Sea of Shadows

comfortable under close scrutiny.

Having a room full of people watch your every gesture and listen to your every word — all without speaking themselves — can be highly unsettling.

It is difficult for even the most accomplished of diplomats to concentrate properly under such circumstances. In Washington circles, the technique has often been likened to a low-intensity version of Psychological Warfare.

* * *

When everyone was finally seated, the president said, “I hope you will forgive me if I come directly to matters of business.”

The ambassador smiled slightly. “An excellent idea, Mr. President. I am an old man, and I must confess that the passage of years has somewhat blunted my taste for polite small talk.”

“Good,” the president said. “I would like to discuss the matter of your country’s most recent ballistic missile launch.”

The ambassador’s eyebrows went up slightly. “I see. Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” the president said. “There is a problem, or rather — there are two problems. The first is with the trajectory of the missile, and the second is with the timing of the launch.”

“Oh? And why should either of those pose difficulties? To my understanding, the launch was conducted safely, without incident or threat to life.”

“Without incident — yes,” the president said. “It’s the ‘threat to life’ part that we are not so certain about.”

“How so?”

“The missile in question was a DF-21C, designed to carry the NV-6 nuclear warhead; is that correct?”

“I believe that is so.”

“Does the DF-21C have the capability to carry any non-nuclear payloads?”

The ambassador’s hand stole down to the black leather diplomatic pouch in his lap. He made no move to open it. His fingers began to play over the creased leather, almost as though the pouch were some sort of worry stone, or talisman. “I … cannot speak on this issue,” he said. “That is, I am not an expert on the subject of ballistic missile systems.”

The national security advisor scribbled something on a slip of paper, folded it, and passed it to the president. The president read it and then paused for a second before continuing. “I’m sure that it will come as no surprise to you that I have numerous ballistic missile experts at my disposal, some of whom are quite knowledgeable on the subject of the weapons systems of your People’s Liberation Army. My experts assure me that the DF-21C has no conventional warhead capability.”

The ambassador tilted his head slightly to the side. “If your experts are — as you say, expert—then I am sure that their assessments are correct. May I now ask the point of this question?”

“The point is this,” the president said. “Your military fired a ballistic missile directly over Taiwan, less than a week before the Taiwanese national election — an election in which the front-running candidate just happens to be a strong proponent of Taiwanese independence. The missile in question is designed solely for offensive nuclear strikes. You have to admit, that sounds an awful lot like deliberate intimidation. What my grandfather used to call strong-arm politics.”

The Chinese ambassador shot to his feet, his black leather pouch falling to the carpet. “You accuse my country of playing politics with nuclear weapons?” His voice was a near shout. Then he seemed to realize where he was and sank slowly to his seat, groping around the floor for a few seconds before he recovered his diplomatic pouch and set it in his lap again.

President Chandler raised his eyebrows a fraction. “What would you call it?”

The ambassador paused for a few seconds before speaking. His tone was much calmer now. “I would call it … I believe … a routine test-launch of an unarmed missile. A launch, I might add, that traveled entirely through Chinese airspace, passed over only Chinese territory, and landed safely in Chinese national waters. As for the timing? I would call that a coincidence.”

The secretary of state passed a folded slip of paper to the president. He scanned it before continuing. “A coincidence,” he said slowly. “Would that be the same sort of coincidence that led your government to launch three missiles into Taiwanese territorial waters on the eve of their first national election in 1996? Was it also coincidence that your country moved several hundred CSS-6 and CSS-7 missile systems into Fujian province — directly across the straits from Taiwan — in the weeks just prior to their election in 2000?”

Ambassador Shaozu stiffened. “Mr. President, are you now suggesting that the defensive deployment of the People’s Liberation Army within our own borders is somehow the business of the United States?”

“Perhaps not,” the president said. “But firing a ballistic missile directly over Taiwan is an overtly hostile act.”

“Hostile to whom, Mr. President?”

“To Taiwan, the Democratic People’s Republic of China.”

The ambassador smiled. “Mr. President, there is no Democratic People’s Republic of China. It does not exist. It never has existed.”

“I understand that your government holds such an opinion,” the president said. “But you must realize that the United States does not share your view.”

“There is only one China, Mr. President — a simple truth that even the United Nations acknowledges. There are two chairs for Korea in the General Assembly, one for South Korea and another for North Korea. That is because there are two Koreas.”

“You will note that there is only one chair in the United Nations General Assembly for China. That is because there is only one China. If there were two Chinas, there would be two chairs, would there not? The citizens of our troublesome island province may style themselves as renegades, but they are Chinese citizens nonetheless.”

“The citizens of Taiwan have a democratically elected government,” the president said. “They have their own laws, their own currency, their own national identity. They do not wish to be part of your country.”

The ambassador sighed. “We cannot let the wishes of a few million miscreants threaten the integrity of our sovereign nation. Their desires are irrelevant.”

“How can the wishes of millions of people be irrelevant?”

“Perhaps my memory for American history is a little fuzzy,” the ambassador said, “but I seem to recall that your country was faced with a similar situation in the latter half of the nineteenth century. A number of your Southern provinces … excuse me … you call them states, do you not? A number of your Southern states decided to secede from your Union. If I am not mistaken, your government used military force to repatriate the renegade states. I believe the casualties from that war totaled something just short of seven hundred thousand people. Yet, your citizens seem to regard the loss of nearly three- quarters of a million lives as a reasonable price to pay for reacquiring the lost territories and reabsorbing the inhabitants.”

“A fair point,” the president said. “But we are in the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. The world is a different place. The tools and attitudes that served us well a hundred and fifty years ago have no place in the modern age.”

“Perhaps things have not changed as much as you would like to believe,” Ambassador Shaozu said. “What if the situation arose again tomorrow? Suppose that the citizens of your island state of Hawaii decide next week that they are disillusioned with the direction that your government is taking. Suppose they elect their own president, draft their own constitution, and print their own money. Will your country let them peacefully secede, merely because they wish it?”

The president didn’t say anything.

“It’s not such an easy question when the problem is in your backyard, is it, Mr. President?”

The president leaned back and made a steeple of his fingers. “An interesting argument, Ambassador, but it fails to take into account the two enormously powerful effects in the evolution of nations. Time … and acceptance.”

The ambassador’s eyes narrowed. “I do not understand.”