weekend, something that apparently convinced the

  secretary-general to change his plans and come here for a series of high-level negotia-

  tions. But neither side made any public comment when talks ended this morning."

  "Thanks, Wang Li," Cameron said. "We understand the secretary- general will be holding a press conference later today in Babylon to discuss the destruction of the U.N.

  headquarters in New York and where the international community goes from here.

  CNN will bring that to you live when it happens. For now, we go to London to bring the

  latest international reaction to . . ."

  Bennett excused himself, took a bottle of water from the small refrigerator in Dr.

  Kwamee's office, and stepped outside the clinic.

  The temperature was now soaring. There was little shade and no breeze. But he

  couldn't watch any more television. He couldn't listen to the doctors arguing over whether China was behind the attacks or what the U.S. should do if they were. Erin was still

  asleep. He couldn't reach his mom or anyone else he knew in the States. He needed to be alone. He needed time to think, time to pray, time to figure out what in the world he was supposed to do in light of the events unfolding around him.

>   He walked past the guards at the main gate, who expressed their shock and their

  condolences and asked if there was anything they could do. Bennett thanked them and

  moved on. The answer was no, there was nothing they could do, but he greatly appreciated the concern.

  Bennett now walked toward his and Erin's tent, baking in the morning heat. Perhaps he

  could take a shower and change his clothes before Erin awoke and needed him again, he

  decided. But first he headed to the mess tent and apologized to his supervisor for missing the breakfast shift. It wasn't necessary, she assured him. She had heard what had

  happened to Erin and about the attacks in the U.S. She urged him to take as much time as he needed. She and her team of volunteers would get by. She didn't know how exactly, but somehow they would get by.

  Bennett thanked this kindly older woman from Bangladesh and began heading back to his

  tent when a thought hit him: they were leaving. He wasn't sure when. It couldn't be soon.

  But something within Bennett told him he and Erin weren't going to be in Jordan much

  longer.

  If Erin were healthy, of course, there would be no question. They would head home

  immediately. What they would do when they got there, he had no idea. How they would

  even get back into the country—he had no idea about that either. All flights in and out of the continental United States were shut down. Canada, too, for the moment.

  Mexico? The Caribbean? Were any of these options? He really didn't know, and there

  was no point thinking about it. He couldn't move Erin. Not for another week or two, at

  least. Perhaps by then things would be clearer. But something made Bennett wonder if

  they had another week.

  Bennett took a sip of water and kept walking. As he did, he found himself mulling over the photo he had seen on CNN of Vice President Oaks taking the oath of office

  from the federal judge from Jacksonville. To Bennett, it was eerily reminiscent of the

  famous November 22, 1963, photo of Vice President Lyndon Johnson being sworn in

  aboard Air Force One after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in Dallas.

  Johnson, Bennett recalled, had also been sworn in by a woman. Bennett had even met the

  woman once—Judge Sarah T. Hughes—at some party in Washington his parents had

  dragged him to as kid. He hadn't been even the slightest bit interested back then. Now he couldn't help but wonder what it had been like on that plane at Love Field as the nation mourned the tragic death of Camelot and tried to adjust to a new president, with a vastly different style and temperament, in a vastly different America than had existed just a few hours before.

  William H. Oaks was a good man, Bennett reminded himself as he made his way

  through the dusty alleyways of the camp. He had been one of the most effective vice

  presidents in the country's history, and Bennett respected him enormously.

  For one thing, Oaks had far more government experience—particularly federal

  experience and national security experience—than MacPherson had had when the two

  were elected eight years earlier. That seemed to give Oaks a confidence Bennett found

  reassuring. He could always be trusted to be calm, cool, and collected in a crisis. Bennett had seen it firsthand after the kamikaze attack in Denver had nearly killed MacPherson

  five years earlier. He had seen it again when suicide bombers had taken out the

  Palestinian leadership and triggered a civil war in the West Bank and Gaza.

  What had really impressed Bennett about Oaks was that, at heart, the man was a

  strategist. In the 1980s, he had been a key Senate ally to President Reagan in helping

  outflank and outfox the Evil Empire. In the 1990s, he'd been a staunch and unwavering voice for expanding the CIA's HUMINT—or human intelligence—capacity, as well as for

  modernizing U.S. nuclear forces and special operations capabilities.

  Oaks had also applied his impressive intellectual heft to the rethinking of the U.S. role in a post-Soviet world. He was one of the first leaders in Washington to warn that radical Islam would replace Communism as the most serious threat to U.S. national security, and he had seen the Iranian threat long before most others in the American political system had.

  The man had an uncanny ability to play three-dimensional chess, the ability to calculate and assess each possible move and countermove and counter-countermove when it came to

  domestic politics and global affairs. And more often than not, he was right. It was no

  wonder to Bennett that the Secret Service had code-named Oaks "Checkmate." But now Checkmate was no longer a deputy. He was the president of the United States at a moment of tremendous peril. What was he seeing? Bennett wondered. What was he thinking?

