“Your words surprise me,” Jian said. “Our Chairman used exactly such sleight-of-mind tricks to confuse the Russians during our invasion of Siberia. Our Great Leader also backed down the Americans so their carriers fled to Hawaii as our naval infantry and paratroopers stormed onto Taiwan. Why not use similar verbal tactics today?”
“You may be right,” Deng said. “The only flaw I can see in your reasoning is that the facts are too obvious to deny.”
“If anyone else spoke such words,” Jian said, “I would think they doubted the Chairman’s skills at these maneuvers. If anyone else suggested the Chairman couldn’t bewilder the American President with his web of words, I would say that person lacked faith in our Great Leader. But I know you, Deng Fong, so I would never suggest you lack faith.”
“Sir,” Deng said. “I am not disparaging your powers of persuasion.”
“I hope not,” the Chairman said with a frown.
Deng paused as wariness crept into his eyes. He glanced at Jian and then back at the Chairman.
Jian feared that Deng was finally beginning to understand an uncomfortable truth. While the Chairman’s will, acuity and ability to keep functioning over time had increased, Jian believed the old man was entering a delusional state of his own devising. Like many successful conquerors, the Chairman seemed to be choosing to believe that his will could overcome any obstacle. The old man’s ability to confuse foreigners about the reality of the situation had become legendary. Yet it did seem doubtful anyone could now confuse the Americans. That likely wouldn’t hinder the Chairman from trying, however. The list of successful conquerors following their star into the abyss was long. Jian thought of Wang Mang and his one-man dynasty, shaken by the Red Eyebrow Rebellion and finally slain by a common soldier. And he thought, too, of Hung Hsiu-ch’uan and his incredible Taiping Rebellion. At one time, he’d controlled half of China, before the world had collapsed on him.
“What is your plan, sir?” Deng asked.
“The same as before,” the Chairman said. “We will rip Alaska from the American grasp, using its oil to leverage mass food shipments from them.”
“Sir,” Deng said, “may I interject a possible…uh…flaw with our thinking?”
“This is the Chairman’s plan,” Jian said, feigning disbelief. “Are you suggesting that the Chairman’s thinking is flawed?”
Deng smiled as he bowed his head in Jian’s direction. “The Chairman is wise and sees through anyone who attempts to twist another’s words. A minister’s bowing and scraping like a servant will not help that one as he fails in his assigned tasks. The Chairman easily spots charlatans many kilometers distant.”
The Chairman glanced at Jian.
Jian forced a hearty tone into his words as he slowly clapped, “I applaud your speech. You are absolutely correct in the Chairman’s abilities. He also unmasks the preening arrogance of any who sits at his table like a foreign potentate. He can tell when one puffs himself up as another supposed ‘co-ruler’ of China.”
“Enough,” the Chairman said.
Jian and Deng, who had been studying each other, turned toward the Chairman.
“The President of the United States is on the line,” the Chairman said. “You, the members of the Ruling Committee of the Politburo, will listen to our conversation. I will call on each of you afterward to decipher his trickery. For now, however, you will remain silent.”
As Jian nodded and Deng raised an eyebrow, the Chairman’s wheelchair whirled with electric noise. He turned around, facing a moving curtain. It revealed a wall with a rolled out computer-scroll, a camera placed above it, aimed at the Chairman. The scroll flickered into life. President Clark of the United States sat at his desk in the Oval Office, a huge American flag as backdrop.
“Mr. Chairman,” President Clark said. “I welcome this opportunity for you and I to personally work out what potentially could prove disastrous for both our countries.”
“That warms my heart to hear you speak like this,” the Chairman said. “Such talks between men as you and I are particles of wisdom which the Cosmic All has seen fit to sprinkle upon us.”
President Clark blinked several times. He was a tall man, as most Presidents of the United States seemed to be. He had dark hair, graying on the sides, and was handsome in the rugged American way as portrayed in the movies.
“Sir,” said the President, “my country has faced several disasters lately. I’m sure you’ve heard of the American oil rig off the coast of California that mysteriously exploded. It washed wildlife-killing crude onto the state’s beaches. My experts tell me CHKR-57 explosives caused the rig’s destruction.”
“How truly unfortunate,” the Chairman said. “You have our country’s condolences.”
President Clark frowned. “CHKR-57 is the new Chinese high-explosive so recently discovered in your country’s laboratories.”
“I am aware of this.”
Clark glanced to his left, nodding slightly. Perhaps someone off-screen spoke to him. The President’s hands, which lay on his desk, held a pen. As he turned back to the screen, those hands tightened around the pen and the rugged face took on a pinched look.
Jian had read the psychological profile on Clark. The President was gifted at American politics, a barracuda against his political opponents. He also tended toward what the Americans called isolationism. He’d kept the American military from entering Mexico during its civil war. Many had called him cowardly for that. Others praised his foresight. His greatest achievement had been keeping civil war from erupting in his own country. The Aztlan Movement had been strong in America, and for several years, it looked as if many southwestern states would attempt secession to join a Greater Mexico. Through diplomacy, police force and Federal-level infiltration into the ranks of the Aztlan rebels, Clark had kept the lid on long enough for the hotter-headed to cool down. The President disliked direct confrontation, believing as many leaders did that time solved most problems. New problems took the place of old ones, refocusing the easily distracted populace.
“Mr. Chairman,” Clark now said, “I fear I must inform you that my divers found a White Tiger Commando in the oil rig’s debris.”
“This was never in the news,” the Chairman said.
“Nevertheless, the Commando was among the wreckage. The conclusion seems obvious.”
“I hope, Mr. President, you do not think I would ever order such an underhanded attack against your oil industry. China would never need to stoop to such a thing.”
Clark looked visibly agitated, almost frightened.
For all his physical attributes, Jian thought, the President is a weak man.
“Mr. Chairman,” Clark said, “I assure you that I don’t think you would ever order such an attack. However, there may have been some in your administration with other ideas who worked behind your back.”
Jian held himself very still. Had Deng sent the Americans secret cables concerning Admiral Qiang and him? If so, this was treachery at the highest levels. Clark stabbed at the truth. He couldn’t have done so on his own. The Chairman could now use this moment to defuse everything, if he became so inclined. There had to be a way to derail the conversation.
“Surely, Mr. President,” the Chairman said, “you understand that I hold the reins of power. My ministers would never dare work ‘behind my back.’ May I suggest to you what I think occurred?”
“By all means, Mr. Chairman.”
“The Taiwanese extremists are savages. Too many escaped into the wider world as our lost island returned to the fold of the mainland. These savages are clever little men, who scheme night and day to embroil our country in debilitating wars and entanglements. For decades, these plotters attempted to drag America into a face-to-face confrontation between our two mighty countries. Fortunately, we were both wise enough to avoid their schemes. Now, I fear, they have gone too far. With stolen White Tiger uniforms and equipment, these devils blew up your platform. Mr. President, I have no doubt you found such a corpse, and clothed as you say. Like me, you are an honest man. I would never think to doubt your word.”