Blake Fowler agreed wholeheartedly with the secretary of state’s assessment — something that would have surprised and disconcerted both men had they known of it. China’s position on the war seemed to have changed, however imperceptibly, and that had to be followed up.
He leaned across his desk and snapped off the small, portable TV perched precariously on one of his bookshelves. That done, he dropped back into his chair and rolled far enough away from the desk to poke his head out the door. “Katie, would you get Bob Gillespie, Harry Phelps, and that new guy, Kruger, up here right away? Say in” — he looked at his watch — “ten minutes or so?”
His secretary stopped in midyawn, nodded, and reached for her phone.
Fowler rolled back into his office, stopped, and then rolled back out. Katie was just starting to punch the Gillespies’ number into her phone. She paused as he stuck his head through the doorway again. “Yes?”
“Ask them to bring everything on the PRC they’ve got easily to hand — political data, economic status, military readiness, all that kind of stuff.”
“Right.”
Fowler went to work preparing for the meeting. It was tough to concentrate. His thoughts were jumping from one possibility to another and back again in a rapid, whirling sequence. He’d had an instinct about China and now it might really be panning out. He started paging through a pile of recent State Department, CIA, and academic analyses on China’s internal politics, but something nagged at him. Something he’d left undone.
It took him a few minutes to figure out what it was.
He got up out of his chair and leaned around the door. “Oh, Katie? Thanks.”
She smiled briefly and turned away to finish logging in another stack of NSA intercepts. Blake went back to work, doggedly trying to cram a mass of data on China into his overtired brain, information that he’d ignored while concentrating on South and North Korea for all these months.
Something important was happening inside the PRC’s carefully guarded government buildings, and he’d damned well do his best to find out just what exactly was going on.
Kim Jong-Il could smell the man’s fear and relished it. Its sickly sweet odor was a welcome reminder of the power he still wielded. It had helped him control the terrible wave of anger that had overcome him when the news from New York arrived. It had been news of a betrayal of the blackest sort. Kim clamped his lips together tightly at the thought. He must be careful, he knew, careful to control the rage surging just below the surface.
At least until he had a worthy target for his hate. It wouldn’t do at all to prove his foolish doctors right by suffering a heart attack — not during this most crucial of times. His political enemies would take full advantage of any weakness he showed.
Kim grimaced. He didn’t have time for these wasted thoughts. He stared at the man waiting rigidly at attention. “Well? Speak up. What is it?”
His aide’s voice quavered. “Your pardon, Dear Leader, the ambassador has arrived for his meeting.”
Kim nodded abruptly. “Show him in. And tell Captain Lew to stand ready. One cannot be too careful when dealing with creatures of this kind.” He dismissed the aide with an impatient gesture and concentrated on the matter closest at hand — Colonel General Cho’s latest report from the front.
“The ambassador from the People’s Republic of China.”
Kim heard the Chinese diplomat ushered in, but he kept his eyes focused on the report in front of him. Let the swine wait. Let the man stand, stewing in the shame that rightly belonged to his whole mongrel country.
The news from the front was good. The jaws of his trap had swung shut below Seoul, and Cho’s troops were pursuing the beaten imperialist armies as they fled south. Casualties were heavy, of course, but that had been expected. In any event, individual lives were of little importance in the greater scheme of things. No, the news was very good, and Kim almost smiled as he skimmed through the report.
But then he heard a delicate cough from the other side of his desk and his good humor vanished. Everything was going well, save on the international front. One cowardly act by the damned Chinese had unnecessarily embarrassed his Soviet allies and had made it somewhat more difficult for them to give him the aid he required. He kept reading.
At last he snapped the report binder shut with a single decisive motion. The crash it made seemed to hang in the still air of his silent office. Slowly Kim Jong-Il raised his head to stare at the diplomat waiting quietly in front of his desk.
He was disappointed. The Chinese showed no signs of fear or shame. Not even embarrassment or anger at the rude treatment he’d been accorded. Instead, the man stood calmly, his legs splayed apart as if he were some sort of peasant lounging at rest. Again Kim felt the anger rise up inside him. The insolent bastard. How dare this so-called ambassador stand there without showing the slightest sign of contrition for the treacherous actions of his nation.
“Well? What is your business with me? I’m busy, as I’m sure you can see.”
The ambassador inclined his head, more a nod than a bow. “I’m grateful for your time, Comrade Kim. My premier and Politburo have instructed me to deliver this.” The ambassador stepped forward suddenly, coming right up against the desk with something held out in his hand.
Kim half-reached for the panic buzzer by his knee and then stopped. It was a piece of paper, nothing more. He took it and ran his eyes over the major headings: Munitions, Armored Fighting Vehicles, Artillery. He pursed his lips. Why, this was a Chinese proposal to dramatically increase its logistical support of North Korea’s war effort.
“What is the meaning of this?” Kim demanded. “This directly contradicts your government’s refusal to support us in the Security Council.”
The Chinese ambassador shrugged almost imperceptibly. “I assure you that my country’s actions in the United Nations were not directed at your nation, Comrade Kim. We simply had no wish to be linked so closely with a Soviet indiscretion. Our support for your war of liberation is as strong as ever.”
“As weak as ever, you mean!” Kim could feel his temper slipping out of control, building toward a towering rage. He let it. “For your information, Mr. Ambassador, this Soviet ‘indiscretion’ you refer to is its willingness to side openly with us — instead of hiding in the shadows as your country has done!”
The ambassador was unruffled. “There were other considerations in — ”
“I’m sure there were,” Kim interrupted, all concern for self-control cast aside. “Considerations like the almighty Yankee dollar and your capitalist kowtowing to the Western bankers! You Chinese have finally sunk back to your old role as bootlickers for your imperialist masters.”
“Surely that is unfair, comrade. We’ve sent thousands of tons of valuable supplies across our common border, without the slightest discussion of any need for payment. And now” — the ambassador pointed to the paper lying on Kim’s desk — “we are fully prepared to increase even that already generous level of support.”
That was too much. Did these swine truly believe he could be bought like some common street whore? Kim grabbed the PRC’s weapons offer and crumpled it into a ball. “That is what I think of your pathetic attempt to bribe your way into my friendship!”
The man simply looked at him without any expression at all. “Shall I report to my government that our offer of additional assistance has been refused, comrade?”
The room turned red and Kim threw the wad of paper into the man’s face in a fury. “Yes! And report it in person. Your presence in the People’s Republic is no longer welcome. You are expelled!”
The ambassador nodded. “Very well, comrade. My government will undoubtedly submit another representative for your accreditation at the earliest possible moment.”
Kim struggled for control. The damned Chinese hadn’t even flinched when the paper struck him. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. Then he said coldly, “Your government may do as it sees fit. And I may even consider its request — though I fear my calendar is somewhat full for the moment.”
He pressed the buzzer on his desk. “Send Captain Lew in.”
Lew wore no badges of rank, as befitted his status as an agent of the State Political Security Department. “Yes, Dear Leader?”
Kim didn’t waste words. “Escort the ambassador to his embassy and from there to the airport. Under no circumstances will you allow him to communicate with anyone save his own diplomatic staff. Do you understand me?”