  What was he getting ready to do?

  Bennett's satellite phone rang again. He checked the caller ID again. No name. No

  number. It was him. It had to be. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say, or do, but he answered the call, and silently prayed for the wisdom to do the right thing.

  "Mr. Bennett?" said the voice at the other end.

  "Yes, this is he," Bennett said, steeling himself for what was coming. But the words that came next caught him completely off guard.

  "Mr. Bennett, this is the Air Force One operator; please hold for the president of the United States."

  8:10 A.M.-OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT, BABYLON, IRAQ

  Salvador Lucente looked pale and exhausted.

  Al-Hassani greeted him warmly with the traditional Arab kiss on both cheeks, but Lucente was distant and largely unresponsive. Then again, with all that he was going through, AlHassani was surprised he had not canceled the meeting altogether.

  "Salvador," Al-Hassani began somberly, "on behalf of my people, please accept our condolences for the terrible tragedy that has befallen the entire United Nations family."

  Lucente nodded but said nothing. The two men stepped out onto the Iraqi president's

  private balcony and took seats in their usual places. Khalid Tariq followed them and sat to one side. Lucente, for once, had left his entourage back at the hotel.

  "We are hearing conflicting reports on the extent of the damage in New York," AlHassani said. "What can you tell me?"

  Lucente turned and stared out over the cityscape. "Manhattan no longer exists," he said softly. "Turtle Bay was completely destroyed, and the U.N. building with it. All of our New York staff is dead. All of our records were destroyed. Our computer backup facility was destroyed. Every diplomatic mission has been wiped out. The magnitude is simply

  incalculable."

  "I don't know what to say," Al-Hassani said.

  The two men sat in silence for several minutes.

  "Can Khalid get you anything?" the Iraqi leader finally asked quietly.

  "No, nothing," Lucente said.

  A few minutes later, Lucente changed his mind and asked for some hot tea. Tariq

  signaled a steward, and a pot of tea and two china cups were promptly brought over to their table.

  "We have to rebuild—to show the world there is still hope of a peaceful future—but we will have to start over from scratch," Lucente said.

  Al-Hassani added some honey to his tea and asked, "Will you rebuild in the U.S.?"

  The secretary-general shook his head. "Honestly, I haven't had time to give it much thought," he replied. "Brussels, perhaps. Maybe Rome. I was just in China, as you know.

  I'm sure there will be a great deal of pressure to relocate to Asia, though—between you and me—I don't picture us being in Beijing. Indeed, based on the rumors I'm hearing out of the U.S., there may not be a Beijing by week's end. I'm afraid this whole thing could go from bad to worse."

  Al-Hassani nodded but said nothing for a little while. He wasn't sure he was ready to dis
cuss a nuclear war between the U.S. and China. One step at a time, he told himself. He needed to control this conversation, guide it where he needed it to go, and he needed to do it carefully, precisely.

  "You are certainly welcome to come here, Salvador," he said at last. "We would count it a great honor. We would even build you a headquarters at our own expense."

  "Thank you," Lucente said. "That is most generous. It really is. But I'm not sure if I can afford your price, Mustafa."

  Al-Hassani sat quietly, careful not to smile.

  "Jerusalem, right?" Lucente asked.

  It was actually more of a statement than a question, but it was right on the mark.

  Al-Hassani shrugged. "The attack on the United States—the situation, shall we say—

  has changed everything, has it not?" he asked.

  "How do you mean?" Lucente asked.

  "Well, perhaps this is not the best time to be discussing this—I certainly don't want to appear insensitive—but it was President MacPherson, of course, who was supporting

  Prime Minister Doron in his efforts to build the Jewish Temple."

  "That's not entirely accurate, Mr. President, and you know it," Lucente said.

  "Fine," Al-Hassani conceded. "Perhaps MacPherson didn't support the Temple, but he didn't oppose it either, and that has had the same effect. But now, tragically, everything has changed. The new American president, President Oaks, will surely have other issues

  to wrestle with than the future of the Temple Mount, will he not?"

  "Just what are you trying to say, Mustafa?" Lucente pressed.

  "I'm saying that perhaps in the current environment, new pressures could be

  brought to bear to stop the Israelis from completing the Temple."

  "Nothing can stop the Israelis," Lucente said bluntly. "I'm told construction will be done by fall, perhaps by Yom Kippur."

  "I hear the same rumors you do," Al-Hassani assured the secretary-general.

  "Then you know this isn't a project Prime Minister Doron is about to abandon,"

  Lucente said.

  Al-Hassani shook his head. "Don't be so sure," he countered. "With America neutralized—and thus with the might of the American military no longer backing the