The penthouse suite was brightly lit, as if a gala party was to take place there, but the only two people in the spacious sitting room were the Secretary of State and Quang Chuli.
The Chinese businessman appeared to be perfectly at ease as he sat in the plushly upholstered armchair watching the Secretary of State at the bar, pouring herself a glass of wine. It was close to midnight, but he seemed as fresh as ever, wearing the same dark suit he always wore. Does he have a closet full of them? the Secretary of State wondered. It can’t be the same suit.
For her part, State had changed into comfortable peach-colored slacks and a white silk blouse that hung over her hips. She had a long-stemmed glass of California chardonnay in one hand. Quang had politely refused a drink.
“I thought we would toast to avoiding a war,” she said as she settled herself onto the little sofa that faced her visitor.
“I congratulate you,” said Quang equably. “You came through the crisis very well.”
“Have we? Do you mean that the crisis is over?” Quang dipped his chin slightly. “The hard-liners in Beijing are in disgrace. You have proven that you are capable of defending against missile attack.”
“Only two missiles,” said State. “We couldn’t stop a full-scale attack by the People’s Republic.”
“Not yet.”
State blinked at that, her mind rapidly deciding.
He thinks we’re going to increase our missile defenses! He thinks we’re going to build them up so we can stop a Chinese attack. Or a Russian one.
Carefully, she asked, “Do you mean that this was all a test? Nothing more than a test?”
Quang sighed. “Ah, if only the world were that simple, Madam Secretary. Unfortunately, it is not.”
State had no reply. She studied her visitor’s face, trying to fathom what was behind his bland smile, his enigmatic words. It was like trying to get hard data out of the Sphinx.
Sensing her uncertainty, Quang said, “As I have tried to explain to you in the past, the government in Beijing is not monolithic. Far from it. It is a coalition that includes moderates, hard-liners, and even a few farsighted statesmen.”
“Like your brother-in-law,” she murmured.
“The chairman is indeed a farsighted statesman. But he must balance the various forces and attitudes that are present in the Central Committee.”
Slowly, State said, “I think I’m beginning to understand.”
Leaning forward slightly, toward her, Quang said, “Today you demonstrated that missile defense is possible. Yes, it was only two missiles, but you proved that they could be stopped. Today could mark a turning point in the global strategic picture.”
The Secretary of State noticed the slight but definite emphasis Quang put on the word “could.”
Trying to hide her exasperation, she asked as sweetly as she was able, “Just what do you mean?”
“Let me be frank, then.”
“By all means. We’re alone here. There are no recording devices.” That was a lie, but an understandable one, she thought. No one would see the transcript of this conversation but herself and her closest aides.
Raising a stumpy index finger, Quang said, “The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea is a rogue nation, we both agree.”
State nodded.
“There are other such rogues in the world. Iran, for one.”
She nodded again.
“The world must be protected against such rogues.”
“And against terrorists,” State added.
“Agreed. Terrorists armed with long-range missiles could plunge the world into nuclear war.”
“Which neither of us wants.”
Now Quang nodded. Vigorously.
Reaching for her chardonnay, State asked, “So what do you propose?”
“The United States is in a position to… suggest, that is the proper word, I believe… suggest an international conference on the subject of missile defense.”
She felt her brows knitting.
Quang went on. “At such a conference the leading governments of the world could come to an agreement that any unauthorized rocket launch anywhere in the world will be shot down by missile defense forces.”
“Unauthorized rocket launch?” State asked. “What do you mean?”
“It is very simple, Madam Secretary. An international commission would be established to send inspectors to examine the payloads of all rocket launches.”
“Like the International Atomic Energy Agency.”
“Just so. But with this difference. Any rocket launch that has not been inspected and approved will be shot down.”
State leaned back against the pillows of the sofa. “But that would mean… we’d have to make our missile defenses available to this international commission.”
“Perhaps. At the very least you would have to pledge that you will act on the commission’s recommendations.”
She put her wineglass down on the coffee table between them before replying. “I don’t know if we could ever get that through Congress.”
“You must! Recognize that now, this very day, Beijing and Moscow and others are moving to create their own missile defense technology. The United States could lead the way by offering to share such technology—under international control.”
State shook her head. “Congress would never go for that.”
With a shrug, Quang said, “Then there will be a new arms race in missile defenses. Far better for the U.S.A. to take the lead on this issue, to show the world how to move away from the threat of missile attack.”
“That’s a very tall order, Mr. Quang.”
“It is the way to end the threat of rogue nations and terrorists using long-range missiles. It is the way to a new stability in the international political situation.”
“Beijing would agree to this?”
“I believe so. What is more important, my brother-in-law believes so.”
The Secretary of State picked up her wineglass again and twirled it in her fingers, her thoughts swirling with the wine. She remembered that the first Limited Nuclear Test Ban Treaty came directly out of the confrontation of the Cuban missile crisis. Maybe we can pull something good, something worthwhile, out of this.
To Quang she said, “I’ll talk to the President about this. I’ll suggest he call your chairman.”
“If you like, I could suggest to my brother-in-law that he call your President.”
“That would be very good. Very good indeed.” And she thought, If I can set up a global missile defense agreement I’d be a shoo-in for the nomination five years from now.
“Left main gear is no-go,” said Major Kaufman. Colonel Christopher saw the red light glaring on the control board. It wasn’t the only one, but it seemed bigger, hotter than all the others.
“Must’ve been shot up when that missile hit number two engine,” Kaufman added.
Christopher nodded, wondering what else was damaged by that missile hit. Deep inside the swirling storm, the plane was shaking badly, shuddering like a palsied old man.
“Jon,” she called into her mike, “how far from the field are we?”
