“That is a piggyback function,” Tam Li replied.
“One of many, yes,” Le said. “That is why the Ministry of Science turned to a foreign firm to build the mainframe. Their design allowed us to plug in multiple utilities, to consolidate what would have been several launches into one. I am concerned that your conflict with Director Chou may affect that launch.”
“I don’t see how I can help you,” Tam Li said. “We have a strong philosophical difference.”
“Yes, and it has taken physical form, like the spirit in the old story of Zong Dingbo and the Ghost,” the prime minister said. “In that form the ghost was able to destroy and to be destroyed.”
“As I recall from my childhood, it was a careless ghost,” the general said. “But a ghost must be a ghost, whatever the consequences.”
“The satellite is bigger than your dispute,” Le said angrily. The prime minister was too practical for this. Like Director Chou, Tam Li was a man who would follow principle through the gateway to hell.
“Do you know what our argument is about?”
“You sell people,” Le said. “At least, that is what I am told.”
“It is not true, Mr. Prime Minister. I collect an honorarium for advice, for helping other men conduct trade.”
“Slave trade—”
“Not to me and not to them,” Tam Li said. “These are people who want to leave China, people who do not want to be a part of Director Chou’s world. Like me, they want to make more money. Unlike me, they leave. I collect my legal fee for the same reason that my soldiers gamble or occasionally traffic black market goods. Because we do not make enough money to raise and educate our families. In Russia, men in my position are selling outdated weapons. In the United States, some men sell military secrets. China benefits from both because our government is willing to pay them. We, who offer our lives in the defense of our nation, must make do with what the government has left. Which is not very much.”
“Soldiers are always underpaid,” Le said. “But they do not have to depend on crops or tourists or the whims of commerce to earn a living. Their salary may not be substantial, but it is regular. They are never hungry, and they always receive medical attention.”
“Until new technologies reduce our numbers,” the general said. “You know as well as I that even exotic hardware like the Red Eagle is going to reduce the need for communications units. The new Song-class submarines require half the crew of the older models. In my lifetime I may become redundant. I do not farm. I do not weave. I will not beg to give Japanese and American visitors a tour of the Great Wall. You may not like it, and Director Chou absolutely does not like it, but I stand for many, and I will not back down. Tell me, Mr. Prime Minister. Are you asking me to do so because I happen to be the last one here, or do you agree with Director Chou?”
“I cannot sanction what you do, but I do not support Chou’s actions.”
“You won’t tell him that, though, because he represents the party, and the party is the embodiment of Mao,” the general said. “To challenge him is to challenge the great revolutionary.”
Le said nothing.
“Then I suppose I stand for you as well,” Tam Li said. “I will resist the assault of Director Chou Shin because his China belongs to another century. We evolve, Mr. Prime Minister. We always have. With our diversity of people and cultures and even climates, we have no choice. If we don’t, we will fracture.” He smiled. “What kind of love can exist without a big and enlightened embrace?”
Tam Li left, his shoes squeaking as he crossed the blue carpet. New shoes. The prime minister looked down. His own shoes were not new.
And his ideas? the prime minister wondered.
Le went back to his office. He looked out the window at the soft arrival of dawn. He did not know what he had accomplished by bringing everyone together, other than to confirm what the two men were thinking, feeling, and in some cases doing. His desire to separate them and then reason with the one he hoped was the more tractable had not worked. He had not even neutralized a potential threat from the foreign minister. De Ming had been driven, slightly, toward the side of Director Chou. The general was a closet capitalist, someone who still performed his job and was a danger to no one who did not get in his way. Chou was an idealist, someone with the means and allies to attack anyone who did not share his vision.
That could include the prime minister. It could include a scientific project that enriched foreign corporations.
But the night was not a complete loss. Le had realized something. His problem might be bigger than he imagined. General Tam Li stood to lose something, too, with the successful launch of the Red Eagle. What the PLA gained in efficiency it surrendered in manpower. And as Tam Li had suggested, a general without troops is not a general. He is a retiree.
Tam Li and Chou Shin both had something to gain by the destruction of the satellite. Unfortunately, this was also true:
If either of them won, Le Kwan Po lost.
TWENTY
Paul Hood was baffled by the president’s comments about marines being seconded to Op-Center. For one thing, the ambassador would have told the president if he had requested additional security for the embassy. For another, that was an expansion of the NCMC, not a scaling down. Perhaps it represented a honeymoon period for General Carrie, a chance to let her reorganize according to her own vision. But Maryland Senator Luke Murray, the new head of the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee, was even more frugal than his predecessor Debenport. Hood did not see anyone convincing the senator to spend money, let alone to revive a military contingent that had recently been abandoned.
Unless there was something going on that Hood knew nothing about. That was certainly a possibility. It was also possible that the president had not been informed. Not every intelligence operation was written up and placed on his desk. Hood hoped to find out more by seeing General Carrie. He called before leaving the White House. Bugs Benet had been happy to schedule the appointment, but there was a new formality in his voice. That was understandable. Bugs had a different boss now. Each man asked how the other was doing. There was something guarded and unnatural about their responses. Perhaps Carrie discouraged familiarity in her team.
The drive to Op-Center was also both familiar and strange. Hood knew the roads, the nuances of the traffic, the colors of the trees under the streetlamps, and the moods of the early evening sky. He recognized the homeless man who stood by the highway and peddled coffee-cup sculptures from a makeshift stand. Hood had once stopped and bought one because he felt bad for the guy. The man, Joe, had used three cups to make a replica of the Capitol. It was not bad. The problems Hood pondered while driving were the same he always contemplated: what to do about an evolving situation overseas that impacted the homeland.
But the drive was not the same. Going to Op-Center was like visiting Harleigh and Alexander. He was going to a house that used to be home. Rules were not made, they were followed.
Upon reaching Andrews AFB, Hood had to stop at the gate. He knew the sergeant who talked to him from the bulletproof guard booth. They had just seen each other that morning. Hood still had to wait while a digital picture was taken by a driver’s-side camera. He had to wait for the guard to check his name on the computer list. He had to wait while the security gate was rolled open. The identity card that was still in his wallet would not have worked in the slot.