As soon as the planes had gone, a shrill electronic screeching came from the big screens around the square. The pictures juddered and you could see panic break out in the Parliament, that second-long expression on faces, the first instinctive movement of escape, before the screens went to black. Then the square shook. The troops broke formation and ran towards the rumbling noise of the explosion. Dust and then smoke rose up into view. Teachers and children screamed together, their lunch boxes falling to the ground, some losing their sandals, running, but not sure where, and then their sounds drowned out by more fighter planes flying low and loud over the centre of the city.
Two Chinese missiles scored a direct hit on the Parliament building, killing dozens of deputies and stopping the debate before the vote on independence had been taken. For President Tao, it was a constitutional master stroke. He had struck a civilian target at the heart of Taipei, as his military commanders had wanted. The dead were legitimate targets, and the law which would have embarrassed his presidency more than anything else remained off the statute books.
Military Headquarters, Western Hills, China
‘We have successfully taken Pei-kan,’ said Leung. ‘Heavy shelling has been going for twenty minutes from Kinmen. We are exchanging fire. Taiwanese aircraft have attacked our base at Shantou, but our air defences are holding up well. The new Sector Operations Centres are taking individual control of their areas of defence through the integrated national defence system. Each sector is bringing in its own over the horizon and missile early-warning data and is directing our planes in the air. It is working far better than we expected.’
‘Prime Minister Wada of Japan is on the line,’ said an assistant to President Tao, who seemed hesitant before finally saying he would not take the call. It was the fifth time the Japanese Prime Minister had tried to talk directly to the Chinese president.
‘Detection of Indian missiles being prepared for launch.’
All eyes looked up at the real-time screen, blurred but showing the distinctive shape from a satellite photograph of an Indian missile out of cover on a mobile launcher.
‘The Agni,’ said Leung. ‘Where is it?’
‘Eastern air command, Shillong.’ The coordinates were given. ‘From Tezu. Target range: Lanzhou, Xian, Chengdu, Chonqing, Wuhan, Guangzhou.’
‘Take it out,’ said Leung, without consulting President Tao, who nodded, knowing that power was slipping away and events were overtaking him. Leung dictated the order: ‘Xining. Second Artillery. Unit 80306. Datong, Delingha and Da Qaidam launch bases. Range approximately 1,600 kilometres. Use the DF-21, low 200 kilometre trajectory to counter anti-missile defence system.’
Foreign Ministry, Beijing, China
By coincidence, Jamie Song was meeting Reece Overhalt when Japanese Ambassador Kazuo Nishimura insisted on an audience in a remarkably obstinate and un-Japanese manner. Overhalt and Nishimura had spoken barely an hour earlier, when Overhalt heard of Japan’s plans to move in on the Taiwan Straits, and was now in the middle of relaying it to Jamie Song.
Song asked Nishimura in. The two television sets were both on with the volume low, but audible, showing BBC World and CNN, the pictures lagging behind events by only a few minutes. On the screen was the damaged facade of the Parliament building. Members staggering out, their clothes torn, some bleeding, and emergency vehicles arriving inside the complex.
‘Foreign Minister, I insist you urge your President to speak to Prime Minister Wada. It is a great insult for him to ignore my Prime Minister’s calls.’
Jamie Song shrugged. It was only mid-morning but he was sharing a malt whisky with Reece Overhalt. He offered a glass to Nishimura, who refused. ‘Ambassador, the decisions are being made at our military headquarters in the Western Hills. In peacetime China, the tapestry of trade, diplomacy, commerce, politics and the military rumble along jostling for position with each other in the big picture. But in wartime, every voice is dampened except for that of the military. We are now in wartime. I imagine that the man in control of China is not President Tao, but General Leung. This might last just the morning, or it might last for ever. I have no idea.’
Song hadn’t bothered to offer Nishimura a seat. The ambassador sat down uninvited. ‘Prime Minister Wada has made a decision to send Japanese forces to the Straits of Taiwan.’
‘So Reece was saying. Personally, I think it is a mistake.’
‘But your actions have been intolerable. They cannot be accepted in modern Asia.’
‘I don’t think so. Our territory was invaded by Indian troops, our oil supplies threatened by Indian warships, our naval base attacked by British forces, and Taiwan has chosen this very moment to make a declaration of independence. Tell me, Ambassador, what would you do in our situation? Just let it all happen? Give Tibet to India? Hand over our naval bases to the British? Let India control shipping in the Indian Ocean? Welcome Taiwan’s separation from the Motherland?’
‘There are channels. The United Nations.’
‘What we call closing the door after the horse has bolted,’ growled Overhalt.
‘If you continue, you will become isolated by the international community,’ said Nishimura. ‘As I said, your actions are unacceptable.’
Jamie Song stood up. He was unshaven, his eyes were bloodshot and he clearly had not slept properly for several days. ‘Get out!’ he shouted. ‘What right has Japan to tell us that our actions are unacceptable? What right have you to dictate levels of morality to me after slaughtering Chinese people and other Asians with impunity!’ Song moved so quickly towards Nishimura that Reece Overhalt was also on his feet, ready to intervene. Song stopped half a metre away from the Japanese Ambassador and gripped his arm. ‘Don’t threaten China. Don’t try to humiliate her. Don’t boast about Indian — Japanese solidarity. Your country carried out the most horrendous atrocities and then rose up to try to claim the mantle of Asian power again. It will not happen. China will not let it happen. We will see this through to the end, believe me, and whatever decisions are being made now in the Western Hills, I, as a Chinese citizen, will support them without hesitation.’
When Nishimura had scuttled away, Song sank back down into his chair, looking at the television scenes of devastation from Taipei.
‘Jamie, what do you think Leung will do?’ asked Overhalt softly.
‘Remember what Mao said? “The Chinese people will never be slaves again.” We’ll see it through, Reece. Even if it means the destruction of China.’
BBC Television Centre, London
Robin Sutcliffe, the head of BBC Newsgathering, was woken at home. Fifteen minutes later a car was waiting to take him to work. He had packed an overnight bag. The call had come from the BBC’s Chief Political Adviser, who herself was woken up by a call from the Home Office. The Home Office was reacting on advice passed through John Stopping’s Joint Intelligence Committee, which had cleared the decision to alert the BBC with the Prime Minister.
Sutcliffe walked straight over to the horseshoe desk of banked television and computer screens on the first floor newsroom, the nerve centre of his department. He told the News Organizer and the Foreign Duty Editor to help arrange a core team to move immediately to Wood Norton, a manor house and country estate in the Cotswolds owned by BBC Resources and used mainly for hosting conferences.