Hood told the president what he had already explained to Sanders, adding the new information from Bob Herbert. He made the presentation as concise as possible. The president listened, then rose and walked from behind the desk. He came around the side opposite from where Sanders was standing.
“Ms. Sanders, have Ambassador Hasen look into a meeting,” the president said. “Paul, get yourself over to our embassy in Beijing.”
“Sir?”
The president stopped beside Hood. “If there’s infighting in Beijing, we need to know. It might help to have General Rodgers with you. He can go to observe the launch, I presume.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“As for Op-Center, I want you to talk to General Carrie before you leave. The Joint Chiefs were just in here. They mentioned something in passing that obviously dovetails with this.”
“What’s that, sir?” Sanders asked. It was an obvious effort to become part of a project she had not felt was terribly important. Until right now.
“General Carrie has requested that a small group of marines be seconded to Op-Center for a possible security mission in Beijing,” the president told Hood. “One that will be defined as information becomes available.”
“Did she say what kind of security mission it would be?” Hood asked.
“The president said it would be defined later,” Sanders said.
“What I mean, sir, would it be at the launch site, at the embassy, or a black ops action somewhere else?” Hood asked the president, ignoring Sanders.
“The Joint Chiefs did not tell me, and I did not ask. There was no point. As I told you before, Paul, General Carrie was pushed on me as the head of Op-Center. If the military is planning some kind of new and covert direction for Op-Center, I want to know what it is — not what they tell me it is.”
“Understood,” Hood said.
“It’s good you have someone you trust on the inside,” the president told him. “Tell Herbert to keep one eye on the NCMC… and one on his ass.” He winked, then did not look back as he headed toward the door.
Hood looked over at Lorraine Sanders. Her arms were still crossed, and her expression was still sour. Debenport’s inner circle had a reputation for resenting outsiders. If Hood let that bother him, he would never be able to do his job.
“I’ll have the travel office arrange for a ticket to Beijing,” she said to him.
“Thanks.”
She walked toward the door, stopping beside Hood. “If you do that again, I’ll feed you to General Carew. I swear it.”
“Are you working for him? Should the president be concerned?”
“No,” she replied thickly. “I just happen to know the general likes chewing up starchy little bureaucrats.”
She crossed the blue carpet with its gold symbol of the presidency, leaving Hood alone for a moment in the Oval Office. He had always understood why presidents became paranoid, why they installed recording devices in the West Wing. He just hated being a part of that intrigue. The people at Op-Center had always pulled together toward a single goaclass="underline" protecting the United States and its interests from chaos. Here, they helped to create it.
As he left the Oval Office and the pointedly averted eyes of Ms. Kubert, Hood was suddenly more afraid of his own team than he was of the Chinese.
NINETEEN
Li-Li would be proud. The prime minister arrived at his office shortly after three A.M. His visitors were already there. Le Kwan Po had made them wait.
Blinking hard to chase away the fog of exhaustion, he looked over data that had been sent from the Xichang space center, hand-carried by his aide and placed in a safe. Against opposition, Le Kwan Po had supported international involvement with the project. It was not just a matter of having a sophisticated communications satellite at their disposal. It was a question of being able to deconstruct the technology, study it, and build the next generation of homegrown Chinese satellites.
A number of old-school members of the government did not like the idea of commissioning work from other nations. Stealing blueprints and technology was acceptable, a legitimate function of the state. Paying for it was to admit a need, to show weakness. A technologically advanced satellite could not compensate for a bowed head. Men like Chou Shin were unyielding in matters like that. What Le did not know was whether they were willing to promote internecine warfare.
The security arrangements were no different than they were for other launches. Unless he could forge some kind of peace very soon, that would have to change. Chou and Tam Li both had access to the old codes. They knew the standard distribution of manpower throughout the site and what areas engineers would be watching as the countdown progressed.
They knew that this was the centerpiece of the National Day celebration honoring the founding of the People’s Republic of China.
Something would have to be done about this. Le would try reasoning with the men, though that had never worked in the past. Perhaps now, with their feud becoming public, their attitude would be different. A news report from Taiwan had just arrived. It underscored the need for someone to take control of this situation. Bulletins from the breakaway republic were automatically sent to all Chinese government officials. Le read about the attempted arrest at the Taipei hotel. The Cho-Chiun was a safe house for Chinese spies. There was no doubt in his mind who the police had been pursuing. He would be interested to find out how they tracked the men there. He called the vice chairman of the Standing Committee on Regional Security to see if he knew anything more. The vice chairman had been up since hearing of the nightclub bombing. He had confirmed through intercepted radio transmissions what Le had suspected, that the Taipei Municipal Police had been given assistance by Interpol. The SCRS did not know who had provided the international police with their information.
To clear his mind, the prime minister also reviewed an updated guest list for the reception he would be hosting the following evening. A few ambassadors had been added, and several journalists had been removed. Leading academics in the sciences and arts would also be attending. Le’s daughter Anita was among them. The forty-year-old woman was a professor of literature and head of the doctoral arts program at Beijing University. Poised, articulate, and lovely, she was a favorite of the premier. Le often said, only partly in jest, that it was her status that had given him job security rather than vice versa. The cocktail party was in honor of the fifty-eighth National Day. The reception was an opportunity for people to mingle and exchange ideas.
At least, on the surface.
When he was ready, Le Kwan Po lit a cigarette and went to the sitting room adjoining his office. The foreign minister was pacing, Chou Shin was sitting in a red leather armchair with his chin on his chest and his eyes shut, and General Tam Li was tucked against one side of a white sofa, his right arm poised on the armrest as he stared straight ahead. He was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette stuffed with strong Hongtashen tobacco. He was catching the ashes on a copy of the newspaper resting under his elbow. Only the foreign minister reacted to the prime minister’s arrival.
“Is everything all right?” De Ming asked solicitously.
“We would not be here if it were,” Le said as he shut the office door. He walked toward the men. The prime minister did not apologize for making them wait. General Tam Li continued to stare ahead. Chou woke and sat up straight. “Did any of you see the latest report from Taipei?” Le knew they had not, since the time stamp was 4:29 A.M. They all looked over.