It was when the major drew his pistol and pointed it at him instead of Zhang that Yang knew he had lost. Behind the Minister of Railways, two soldiers moved forward and roughly grasped his arms, lifting him from his chair. He started to protest. One look at Zhang silenced him.
"It is you who goes outside, Yang, and that traitor as well."
All pretense of mild unconcern vanished as Zhang stood. He ripped the rank boards with their three stars and wreaths from Yang's shoulders and threw them against the wall. Zhang's face was flushed with anger. He turned to the major.
"Take them to the military prison. Place them in isolation. If Yang struggles, render him unconscious but do not kill him. Post a 24 hour watch. We have use for him."
"Yes, Chairman!" The major saluted, gestured with his pistol at Yang.
"The tanks," Yang said.
"The tanks are under my command. Take him."
They watched the men being led away. The door closed behind them.
President Zhang addressed the others.
"If the Americans believe we are to blame for these attacks, we face a serious threat of war. Raise our defensive posture, but be careful not to indicate aggressive intentions. This idiot has brought us to the edge of disaster. We must find a way to avoid it."
General Zhou left the room.
"We should call their President." It was the vice-chairman of the Standing Committee. "They will soon know what happened. We must talk to them. Tell them the truth."
"We would lose face!"
"Better to lose face than to lose Beijing or Chengdu. We can give them Yang, execute him, make diplomatic reparations, whatever is needed to show Yang acted on his own. Privately they may know, but it must not become public. It is not in their interest that it becomes public. They need us to keep their economy going. Perhaps we can mislead them with the extremist elements."
The meeting turned into a general discussion of damage control and how to spin the certain fallout of Yang's actions.
Outside the vine-covered walls of the President's villa it was another smog-filled day in Beijing. If the summer crowds noticed the large presence of military vehicles and personnel, they marked it off to another training maneuver. Life was good in Beijing. One shouldn't complain just because the rumble of tanks disturbed one's harmony.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The command center of the Second Artillery Battalion at Luoyang took up the entire top floor of Base Headquarters. From his corner office, General Lu Cheng could see the main gate to the west and the concrete abutments surrounding the silos and tunnels to the north. Government tanks had been in position outside the gates since morning.
Waiting.
It was now early evening. Yang had failed. Beijing was still trying to convince him to surrender the base, but Lu could tell they were growing impatient.
The sharp lines of Lu's face were bleak. It had all come down to this. A lifetime of service to China, brought to nothing by the timid minds of the Party leadership. Fools who could not grasp destiny. The choice would have to be forced upon them.
The base had been sealed. A security lockdown was in place. He'd told his troops that reactionary elements within the army had mutinied. Live ammunition had been issued. In the elite missile battalions there was little respect for the ground forces. His officers had no trouble believing him. They'd been told to resist with deadly force if anyone attempted to enter.
In the distance Lu saw a rolling cloud of dust beyond the gates. There was only one thing that made that much dust. More tanks, and trucks with assault forces. Time was running out.
Lu made his decision. He picked up his phone.
"Send Colonel Hing to me, immediately."
Hing was Lu's XO. It took two to do what Lu had decided. Lu went back to his desk and sat down. He looked at a picture of his father, taken just before he'd left for Vietnam. In 1968 his father had been an advisor to the NVLA during the opening days of the great Tet offensive. Lu had idolized his father. He had never forgiven the Americans for killing him.
There was a significant flaw in the security of China's nuclear arsenal. Beijing feared losing the ability to retaliate during a nuclear attack. Under certain circumstances, the commanders of the missile bases could launch on their own. It was felt that careful screening of the commanders, periodic investigation by the Secret Service and the need for two independent officers to initiate launch were sufficient safeguards. As an added precaution, coded radio signals could disable and destroy an errant missile. Those commands could be sent from Beijing if necessary.
That was true, except Lu had reprogrammed the missiles. Beijing's codes were no longer effective. Under the protocols Lu had put in place for a security lockdown, the missile crews were isolated. Once the launch codes were sent, no countermanding order would be followed.
Lu was proud of his doomsday machine. It had taken months to set up.
A knock. Colonel Hing entered. Lu wondered how he would react.
"Government forces are getting ready to storm the base." He gestured at the dust clouds drawing closer to the base, visible through the windows. "It's only a question of time before they're through our defenses."
Hing's face turned a sallow, sick color. "Then we have lost."
"Yes. But I do not intend to let them win."
"What will you do?" Hing looked at his superior. It dawned on him. "You want to launch!"
"Yes."
"But the Americans will retaliate."
"Our defenses are adequate. A few of their missiles will get through, but not all. If we strike first, their military will be severely crippled. We will be humiliated by them no more. Beijing will be forced to follow our lead or face defeat. They will be forced to take up our destiny."
Lu unlocked a steel drawer in his desk and took out a black metal case about the size of a briefcase. He set it on the desk, opened it and turned on the power. A screen lit up.
Ready.
To the right of the screen was an alpha-numeric key pad. Lu entered a series of numbers and letters. A message appeared on the screen.
Confirm.
The sequence required the palm print scans of the authorized commanders.
"Your hand, Colonel."
Hing stood where he was.
"I will not do this. The Americans will destroy us."
Lu walked over to the door and locked it. He took out his pistol. "You will do it," he said. He shot Hing in the chest, then again. The bullets drove him back against the desk and he fell to the floor.
Lu grabbed Hing's arm and pulled the body over to the launching device. He pressed Hing's dying hand onto the screen. The machine beeped. Lu watched a red light scan back and forth. The machine beeped again. A new message appeared.
Secondary Confirmation.
Someone was pounding on the door. Lu placed his hand on the screen. A beep, the red light, another beep.
Enter Launch Sequence Code.
Lu entered the sequence of numbers and letters that would tell the missile crews to launch.
Ready.
Lu looked up as the door burst open. Two of his men stood there, trying to make sense of what they saw. Lu flipped back a safety switch and pressed a red button.
Launch Initiated.
Klaxons all over the base began blaring at three second intervals. Now no one except himself could call the missiles back.
"Sir! What has happened here?"
Lu smiled. He placed the muzzle of his pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger.