“Consider your hypothetical example,” the president said. “Suppose the people of Hawaii
The ambassador frowned. “I am not following your argument.”
“Your People’s Republic of China and our own United States have much in common,” the president said. “Both of our nations were given birth by revolution. Each of our countries managed to fight its way out from under the yoke of a repressive government. Both of our countries began as renegade states. And yet, today, China and America exist as two of the most powerful nations on Earth, due — in large part — to the passage of time and the acceptance of other nations. I’m sure you will agree that far too much time has passed for Great Britain to recoup the United States as lost territory. Similarly, far too many nations have acknowledged the existence of your own People’s Republic of China for the Kuomintang or the descendants of the Empress Dowager to attempt to regain your citizens as outlaw rebels.”
The ambassador did not speak.
“Time has passed for Taiwan, Mr. Ambassador,” the president said.
“You haven’t made a serious move to repatriate them in over sixty years. In that time, they have become self-governing, and they have gained the acceptance of many nations. Taiwan now enjoys formal diplomatic ties with over thirty countries and maintains trading partnerships with over a hundred and fifty countries. At last count, they were the fourteenth largest trading nation in the world. It is true that they do not hold a seat in the United Nations General Assembly, but we both know that your country has blocked every attempt to formally admit them to the UN.” He smiled gently. “Rebel republics are transformed into nations by time and acceptance. And the Democratic People’s Republic of China on Taiwan has had both.”
The ambassador did not speak for several seconds. When he did, his voice was tight and low. “You are welcome to accept the make-believe sovereignty of our renegade province, if you so choose. The People’s Republic of China is under no obligation to do so.”
The president nodded. “I understand your position. And I acknowledge that it’s likely that our countries will continue to agree to
In the meantime, the United States is willing to support whatever diplomatic overtures your government wishes to make toward peaceful reunification with Taiwan. I must caution you though; the U.S. cannot and
Our policy on this matter dates back to 1950, when President Truman deployed the entire U.S. Seventh Fleet in defense of Taiwan. Please convey this message directly to your premier: we are willing to give you the benefit of the doubt on this recent missile launch. You say that it was a routine test, and we will accept your word for that, despite the evidence to the contrary.”
He leaned over the coffee table and flipped open a heavy leather-bound book to a pre-marked page. A glossy color image of mainland China covered two pages. “My world atlas tells me that your country has about eighty- seven hundred miles of coastline.” He flipped to another marked page. The map of Taiwan took up a half-page. “It also tells me that Taiwan is about two hundred and thirty-seven miles in its longest axis.”
He closed the book with a thump. “If we add a twelve-mile buffer to the north and south of the island, to account for Taiwanese territorial waters, we discover that your country has over eight thousand four hundred miles of coastline to fire missile tests from — without impinging on the airspace, territory, or seas of Taiwan.” His voice hardened. “I suggest you consider using another piece of ocean for your next missile test.”
“I object to your tone,” the ambassador said. “I have given you my assurances that the launch was a routine test, yet you insinuate that it was a deliberate act of … what did you call it? Strong-arm politics?”
The president beckoned to his secretary of state, Elizabeth Whelkin, who leaned over far enough to hand him a folded newspaper. It was an English-language edition of the
“The Japanese press has picked up on a rumor that your missile launch was code-named
“My Mandarin is a little rusty, Ambassador Shaozu. Could you refresh my memory? How does
The ambassador’s cheeks reddened. His fingers seemed to spasm as they roamed the surface of his old diplomatic pouch. “I give you my assurance, Mr. President; I have no knowledge of any such code name.”
The president nodded. “I’m relieved to hear that. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to translate the phrase anyway, for the benefit of those of us who do not speak the language of the Middle Kingdom.”
“Of course,” the ambassador said in a quiet voice. “It means …
The words hung in the air for several seconds before the president spoke again. “United China,” he said. “Used in the context of a nuclear missile launch, might that phrase be interpreted to mean that your country is prepared to use any sort of force necessary to achieve a United China?
That is to say, the return of Taiwan to Chinese control?”
“That might be one interpretation,” the ambassador said slowly.
“If you have a different interpretation to offer, I would be interested in hearing it,” the president said.
Ambassador Shaozu said nothing.
The president allowed the silence to drag on for nearly a minute. He was tempted to rake the ambassador over the coals again, but there wasn’t anything to be gained by it. He had gotten his message across, and the rules of protocol required diplomatic meetings to end with pleasantries and handshakes.
“Thank you for coming,” he said finally. He climbed to his feet and extended his hand. “Please convey my greeting to Premier Xiao and the esteemed members of the Politburo.”
The ambassador got to his feet and shook the president’s outstretched hand. “I will, Mr. President.”
The ambassador shook hands with the other members of the meeting team before taking his leave. The note taker, Lieutenant Summers, escorted him from the room.
The president waited nearly a minute after the door had closed behind the ambassador before he clapped his hands together. “Talk to me, people.”
The secretary of state spoke first. “Did you notice his eyes, sir? He was blowing smoke the entire time, and I don’t think he was at all happy about it.”
The president waved a hand in a circle. “Continue.”
“The diplomacy game is sticky,” she said. “An ambassador is sometimes forced to present his government’s position, even when he thinks his government is screwing up. This is especially true of diplomats who represent communist governments; they have little or no latitude to deviate from the official party line.”
The president leaned back in his chair. “You think Shaozu disagrees with the Politburo’s position on this missile launch?”
“Maybe, sir,” the secretary of state said.
“Something is definitely bothering him,” added William Collins, the assistant secretary of state for Southeast Asian affairs. “I’ve worked with Tian for years, and I have to agree. Tian put on a good show tonight; he’s too good a diplomat not to put his best into every session, but his heart wasn’t in it tonight.”
“All right,” the president said. “He was distracted, and that threw his game off a little. The next obvious question is: what’s got him rattled? Is it just frustration over having to spout Party rhetoric? Or is he worried about something?”
“If I had to guess,” Assistant Secretary Collins said, “I’d say Tian is worried.”
“About what?” the chief of staff asked.
Gregory Brenthoven, the national security advisor, loosened his tie.
“We’ve got two good possibilities. On the one hand, he may be worried about our response to the missile launch — possible military reprisals, diplomatic or economic sanctions — hell, he may even be worried that this will goad us into extending formal diplomatic recognition to Taiwan. On the other hand, it may be his own government he’s worried about. Either something they’ve done, or something they’re about to do.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow the field,” the president said. “Do you have any sense for what it might be? At
