The Premier looked around the table. Heads were nodding. Do’s impassioned words were hitting home with some of the Politburo’s swing voters. But not with enough to be decisive. The conservatives and the progressives were too closely matched on this issue for either to prevail openly.
He smiled. The situation was perfect.
China wanted to act on the world stage, but she did not want to be seen as the puppet of another superpower. China wanted foreign trade, but she did not want the foreign influence that must inevitably follow. China wanted to be America’s friend, but she did not want to be North Korea’s enemy. In short, China wanted it all — the sun, the sea, the moon, and the stars.
And the Premier knew how to get it.
The time had come to intervene — both in the debate and in the war. He leaned forward and rapped sharply on the table. “Comrades! The time grows short. We must make a decision soon, before events move beyond our ability to control them.”
His colleagues nodded, somewhat impatiently. That much was obvious.
He looked first at Do and then at Liu. “Comrade General Secretary and Comrade Minister, I do not believe that our respective positions on this matter are necessarily opposed to each other.” He saw the skepticism on both men’s faces and smiled politely. “Let me show you what I mean.”
The Premier took five minutes to outline his proposal and knew that he had won them over before he finished. China would lay its cards on the table of global politics in its own way.
The general rubbed a hand absentmindedly through the close-cropped thatch of gray bristles he called a haircut and squinted into the early-morning light pouring through his office window. The courtyard outside, normally utterly quiet and empty at this hour, looked like an anthill stirred by some mischievous child. Soldiers in full combat gear ran everywhere, loading bags of rice, machine guns, light mortars, and ammunition boxes onto a ragtag assembly of flatbed trucks. Others were being marshaled in platoon formations and then marched away toward the airfield. The general knew that similar scenes were taking place at barracks areas all across the capital.
He turned at a quick rap on his door. “Come in.”
It was the division’s deputy commander, a short, bandy-legged colonel whose flat-featured face showed Mongol blood. “You wanted to see me, Comrade General?”
“Yes, Colonel.” The general waved a hand toward the window. “I’d like a progress report.”
The shorter man nodded and relaxed slightly. The general’s voice was uncharacteristically friendly. “The division’s assembly is proceeding precisely on schedule, sir. The First Parachute Regiment and Major Lin’s Reconnaissance Company are already at the airfield. The Second Regiment is enroute from its barracks area, and the Third will follow shortly.”
“Excellent. So I can tell the high command that we shall be ready for movement later this afternoon?”
“Certainly, Comrade General.” The colonel hesitated, apparently unsure about whether to say anything more.
“Yes? Is there something else, Colonel?”
The other nodded and tugged his tunic straight. “Simply this, Comrade General. I only wanted to ask if this mobilization was merely some kind of surprise drill.”
The general frowned and paused, considering his answer carefully. He wasn’t in the habit of telling his subordinates more than they needed to know. Still, this was an unusual situation, and his deputy had always been discreet. He opted for candor. “No. I spoke with the Premier himself, late last night. The alert is genuine and concerns possible service outside the People’s Republic.”
“Indeed, Comrade General?”
“Something puzzles you, Kua?” The general was curious. The colonel’s skepticism had been obvious.
The shorter man nodded. “Yes, sir. Before reporting to you, I spoke with General Chen of the Air Force. His transport aircraft have not been alerted. That leaves a question in my mind, Comrade General. If we are being sent to foreign lands, how are we supposed to get there?”
“An excellent question, Colonel.” The general shrugged. “And one I am unable to answer. No doubt the Premier has his plans, although he hasn’t yet made me a full party to them.”
He turned to the window to watch yet another battalion march out the main gate, arms swinging high and rifles slung. He turned back to the colonel. “In the meantime, my friend, we have our orders to carry out. See to it that they are carried out expeditiously. The Premier has stressed the need for haste in this matter.”
“Of course, Comrade General.” The colonel saluted and left to hurry things along. Assembling an airborne division of more than nine thousand men took constant attention.
Choi Ki-Wan, a survivor of more than forty years of deadly intrigue, was as cautious in his choice of words as he was in his basic nature. “You have some further word from our mutual, ah, ‘friend’?”
Tai Han-Gi, the minister of communications, smiled indulgently at his older colleague on North Korea’s Politburo. The man was right to fear eavesdropping by Kim Jong-Il’s security forces, but there were, after all, certain advantages to commanding all communications facilities throughout the whole People’s Republic. And they included access to the latest Japanese antibugging equipment. Tai had no fear of Kim Jong-Il spies within the confines of his own office.
He folded his hands. “Indeed, Comrade Choi. I have heard much from our ‘friends’ within these past few hours.”
“Do they offer a solution to our common problem?”
Tai nodded and said flatly, “Yes.” Then he learned closer to the older man. “Actions are being taken now that should give us the opening we need. But there can be no hesitation, no wavering when the time comes for us to act. We are playing a high stakes game — a game with infinite rewards for the victors and infinite torments for the losers. You understand?”
He read the momentary indecision on Choi’s face and wondered if it might prove necessary to arrange a speedy accident for his old comrade in arms. He hoped not. It would be both personally painful and dangerous. Kim’s agents were everywhere.
To his relief Choi’s uncertain resolve hardened.
“Yes, I understand. Well, we must bear those risks. There is no other way to preserve our Revolution.”
Or to preserve our own positions and privileges, Tai thought cynically. No matter, he had Choi’s commitment, and with it the collaboration of all the older man’s supporters. His patrons outside Pyongyang would be pleased.
The five men crowding the Oval Office could not conceal their restlessness. The President paced ceaselessly, his face haggard from too many sleepless nights. Paul Bannerman, the secretary of state, paced beside him, looking equally worn and rumpled. South Korea’s ambassador, Kang Ki-baek, sat motionless by the fireplace, gazing intently into the dancing flames. Blake Fowler sat beside him, all too conscious of his own bleary, red-rimmed eyes, crumpled suit jacket, and notepad filled with nervous doodlings. Only Admiral Simpson seemed outwardly calm as he stood beside the President’s desk, staring out the window at his own reflection.
“Phil, what’s the latest word from Brown’s task force?”
Blake looked up.ThePresident had stopped pacing and nowstood shoulder to shoulder with the admiral.
Simpson glanced at the taller man. “The Soviet strike group is still closing, sir. Tom estimates they’ll cross into his declared exclusion zone within five hours. After that he’ll have just over an hour before the Russians get within missile range of his carriers.” The admiral squared his shoulders. “He’ll have to have permission to hit them before that happens, Mr. President.”